Disclaimer: The novel 'Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuutsu'/'The Melancholy of Suzumiya Haruhi' is the creation of Nagaru Tanigawa. No disrespect is intended by the posting of this fanfiction, as I do not own the characters or settings involved. I'm merely dabbling with another set of paints. ;)
Additionally, a character or two is borrowed from Higurashi, which is the creation of Ryukishi07, but don't read too much into that.
Ryouko's eyes opened, and she frowned suddenly. "Oh?" she asked. "How...?"
Haruhi's hands suddenly broke free of whatever force was holding them in place, latching onto Ryouko's extended wrist. "I'm sorry," Haruhi said, her voice genial, strangely apologetic. "I'm used to a much more passive role than this."
Ryouko blinked twice, then struggled to break free of the other girl's grip. If he could have moved, Oishi would have dropped his jaw, despite the bleeding wound in his gut. How was it possible for the girl to ignore the wound in her chest?
A bizarre tessellation of geometric patterns shot across the ground from beneath Haruhi, scribing strange shapes that Oishi couldn't identify as they rapidly encompassed a large portion of the hallway, rising into the air and describing a rectangular prism. His stasis broke as a hand hauled him backward, dropping him roughly in a sitting position.
He grunted in pain as Nagato Yuki turned towards him, briefly spitting out a string of compacted gibberish before the pain of his wound vanished. "Stay still," she said in her quiet monotone.
Too stunned to do anything else, Oishi could only stare as the small girl stalked forward, suddenly thrusting her hands, knife-like, into Asakura Ryouko's back. Asakura didn't seem to feel pain despite the blood that sprayed across the strange walls around them, and her smile lessened only slightly.
"I didn't think you would both become involved," she said, a trace of resignation in her voice. "I had prepared for one of you, but not an alliance. Even so, I did well trying, didn't I?"
"No," Haruhi said, shaking her head slowly, before her image wavered, distorted. The knife in her chest dissolved into flakes of white nothingness, melting like snow, and her wounds vanished. Where Haruhi had been moments before, Kimidori Emiri lay in the same position, still gripping Ryouko's wrist. "You have no understanding of negative emotions."
"I thought it would be a detriment to be subject to such things," Asakura said, her smile carrying into her voice. "But, that's okay! I acted as a catalyst! Even if it's not much, at least I caused some change!"
"We will know why you chose to terminate the observation subject's primary life form of interest," Emiri said clearly, her pale green eyes locked on Ryouko's.
"I really don't understand the organic concept of death," Ryouko said, shaking her head minutely in apology. "I just wanted to see a change; I'd gotten bored observing a static subject."
Nagato spat out another string of gibberish and removed her hands from Ryouko's body, which healed itself as Oishi stared, dumbfounded. "All of your accesses are sealed," Nagato informed the girl quietly. "With the consensus lost, you are confined to your organic being."
Kimidori Emiri produced a smoother string of gibberish, releasing Asakura's hands and adding, "All data manipulation is blocked to you, and your countermeasures and backup protocols have been disabled."
Asakura stood up straight, frowning as her hands felt her body, patting her stomach, then reaching behind herself to touch her back curiously. Emiri climbed to her feet. "I don't really understand," Ryouko said again, examining her fingertips closely, turning her hand over. She studied her fingernails with consternation. "Is this the concept of irony? I don't see how it applies to us, anyway."
"I will show you," Nagato Yuki whispered, producing a knife identical to the one Asakura had previously used.
"Nagato-san!" Oishi protested, trying to climb to his feet, but too slow -- the schoolgirl plunged the knife into Asakura's abdomen -- the same place that Asakura had stabbed him ... and Kyon.
Asakura allowed a shocked, amazed sound to escape her throat, eyes widening as she stared at the knife. "It's incredible!" she choked out. "I never knew.... Aaah! Is this fear? Amazing! And organic life forms ... always experience this?" Somehow, Asakura found it within herself to smile again, even as she sank to her knees. "It hurts!"
"This injury is not even lethal," Emiri noted. "With medical help, your life could be saved."
Asakura turned her gaze upwards. "It's too much! How can they withstand this?" she asked, tears shining in her eyes.
Nagato trembled slightly, a tremor running from her feet upwards, until her hands shook. Her voice was harsh, a sudden departure from her almost constant monotone. "Did you enjoy making ... him ... experience this?" she asked.
