"Natsu-keeeeey!"

I awoke on the floor.

"We have to goo-o-o-oh!"

There's a fire somewhere. I can feel it.

I clambered to my feet as the flames licked under the carpet, stinking pencil-thin trails of smoke seeping through the fabric. I rose up and immediately had to lower my head, the plumes of oily smoke rolling across the ceiling were too much.

Where the fuck am I?

"Sweetheeeart! Heeeey!"

K-Kazuma?

I squatted down and scanned the scenery around me, a place unfamiliar and eerie. Slim columns of white blistering light in the distance box me in like the sun glowing through gaps in a fence post. Desks and shelves and chairs were tossed and thrown around and on their sides, snaking scraps of twisted metal and sheetrock scattered all around. Behind me, a cavernous hallway leading into the unknown.

One of the desks was massive, a two-piece cherry oak thing several feet wide and it blocked the way. Stumbling, I gripped its side for balance and coughed hard. Papers strewn across the tops, I reached for one and then another to read nothing but code and scripture, indecipherable and vague. I shook my head and lowered myself to avoid being caught in the pungent clouds again.

"Come oooon! We have to get out!"

I drop to the floor but the carpet is growing hot to the touch. My fingers dig the fabric and come out greasy, like they've been dunked in motor oil. I shove my nose under my shirt, take a breath and shout, "Helloooo!?"

The voice calls out, "Where aaare yooo-o-ou!?"

It's him! I hobble-crawl under the smoke plumes and bite my shirt to keep it from slipping, coughing harder as I strain to stay clear of it. The hallway behind me seems safer than here but as I run towards them brilliant blue flames roar high above my head, from the stairs and elevators, so fiercely hot they force me back to the floor like I've been shoved.

"K-KAZUMAAAAH!", my voice shrieks in fear as the heat sears the tingling hair off my arms. I crawl and start to sob, mania overtaking me like a wild animal. My head spins as the hairs of my face singe from the heat. I'm going insane, aren't I? "KAZUMAAA–"

In the distance near the columns of light a figure trips against a bookshelf, tipping it over with a loud crash. My eyes struggle to focus on it, and when the sun strikes against the face I make out his tall figure…the Yamaku blazer…his black hair…

"HEY!"

I rise to my feet and stumble towards him as he saunters up to the windows, silent, stepping upright to grip the columns and sway back and forth on the heels of his shoes away from me. Ignoring me. I grab a chair for balance and stand up tall. As the hot tears streamed down my face I threw my fists to my sides, shut my eyes and screamed.

"DON'T LEAVE ME HEEERE!"

Between the twin towers, his figure slowly turned to face me. He stares at me for a moment only to smile, the rays of sunlight glinting through his neatly combed hair.

And he puts his hand out.

Gingerly I take a few steps forward, staring down at his silk white gloves and back up to him. He looks so stunning, the glow of the sun shining around him like an angel in descent.

"It's alright," Kazuma sighs. "Let's go."

My fingers are just touching his palm before he leaps forward, hot rage flashing in his eyes. He grabs me by the arm and throws me hard against him, smacking into his chest and forcing us out past the columns. For a second my eyes are blinded by a searing hot light, but focus on puffy blue-white clouds dreamily floating all around us for as far as I can see. It's heaven, it must be. We were in purgatory but we made it to the promised land, my love.

But it's a false paradise. In seconds we crash through the clouds and an entire cityscape flashes past my face. Firetrucks, police, ambulances all blaring and swirling on the streets below. Massive skyscrapers twist and loom around us like tributes to forgotten gods. I twist my body around to see not Kazuma but my father, bloodsoaked with sharp fangs swimming through the air to reach me as we plummet. My mouth is open to scream but it's lost to the crashing whistling wind. I desperately try to fight him off as he grips my body, tearing at my clothes, but I'm paralyzed by his power.

His fingers lock around my throat just as we hit the pavement.

…

"Girl, hey, it's okay! Suki! Wake up! Suki!"

I blink the burning tears from my eyes and struggle to come to my senses. From my nightmare a female figure greets me, tugging at my shoulder.

"Just a nightmare, darlin'. S'all it was, okay? You're here now."

