Shop Owners:
Mihei Mika- 35-year-old, ice cream store owner
Tawara Naoya- 65-year-old, Isonade Figurine Seller
Naomi Ikeda- 50-year-old, Convenience store owner
The Victims:
Yuka Akio- 33-years-old, retail employee
Matou Wataru- 16-year-old, high school orphan
Hinata Suzuki- 24-year-old, cult fanatic
Touma Ito- 40-year-old, vagrant
Shrine priest
Issei Makoto- 25 years old, balding priest
Chapter 14
Isonade and Human Nature
"I'll kill him," Shiho snapped, fingers slapping hard on the half-working keyboard. Stacks of police files lay in a mess beside her. The shrunken detective's work of art. A mix of notes and files, photographs of dead bodies and victims. Shinichi had woken her up first thing in the morning. Half-awake, her head pounding after a late night, he thrust the pile of documents into her hands. Coffee in his breath, jostled shirt, bags under his eyes, he was buzzing with unrelenting energy. He did not sleep. Shiho knew it from the way he spoke. Hurried and short, without any pause.
"They found her!" he exclaimed, and she winced. The morning sun blinded her tired eyes.
"Who?' she could barely make out his words.
"They know who the victim is. I will be meeting with the hotel owner with, Inspector Takagi. So here—"
The files spill over as she grabs them. "Satou-san gave me these earlier. They are the previous case files. I made some notes, but I need you to review them. There has to be some connection, possibly online. It's your area of expertise. I'm counting on you, Haibara." Shinichi gave her his usual toothy grin, and then he was gone, rushing off to join the Inspector who had been waiting for him.
Files spilled, and Shiho glanced at them with disdain.
"Hakase," she eyed the old man attempting to slip away.
"You're not worming your way out of this."
Slouching, the professor whined as she shoved the documents into his hands.
"I'll kill him," she muttered as she walked through the corridor toward the lobby.
The first order of business was to acquire a computer. Since her laptop was at the professor's house, she could not access the internet's essential functions. Shiho was not about to use her phone to sort through the mountain of information, even if it was for Kudou Shinichi.
The easy part was acquiring the computer. Setting it up, however, was a whole new nightmare. It was a hassle when the signal was weak, and the connection was poor. The ancient device was retrieved from the back of a storeroom by Isamu Yamato's daughter. It sat, covered in a thin film of dust. The ancient machine with its faded screen was perched on top of a wooden bamboo knee-height table, above the tatami and beside inked paintings hung by the walls. It was slow and clunky, out of place in the Japanese-styled room she was in.
"Hakase, could you assist me with these-" Shiho trailed off, gazing at an empty room. Pressing her lips together, she drummed her fingers against the table for a brief moment.
"I'm going to kill them both."
As if to mock her, the old machine froze. Although Shiho was tempted to throw it against the circular bamboo windows, she resisted. Inhaling deeply, she instead concentrated on the task at hand.
Post-it notes were stuck haphazardly by the sides of the brown case files. The notes were folded and crumbled, revealing the spidery writing of a shrunken detective who had pulled an all-nighter.
Although Shinichi insisted she sleeps, he stayed awake. Wearing a confident, annoying smile that hid his worries. A few hours earlier, Shiho woke to find his futon empty. She had found him sitting by the courtyard. Azure eyes gaze wearily at the rustling shrubbery. The night skies were dark, masking his anxiety, his fears, and his apprehension as the operation began. The boy was drenched in sweat; she could see it from the glow of the garden lanterns. Shinichi was also cold to the touch. As his fingers curved around hers, she did not resist but instead allowed them to do so. Shiho suspected a nightmare. He wouldn't say, and she wouldn't ask.
Hypocrite.
Despite telling her not to worry, here he was. Teased by him, Shiho wouldn't admit to being concerned. His knowing smile was too much for her, and she averted her gaze—that Idiot.
She slumped over, letting her chin rest on her knees, as she flipped through the files Satou-san had provided a few hours earlier. The woman interrupts their time in the courtyard. Arriving late and disheveled, Satou-san holds documents in her hands. "As requested, Conan-kun," she said, stretching as she handed the offending objects to a boy who eagerly accepted them. Shiho couldn't understand why the woman trusted them so much. They were nine years old, the woman thirty. But here she is, sharing a case's confidential details with small children, who, for that matter, should be in bed.
"I'll leave it to you. I need a break," she yawned, rubbing her tired eyes, walking down the darkened corridor toward the rooms on the other side of the courtyard. Shinichi released his grip on her hand as they watched her go.
"I recommend you get some sleep, Haibara," Shinichi pushed her into a room with a snoring professor. "I'll be there later," he assured her when she nags.
He never did. Now, they were strewn on the ground, the scribbled notes of a shrunken detective, tales of murder, cults, and—disturbed people. It appears there had been three previous victims. The woman appears to be the last. Photographs showing the faces of deceased individuals are the only remaining evidence of their existence. Among them are three men, the youngest of whom is sixteen, the oldest of which is forty.