More tears flowed. "I never knew," Ryouko murmured again. "Ah! I wanted something interesting to happen!"
On his feet again, Oishi couldn't make himself take a step forward. There was no mysterious force binding him in place, but he couldn't believe what he was seeing ... didn't think they would tolerate his interference.
"I hope this experience is suitably unique," Nagato said softly, tearing the knife free, then slamming it home in Ryouko's stomach two more times in rapid succession.
"Nagato," Emiri said slowly, ignoring Ryouko's form as it collapsed to the ground, the girl curling around her injuries, sobbing and laughing at the same time.
Yuki raised her hands slowly, palms up beneath her face. Oishi stared, seeing crystalline tears splash down the normally impassive girl's face, landing in her cupped hands. The blood on her palms mixed with her tears, creating a bizarre mosaic. "I don't understand this," she said softly. "Am I in error?"
"You chose to be subject to emotions because that is what your faction feels is the right thing," Emiri answered, and for once, Oishi didn't feel that 'too calculated' tone in her sympathetic voice. "And you must, too. But we don't choose why and how we feel, if we choose to feel. We simply feel. That's genuine, not simple emulation. If we cannot accept both good and bad, we don't accept the experience and cannot observe it in its entirety."
"Which of us," Ryouko gurgled out, giggling and crying together, "is hurt more?! Ah! This irony! This agonizing, beautiful-"
She silenced abruptly as Emiri leaned over and pressed a fingertip against her head. Then Emiri straightened and embraced Nagato, and the smaller girl leaned into Emiri the tiniest amount. "He took me to the library," she said, her soft voice quavering in minute awe and uncertainty. "I would like ... to go again."
"What..." Oishi began. "I don't.... I don't understand."
Emiri shook her head softly, raising her gaze to meet the detective's. "We don't have much time," she said apologetically. "And there is much we cannot explain."
The tessellated geometric patterns surrounding them in a strange prison suddenly contracted, drawing into Ryouko's body. Nagato broke free of Emiri's embrace, and reached -- somehow -- into the still girl's body. But this time, there was no spray of blood, and her hands emerged clutching a sparkling, shimmering strand of something that hurt Oishi's eyes to look at directly.
"I'd like a good explanation," Oishi snarled. "That ... thing ... whatever it is, assaulted my assistant! She tried to kill Aida-chan! Hell, if I understand this at all, she did kill Kyon!"
Ryouko's body suddenly rose, visibly unmarred, though her eyes were closed, as though in sleep. Oishi couldn't help but flinch when she dashed past him almost faster than he could blink, stopping at the elevator entrance and turning around. Eyes still closed, Ryouko charged down the hallway towards Oishi at a more sedate, human pace, then crashed through one of the windows lining the hallway, tumbling into the dim, rainy day.
His jaw hung slack until he heard the sickening, moist impact. "What...."
"In the struggle," Nagato Yuki said, seeming to be in control of her emotions once more, "it is obvious that she fell through the window and landed badly."
"Indeed," Emiri agreed. "It is unfortunate. Thankfully, you were able to protect Suzumiya Haruhi."
Oishi's eyes flickered between the two girls. "This isn't over," he warned, shaking his head.
"Be reasonable," Emiri said peaceably. "We are not opposed. Our goals do not run counter to one another."
"Goals," Oishi said, latching onto that word and collecting his sidearm. He checked the spent clip, and was not surprised to see the missing bullets replaced. He doubted they would do anything to the girls anyway. Thumbing the safety on, he thrust it back into its holster. "Fine, what is it you're trying to do here?"
"Asakura Ryouko was a rogue element," Nagato answered. "The damage she has caused must be reversed."
"Y...you mean ... you can bring back the people she killed?"
"That is impossible," Nagato answered.
"For us," Emiri added. "We require Asahina Mikuru. Beyond that, our immediate goal is keeping Suzumiya Haruhi safe from harm. It is of the utmost importance that she be made as physically and emotionally comfortable as possible."
"Or what?" Oishi asked, turning his back on the girls and leaning through the broken glass window that Ryouko had crashed through. If they wanted to kill him, they could, he realized with resignation, one hand going to the now-healed stab wound that Asakura had given him. There wasn't even a remaining cut or stain on his shirt. Her form was limp below, ringed with shards of the shattered window, and the heavy rain washed the blood seeping from her body into grim crimson halo.