Emi Ibarazaki is a Vogue model compared to me, even if we are locked up together. Even though she's been in here longer than I have, her sandy blonde hair somehow keeps a natural glow despite a lack of conditioner and a decent shower. Her skin has a soft and buttery complexion even though we don't get any lotions. As for me, I've been scratching myself in my sleep to the point of faint claw marks and my hairstyle of choice has begun to show its true brunette colors from a lack of upkeep. How does she even manage to stay pretty when we're stuck in the equivalent of a parking space together? Maybe it's genetic. Guess I struck out there.

She's an angel, though. Only two years older than me but somehow pulls off that sexy, mature confident look I could only dream of. Being trapped in here with her makes me realize how much I would've loved an older sister, or hell any kind of sibling. Is that a selfish thing to say? No…can't be. But then again, having a brother or sister would've just meant another soul would've had to endure that hideous creature's abuse. It's torment, it's scorn and daily disgust. I don't think it's selfish; I would've always had their back through it all. And the nights of hunger would've been slightly more endurable if there was someone to share the pain with…hah, yeah right. Protect them? I could barely protect myself. Or Kazuma, for that matter. And I basically destroyed his mental health in the process of unwinding my bullshit on him.

Oh, where your mind wanders when you're merging onto death row.

Emi takes a step back from being crouched down on her knees next to me, and stands up to stretch her long muscular legs out with a slight yawn. What time is it even? There's little moonlight from the outside window and the hallway outside is dimmed. They had moved us somewhere further in-house in this place, out from the temporary cell towards the lobby so it was even more disorienting to get any bearings or direction. I guess…it's around 2 or 3 in the morning. I remember we ate dinner, mild curry with rice, then shared life stories for a bit before dozing off. At least this cell is a smidge more hospitable (wouldn't call it an upgrade); actual thread blankets, a sink/toilet combo with an open shower that drains to the floor. White paint on gray blankets and chrome furnishings.

How dreadfully bleary, but liveable. For the time I have left.

Emi quickly strides to the sink and grabs a scratchy white hand towel off the ring. She gently dabs it under the stream and sits down next to me as the tingles of a headache re-emerge. She takes a moment to wipe the tears from my cheeks and then cleans my whole face, rubbing my eyebrows and gently combing my hair all the way back with her dainty fingers. The towel is kind of rough but the sensation is cooling and pleasant. With her one hand she's cleaning my face and the other is slowly circling the top of my back while she slowly makes soothing sounds, trying to calm me. Emi moves with a kind of elegance, a sophistication, and it didn't surprise me to learn she was actually a college athlete, a runner or some kind. That's what she wants to be in life, anyhow. Finish college quickly and become a youth coach for disabled kids.

She'll actually have a life once she gets out of here, I think to myself. I wonder what kind of jobs you can get in prison. Women's pastor? A fucking line cook? I should've turned that gun on myself afterward.

"Hey," she starts as she returns to the sink to re-rinse the rag. "Can I ask you something?"

I put a hand behind my head and lean against the cinderblock wall. "Sure, I got time." I flex my jaw and press my fingers hard against my temples, trying to crush out the headache.

She rolls her eyes slightly and turns away from me, back to the sink. "Do you, uh…" her hands dip under the stream. "Ever wonder about God?"

Ugh, here we go. How do I tactfully steer away from this topic? The stream turns off and there's only the sound of the water gurgling through the pipes. "I can't say that I do."

"Me either." She turns off the water and starts to ring out the rag. "Yuuch, but my moms' all about that though. After Daddy died she had this kind of…I guess you could call it epiphany. Bought a billion crosses and portraits and hung them up on every blank space in the house. And it was weird, considering she always used to joke about it before…mm."

Not only did we have some overlapping interests (Emi was not a fan of anime but she did enjoy the culinary arts like yours truly), we even had similar backstories. I had a Western father who lost an Asian mother, and she has a Western mother who lost an Asian father. I'm struggling to remember what she said exactly, but it was some kind of car accident in her childhood that took her father away. I'm still not sure what exactly drove my mother out, but it wasn't a tragedy. I wonder what she'd think about me right now.

