…and when I make it through the door, I see her crumble to the ground beside the body of a very old and definitely dead man.

Keisha reaches down and gathers the frail body to her chest.

She cries.

Annie goes to her and hugs her. Offering comfort to her sister like she’d received.

I, meanwhile, find myself once again standing awkwardly to the side as one of the sisters cry.

—❈—

Keisha's tears peter out after a few minutes, and she sets her sensei's body down, staring at it like she has no idea what to do with herself now.

I know the feeling.

“I’m so sorry, Keisha,” Annie says.

The blonde looks like she has no idea how to help her sister, so she settles for a consoling hand on her shoulder.

“I can't even blame them,” Keisha says.

She looks despondent, and sounds about the same.

Annie, not understanding what her sister's talking about, simply gives a puzzled frown.

“What do you mean?”

Keisha sighs. “Big Ray's guys; I can't even blame them for this,” she says. “Hiroshi-sensei was… he wasn't in good shape. Some days, the pain got so bad that he needed me to help him out of bed.”

“That's why you moved in with him,” Annie says. It isn't a question, or even a realization; just simple agreement.

Keisha nods. “Yeah. He was on borrowed time. And I hate it, Annie. I want someone I can blame. I want something besides old age and heart disease. I want…” Keisha chokes on her next words, fresh tears tracking down her face.

Annie hugs her again.

I walk up to them and sit on the floor across the women on the opposite side of Hiroshi.

I stare at the man.

Hiroshi Kakuei might have been a handsome man once, maybe even past his youth, but now, he does not look good; skin with the texture of crumpled paper, body so frail it looks like a strong wind might snap him, a clean-shaven head that's obviously a stylistic choice born of necessity, and an expression of pain etched onto his face from his final moments.

Some dried blood stains the corner of his mouth, and I don't know if that's from the bad hit Keisha talked of him having taken from Big Ray's guys, or, if he'd coughed it up in his final moments.

Actually, thinking about it now, there's a lot of things I don't know about this whole situation, like what Hiroshi's heart disease is, or, why Big Ray's punks had decided to come cause trouble for a sick, old man this early in the morning.

That's not very important right now though.

“Losing a loved one to disease is always a special kind of mindfuck,” I say. “Cause on the one hand, you get to watch someone you care about waste away, but on the other hand, it's… easier. Cause you know it's coming. You get the time to brace yourself for it.” I pause, old memories resurfacing.

Old emotions.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Not that that really helps, of course,” I continue, “because in the end you feel like—”

“You just stood there and watched them die,” Keisha finishes for me.

I look at her, her bright brown eyes, reddened by crying, staring into mine.

“Yeah,” I say. “Pretty much.”

Keisha swallows, hesitating for a second. “Who did you lose?” she asks.

“My Mom,” I reply. “Brain tumour. Or glioblastoma, if you're feeling fancy. I was sixteen.

“She didn't even fight it. Told me she didn't want to waste her savings dragging out her suffering when she could leave it to me instead.

“I swear the money felt a little dirty.”

“I’m sorry,” Keisha says.

“Nah,” I wave off her apology. “I don't mind talking about it. It's an old pain.”

Unlike yours, goes unspoken.

It doesn't need to be.

Unfortunately, while we don't need to speak about Keisha's pain (at least until she's ready), we do need to do something about Hiroshi.

“We should call the police,” I say. Even in Gotham that has to be the only proper option here. Besides “We can't leave his body on the ground like this.”

Keisha sucks in a deep, arming breath. “No,” she says. “We can't.”

The cops show up in fifteen minutes; not exactly rapid response, but honestly, not as bad as I expected.

They ask questions of all three of us, but I can tell it's perfunctory at best.

The fact is, Hiroshi was ninety-two years old and had a heart condition, the man would have needed to be shot in the face for his death to be treated as anything but natural causes.

An ambulance takes the body away, and a swarm of neighbours swoop in, asking questions and offering condolences.

Keisha's words are always the same; she went out and came back to find Hiroshi on the floor. No mention of Big Ray or his [Goon]s.

I don't know why. I don't ask.

Soon, the neighbours are either bored or have offered all the condolences they have to give, and they leave.

Keisha looks uncomfortable, being in Hiroshi's house without the old man in it, and Annie offers to take her to her place.

Keisha agrees, citing that the rent here would be due in a couple days anyway.

She packs a bag, and together we head back to Annie's place…

Annie's building is on fire.

Well, no, actually, saying it's on fire implies that the building is still burning. It isn't. It's just been put out by firefighters right before we get there.

The building is toast though. Top to bottom.

Annie stands, staring at the building like she just can't even.

“You think any of your stuff survived?” I ask, trying to gauge how much damage Annie's apartment's floor might have suffered.

Wait, I try to think back to the flights of stairs we climbed last night, which floor was hers again?

I don't really remember. I do know it was pretty high up though.

The fire looks like it started at the bottom floors, so the highest ones aren't as wrecked.

So as long as Annie's apartment isn't on any of the floors from—I make a quick count—seven down, there might still be something.

“Annie, your apartment was on the seventh floor, right?” Keisha asks.

Oh, for God's sake!

“Yeah.” Annie sighs. “Seventh floor.” She sighs again. “This fucking day,” she mutters. “What's next?”

I feel bad for her, so, hoping that it might give me some good news on the state of her apartment, I [Observe] the building.

The information comes to me, I process it, then I sigh.

“For fuck's sake,” I say with feeling.

“What?” Annie asks, Keisha looking at me too.

“The landlord burnt down the building for the insurance,” I say, keeping my voice low to reduce the risk of being overheard by the many looky-loos hanging about.

Annie's expression darkens. “What?” she growls through gritted teeth.

“Yeah,” I say. “He had some guys named Kero and Gasoline do it. They're… professional arsonists.”

And why, in the name of Superman, is that even a thing?

I mean, seriously, what the fuck is a professional arsonist?

…Okay, it's pretty clear from the name, but even so, why is that a thing!?

While I think myself in circles, Annie looks like she desperately wants to wring her landlord's neck like a dish towel.

“That bastard,” she growls.

Keisha however, has other concerns. “Who the fuck are Kero and Gasoline?” she asks.