"We believe that within the next forty-eight hours, possibly less if Suzumiya Haruhi is made uncomfortable, that this world will be destroyed."
Oishi gazed at the street below, his eyes not really following as a half-dozen patrol cars screeched to a halt in the parking lot around Ryouko's body. "Fuck it," he decided. "Alright. I'll believe you. I think I might believe anything, now. But in order to get this by my superiors, I need Suzumiya Haruhi -- or someone who can pass as her -- to come in with me to give a statement."
He glanced back, unsurprised to see Emiri's features shifting back into Haruhi's as he watched. Nagato Yuki had already vanished, presumably doing ... whatever it was that they needed done to the real Haruhi.
"Additionally, I'm going to need to bring someone else from my office in on this."
"Within reason," 'Haruhi' told him, neither nodding nor shaking her head. "We are not here to perform miracles casually, and our presence must be kept secret. Please remember that we chose to reveal ourselves to you here; had we wished, you would not have discovered us."
Oishi just shook his head and sighed again as Akasaka burst into view, charging down the hallway from the fire escape, stun-gun in hand and a dozen uniformed officers behind him.
Alone in the club room, Haruhi stared across the top of the computer monitor. A board was sitting at the table -- Kyon and Koizumi playing Othello, again, probably. The pieces were set out, as though it had stopped mid-game and the two had just stepped outside for a moment. Steaming teacups in each of their places reinforced the image.
A book sat on Nagato's seat, 'Paradise Lost', a bookmark sticking out from somewhere near the end. She flinched when the door suddenly opened, Nagato Yuki entering, then shutting it behind her. "How are you here?" Haruhi asked as Nagato took a seat, setting the book in her lap without opening it, her eyes fixed on Haruhi.
"Anything can happen in a dream," Nagato answered after a moment.
"Well, I was pretty sure it was a dream," Haruhi admitted, sighing, turning to stare at Kyon's empty seat. "You using so many words gives it away for sure."
"Even so, in human psychology, dreams may have significance," Nagato returned.
"What's this one about? I don't get it ... why do I dream about Kyon being gone? I want to dream about him being back!"
"Yes," the spectacled girl agreed. "He should come back."
"And why do I feel so numb?" she sighed, folding her arms on the desk in front of her, resting her head atop them. "I should be angry ... or sad. All I feel is ... empty. Like someone managed to turn my emotions off." After a moment, she added, "I guess that's not true. I still feel sad. But I thought I should feel more."
"Dreams allow you to reconcile known facts with theorized possibilities," Nagato said after a moment. "If you wished for something to change, could it not appear in the dream?"
Haruhi sat up and stared at the other girl, who merely stared back, reacting only to push up her glasses when they slipped. "Right," she decided, turning to focus her gaze on Kyon's empty seat. "Kyon-thoughts," she mumbled. "Warm, fuzzy, Kyon-thoughts."
There was a ripple in the color and texture of the dream, and from nothing, Kyon was suddenly sitting in the seat at the Othello board, looking at her with shining eyes. "Haru-chan," he said in a deep, romantic voice. "I love you!"
She sighed, shaking her head, and Kyon vanished. "But that's not true," she grumbled. "Kyon wouldn't do that. Stupid idiot only likes Mikuru."
Another image of Kyon formed, this one irate, arms crossed over his chest. "Who are you calling stupid, you insane moron?" he snarled. "You're the one fixated on impossible things! Why wouldn't I prefer a big-chested airhead?"
Haruhi giggled, feeling something crash through those strange emotional barriers, tears filling her eyes. "That's wrong, too," she choked out as the momentary hilarity fled her and Kyon vanished again.
Nagato was at her side, one tiny palm against the small of Haruhi's back. "I am here," she said.
"I guess that's what this dream is about? I can't have Kyon, but at least I have friends?"
"It is complicated," Nagato said after a thoughtful moment, her unblinking eyes fixed on Haruhi. "I am sympathetic to you."
"What, even though you never say anything, you feel the same way?" Haruhi sighed, shaking her head. "You liked Kyon, too, I guess?"
Nagato didn't respond for a long moment, then she nodded, very slightly. "Yes."
Haruhi grimaced, shaking her head again. "I don't know if I like this dream."
"I am sorry. What would you like?"
Haruhi blinked, turning a quizzical glance at Yuki. "Are you for real?"
Nagato's stoic silence returned.
"Eh ... my own imagination," Haruhi sighed. "I want Kyon back. But I don't want to see Kyon in a dream, and wake up to realize it's just a dream."
