It’s nighttime.
Spruces and pines tower above me, reaching up for the starry sky. A full moon shines down on the forest, bathing it in silvery light.
I can feel the forest floor underneath my feet… and my palms. I look down. I see two hazy, shadowy forelegs touching the ground, something between those of a dog and a bear in shape. I raise one paw and extend the toes, and they become fingers, their claws becoming even longer and sharper, like the talons of an eagle. I withdraw them back into toes and set the paw against the ground.
I look over my shoulder to see the hindquarters of some large predator, just as dark as the paws. I extend my tail - an action that somehow comes naturally - and see that it ends in an arrow-shaped tip. I can also see the ends of two horns at the top of my vision.
Shadowy form, yet with an arrow-tipped tail and two horns. It’s like I’m a grim and a hellhound at the same time. Only grims are real while hellhounds are mythical. I’m also stockier than either of those… I suppose I’m an entirely new kind of monster.
Well, in any case, I’m not complaining. I feel strong. I feel one with the night. This is a form I would surely try out after ascension. I guess I’m getting a preview of it in advance.
I take a few steps forward, surprised by how natural it feels to walk on four legs. I let a growl escape my lungs. It rumbles in my throat quite nicely. I bounce off my forelegs and rear like a horse. My paws meet the ground again with a weighty thump despite my form still being in flux, imperfectly defined.
I grin. I trot forwards along the forest path, then break into a gallop, running as fast as I can. My surroundings become a blur, rushing by at an incredible speed. I then jam my paws into the ground and slide to a halt.
I whip my tail and stomp my feet and growl and bark. It feels good. It feels fantastic. Now all that’s missing is --
A scent reaches my nostrils. A scent of game. I breathe it in, and it warms my insides. Saliva pools in my mouth. Whatever it is, I have to catch it. I have to hunt it.
I follow the scent off the path, weaving through tree trunks and bushes. It grows stronger. I slow down as I approach, lowering myself into a stalk. In seconds’ time, I arrive at the edge of an opening. There sits a rabbit on a patch of grass, nibbling on the blades, utterly unaware of me. I circle behind it, then creep closer. Every second out in the open makes my nonexistent heartbeat throb faster. When will it realize I’m here? When will it flee? When will it --
The rabbit stands up and turns its head. Its beady eye stares right at me. Then it leaps into a run in the blink of an eye, and something in me demands that I follow.
I spring after the rabbit, refusing to let it out of my sight. It runs and runs and runs, but I run and run and run, and I’m getting faster. Blood that isn’t there burns my veins as I flex and extend my limbs at a rapid pace, growing closer and closer to my prey until I know I’m close enough and leap and open my jaws and twist my neck and clamp down on the rabbit’s body. Bone breaks between my teeth and the rabbit squeals as we land on the ground. I roll against the forest floor, embracing the pain, keeping the rabbit firmly between my jaws until we come to a halt. I let it go, knowing it can no longer run, and get up to watch it trying to limp away in vain. I walk over and raise a paw, extending the paws into fingers, and grab the rabbit by its neck. It squeals, as if anyone would come to help it, as if I could have any mercy, and I breathe in its pain. It’s too delicious. It’s too much. I have to eat, now.
I part my jaws, shove its head into my mouth, and crunch down on its skull. Its brain squeezes out, touching my tongue amidst the blood, and I taste how fatty it is, how good it is for me. I rip away the rest of the body and swallow its head whole, shattered skull and all. It’s not nearly enough. I tear into the rest of its body, actions blurring together and time disappearing as the instinct to devour takes over me. I only realize where I am again once there’s nothing left.
Blood rushing through my brain, neurotransmitters hopping synapses, I wait for a moment for the euphoria to subside. As it leaves, I have little time to rest as I realize I have to experience it again.
I raise my snout and sniff the air. A different scent, but the scent of prey nonetheless. I follow it and find a deer. Just like before, I stalk close, but this time, it doesn’t notice me until it’s too late. I pounce on it like a tiger, extended talons gripping its sides before I chomp down on its neck. It thrashes around, but my bite is like that of an alligator, unflinching. The deer only manages to tears its wounds more open, delicious blood leaking into my mouth. In a matter of seconds, the deer loses its strength and falls over, and I know I’ve won.