Troubled.
It was written on one of the notes. Neets, abandoned, and homeless, the victims suffered from troubled pasts. The youngest was Matou Wataru-san, a sixteen-year-old teenager who had been orphaned and abandoned at the age of ten. He had been living in an orphanage ever since. While attending a nearby high school, he was mostly described as quiet, moody, and a loner. Matou had no friends and was a social recluse. His teachers described him as a quiet soul with average grades, a kind-hearted big brother who was not trouble-making, and a quiet orphan. His caretakers described him as gentle and polite.
None of them knew anything about the boy or the internet personality he created.
Going by the name of YatoBushido, Matou-san was anything but quiet. He was unabashed and full of energy. The teenager had a personalized blog website displaying most of his artwork and digital music. He frequently posted, earning a small following. Rock and metal music, with occasional punk graffiti. She was not a fan, but Shiho must admit that Matou-san was talented. He was fiery and had opinions that were perhaps too controversial for most people. Most of his speeches were passionate, sometimes escalating into long rants that weren't very logical. A rebellious spirit, he presented himself as a man with no fear. Yet beneath the lies was an insecurity revealed in a sentence posted on a forum five months ago.
What should I do? Is there a future for me? There is no place for me in the crowd, and I am unsure of where I belong. I am a faceless entity, lost within.
A cry for help, buried deep within the throes of an online forum thread. Shiho studied it carefully. Matou Wataru was a sixteen-year-old orphan. He had been alone all his life, and with his childhood vanishing, he must be feeling the pressures of growing up without a place to call home.
Shiho grimaced slightly at the photograph before her. An image of a young, baby-faced boy lying face down on the beach, too young, too lost, too hurt. His body was twisted and decomposed beyond recognition, with a jagged hole in his neck. Blank brown eyes stare glassy-eyed at a blue sky. Not being able to stomach the sight of his dead body, she closed it.
She took a moment to gather herself before reaching for the following document. The notes are a jumble of arrows connecting two cases. A single word.
Cult?
"What are you trying to say, Kudou-kun," Shiho was perplexed by the indication.
What was she looking at? She couldn't decipher. A scrawny man appeared with protruding ribs imprinted on heavily tattooed skin. His appearance was more that of a skeleton than a human being. That's mean, Haibara. She could hear him say. Shut up. She quipped, the boy—annoying even in her imagination.
He has sunken cheeks, shaggy curly black hair, and deranged ash-gray eyes. In the image, he was licking the figure of a woman. Shiho recognized it instantly. Made famous, it was a symbol of the infamous fertility cult, New Blessings of the Mother Church. Initially marketed as a haven for women. It hid a sinister network of modern human trafficking and abuse beneath its throes. As Shiho flipped to the next photograph, the man was now wearing a white robe that looked more like a bath towel than anything else, sitting with others of a similar appearance. Hands raised, he appeared to be chanting. The photo is accompanied by another of Shinichi's spidery scrawls, "Children of Ashiko." Shiho frowned. The man had joined another cult based on the teachings of an old goddess who preached death, destruction, and rebirth.
He was found guilty of a wide range of crimes—battery, arson, burglary, petty shoplifting, hate crimes, etc.
Once an ivy league student, Hinata Suzuki had gone off the deep end. Delving into the throes of cults, jumping from one group to another. Clearly motivated by his mother's death. Under the alias JungleLegend, he operated a website for fanatics, whose discussions were characterized by murder, blood, the occult, and above all else, rebirth. It was an obsession of his, and buried beneath the web he had woven for himself was a sad and lonely man who was unable to move on.
Scrolling through the webpage of the deranged man of twenty-four, she came across a familiar name. It was a bizarre coincidence, and she glanced at the name on another note, Touma Ito.
According to reports, the 40-year-old man had been arrested several times for drunk driving. He was a middle-aged man with a beer belly. With a long, unkempt beard, he was mostly bald, barring a few hairs that remained. His teeth were yellow and rotted, and he didn't have the money for any form of personal care. The money was spent on beer at the bars he frequented. He was an alcoholic, causing trouble in the bars where he lived. A forgotten vagrant residing in Japan, who, like many others, lived alone and was separated from his family. During the great recession, he lost his job and, with it, his marriage. Domestic violence was cited as one reason for divorce.
Now alone, he sunk into the bottle, leaving behind a trail of violence, misdemeanors, and suicide attempts.
Others saw him as a sad excuse, but Hinata Suzuki made him his confidant. The two frequently corresponded on Suzuki-san's website. As they exchanged ideas, they also offered their perspectives on life, of hopelessness, and of—starting over.