"I see."
"But you can't bring people back from the dead ... can you? You probably know the science stuff better than I do. Or, hell, I know for sure you follow sci-fi better. What does speculative fiction tell us can be done?"
Nagato answered without hesitation, "Scenario one: In contemporary human sciences, reductionism records the human mind as a series of electro-chemical impulses across the brain. These can then be broken into chemical and electrical packages, explained by chemistry, and then physics. However, it is commonly accepted that despite this, there is no sufficient technology on earth capable of rendering a functioning mind from the available data of those parts."
"Uh ... so ... the whole is more than the sum of its parts, right? Aristotle in the Metaphysics?"
Nagato nodded. "That is the general principle of holism. Therefore, a holistic wavefront would be a more accurate representation of human consciousness."
"So, we're all formulae? And if we could get the precise formula for Kyon, we could recreate him?" Haruhi asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Your own consciousness would not be able to contain that data."
"Yeah, you're right," Haruhi mused, frowning. "After all, if I tried, it would merge with the holistic wavefront that represents me, right?"
Nagato nodded again.
"So, first of all, I'd have to get his formula, anyway."
"If such an observation existed, accurate to the moment when his consciousness ceased, it would be recorded as a static value," Nagato added. "The wavefront both changes via observation, and is in a constant state of flux while consciousness is active."
"Something really complex, like a Fourier transform on the standing wavefront?"
Nagato blinked several times. "Much more complex," she finally answered.
"Bleah," Haruhi grumbled, tilting her head to one side. "That's too bad. I might be able to figure out a Fourier transform or two. Ugh, what kind of messed up life do I have to dream about this as a coping mechanism?"
"Your own wavefront would be modified by proximity to those wavefronts around you," Nagato noted. "Various overlaps, collisions, amplifying elements, converging elements-"
"Right, right," Haruhi sighed. "Heisenberg and Schroedinger. The mere act of observation affects changes; until something is observed it's a series of multiple probability waves. Only when observed do they actualize into reality. Okay, so it's way too much math and science for our mortal minds to calculate. You said scenario one, though, so what's scenario two?"
"Scenario two: Time travel," Nagato answered.
"That's refreshing," Haruhi mused after a moment, sitting up straight again. "Better than the wall of metaphysics. Except that it poses a whole new and different series of physics issues, to say nothing of paradoxes. I suppose we could go back in time, to when Kyon was.... A...anyway, we could swap him out for a clone, so that our comprehension of reality was unchanged." In a slightly different tone, she added, "I really liked that game. It was kind of old, but still a ton of fun. I think Kyon would have liked it, too."
Nagato continued staring, unblinking.
"But that probably won't work," Haruhi continued, shaking her head, "unless you buy into the divergent timeline theory, in which case time travel isn't really time travel, it's dimensional travel to alternate, yet similar realities. If reality supports anything other than a stable time-loop, that's what it'd have to be."
"A stable time-loop reality would also necessitate predetermination."
"I could deal with Kyon being predetermined to live."
Nagato nodded faintly. "Scenario three: A being of sufficient power to recreate reality."
"I wish," Haruhi mumbled, tears springing to her eyes. "But there isn't such a thing."
"Power does not infer capability. Assume that I had the ability to record a holistic standing wavefront, and also had obtained a recorded model of the wavefront that represents ... him. Even with that data, I could not perform reassembly and expect satisfactory reintegration with our reality."
"Okay, dream-Yuki," Haruhi said, shaking her head. "You have a magical computer brain that can fit all that stuff and you can do the formulas in your head. Can you travel through time? Can you reshape reality?"
"We are searching for a time traveler," Nagato answered. "When we acquire the ability to alter temporal reality, we will become more aware of its limitations."
"The reality reshaping is still a problem."
"Yes. Therefore, I am closely recording your own holistic standing wavefront."
"What, I can reshape reality?" Haruhi asked, snorting. "If I could, then-- No, wait. You're right. Of course I can; this is a dream. Okay, so I can reshape reality. And you can learn how to do it by watching me?"
Nagato's head shook. "Two issues arise. Firstly, what I ... am is not capable of creating an imago that does not already exist within this reality. Direct control over your power would destroy the very thing ... I hope to find. Secondly, through a functional mechanic of quantum stability, this power is unique. It cannot be copied."
"So I would die if I gave it up?"