Hunger strips away my inhibitions once again as I devour my prize. I’m not even conscious enough to know how I manage to eat it all, no bones left behind. And yet, I’m still hungry.
The process repeats. I find another rabbit, then a squirrel which I followed into the trees, then a fox, then a raccoon dog. I devour them all with joy. My tail whips, splitting the air, as I tear them apart and shove them into myself one fleshy chunk at a time, gradually taming my hunger. I am the apex predator. I am to whom all this belongs. These animals exist for me. Everything does. I am king of nature, though not yet king of reality. I’ll have to wait for ascension for that. And when that happens, and it will happen, I will feast not on lowly animals, but on human flesh.
As I return to my senses again, I catch another scent. It’s the most alluring one so far. It makes my stomach, almost satiated by now, groan in desire. One more. One more meal.
I follow the scent. The aroma. It leads me to a mossy grove where the blanketed ground feels soft against my paws. The scent grows stronger, irresistible. I can’t help but wonder what could smell so divine, what kind of prey awaits me…
The scent leads me to the root of a large boulder. There’s a hole between the stone and the ground here, and the scent is coming from that hole. It’s too dark to see inside, even for this new form of mine, but I get the feeling that it isn’t deep. Slowly, I reach in my right hand, ready to grab and pull the moment I touch something soft, ready to feel its useless struggles, ready to hear it squeal. Saliva drips from my mouth and my heart pounds in my chest. This will be my last prey for tonight, the best. So what will it be?
My hand meets fur. I grab it, yank it out and look at my final meal.
White cat. Blue eyes, wide. Bristled fur, silent fear on its face. This is…
What’s he doing here? He’s not an outdoor cat. It’s too dangerous to be out. There are predators that could get him.
Predators like… me.
So I should...
I should. I have no reason not to. I should --
Yes. Go right ahead, Red. Eat.
I… I’m gonna. Just in a second, I’m gonna, I’m just… just getting ready.
Haven’t you been ready your whole life?
I, well, I mean...
Are you saying that there’s something stopping you? That’s not how the Bringer, the Bringer, the Bringer, the Bringer. The Bringer cannot --
I gasp. Light. Light blue. Sky. Grass, chairs, people, wind, hands, legs. I’m a human. What?
Oh, I woke up. That was a dream. Okay. So... where am I?
I’m sitting among a crowd, it seems - a crowd of people in black suits seated on an array of lawn chairs. Some guy is standing at a wooden podium before us, speaking. He’s in black as well. Looks old, sad. Everyone looks sad, actually. What is this, a funeral?
...Actually, yeah. I think it is a funeral.
But no one I know has died. I don’t recognize these people…
Oh, don’t tell me… Mom dragged me here, didn’t she? Yeah, some distant relative I’d never even met kicked the bucket and still she made me come. So where is she, then? The seat next to me is empty. Did she ditch me? Ugh, that bitch. Well, guess what? I’m eighteen. I’m a grown man and I get to decide where I go and what I do, and what I’m gonna do now is get the hell outta here.
Stealthily, I get up, lucky to have the second seat in the row. I let the crowd keep their attention on the current speaker while I scan my surroundings for an exit. This is a rather nice-looking graveyard, fancier than the one I live near, with less moss on the tombstones and walkways and robust deciduous trees in place of common evergreens…
Wait. Tombstones? Western tombstones, placed so far apart that there must be entire bodies buried underneath? I guess this must be a Western-style graveyard. I didn’t know I had Western relatives…
Well, anyway… it looks like the metal fencing around the around the area is rather high and equipped with a spiked tips, making it between extremely difficult and impossible to climb over. I don’t want to accidentally neuter myself, so I keep looking for a gate, but just can’t seem to find one…
“And now, a speech from one of her close friends, Ichiro Akai.”
...I’m sorry, what did the old guy just say?
I turn around. Everyone’s eyes are on me. He really did just say my name.
Now… normally, I wouldn’t have any issue with being rude to a bunch of whoevers, but something about these people’s faces is telling me that bailing right in front of them is going to lead to consequences. Of the angry mob kind. And with no easy escape in sight, that would not be pleasant to deal with.
“Mr Akai?” asks the old man.