She continues, "But, I don't know. She changed. One day she took all the crosses down and threw them in the trash. I remember coming outside to go for a jog, and seeing them in a plastic bag by the bins. I brought them inside and asked her, 'Mamma, why would you…'"

Her face strains, "I can stop talkin' if this is buggin' you."

Aw hell, it must be written on my face. "No!", I scramble," …no, it's, uh, something to talk about." She's not bothering me, she really isn't, but religion has never been a topic I'm good at discussing. If my father believed in a God he certainly never tried to instill those values in me. Maybe he thought he was a God of his own accord, with the shit he was involved with. With his veteran status in a submissive foreign land he must've felt like one. What's that old saying, Papa? The wheel always turns.

Emi smiles but seems to trail off for a moment before she recollects her thoughts. "Oh, uh…I asked her, why did you throw out the crosses? You bought them, I thought ya liked them. You know what she told me?"

"What?"

"That…", she smiles and shakes her head slightly. "She never needed them. She had a kind of self-realization that the goodness in people's hearts come from what they keep inside of them, not what they show to the world…", she frowns. "Well, she said it more nicer than that, anyway. But her point was, she thought that by having that stuff on every blank spot on the wall, she was proving that she was doing right by God. But what she was really showing was she wasn't even listening."

I was silent.

"That all that stuff people do, tattoos of the cross and necklaces and portraits, it doesn't matter. Divinity and humility have no features other than the person who carries them." She dabs part of the wet rag on her face and smiles again. "Yeah, that's how she said it."

She sits back on her bed across from me and sighs. "But the reason I brought it up was…well, I guess I was thinking about more than a God. I was wondering what you thought about fate."

I blink. "Fate?"

She shrugs. "Fate, destiny, divine providence. I mean, I can't say we would've ever met each other if we didn't end up in this cell like this. I was just visiting Edogawa with some friends when…ach, well you know."

Right. Five finger discounts. Well, we all sin differently. I commit acts of murder in my spare time personally.

"Mhm. But yet…here we are."

"Here we are." She lies down on her spread and tries to get comfortable. "Maybe there's God in us getting to meet like this. And all the stuff you've told me about yourself, the stuff with your dad and your boyfriend. I..I admire you, honestly."

"Why?"

"All these bad cards life dealt you, and you still manage to land on top of it all."

I think about that statement. I always thought I was a born survivor. Digging through dumpsters for food, odd ways to get money to keep appearances for clothes and things. Managing up until now to keep out of law enforcement's eye and not get carted away to a youth shelter or who knows what. If I could've pooled some more money together and had an accommodation ready, getting thrown out the way I did wouldn't have been as bad considering I would've been eligible for adult shelters. Staying with Kazuma or anybody else was out of the question. Can't afford to rely on anybody else. I just can't.

And that's the bad thing, isn't it? It's not normal to be so untrusting and unreliant on others. Kazuma, Sayori, Monika, Yuri…these are my closest friends. My only real friends. I would never want to burden them, but maybe if I had told someone about all of this before it happened I wouldn't be here right now. I don't think Kazuma would've said no to somehow me staying at his place or…I don't even, wh-what am I even saying? Like it even matters anymore. It doesn't fucking matter. This is my new home. It would be better if Kazuma just forgot about me anyway, for his own sanity and to keep his own image safe. It's tough getting a job when you're married to a murderer.

My head thuds against the wall, and I stare up at the ceiling as the migraine rocks my skull.

"It was either land in Heaven or fall to the pits of Hell."

…

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN,

BY ORDER OF THE NATIONAL POLICE AGENCY AND THE EDOGAWA PUBLIC HEALTH DEPARTMENT, THIS RESIDENCE HAS BEEN CLEARED AND CONDEMNED DUE TO IRREVOCABLE DAMAGES UNDER FEDERAL INVESTIGATION

ALL OCCUPANTS ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO VACATE PENDING DEMOLITION OF SAID PROPERTY

YOUR UNDERSTANDING IS APPRECIATED

Then you should've double-checked the locks, I thought to myself as I entered through the back door.