"Negative. The power is not inherently a function of your wellbeing or stability, though those things would naturally effect your power."
"Yeah, sure, logic follows. My waveform changes, the way my power works is altered." Haruhi allowed herself a single, somewhat bitter laugh. The science fiction conjecture of her dream did at least allow her to escape the grim reality she actually lived in, without being as insipid as actually dreaming of Kyon. "Okay, so I give you the power, but we still can't time travel to go back and fix things, paradox free."
"Worry only about giving me permission," Nagato replied. "Your power will be returned to you after this is accomplished."
"Super magical computer girl Nagato Yuki, here to save the day with the power of heart," Haruhi mumbled, frowning. "How does this work?"
Nagato hesitated, her mouth open as though to speak before she thought better of it. After a long minute of further, abortive gestures, she eventually said, "It is difficult to explain. I must ask you ... to bet on me."
"What the hell," Haruhi said, smiling sadly. "You got it. If I can't trust you in a dream, I'm more messed up than I thought."
"I require your trust in the waking world," Nagato added. "Even if I cannot explain these things there. I also would request your permission to erase your memories concerning this reality and the events that have happened here, should our attempt to repair it be successful."
Haruhi frowned, turning to stare at Kyon's chair. The cup of tea at his seat still steamed. "I'll believe in you," she said quietly. "I guess I couldn't really remember all of this, or else I'd really freak Kyon out by...." She swallowed, feeling her cheeks warm up. "But, anyway, if you're a magical computer girl time traveler or whatever, and you do it ... you go back in time and fix this ... I want you to promise me that you use those powers to make sure Kyon's happy, no matter what."
"I will," Nagato replied instantly. At Haruhi's questioning glance, Nagato finally broke eye contact, staring towards Kyon's empty seat. "I promise. Your permissions have been acknowledged." Then she hesitated, turning back to look at Haruhi slowly as she added, "Thank you."
"Maybe this dream isn't so bad," Haruhi said, before everything faded away to comforting darkness, as she had the vague impression of Nagato leaning towards her.
After spending a few hours eliminating some of the Shinjin with the Russian, but unable to collapse the closed space, Itsuki was relieved to see another pair of crimson orbs streaking towards the remains of the currently collapsing giant. There wasn't much point to comparing their powers directly -- they were more-or-less the same powers, after all. But the Russian seemed tireless, and Itsuki's strength was waning.
Landing on a skyscraper rooftop, he watched the orbs streak in, light vanishing and revealing the pale man who spoke poor Japanese, and the Caucasian woman who was flawless at it. "Greetings," she said, nodding at Itsuki and the Russian. "May I ask for clarification on what happened this morning?"
"I haven't observed Suzumiya directly since before Kyon was killed," Itsuki answered, shaking his head. "But I believe that she knows he's dead now, where she only suspected, before."
The pale man jabbered for a minute, something Itsuki could only pick occasional words out of -- meaningless pronouns -- before stuttering, stumbling over one specific set of syllables: "To-- Soo... TSU...ru...ya," he finally managed, glancing at the woman next to him for clarification.
She furrowed her brow, turning back to Itsuki to say, "Ah ... he says his handler let him know that the Organization -- or at least, parts of it, have had a recent altercation somewhere here in Nishinomiya, with the Tsuruya family."
"This family, they have the time traveler?" the Russian asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Maybe," Itsuki allowed. "Ah ... my handler also mentioned that she might stay with Tsuruya, but if she had, the Organization would not have had much trouble getting in and capturing her."
"What about when the Organization was fractured?" the woman asked. "It would presumably be much harder to rally forces for such an effort, then, if there were intense infighting and no alliances could be certain."
"Well ... how recent is this information?"
The man answered in English, "Two days ago."
"If ... someone knew what was happening, or maybe someone tried to capture her for use as a trump card to manipulate the others," Itsuki conjectured, "then maybe that's it. Whoever's got the greatest power base has it because they're holding her. That means we have to get a hold of her as quickly as possible."
"Strongly agree," the Russian said. "But it is late, and I am very tired. I will sleep, and then fight some more."
The woman shook her head. "In any case, no matter what we do, we know how upset she is. We know that there's going to be a lot more closed space. It's unfortunate, but ... I don't think we'll be able to stop it. Only delay it."
"We have to buy enough time to get to the time traveler," Itsuki said back, shaking his head. "It's the only answer I can see."