I guess I should just give the speech. It can’t be that hard if I just stay vague and overwhelmingly positive. That should satisfy the crowd enough.
I nod to the man, and we exchange positions. I can see more people’s faces now. A lot of pale folk. This really is a Western funeral. Or… wait.
That young Hojoan guy in the front row, with the long face and short black hair, isn’t that… oh Gods.
This isn’t a relative’s funeral. This is Joanna’s funeral.
Okay. Shit, uhh. How do you start a speech? I need to make it good, or at least believable. If Joanna really is the deceased and all of her family is here, I can’t have even a single one get the idea that I wasn’t on terms that great with her, as that would make me a suspect in the case of her disappearance. Although it’s not like I can do that now, can I, having told her brother over there that I didn’t know her at all. Fuck! Where did they even get the idea we were close? Did someone spot me stalking? No, enough thinking! I need to start the speech!
“So, uhh...” Not like that, dumbass! You’re not holding a presentation in front of your classmates, you’re calming a herd of angry bulls pawing at the ground!
I sniffle a bit. “I-I’m sorry, I’m just still so devastated...” I hang my head. “But we all are, aren’t we? She was such a sweet woman, kind to all, and so beautiful, too...”
I hear a whisper from the crowd. “Why’s he wearing white?”
What? I’m not… I am?
Yes, this suit is just like those of all the other men, except for the color. Pure white. White coat, white shirt, white tie. Even the shoes are white. Shit. Do you think I could pretend to be colorblind? No, that’s not how that works. Oh Gods. Well, alright, this is a thing. But I can’t let it distract me. I need to make up for this with my speech.
“She was a bright young woman, independent, supportive of her friends and family…” I try to remember some real life example that I’d witnessed while stalking her, but the only thing I can think of at the moment is her lying on the floor eating cheese snacks while watching some weird, weird anime on her TV. Uhh.
“She was a girl who knew how to have a good time.”
Whispers. Agitated ones. A commotion! Wh-what did I do wrong? “Oh Gods, I didn’t mean that she slept around or --”
One word keeps popping up. ‘Pocket’.
I look down, and the left pocket of my pants - it’s stained red. Blood red.
The crowd stares at me with wide eyes, expecting an explanation, but I’m just as lost as them. I haven’t hurt myself. I haven’t put anything in there. I can only reach my fingers in and pull out…
A lock of hair. Covered in sticky, slimy blood, but its original color can still somewhat be seen.
Pink. Michi’s hair.
But why would it bleed? No, why would it be there in any case? Why would I bring evidence of a murder to a funeral? No, why would I be at the funeral of the woman I killed in the first place?
“Get him.”
Who said that? It made everyone stand up. And now they’re approaching. Oh Gods, I gotta get out of here. No, doesn’t running incriminate me further? They still don’t have anything to actually prove I killed Joanna. Do they? They shouldn’t, but they walk like they do and the wild, furious gleam in their eyes sure says they want blood for blood! I need to run! I turn around and --
Smack right into a surface of some kind. Dark, wooden, hollow. That wasn’t there before. It’s a little taller than me -- it’s a coffin, standing upright. I try to move past it, but something’s got me by the arm. Something with a chilling touch. I struggle, but it holds me in place. I look back. It’s a shadow, a hand. The hand of a ghost. Why is it this strong? It’s basically cutting off my circulation!
“Let… let go,” I growl, but it falls on deaf ears. If it has ears.
More touches - warm ones, human ones. They grab me. The mob has caught up. A sea of black suits.
“Th-this isn’t legal!” I shout as a last, desperate attempt to sway their minds. Trouble from the cops - it’s what keeps me from killing blindly. But not for these people, it seems. They’re animals. Animals trampling me.
They tighten their hold and pull me back. For what? A pummeling? A public execution?
The coffin before me creaks, its cover slowly opening. The crowd watches, still. What’s in there? It can’t be Joanna’s body. There’s nothing left of that. And if there was, they certainly wouldn’t show it.
Crimson velvet lines the coffin’s interior. How royal. But that’s not what we’re looking for. Something glimmers on the inside of the cover. Metal. Sharp. And then the cover opens fully and I see it clear as day.
Needles. Thousands of thin, long needles sticking out.