Looking over the information, Shiho frowned. Wincing at the plight of these lonely men, doomed as washed-up bodies on a beach. There was not much left of Hinata Suzuki when his body was found, badly scavenged by the aquatic creatures. Only his upper torso, bearing his head, and the hole in his neck was visible. Touma Ito was largely intact, the man bloated in the water, his skin a slimy mess of green and molting skin. The sight was disturbing, and Shiho closed the file. Despite her background, the presence of dead bodies still disturbed her, and she pushed the memories that were threatening once again to emerge back.
There has to be a connection. Having read the correspondence between Ito-san and Suzuki-san, she typed into the slow ancient machine with renewed vigor.
Men forgotten by society, living on the fringe, suffering from their circumstances, a mixture of hurt, sorrow, grief, and, in its wake, self-harm, and—
She stopped, glancing at Shinichi's scribbles. A cult. Four bodies washed up on the beach.
"They were talking about an Iso-san and a website," Shiho recalled Tawara-san's words. Her eyes widened in realization. She typed the words into the forums and quickly scrolled through them before smirking.
"There you are," she clicks on the link. There was a loud whirl as Shinichi's messy notes were caught in the old spinning fans of the ancient machine's drive. It jammed, and then sparks flew. The smell of smoke and then—
Shiho sighed, incredulous at the dead computer in front of her.
Resting her chin against her open palm, she rests an elbow on the table. She scowled at the mess of paper notes, flying documents, and disorganized photos of a case file.
Does he know what paper clips are?
"I'll kill him."
That pain in the ass.
Yuka Akio was her name. She was thirty-three years old. Takagi examined the contents of her handbag after retrieving it from the inn she had stayed in. Shinichi pulls out his passport, wincing at the stoic face of a raven-haired woman with shoulder-length hair and gray eyes. Her cheeks were adorned with freckles, and her lips were painted in pinkish-red lipstick. Passport pictures show a former version of her, not the pale, marred, skin-peeling version of a corpse.
Shinichi had to remain detached throughout his investigations. Being too personal can lead to all sorts of miscalculations.
Though, looking at the victim like this sometimes left Shinichi with a sour taste in his mouth.
The dead have a name. He had to remind himself. The dead could not speak—but he could.
"I'm only doing this because Mouri-san asked me to," Inspector Takagi told him.
Just hours earlier, Shinichi used the voice changer to ask Takagi to let Conan-kun be his eyes and ears in the case. Despite his unwillingness to allow children near the case, the Inspector had reluctantly agreed. So here they were, a man and a boy walking through the streets of Matsuda, following the path of a dead woman.
"What do you think?" Takagi yawned. His action was not appreciated by Shinichi. He followed suit, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"Well, if we followed the path she had taken two weeks ago," he said, and Takagi nodded. Although he was a little slow, Takagi was an excellent assembler of information. During a period of three hours, he had already figured out who Yuka Akio was and had determined the places she had visited in Matsuda. Locals greeted him upon passing, and he replied with a friendly wave and smile. Inspector Takagi was an extrovert displaying his prowess.
Yuka Akio worked as a retail employee at a famous chain of clothing stores. A mid-level employee, she managed one of the floors of the multi-story building. A diligent and hard worker, Yuka carried a sunny disposition. Upon hearing of her death, her colleagues were devastated. How could this have happened? They cried, not understanding why anyone would want to kill her. She had a kind heart. An individual who went above and beyond for her colleagues. Visiting them during times of illness. Who bought them food when they were down. Who helped them when they were overwhelmed with work.
Almost everyone liked her, from the managers to the cleaners. She was—a little too good to be true.
"Yuka-san has been seeing a psychiatrist," Takagi reveals solemnly. He showed Shinichi the information he had just received. The message on the man's phone was long. A patient's confidential digital documents and photographs were leaked by Yuka's sister. The only person in Yuka's extended family who wanted answers.
Yuka Akio, after all, was an illegitimate child who was estranged from her family at sixteen, living alone on the child support she was receiving from a father who did not care for her. In a way, she struggled through life, hiding her pain from those closest to her.
She was kind, good-natured, diligent, and responsible. A mask she wore to hide her mental anguish. Depression. A horrid disease that Shinichi could not imagine. While pretending to be fine, the woman smiled, concealing a deep secret buried beneath—a facade.
Just like someone he knew.
Slouching, Shinichi strolled along the sunlit path. An ocean loomed closer as a temple sat adjacent to the sandy white beaches. Between the traditional edo-styled buildings sat a temple at the end of a small market path. It was in its humble abode that Shinichi realized the implications of his research the day before.
A cult. Four corpses bearing the same injury. All directly connected to the ancient legend of—
"Isonade," Takagi came up beside him, staring at the stone sign above the doorway. A red torii gate stood at the start of a stone pebble path before them. There were masonry stones shaped like lanterns on the path leading to a set of white-gray steps. Cherry blossoms fluttered in the wind as light pink petals swirled around their feet.
"What was she doing here?" Shinichi asked.