"Yes," the pale man agreed. "Good ... luck."
"Thank you," Itsuki replied, bowing to his colleagues. "I'm going to see if I can get any more information from my handler."
The others bowed back, even the Russian, after a moment.
Flying back to the apartment, he noted with wry amusement that he had carelessly barreled through the balcony door on his way in initially, leaving a twisted, shattered remnant of it behind. He flew through the gap, then landed on the floor and crossed back to real space.
Arakawa's eyes flashed to him, one hand going to the knife concealed in his jacket before he relaxed, nodding. "Welcome home," he said.
"Thanks," Itsuki replied, frowning, looking around. "Is Mori out?"
"Shopping," Arakawa replied, adjusting the dial of his radio. "Another update on Asakura Ryouko."
"Yeah?"
"After killing a detective in the interview room she was in, she decided to try killing Suzumiya-san. The lead detective on the case was bringing Suzumiya-san into protective custody, and ended up struggling with Asakura. Somehow ... in the fight, Ryouko crashed through a window and fell seven stories, dying on the scene."
"So .. she probably wasn't a TFEI?" Itsuki asked, frowning.
"We can't know that for certain."
Both of them spun as the lock turned, and the door swung open. Mori stepped in, carrying a plastic grocery bag, and quickly shut the door behind her.
She was wearing a nondescript outfit, and had her hair up in a bun, along with a pair of thick looking glasses. She smiled, some tension seeming to fade from her when she saw Itsuki, and all three relaxed together. "I'm back," she said, kicking her shoes off and removing the glasses. "I'll make something for us to eat."
"No," Arakawa said, standing and stretching his back, grimacing as it popped. "I'll take a turn. You rest."
"Thank you," Mori allowed as the older man took the grocery bag and stepped into the kitchen. "Koizumi-kun, has Arakawa updated you?"
"Yeah," Itsuki allowed, collapsing into a seat on the couch. "About Ryouko, anyway. What about Suzumiya-san?"
"She's in protective custody," Mori answered with a frown, smoothing her skirt out and sitting next to him. "The police have her."
Itsuki draped a hand across his eyes, contemplating. "Any good news?"
"The detective she killed was Mizuno Aida, an Organization plant that wasn't allied with us. For what that's worth."
"And Suzumiya-san's not surrounded by TFEIs," Itsuki mused, straightening suddenly. "Keeping Suzumiya-san safe is still a priority. Do we know that she'll be safe in police custody?"
"Perhaps, and perhaps not," Mori answered, grimacing. "We don't have the manpower or connections to try and collect her ourselves."
"Protective custody ... do we know where?"
"Well, for now she's at the station house, but at some point later this evening or tonight, she'll probably be transfered. Unless Tamaru gets assigned to watch her, he won't know where."
"Hmm," Itsuki mused, pursing his lips. "I didn't want to risk it, but.... For Suzumiya-san's safety we may not have a choice. What about bringing her here?"
"But, how?" Mori asked, looking at him in consternation. "Exposing her to closed space ... think of what could go wrong!"
"Think of what already has," he sighed, rubbing his face. "Right. Do we know exactly where she is? In, um, an interview room, or a holding cell, something like that?"
Mori stared at him for a long, silent minute, her eyes boring into his. "Okay," she sighed. "I'll find out. Anything on your front?"
"Confirmation that the Organization has Asahina-san," he answered, grimacing. "And that something happened at the Tsuruya estate, but not the specifics of it, whatever it is."
"Well, I'll look into that, then," Mori said.
Arakawa returned to the room, carrying a tray loaded down with sandwiches, which he sat on the small coffee table between the three of them. "Interesting weather for summer," he remarked, looking out the window.
"I think it reflects Suzumiya-san's mood," Itsuki answered glibly. "Though, there's no rain in closed space." He took a sandwich, ate it without tasting it. "Mori-san, Arakawa-san, I'm going to take a nap. Once we know where Suzumiya-san is exactly, I'll go get her."
Mori nodded, her worried gaze following him as he trudged into the bedroom he had woken up in earlier.
After bringing an inappropriately oversized task force to the scene of Ryouko's death and returning the shaken Oishi to the station house, Akasaka had gone to his hotel, showered, changed his clothes, and returned. Even with that much time to try and calm himself, the sudden brutality of Aida's murder left him rattled. He also respected Oishi as a detective, but the man was getting on in years, and in less than perfect physical condition.