No. No, they can’t. I scream that at them, but the crowd pushes me forward, right towards the velvet lining. I wriggle, flail, resist as strongly as this body can allow, but they’ve got hold of so many places that any movement left possible is absolutely pathetic.
I’m shoved. Velvet on my face, palms. Yet they’ve let go. Can I still run? I turn around to leap out, but the ghostly hand awaits me, slamming its freezing palm right at my heart and pushing me back. Wrists, ankles - frozen too, held to the back of the coffin. The crowd, all of them smile. In the front, Joanna’s brother. He grabs the edge of the cover. No. No, don’t --
He slams the lid onto me.
Every needle, each and every one, puncture my skin, eyes, teeth, rip through the flesh and crush the bone as instinct tears one final, ear-splitting scream from my bleeding lungs.
Pain. Purest pain I’ve ever felt. Every nerve blaring at the brain of the hell brought upon the body, unobstructed by any other signals as I go blind and deaf.
No pain.
No pain now. Only black, empty, silent, cold, wet. Any darkness from before - nothing compared to this.
Am I… dead? Is this the afterlife?
Will it be like this forever?
Thump, thump, thump, thump --
No, this isn’t nothingness, something’s coming!
Golden light rips a hole in the darkness -- it’s coming for me!
“Red?”
Red…? Human… speech? There’s a human figure in that light…
And where I am, it’s not empty. Something’s beneath me. Soft. It warms my hands. And my heart beats. If I have a heartbeat, I live. I have my body. So where am I?
Oh.
I hide my left arm behind me. Abe can’t see the bandage.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Are you okay?” Abe asks, shaggy hair hanging in front of his eyes. The absence of his glasses, as always, makes his eyes seem weirdly small.
I take a moment to catch my breath. My lungs are intact and well. Thank the Gods.
“It’s okay,” I reply. “Just had a bad dream.”
“...You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright...” The boy in the frame hesitantly backs away and closes the door. “Good night,” he still says from outside before leaving for his own room with quiet steps.
I pull my left arm back from hiding and sigh. As the exhaled air hits my bare chest, I realize how wet I am from my own cold sweat. My heart still beats at record pace. Otherwise, though, I seem to be fine.
Maybe washing my face and a quick walk around will calm me down, convince my brain the danger is gone. I pry myself out of my bed. Ugh, my underwear’s glued to my skin. Maybe I should just sleep in the nude for the rest of the night.
I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the lights. The brightness smacks me in the face, stripping away most of my drowsiness. My steps are sticky on the tiles beneath my feet, but soon I reach the warmer, softer carpet in front of the sink. I turn on the tap and splash some lukewarm water to my face, neck and chest. Feels good. Well, pretty average, but after that dream, I’m just glad not to be in pain anymore. You know, I never did believe those people that say you couldn’t feel pain in your dreams. I guess they just get off easy and can’t comprehend other people going through something worse. Assholes.
I take off my underwear and toss it into the laundry basket. After cleaning away the worst of the sweat, I close the tap and grab a towel, the peach-colored one. I dry myself off - oh, it’s warm, fuzzy, dry… sticky… red?
That’s... blood. That’s blood on the towel. Where did it…
I glance at the mirror above the sink to see my body, but my body, it’s -- red too. Bloody. Full of holes. So many small, deep, black holes. Puncture wounds. No skin is left. Only torn muscle, shattered teeth, deflated eyes, dripping vitreous humour, blood, that’s really bad, that’s really fucking bad, I’m gonna go blind, what will I do without my sight, I’ll be helpless, useless -- but wait a second now, wait a second, how am I seeing all this if my eyes are…
...Oh, oh, I’m still dreaming. That’s obvious. The jagged mess of teeth of the reflection twists into a smile. This isn’t real. I must’ve fallen asleep again after Abe left. Haha. It’s just… it’s just my mind again.
I look down at my chest, the sight matching the man in the mirror. Gods, I’m so fucked up right now. I hope that goes away soon, I don’t want to have to clean this blood.
I reach my mangled hand into my chest cavity underneath my ribs, grabbing the thing that beats and pulling it out with little resistance. I hold out disembodied heart that still pulsates, but now without blood. The torn edges of the thick blood vessels that leave it - aorta, superior vena cava, pulmonary artery, so on - are a sad sight. Vessels as diligent as these deserve clean cuts.