At an Isonade shrine of all places. The CCTV cameras in the area showed Yuka Akio visiting the shrine several times, staying for many hours each time. He walks through the stone paths and climbs up a flight of stairs to enter the place. A sandy courtyard greeted him, and a Shinto-styled shrine was in the midst of it all. It was likely made from Japanese cypress. The building had a red gabled roof, slanted down, and green banners hanging from its sides, a fish-man imprinted in the middle. And in the structure stood a small shrine that resembled a beehive. It is a hokora, a place that houses—
"Isonade. They worshipped him," Takagi studies the little figurine in it. A ceremonial arrangement of food offerings was placed in front of it. From within, a pair of black eyes bore into Shinichi's as he inspected its contents, and he suddenly remembered his dream. Shuddering, he tightly shut his eyes. The all-nighter he had pulled must be getting to him.
They walked to a small shed with a water fountain serving as a basin. It was covered with a straw-thatched roof. Water sprouting from a bamboo pipe slanted downward, and a ladle was used to wash the hands and mouth—a sacred cleansing site found in all Shinto shrines.
They found the priest later. A twenty-five-year-old man who, to Shinichi's dismay, was balding. He gave them a friendly smile that curled into a frown when Takagi pulled out Yuko's photographs and his police badge.
"Have you ever seen this woman before?"
"Akio-san, of course. Why do you ask?"
"Do you know her?" Takagi continued.
"Yes, she has been visiting the shrine ever since she arrived. I saw her every day last week, but not recently," he glanced at them anxiously.
"Has anything happened to her?"
"Issei-san," Takagi told the man, bowing his head apologetically. "I'm sorry to inform you that Yuko Akio-san has been found murdered. It seems she was killed a week ago, and this was her last stop.".
The man named Issei Makoto gasped in horror. Shinichi noted the genuine surprise and sadness in his expression. Later, they sat on the veranda overlooking the courtyard. Issei-san served them a cup of tea, curiously looking through the woman's belongings before sighing.
"She was a peculiar woman," he told them.
"Peculiar?" Shinichi asked, and the man nodded.
"Quiet, I should say, but possessed a determination like no other."
Issei paused a moment, looking at the Isonade figure in the hokora. "I've seen many travelers coming and going. The Isonade to them is, of course, just a passing myth. But you've got to understand, to the town folk, the Isonade was like a god— a curse and also a blessing. After all, in a town where many fishermen live, the Isonade was seen as a kami who could provide safe passage across the oceans."
"Oh," Takagi smiled thoughtfully, sipping his tea.
"Akio-san was not like the other tourists; she didn't just take pictures but was intent on Isonade itself. As if she was seeking something from our local god. A somber woman who did not talk much, she came with gifts daily. The shrine maiden said she looked sad, but her sunny disposition told us otherwise. She prayed for hours on end, not leaving the shrine until it was time to close. I can't believe she's gone."
Shinichi sits on the new information, scrutinizing it.
"Perhaps, I shouldn't, but maybe the missing sacred item stolen from our shrine has something to do with this case," Issei gestures to another small hokora adjacent to the main shrine.
They were led to it. Shinichi shrank back at the sight as he opened the red paper-screened doors. The pungent stench of dried fish hit him first, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. The grotesque mini form, shriveled in nature, was a half body of a fish-man. He couldn't make sense of it, but if he had to guess—
"Is this supposed to be the Isonade?" he asked, and Issei chuckled.
"Yes, and no, it is an aspect of our local deity. Among the many bodies he left behind."
"It has...multiple bodies," Shinichi sneered in disgust, and Issei grinned.
"He's a sea creature. He molts."
That explains everything. Shinichi could only imagine Haibara's sardonic retort. One that he couldn't help but smile at. Sure, it's a leap of logic, but it works. He would have responded and knew he would be met with a raised eyebrow—the girl, cynical even in his mind.
"A missing arm?" Takagi-san was the first to notice.
"We last saw it during Akio-san's last visit, more than a week ago."
Shinichi glanced at Takagi, who had once again begun to write furiously in his notebook.
"Did you notice anything else?"
As he ran his hand down his half-balding head, the priest paused. "I am not sure if I should say this, but-"
The photograph of Yuka Akio that Takagi holds in his hand catches his attention. With an apologetic half-smile, he points to his wrist. "The shrine maidens noticed scars on her wrist. It was an accident. She had been washing her hands at the basin, and there were lines arranged horizontally, neatly against her skin. We suspect—"
"Self-inflicted scars. Yes, that does correlate with the wounds on her body," Takagi murmured. Silence followed for a while, with the man ruminating on the newfound information before a scream sounded.
They whipped around, startled by the sudden noise. A Shrine maiden no older than sixteen was found on the ground. With her hand clutching her cheeks, she looked at the woman in front of her. Shinichi recognized her almost instantly.
"Ikeda-san?" he remarked. "Naomi Ikeda-san?"