Out of paranoia of being spotted I waited until it was near midnight before trying to get my car back, still parked across from her house just as I had left it. I hadn't been back to this place since that dreaded night, but to my surprise as I turned the corner to walk up Natsuki's block there was…nothing. Then again, I'm not sure what I was expecting; maybe a police car parked in front for looks? Chain-link fencing to keep out squatters? I was expecting an army but arrived at a ghost town, all the lights of her house turned off and only some heavy caution tape and the bright red condemnation order glued to the front door. The soft orange street lamps glowed against the wide asphalt streets of Gaijin Boulevard, but the neighborhood was entirely silent. I could hear the croaks of frogs in the grass serenading with the distant barking of a dog in someone's yard, but other than that…nothing, a quiet Monday night. The thought of trying to get inside hadn't occurred to me until right as I turned the keys and looked over at the abode, looking glum in the still darkness.

Perhaps they felt the vacate order was enough. Perhaps the police felt nobody would bother snooping around here, anyway. For all I knew Natsuki had no living relatives, nobody to claim title to the house or its belongings. The murder of the century continued to dominate the airwaves, but there was a certain…tension, growing around the buzz. People were talking. Not in so many decades had a crime of this nature occurred in such a violent fashion, and revealed so publically. There were no crime scene photos, but the officers who arrived at the scene first had already given abridged statements to the media. It was them and not the reporters who mentioned that there was a third person involved, but refused to give details as they (meaning me) were not a suspect…but once there's blood in the water, there's nothing that can stop a feeding frenzy. Social media was rife with speculation about who this unknown character was, or their real role in the matter. What, they were asking, were the police trying to hide?

My eyes struggled to adjust as I slowly opened the door, listening for a sound.

I was astonished as I scrolled through the feeds. Who gives a fuck about me, I'm not the one in jail! The court of public opinion was rocking in and out of her favor, but looking through comments and threads there were people who had their doubts. How, I mused, could you be so adamant in the dismissal of someone you've never met to call them a thug, a delinquent, a psychopath? To say that the murder was pre-planned, that she was a prostitute, that it was an effort to get in on some insurance payout or something even more nefarious and stupid and libelous. The police are desperate to hide their mistakes and they're gonna bulldoze this whole place and sweep all its memories under the rug, maybe as soon as tomorrow morning. Not a single care for personal artifact or affection. On the national scene the intelligence and law enforcement agencies were being torn a new one. The details were still fuzzy, but Natsuki's father was involved with some quite illicit and illegal operations, some sort of smuggling trade? FIrearms and drugs? So bad to the degree it taking a homicide to expose was truly embarrassing for those in charge to uncover until now. The political roundtables and echo chambers were rife with debate, calling for audits and resignations.

I turned on my phone's flashlight and quickly crouched down, careful to not let the light leak outside. There's no way I was seen coming in; I was wearing dark clothes and followed the fence line towards the back once I saw the angry red bulletin on the front. The backdoor opened with ease, connecting to a small derelict laundry room before leading to the main entry and staircase I had first seen that night.

The air was thick and stale from the lack of air conditioning. I peered around in the darkness, trying to get my bearings and control my breathing. The fresh biting searing memories began to churn again in my heart.

Where there was once a violent and bloody scene remained the same nightmare frozen in time, just absent of the person responsible for all of it. Broken glass littered the floor like confetti, splinters of wood and plasterboard crunching under my shoes. The furniture and fixtures slumped against the walls from being moved by investigators, but white tarps covered certain places where I imagine there was gore but I didn't dare touch it to look. Speckles of dried black blood stained the walls, and a gaping hole from Natsuki's warning shot remained in the ceiling with wires drooping low. Right where the living room entry began was a massive black-brown spot several feet wide, what was a cascade of sticky hot blood where Natsuki's father died. The kitchen appeared ransacked, but that might've been from before I arrived.

What a mess, was the one thought that kept running through my mind. What a sad mess.

Pulling the curtains closed, I began to slowly dig through the debris of this warzone in search of… recognition? Anything. Photo frames of people I did not know, some taken many years ago. Did Natsuki know any of these people or were they complete strangers?