Well, whatever. Since it’s certainly not going to stick to my insides anymore, I leave it in the sink. I head back to my own room and climb back in my bed, hoping to sleep off the dream.
----------------------------------------
I’m sorry, what?
I already knew before that the dream was bizarre, but now it's really dawning on me. Waking up at Joanna’s funeral, my pocket bleeding, being shoved into a coffin like an iron maiden… hmh. And then the dream progressed to a fake wakeup...
Hold on. I don’t have my underwear on. But I took them off inside the dream, not outside it. Did they slide off somehow?
After a brief search of my bed, it seems they didn’t. So maybe some of the dream was real and I was sleepwalking? Eh, must have been something like that. Can’t have all been real, given I’m still alive and not bloody all over.
At least there was that other dream before the funeral, the one where I was a hellhound of some kind. It felt so good to get to kill things again. Makes me hungry for some meat, actually. But then it had to go and transition to the funeral… how did that happen again? I was tracking something new and then I found…
Fuck. No. It was… dammit. So much for fond memories of that dream.
But it's alright - it was precisely a dream and nothing else. In real life, I would've…
In real life I wouldn't end up in such a situation to begin with. HE wouldn’t tell me to kill the cat. That would only arouse suspicion, especially now that I’ve been acting so stiff in its presence. Not killing it in my dream was only wise! It needs to stay alive…
Oh, screw thinking about this. It's pointless. I should get my day started instead. It's a big day, too. First day of exposure therapy. I can get a fresh look at my problems and begin to systematically work them out. Yes, this is the day I really turn my course for the better. It's gonna be tough, but rewarding. When I get home at the end of the day, I'll feel like my lounging around is really earned. That things are how they should be.
That synthetic excitement injected into my veins, I march off to my morning chores. They transpire the same way as usual with perhaps a little more care put into washing my hair - but as I approach my cupboard, I realize I must diverge from the known path.
‘Clothes make the man’ is what many people say, and to an extent even the Helixians agreed. It’s clear from the visions HE gave me that Kohath dressed like the king he was, which was admittedly more modest back in the Bronze Age, but still involved more impressive clothing than the everyman.
I recall being described as ‘looking like a rapist’ back in my high school days in some overheard girl talk, so it would probably be smart to dress a little nicer if I am to go out and socialize without getting the cops called on me. But that brings up a problem…
I dig through my wardrobe and my suspicion is confirmed. All the fancier clothes I can find are too small for me. Makes sense as my mother stopped forcing me to shop for clothes with her years ago, and the ones I’ve bought since have all prioritized comfort. So will I actually have to go shopping for clothes today? Or, no, I can just use Isaac’s clothes. I’m sure he won’t mind.
I make my way downstairs, head for the main bedroom and look for men’s clothes. There’s actually quite a few of them. Why does my stepdad need this many clothes? Or…
No. I know. Some of these must have belonged to my father.
So he’s probably dead then, right? If he wasn’t, he would have taken these with him when he left. Or the breakup was too stormy for him to go back for them. But when why would my mom have kept them? Did she think I’d grow into them? Maybe?
Eh, let’s not kid ourselves. He’s probably dead, a box of ashes and bones in the ground. Which is a shame - I would’ve liked to know which of my traits I inherited from him. There’s a possibility he was a predator, too, a very clever one at that to be able to manipulate my mother into a relationship and having a child with him. I haven’t felt that need to spread my genes myself, but I hear it’s very common, and it only makes sense when thinking from a biological standpoint.
But no matter how great he could have been, he’s the reason I’m here. That alone makes me want to deck the fucker.
I shake those thoughts and try on one button-up shirt. To my surprise, it fits like a glove. Maybe this one was my father’s. Or maybe not. Isaac’s not that different from me in physique.
I move to the bathroom and check myself out in the mirror. Damn, looking good -- well, the hair’s still a mess. I rinse my fingers and swipe back my hair. My widow’s peak is exposed. More like widowmaker’s peak… is what I would say, had I ever killed married men.