The older woman with curly black hair was a completely different person than she had been the day before. This friendly old woman, who had shown them her CCTV cameras and owned the modern convenience store on top of Mikako cliffside, was standing with a wild expression. Her blue eyes filled with rage, her lips wide open, hurling insults at the girl who lay before her, tears in her eyes.
"Naomi-san!" Issei rushed over quickly, restraining the woman.
She struggled, still screaming, and it took Takagi and another security guard to hold her down. Her rant continued as she was held down. "What is happening?" Takagi struggles to hold back the woman who was now shaking.
"Naomi-san, why are you back here again? I told you that you would not be permitted to enter the building until you recovered, didn't I?"
"Isonade! Isonade will grant my wish! He must! He has to, or Yuya will die! My son! He will die!"
She was ranting now, her eyes filled with a madness that sent a chill down Shinichi's spine. Looking away from the woman, he glanced at Issei, who could only wince. A boy named Yuya had been mentioned the day before by Naomi-san. Wasn't he the one who had set up the CCTV cameras—her son?
"Come on, let's get you back," the security guard, with the assistance of another guard, escorted the woman out of the shrine grounds. Issei-san was tending to the shrine maiden while she clutched tightly to the lapel of his white ceremonial garb.
"I'm guessing there is more to her story…she's not just a regular shop owner, isn't she?" Shinichi asked the man, who regarded him and then the InspectorInspector. He was disturbed. Shinichi could see it in his gaze.
"Naomi-san wasn't always like that. She was a sunny, bright woman who loved everything about this community. She was widowed at the age of twenty-five and had a son. Yuya Ikeda. He would be my age."
"Would be?"
"He died three years ago in an accident at sea. Since then, Naomi-san has been in a state of despair. She had come here many times, begging and praying for Isonade to bring her son back. However, as you can tell-"
"Isonade does not grant such wishes," Shinichi murmured.
"Yes, she's been doing better. Seeing a doctor and taking her meds. However, it would seem—"
"She has been missing her dosage," Shinichi continued, and Issei nodded. He reassured the shrine maiden, who had managed to compose herself.
"It's a sad story," the man glanced at the Isonade counterpart in the hokora. "But, no matter what..."
With a sad smile, he muses, "Nothing will bring back the dead."
"It's a complicated case, isn't it," Takagi sighs at the mountain of information just gathered.
"Ancient wishes, cults, murders, and troubled individuals," Takagi continued, "Do you think Mouri-san will be able to solve this?"
Probably not.
"In any case," Takagi stares at Yuka Akio's photograph again.
"A depressed woman with self-inflicted scars. I cannot understand why anyone would do that to themselves."
This statement did not sit well with Shinichi. It baffled him, and he furrowed his brow at the Inspector's response. Yuka had been struggling. She had been hiding so long that she could not ask for help. Perhaps, in a desperate plea, yes—
He glanced at his wrist and then at the picture of the woman.
"A release," Shinichi stated, and the man gave him a curious glance. "Akio-san was just trying to soothe her pain. Look, she was not a woman who would cry. She was always giving, never asking for anything. Under her mask, she remained cheerful. Perhaps Akio-san could not share or ask. Her emotions were stifled. She had to let it out somehow."
"By cutting?"
"No, by confirming that she was alive."
Yuka Akio had not intended to harm herself by doing that. She was merely trying to survive. Hiding underneath the mask, numbing herself to the emotions she could never express. Not knowing if she should. If she would ever be accepted by the people around her. It must have been—lonely.
"She probably couldn't ask for help," he grasped Yuka's picture tightly.
"Sometimes, Conan-kun," Takagi studies him with a contemplative look, "I wonder. If you're really a kid."
Shinichi shrugged, placing his hands behind his head and giving the man a crooked half-smile, "Maybe, maybe not."
Frowning at his response, the man closed the notebook in his hand. "I'll see too, Naomi-san," Takagi replied, and Shinichi nodded. Clearly, the Inspector understood the significance of the case.
"If anything," Shinichi confirms, "We got ourselves, a serial murderer."
The Japanese-styled room was empty except for the stack of crime files and a computer that did not seem to function properly. He expected to see her here, hunched over the files, protesting with an eye roll or two. But she wasn't, and he was about to dial her number when his phone rang. Almost dropping it, he quickly picked it up when he saw the caller-id.
"Jodie-sensei," Shinichi greeted.
"Cool kid," her voice devoid of any hint of her usual chirpiness. It worried him, and he glanced around to ensure there wasn't a shrunken scientist there.
"What happened?" was his question, and the woman was silent for a moment.
"The operation, it didn't go smoothly."
Shinichi lowered his head, feeling blood rush to his ears. His lips parted slightly in disbelief as he gripped the phone tightly.
"But you said the FBI had it under control," he accuses, unable to contain the blame in his tone, and the woman takes a deep breath in. "We did, cool kid, but Gin appeared."
"Gin!" his voice echoed, and he had to silence himself. Hoping to god that no one else heard him.