What would Natsuki value in any of this? This was a domain I never got to enter on the right terms, no nervous shaking of the hands with the patriarch (I assume) of the Tamura clan. No trying to make awkward conversation at the dinner table just like in the movies with a man whose one question for me is what my intentions are with his daughter. No gradual warming up to me as we get to know each other with Nats breaking the tension. No sneaking a goodbye kiss at the door. A fairytale never to be played, a story never to be written. The dream of a perfect and beautiful life together was born and put down inside these walls.

It can't be real, this nightmare. But it is. There's no going back.

I sifted through the rubble and continued to search. A heavy leather binder, the cover cut and scuffed, stuck out to me. I carefully blew the glass particles off and thumbed through it. It was a photo album, with the first couple of pages variously-sized prints of places I did not recognize. These snapshots were a couple of decades old with the first photos watermarked in the late 70s. Lakes, canyons, skyscrapers, homes. These were all American landmarks foreign to me but identified by the handwritten captions on the bottom. I began to read them to myself at random,

Welcome to Mesquite! Great day at the Alamo! Xavier gets wet and wild at WaterWorld!

Everyone in these photos, with their tall outdated hairstyles and grinning care-free faces, were Caucasian. This had to have been her fathers side of things, but what about her mother? I looked at the time on my phone; about twenty minutes since I first got here and that was only the first few pages. Better take it with me and ask questions later. Surely a photo album like this has some value to her.

I quickly put the binder in my backpack and slung it behind me. After a couple of more minutes collecting various trinkets, an ornament here and a drawing there, I decided to go upstairs to her room.

The wood planks croaked as I made my way up the stairs, groaning with each labored step. If anything the air was even hotter up here, but I didn't dare turn on the AC for fear of a neighbor hearing the unit activate outside. Surely everyone in a three block vicinity would've heard of what happened here and would be keeping a curious eye on anyone coming by. That night when we were both led away in handcuffs separated by the officers, I could see cars and trucks almost to the next intersection.

The second floor was spared of the heavier damage, although there was a sizable crushed corner of the wall where I had shoved him down the stairs. The crowbar gleamed when the light caught it, reflecting against the pictures hanging along the walls. Watercolors of forests and countryside mingled with more dated photos, some black-and-white.

Natsuki's bedroom door was wide open, with the faint glow of the moon shining past her window to the cluttered mess on the floor. It still looked more or less the same, but now with time to observe it a picture came into focus; there must've been an argument here first. She had mentioned he…tried to throw her out? The argument starts here, they fight, then ran downstairs to get away from him…that's when she called me, then the call clicked.

I shake my head. I should've been here quicker.

What was her mattress, a yellowing somewhat smelly thing, is flipped up and leaning against the back wall showing the metal frame underneath covered partially by the sheets. I grip the side of her dresser and start to look through (sorry Nats) her stuff in the drawers…hm. Clothes, of course, but mostly Yamaku uniforms. A few anime T-shirts, some blouses and skirts. Socks. Panties. I dig through the other drawers but they're just empty.

No belongings? Surely she has some things…oh, baby. I'm so sorry.

As I turn the flashlight around, some of the debris I'm trying not to step in catches my eye. They're books, quite colorful but the pages are frayed and shredded. I crouch down on my knees and lift one up by the corner, but it's upside down. I slowly flip it over and read the–

Parfait Girls, Volume 7.

Oh no.

I drop the book and grab another and another one, confirming what I already knew was true. The book has been ripped right down the spine in half but their fronts were still readable. The Parfait Girls, the entire collection I got her for Christmas. Brand new, mint condition, the perfect gift for the perfect girl…

…and he destroyed them. He ruined them all. Out of spite.

My back drops against the wall and I slowly slide to the ground, in the midst of this ocean of despair. There's a feeling like I want to cry but nothing happens, just the heaving crashing feelings of desolation I've been dealing with ever since this all began. My stomach churns and crumbles as I clutch my arms together and lower my head, squeezing my eyes shut to close out the demons dancing in my head. This should never have happened. How could this happen. Over and over again the dread and agony crash through my mind like tidal waves, sucking me into the abyss. I shudder as I let out a long sigh, trying not to throw up.

Just one thought rises above it all.

I miss you.