I grab a hairbrush from the mirror cabinet. It’s covered in loose brown hair - practically every tooth has a strand wrapped around it. Does Abe use this on his hair or a poodle? Ugh. I find a comb instead and run it through my hair until I run out of tangles. Finally, I comb my bangs to the sides and close the cabinet to see my reflection again.
Wow. Now that’s a metamorphosis. The man in the mirror has transformed from an under-bridge rat to a first prize winner of a dog show. No one would guess that this stand-up citizen killed women, took their tongues and stored them in jars in his basement.
Of course, there’s something still missing - the thing that everyone says is the most important. It’s never been that natural to me, but if I am to become a social butterfly, it’s something I have to master.
I give the mirror my most amiable, benevolent, tame smile.
There it is. Peak deception.
----------------------------------------
“Morning, Abe.”
In the split second after he had turned to me, I saw fear in his eyes - the very primal fear we feel after witnessing something we consider impossible. Then, as his brain came up with multiple scenarios that could indeed lead to an event like this, the fear was replaced by curiosity, but it waited just long enough to let him smile and greet me back before he had to spit out the question burning in his throat.
“What are you all dressed up for?”
“Well, nothing in particular,” I hum as I make my way to the kitchen table where he sits. “Just decided to try it out. What do you think?”
“You look great.”
Damn straight I do. “Thanks,” I answer as etiquette demands, then head for the door. “I’m going out. Might still be out by the time you get back from school, so don’t be surprised.”
“Alright,” Abe says, “have fun.”
“Bye,” I shout and exit - but right after I've closed the door, I freeze in realization.
I took my knife with me. I didn't even think twice about it. It felt so natural, so right, but having a weapon like that on my hip… won't it scare people away? Shouldn't I leave it at home?
It sounds like the smart thing to do, but the thought of walking around without anything to defend me sends shivers all around my body. What if I accidentally piss off someone bigger and stronger than me? A group of people? Someone with a weapon of his own? I could end up dead. Or get seriously injured in a way that disqualifies me from the position of Bringer. I can't let that happen! Everyone else will just have to learn to deal with my blade. I'm allowed to carry it, dammit. I'm allowed to protect myself. The knife stays and that's that.
That settled, I step down to the front yard and take in the weather. It's sunny and warm with only a few puffy clouds in the vivid blue sky - but a refreshing wind makes sure no traveller gets too hot. Wonderful weather for a walk. If the water wasn't still cold, it'd be a fantastic day to go out to the beach.
Actually… maybe a few people have decided to go out and test the waters. There might be a considerable crowd over there, which means plenty of opportunities to strike up conversations.
That's where I'll head, then! It's been quite a while since I went to the beach, anyway. Maybe I'll spot some wildlife while I'm there, too. Something I'm actually interested in.
I navigate my way to the southward shore with the help of familiar knowledge and street signs, making sure to maintain perfect posture on every street regardless of the amount of onlookers. The scent of the sea fills the air. Soon enough, the building and trees make way for the big blue and sandy brown.
Nobody’s there. The beach is empty. This, of course, makes sense very quickly as I remember that it’s the morning of a weekday.
Well, whatever. I can still hang out for a while. It’s nice here.
I step off the road and make my way past the grass and onto the wooden walkways, not wanting to drag my pant legs through the sand. Each step makes a nice clack. I look around to focus on the people that are there - yes, there are some people, it’s just that there was basically no one at first glance. Like those two women in blue uniforms over there.
Wait. Blue uniforms. The police. What are they doing here? Maybe they’re looking for me? But I left no evidence…
Yes, that's right! I left no evidence. That means they can’t be here for me. Or if they are, they can't do anything.
This right here... this is actually the perfect opportunity for me. What better way to prove my calm than by confronting my worst threat face to face?
I set my course for the women in blue leaning against the wooden railing. Soon enough, one of them notices me. She pays me no mind, only seeing me as another passerby, until I get close enough and she realizes my intention of talking to them. She says something to her partner, and the other woman turns around. I study both of their features - the first woman being a shorter and stockier Hojoan with short blond hair and the second woman being a taller Westerner with curly auburn hair and gray-green eyes. Now that I’m being social, I’ll have to get good at remembering faces.
“Good day, officers,” I greet, hands out of pockets and relaxed at my sides even if the right one keeps wanting to touch the scabbard.