"What do you mean?"
"Halfway through the operation, he appeared to drop something at the apartment. Our operative almost got caught when he noticed something amiss."
Shinichi clenches his fist. "Why! Why does that man—"
"Relax, cool kid," Jodie calms him. A part of him wanted to rip something apart, but he restrained himself.
"What happened?" he repeated.
"We managed to lure Gin away, but one of the agents got severely injured. Shuu said the operation should be postponed for the time being."
"How long will it take, Jodie-sensei?" Shinichi snapped, and the woman fell silent.
"We're not going in blind," she was furious with his insistence, and he tightened the grip on his phone.
"I understand your frustration, but patience is key. The girl was right. You are far too impulsive for your own good. Be glad that we haven't lost anyone yet."
His anger was at a boiling point as he exhaled slowly, massaging his temples. "I know," he muttered, and her tone softened. "In any case, we now know how her apartment is guarded. It will be over soon. I know you're worried, but we must proceed with caution."
Slowly, he sank into the tatami. Letting out a deep sigh. "Jodie-sensei, you must know Haibara is—"
"I know, Shuu knows it too, but we can't rush it. Cool kid, she only has you. Do you understand?"
Her words were harsh, and he could only bite his lip, holding it in. "I get it," he whispered, "I get it, but-"
"Be honest with her," was her vague response. Shinichi swallowed the tension that had formed in his throat. As they continued the conversation, he listened intently as they discussed the ongoing operation. It will probably take a few more weeks, but it will be done. Akai Shuuichi will make sure of that. When Shinichi ends the call, a worried professor lingers by the doorway. He was holding a basket of pineapples, a specialty of Matsuda.
"Shinichi, is everything ok?" the old man strolls in tentatively. Shinichi looks to the ceiling, smoothing his messy hair with frustration and anxiety churning in his chest, buzzing like a housefly that will not leave. "No, Hakase. I don't know anymore."
Studying the old man, Shinichi raised an eyebrow at the souvenirs in front of him.
"Where is Haibara anyway?" he asked, and the old man bowed his head in shame.
"I just wanted some souvenirs for the kids."
"You left her alone!" he groaned.
The professor raised his hands in defense.
"Look, I got her this," he held up a traditional red cap. It's a rather ugly item, which causes Shinichi to facepalm. He can only imagine Haibara's reaction.
"You realize she's going to murder us, don't you?" He groaned while the man flinched.
"We will apologize later," the professor regards the empty room. "Where's Ai-kun anyway?"
Taking a glance at the door, Shinichi paused before approaching it.
"Hakase did you," he lifts a stray case file dumped by the doorway. Dread settles at the pit of his stomach, "Drop this by any chance?"
"No," the man replied, and Shinichi tightened his grip on the file.
"We have to find her now!"
"Shinichi?"
There was no time to explain.
She heard everything—the call, Jodie-sensei—Gin.
He was having a conversation on the phone. One she never wanted to hear. Of an ongoing operation—of agents injured, something going wrong—it always did—a curse to some extent, empty apartments filled with nothing but him. There was no escape. Fear surged up her back, scalding her like boiling water—like an iron. An agonizing ache ripped through her, tearing her from within. Tearing through her body like wildfire.
Shiho could not breathe, the air sucked right out like a vacuum, and she was running. Again.
Rain. Was it raining? Cold and wet, the heavy rain soaking through a white coat. Far too big…far too heavy. She was supposed to die…why was she here? It hurt. She remembered pulling off cuffs. Yes, she had been restrained in that basement. They were planning to kill her. He was going to kill her.
She should be prepared for it. But—
On my terms, Gin. Pulling out the pill she had hidden, she swallowed it, waiting for the release. Waiting for the embrace of—
Wait.
She screamed.
It felt as if bones were melting and collapsing in on themselves. She was unable to move, and her hands shrank. Her body was shrinking. It was unbearable, hot, and lava-like...she had no idea what to do. She should have died. It was supposed to kill her. What was she doing here? Again, she ran. Her entire life was spent running. Hard concrete pavement chafed her feet. But where are my shoes? Where am I? Her mind was racing. She was clutching a coat, a lab coat, yes, it was wet, soaked through, by the pounding rain…wait.
Wasn't she in Matsuda…no…this wasn't…where…she was wearing a green sweater, not a lab coat. It was sunny, blue skies, …but no… it was raining. Green sweaters transform into white-soaked lab coats, weighted down by the pelting rain, cats, and dogs. It was relentless. I need to get away from here. Where was here? It's not safe. You need to find him. She was whispering feverishly. You need to go. Run.
She ran, arms wrapped around herself. Gasping, hard, heaving, unable to breathe. Where am I?
She had to find him. Kudou Shinichi. She had to find the boy named Edogawa Conan. Her sister had told her about him. Only he could understand this state. She shrank, escaping the cuffs that held her down. They were going to kill her.