The idea of him somehow overpowering Asakura Ryouko was nothing short of laughable. So when he found himself, after Oishi had given his statement on Asakura's fall, and he had given his own statement on Asakura's attack on Aida, sharing the detective's favorite smoking balcony, he actually asked the larger man, "Any cigarettes to spare?"
Oishi began to pull a single cigarette from the pack with shaking fingers, then barked an abrupt laugh, shaking his head. "No, Akasaka-kun, now is not the time to start," he said, bringing it to his own lips instead.
The NPA agent sighed, checking behind himself to see that the door to the building was closed. A convenient overhang kept the now-endless rain off the pair. "So," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You got into a struggle with Asakura? And she fell?"
Oishi grimaced, a shaky hand lighting his cigarette. "Akasaka-san, I don't know if I believe what really happened myself," he muttered. "I'm not really sure what.... Eh. Look, did you get that background check on Kimidori Emiri?"
"Yes. She lives one floor down from Nagato Yuki, and one floor above Asakura Ryouko."
The heavyset detective raised one eyebrow, then shook his head. "Whatever," he sighed. "I shouldn't even be surprised. Family?"
"Records are impeccable," Akasaka mumbled, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "The only real problem is that her family is just as unreachable as Asakura's, Asahina-san's, or Nagato-san's."
"I don't think their families are real. I'm sure if you tracked down the people who were supposed to be their middle school teachers, their neighbors when they were younger.... I think no one would remember them. I'm not sure what they even are.... Well. You've figured that I didn't really overpower Asakura, right?"
"It seemed likely," Akasaka agreed, leaning against the wall, studying the detective's back.
"Witches, vampires ... demons ... I don't know, and I don't think I care anymore. They're not human. That's what didn't really fit for Asakura. When I tried taking Suzumiya-san down the hallway to the elevator, Asakura arrived first."
Akasaka rolled the words around in his mind. Vampires? In daylight? Witch didn't seem to fit either. Demon.... But then, what did he know? She moved faster than a trained martial artist.
She'd gotten that knife to kill Aida somehow. Once she kicked the reinforced steel door of the interview room open, she had completely vanished. The report he wrote up of the incident already looked implausible enough as it was. "Well, she moved between the station house and her apartment faster than emergency vehicles with sirens on," he said aloud. It might not be that farfetched.
"I'm sure we'll find PCP or some other conveniently unlikely but plausible justification in her apartment," Oishi said sourly. "When Asakura came down the hall, she was babbling about how ... how boring it was killing Ky-- That is, Student K. Something about Suzumiya-san not reacting well enough to interest her. The main thing was she didn't know what it was like to be human. Or something like that.... She stressed 'organic' a lot. I don't know...."
"She's in autopsy. We'll have a toxicology report later," Akasaka said quietly. "If there was anything truly ... alien about her, I'm sure they would have called us by now. I don't know about ... witches or vampires. But I also don't think PCP would honestly explain things. And if she was on those kinds of drugs ... how was it that you fought her without her hurting you at all?"
Oishi dropped one hand to his stomach and bowed his head. "She stabbed me," he said quietly. "While talking about how ... unsatisfied ... she was when she killed Student K. His last words."
Akasaka stared at the detective a moment longer, then looked out through the late afternoon rain, the city shining wetly around them. "Oishi-kun...."
"Yeah ... maybe I'm just seeing things," the heavyset man sighed, flicking his cigarette off the balcony and into the rain. "But bear with me a moment longer. This isn't just me being upset about Aida-chan being killed. Suzumiya-san's been interviewed? We have her testimony about Asakura's conversation with her in class this morning?"
"Yes," Akasaka agreed, frowning. "Yamada-san conducted the interview, I believe. I know you're under a lot of stress, but this case seems to be solved. Whatever has happened, it's behind us, right? We know that she's the one responsible for killing Student K, she tried to assault yourself and Suzumiya-san, she assaulted your assistant, and ... well, she's dead now. I think you can let this go. The NPA can manage the investigation of the other loose ends, the things that aren't really part of this case -- Koizumi-san, Kimidori-san and Nagato-san's backgrounds-"
"This case isn't over until we find Asahina Mikuru," Oishi overrode him, shaking his head. "Come with me; we're going to have a little discussion with ... Suzumiya-san in my office."