“Good day to you too,” says the red-haired woman, smiling, adjusting her cap. The Hojoan woman nods with a polite smile.
“Making sure the beach is safe?” I ask them, walking over to the railing and leaning on it.
“No, there’s no one here to cause trouble to begin with,” she chuckles. “We’re just spending our break here.”
I nod. A second of silence passes. Another. I should say something.
“Is it busy over at your station right now?” Better than nothing.
“A bit, yeah.” The woman looks at the sea. “Have you bumped into those people walking around showing a picture of their missing relative?”
Oh? Now this is interesting. “Once, yes.”
“We keep telling them we’re doing everything we can, but I guess it’s hard for them to just stand around and wait. Can’t blame them for trying, even if it’s very unlikely they’ll get any kind of clue so late...”
“I hope they do.” Because I’m a person who loves happy endings. I wish no one would ever have to suffer or die. The thinking process of a sadist absolutely eludes me.
“Either that, or that they accept defeat. It sounds cruel, but keeping alive false hope isn’t good for the mind.”
“I can get that.” I place my hands onto the railing, one clasping the other. “What do you think happened to her?”
“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to go into that much detail.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
I suppose that’s as far as I can follow that path. I better ask about something broader that she can yap her gums off about, then.
“So, there’s something I’ve been wondering...” I begin. “There’s that show on TV, Hanaichi Police. You’ve probably seen it. How much of that would you say accurately depicts what it’s like to be part of a police force?”
She throws her head back with a groan, and that’s how I know I’ve struck gold. “Ugh, that show -- I hope you’re not too much of a fan, because I hate that show. Well, it’s not like I hate hate it - I don’t wake up each morning and shake my fist at the gods for it existing - but...”
Her rant continues from there, and by the amount of tangents, it seems that it won’t be ending anytime soon. I smile and throw generic remarks every now and then to keep her going while my real focus lies elsewhere.
Shining hair. Clear skin. Elegant shape of skull. Her looks and her profession contrast as much as her red locks and the teal sea. How does one keep their appearance that pleasing to the eye while chasing down and wrestling criminals each day? Did I merely catch her at a fortunate moment in time?
Though it’s not as if there aren’t details bridging the gap between white and blue collar. I can tell through her uniform that her arms are firm, and a healing scar runs across the back of her right hand.
I get the feeling that she knows I’m eyeing her up. She likely thinks that I’m checking her out. It would fit a narrative, sure - why else would a random person come up to a police officer on their break to simply chat? Little does she know, what I’m wondering is how it’d feel like to grab her by the jaw, unsheathe my knife, drive it through her suit and skin, cleave open her abdominal cavity and rip out her intestines like the stuffing of a teddy bear.
But I won’t do that. I have the weapon and I have the element of surprise and by the Gods I have the will, but I won’t do it. I know it’d doom my future and probably present as the other officer would shoot me dead. I’ll just keep standing on the edge of this bottomless chasm, smiling at the pit and receiving a smile in return. So go on, honey, keep talking. I can’t get enough of this feeling of control...
“Ronnie?”
Oh fuck, what was that?
I find the source of the voice near the road - some guy, also Western, coming here. Blond, bulky, pretty tall. Another cop, but off duty and out of uniform? Wait. That necklace. Is that...
The woman gasps. “Samson!” She nearly frolics to him, but the man beats her to it. As he approaches, I see the golden pendant hanging from his neck more clearly, and yes, it’s a stylized head of a mountain goat with horns that come together in a loop. The symbol of Arukei.
A fucking Arukeist.
“So it is you!” he says, reaching the walkway and hopping on the planks. Some sand flings onto my shoes, and I quickly kick it off - but it doesn’t seem like the man noticed. Fine, I guess I won’t bring it up, since I’m supposed to be all sociable and shit.
“It’s been so long!” he laughs. “When did we last meet? Hedgehog Grove?”
“Hedgehog Grove, yeah! We were assistants there.”
“Right!”
I ponder whether I should chime in to remind them of my presence, but fortunately that proves needless.
"Oh, sorry," says Samson, directing his gray-blue eyes at me, then the other officer. "Who are your friends?"