She had entered a dust chute. Dropping from a height, hitting the ground, and gasping from the sharp pain. This… was her chance.
But-
Why…why was she doing this? She should end it.
She only wanted—
Onee-chan.
She was running; it was sunny…no, it had been raining. Yes, it was raining that day. Stumbling across Beika streets, surrounded by faceless passersby who did not give her a second glance. She wandered through a maze of black-and-white umbrellas. Callous, cold— people rushed past while a little girl bumbled around in a daze.
Slowly, weak from the ordeal. I am cold. So cold. The fever raged on, and she could not move. Images flashed by like a video tape continuously looping.
No end to this frenzied movie.
Against the beating waves, cherry blossoms swirled. Her knees buckled under her as she fell—on a beach?
Sand turned to rough, wet concrete, mixing in with memories of the day she escaped. The roar of waves became a beating murmur as passersby talked in a heavy drizzle. Cars sloshed along wet roads. Tall, faceless buildings loomed over menacingly.
There was nowhere she could truly go.
What was this? Where was she? Why couldn't she breathe?
Memories swirled. A nightmare. Confusion intensified. Chest constricting. Shiho felt faint, as if she would die if she didn't run.
And, in the frenetic mess of pictures, memories, pain…him.
Golden eyes burst from within. Hands seizing her as a silver-haired beast smiles, a wicked grin. She collapses, sweat-soaked, on damp ground. Kudou Shinichi's mansion…she made it. She finally made it. Now…Onee-chan. She could finally—
No.
It wasn't safe. Nothing was safe. She just needed to take one more step.
Both of her feet were bruised, bleeding, and blistered. No, she was wearing shoes. She was on sand. But wait—she was lying on wet concrete. She was on the beach. Or maybe she was on the street. She was dizzy...feverish.
Beating relentlessly, rain, soaking through white lab coat. Too big, too heavy on her body. Exhausted…she…I am so tired.
She struggled to breathe, her chest rising and falling with rapid successions. The images conjured were unbearable. On the ground, she finds herself curled in a fetal position, knees pulled to the chest, and face buried in her hands. Her green sweater was soaked with sweat, and she shivered from the icy chill emanating from the passing sea breeze.
What was she doing?
Shiho remembered a phone call. Shinichi was talking about the operation.
She recalls it now. After going to a nearby convenience store to print out vital case information, she made her way back.
She heard his voice before she saw him. The terror gripped her hard, the memories began, and before she knew it, she was running.
Sitting by the steps, dazed, facing the endless ocean, Shiho observes the families before her. Children screamed excitedly as they played. Parents chase after, embracing them in tight hugs. Couples and beachgoers alike, swimming in the shimmering ocean lit by the sun. Reality returned. She wasn't in Beika. She was in Matsuda.
And the feeling of helplessness returned. Overwhelming in nature, she could not stop the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Closing her eyes, she takes in shuddering breaths. Her ears were buzzing loudly, like angry wasps.
Why…why couldn't she control this?
High-raised buildings and rain-stained concrete pavements— hallucinations, brought about a fear she could never escape from.
Trembling, she squeezed her knees into her chest, struggling to compose herself.
"I see," a voice said beside her, and she whipped around, slapping the hand about to touch her. Her vision blurred, and a face appeared. A wrinkled old man with brown chestnut eyes, hardened, stoic, strict.
"Tawara-san," her voice hoarse from the attack. The man sat next to her, a few centimeters away, staring at the ocean. She noticed the can of tea in his hand. He did not speak, and Shiho took another shuddering breath, trying to calm herself.
"You're going to catch a cold," Tawara-san gestures to her soaked sweater. The moment he leaned forward to remove his coat, she winced.
"What—"
He draped it over. The weight of it managed to soothe the almost debilitating ache that ran through her body. Her back still hurts, and memories of pain still sting. Phantom pain from stabs, iron burning, whips— still felt on skin.
"How are you feeling?" the man asked after a while.
And she recalls the case Shinichi had asked her to assist with. She needed to get back to it. When she tried to stand, she stumbled, Tawara-san caught her, and she recoiled, shoving him away. Falling back, he regards her. His gaze was intense, filled with the knowing look of someone who had seen it all.
For a moment, they stood apart, breathing softly, before he placed a can down beside her.
"Drink. You'll feel better," Tawara-san did not touch her, and she appreciated his thoughtfulness. He helped her crack it open, and she hesitated, hovering a hand over the can before taking it. As the warmth spreads down her icy fingers, shame overtakes her.
What was she doing? It was never this bad.
Her legs felt like they had just run a marathon. With a bitter smirk on her lips, she focuses on the frothy waves of an ocean...of beachgoers playing and laughing...
Tawara-san remained by her side. She glances at him, and he notices before pointing to the rolling waves ahead. "In three days, there will be a festival," the old man elaborates.
"Festival?"