Pursing his lips together, Akasaka nodded. He didn't like the idea of the detective being crushed under the pressure of the case, but still wanted to believe that Oishi had good reason for acting the way he did. And how much would it really hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt, anyway? As long as he didn't badger Suzumiya, who had suffered enough already....
She woke from the strange dream, feeling a blanket of lethargy pinning her in place on the futon. Her eyes slowly drifted open, and in the evening gloom she saw Nagato kneeling on the side of the bed, looking down at her with an unreadable expression.
Everything came crashing back at once; the comfortable emotional barrier of the dream was gone, and her eyes snapped shut again, tears welling within them. Kyon was gone. And no pseudoscience dream discussion was going to change that, no matter how much she might wish otherwise.
She sniffled, curling onto one side, and burying her face in the thick blanket on the futon. She should be grateful, she should tell Nagato that she was glad to have a friend looking out for her.... But she couldn't muster the emotional strength.
Kyon was gone. "I miss him," she croaked out, when she finally managed to speak.
"Yes," Nagato agreed, one hand gently resting on Haruhi's shoulder. "Sit up."
Still sniffling, Haruhi struggled to rise, assisted by the smaller girl.
Nagato handed her a glass. "Drink."
Nodding wearily, Haruhi raised the glass to her dry lips and forced herself to swallow one mouthful after another until the glass was empty.
Nagato took it away and set it down before her tiny hands somehow pushed Haruhi back into the bed, pulling the covers up over her again. "Rest."
Haruhi wanted nothing more than to curl up and wait for the rest of the world to go away ... but something about the dream stuck with her. "Hey," she mumbled, "why are you taking care of me?"
Nagato stared, her gaze unwavering.
"Doesn't matter," Haruhi sniffled, curling up on her side again. "I'll trust you anyway."
Nagato's tiny hand brushed some stray hairs from her face. "I am glad," the stoic girl whispered.
Comforted by that gesture, at least, Haruhi let herself drift into peaceful oblivion once more.
The last few days had been full of new experiences for Koizumi Itsuki. He was still awkwardly startled whenever he woke up to find Mori sitting over him, one hand touching his face, an unreadable look in her eyes he wasn't ready to think about.... But aside from that new experience, there was open rebellion. Equal partnership in the new, desperate plan with those who had joined him.
And one he was quickly coming to enjoy, using his powers for something other than simply fighting Shinjin. After slipping into closed space and flying through the shattered balcony entrance -- still intact in the real world -- he streaked directly to the police station, wrapped in his crackling crimson orb of power.
Tamaru's information placed Suzumiya in a detective's office, alone for the moment. The detective was busy doing paperwork, or giving a statement, Itsuki wasn't certain. He knew he had a window of opportunity, and he didn't want to waste it.
The power wrapped around him allowed him to smash effortlessly through the concrete and steel reinforced walls, then blasting through a dozen rows of desks in the police station before drifting to a halt before the door to the detective's office. The door wasn't locked, at least in closed space, but the room was empty of other people.
Not that he expected to see anything but other espers, and if they were in this room, well.... He pushed that thought from his mind and glanced around. A single desk, facing the door, a comfortable looking, imposing chair behind it. Smaller, but still comfortable looking chairs facing it, a small table in the middle, covered with scattered paperwork.
"No more time," he told himself. How long could he expect his window to last, anyway? He stepped back into the waking world, watching color and form ripple through the monochrome monotony, and catching part of a conversation.
"...unbelieva-- WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"
He swore under his breath -- there was a large man in a black shirt with a red tie sitting behind the desk, and a thinner man in a blue shirt standing at his side, both staring at Itsuki in amazement. Sitting in one of the chairs by the door was Suzumiya.
He wasted no time, leaping to her side and grabbing her wrist. "Come with me," he cried urgently, hauling her to her feet and back through the closed space barrier. He wished he'd had time to warn her to close her eyes; the crossing was traumatic to the senses of normal humans if they weren't used to it, and trauma was the one thing that Suzumiya needed the least.
"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head. "I don't have much-"
Her hand gripped his tightly, and he felt something constrict about him, freezing him in place. He stared, able to breathe, and blink, and allowed the freedom to move his mouth. He was so stupid, he berated himself. He could sense Haruhi's emotional turmoil, even though it felt sporadic, somehow ... suppressed. But he felt nothing from the girl who somehow held him immobile.
"You're not Suzumiya-san," he finally said aloud.
END -- CHAPTER 4