“Well, this is Wamiko, my partner,” Ronnie says as she gestures to the Hojoan woman before me, “and this is just a stranger that came up for a chat. I don't know him any more than that."
“Oh, sorry to have interrupted you.” His tone is enragingly earnest. This guy’s a real people pleaser. A sheep among sheep. What every mother would want their son to act like. I hate him, hate him, hate him.
“It’s fine,” I say anyway. He can still redeem himself by fucking off.
But, of course, Ronnie doesn’t allow him that choice. “So, I heard you’ve become a full-fledged priest, is that right?”
He nods excitedly, and I nearly gag. Not just an Arukeist, but an Arukeist priest. Not just a believer of nonsense, but a preacher of it.
“That’s so cool!” Ronnie says. “You know, I’ve been meaning to catch a sermon of yours, but, eh… I never remember it when I’m free. My cousin says they’re great, though!”
Samson chuckles and waves a hand. “Give your cousin my thanks, and don’t sweat it. You’re always welcome, though!”
I suppress a sigh and gaze off at the sea instead. It’s alright. This guy’s got to realize his rudeness soon and piss off. I’ll just wait until then --
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Oh, you motherfucker.
Ronnie digs out her phone and turns off the alarm. “Sorry,” she says, “break’s ending. But it was great to see you! Oh, and, um...” She glances at me. “Nice talking to you, too.”
I nod with a forced smile, and she goes back to Samson. “I’ll make it a point to come to a sermon of yours, and we can talk after, okay?”
“I’ll come too,” says Wamiko. I guess I wasn’t alone in being ignored, at least.
“Sounds good! See you then.”
“Yeah, see ya!”
They wave each other goodbye, and the police duo head back to their car further down the road. Samson steps up to the railing, taking Ronnie’s spot, a wide smile on his face. As he leans on the railing, I get off it.
“Sorry again for cutting you off like that,” he says. “You know how it is with seeing old friends, though.”
No, I don’t. “Sure,” I mutter.
He leans his other arm on the railing as well. "So, not to get all missionary, but are you acquainted with Arukeism?"
No. No, no way. I am not letting this guy preach his fairy tales to me. That's where I draw the line.
I look him right in the eye, unflinching. "I don't want to hear a word about your hokey religion, goat boy."
Stupefied. That’s his face right now. He just could not expect that I’d say such a thing. Oh, poor man. Reality hit him hard.
What will he do now? Will he get mad? He has to get mad. I insulted his entire world view, trivialized it to animal worship. Go on. Get mad. Escalate this. Show me how your rage overtakes your senses. Show me the evil within that you deny --
He sighs. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
Oh my Gods. Oh my Gods. He really just pulled the ‘bigger man’ shit. I hate him. I hate him so much. Kill. Kill him. Knife. The hilt is cool to the touch.
Stop!
I freeze. I pull my hand away from the hilt and tuck it in my pocket instead.
I breathe in and breathe out. Time seems to stand still between us, at least. I can take a few seconds to choose my next move.
It ends up being rather unimpressive.
"Whatever," I mutter and turn away. Walking off, I worry he might still yell something, something that could threaten my self-control again. After hearing nothing for fifteen seconds, though, I conclude that the situation has come to an end. I breathe a little more easily.
I don't quite dare look over my shoulder to see if he's left, so I keep my course until I'm off the beach entirely. Only then can I stop at a roadside bench, sit down and fully process what just happened.
Okay. That could’ve gone better. I mean, I did just fine with the cops, which is the part that I consciously got into, but I still shouldn’t have almost shanked that Samson guy. Maybe bringing along the knife was a mistake after all. I should have realized my volatility… it’s like I’d forgotten all about the supermarket incident yesterday.
Well, what’s done is done. I should just avoid the beach for a while now in case that guy likes to frequent the place. I don’t think I should face him again before I’ve practiced with more people and gotten my hatred under control. Though I don’t even know how I’d want myself to handle things if he bumped into me again. Really only two ways about it - what I ended up doing this time or apologizing. And I do not want to apologize to an Arukeist. If anything, they should apologize to me. For what, I’m not sure, but they should.
Alright. I guess I should just get right back on the horse. Just… stick to less aggravating types of people. Find a tariganist, maybe. We might have something in common.
With a sigh, I force myself to stand up and continue walking.