"Yes, our annual spring festival. A memorial for the gods, it's sure to be lively. You should stay. I'm sure you and the boy will both enjoy it. There would be fireworks," he offered. Shiho listened as he continued.
He described and recommended the various food stalls in Matsuda. And stories of ancient folklore and random events. His voice—a reassuring lull, and Shiho closed her eyes, resting her chin against her knees. When she opens them again, she finds the man before her.
"I think you ought to get back. The boy and man are looking for you."
"Tawara-san?"
He bends down, picking a stray petal in her hair. "This too will pass," he whispered, "Like the beauty of the cherry blossom behind, it remains but for a fleeting moment in time." Shiho watches as he releases it. The petal floats, gently falling once more to the sandy steps. "The important thing, girl," he smiles weakly, "is to remain. Everything is temporary; people—come and go. There will always be good and bad, but we must...stay—in this moment."
Adjusting the collar of his hakama, a ring peeks through a leather string for a moment. His words carry weight, and she watches him depart. Walking slowly into the distance, waving as he went. Contemplating his words, she gazes at the fragile petals before her. The wind passed through, sweeping them away.
They were of a fleeting existence, just like—Akemi.
"Haibara!"
She was greeted by Shinichi— sweating profusely from the run. Struggling to breathe, he slows down before squatting in front of her. Shinichi bites his lower lip as he grabs her gently, holding her shoulders squarely.
"What...where..." He couldn't gather his breath, and she waited.
"Haibara, where were you?" he eventually asked.
What could she actually say? The anxiety in her chest boiled furiously. Memories of pain remain lodged in her mind.
If he knew about what I did.
About Gin.
Would he—
The thought alone made her wince. Sighing, he reaches forward and tucks a stray hair behind her ear. The action was so sudden that she froze. "Well, in any case, I'm glad I've found you," giving her a toothy grin, "Haibara."
He spoke as if reading her mind, his azure eyes gazing into hers.
This irritating…idiot.
She relaxes, giving him a deadpan stare.
"Of course, Kudou," she quipped, and he groaned.
"Haibara…"
"Where were you," she demanded, recalling that they had left her alone to sort through the information.
She uses it as an excuse, hiding from the piercing eyes of a shrunken detective. He gave her a sheepish grin. "I was investigating," he winced when she glared sternly at him.
"For three hours!"
"Well, I was gathering evidence for the case. I can't say much about Hakase."
"He's dead when I see him," she muttered, and he cringed.
"Let me make it up to you. What do you want? Some food? Something to drink? Anything but Fusae handbags. Those are expensive."
Snorting, Shiho crosses her arms. "A corpse, Kudou, preferable yours," she says, and he pulls back, placing hands on hips.
"I'm sorry, ok."
"Get on your knees. I'll consider it."
"Haibara, stop being so difficult."
She scoffs when he places two hands together. A little amused by his flustered reactions, Shiho ignored him. Relenting only when he promises he'll get her something when they arrive back in Beika.
"So?" having settled next to her, the boy leans slightly against her. Shinichi was warm, and she wasn't inclined to reveal anything.
"What did you discover?"
"A suicide forum, Kudou," Shiho muttered. "I hate to admit it, but you were right," she teases, his gaze narrowing.
"Didn't you say," he snorted, "that hell would freeze over if I'm wrong."
A soft chuckle escapes her lips. Taking a moment to reflect on the information she had gathered, she looked at the blue horizon. "They were all looking to be reborn. They met on some forum. Within it was a wealth of information. Buried in it were a series of internet links."
"And?"
"A website."
Shiho pulls out her phone and clicked on the link that led to a dark page. At the top is a strange circular symbol. Under it is a list of members and their conversations. It was a cult led by a man named Iso-san. An enigmatic figure called to them, promising a life—a rebirth. Stories of Isonade, of miracles happening, and even the CCTV video of the monstrous hand they had seen the day before.
"Where did they get that!" Shinichi's eyes widened. Shiho shrugged.
"I'm not sure, but it would seem that Ikeda Naomi is hiding something."
"Yes, she is," said a voice behind them. They whipped around to find the grim faces of Satou-san and the professor.
"What happened?" Shinichi takes a moment to compose himself.
Satou-san crossed her arms, anxiety and worry evident in her posture. The woman looked like she was going to cry.
"Naomi Ikeda has been arrested," Satou was barely controlling her anger.
"What?! Why?"
"Takagi is in the hospital," Satou clenches her hands into fists, "she stabbed him," she placed a hand on her neck. "Here."
The case deepens.
Episodes used:
Episode 129- Miyano Shiho escaping scene
Thanks again for all the kudos and reviews. :D
Shiho has PTSD, and I did some research about the subject. I have tried to write it in a way in which she dissociates...I hope I've done it justice and didn't butcher it XD The next chapter would be the end of Arc 2, part 1...and then we have the rollercoaster that is Shiho's past(which...might be quite dark). Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter...