Dreamer Awakened

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

 

            Ryoko’s phone was ringing.  She pulled it from her pocket and answered it.  It was Daitetsu. 

            “What have you found out?” he wanted to know.

Ryoko looked around the small wooded area behind the local high school that had been cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. 

            “Not a whole lot,” she told him, watching Kome stoop to look at the crushed metal frame of what was left of a bicycle.  “There are some tracks here, and one of the trees has slash marks in it, but that’s about it.”

            “Have you found Sakura yet,” he wanted to know.

            “Not yet, but we’re working on it.”

            As she spoke she saw Shunichi Sugishita’s little red sports car pull up next to the rented car she was driving and she quickly finished her report to Kunikida before ringing off.  Putting her phone back in her coat pocket, she pushed her short black hair away from her eyes and watched Sugishita climb under the tape and approach her and Kome.

            He was dressed in casual slacks and a bright yellow shirt, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.  Ryoko rolled her eyes when she saw the glasses.  It was a cloudy afternoon, so what did he need them for, she wondered aloud.

            “Probably thinks it makes him look cool,” Kome groused.

            “Or maybe it’s to keep that shirt of his from blinding him,” Ryoko replied in a droll way.

            “Good afternoon ladies,” Sugi said with a cheesy grin as he stopped next to them.

            Ryoko ignored the greeting, his grin setting her teeth on edge and cut to the heart of the matter before he could waste any more of her time.  “I thought Sakura was coming with you,” she remarked, “you did find her, didn’t you, Sugi?  Or are you just here on a social call?”

            “Of course I found her,” he said with a casual wave of his hand, “don’t I always come through for you, Ryoko?”

            Kome rolled her eyes and turned away in disgust, leaving Ryoko to deal with Sugi on her own.  “Well, where is she then?”

            Sugishita looked around and then at his watch.  “She should have been here by now.”

            “Idiot,” Ryoko muttered.  But as if on cue, a cab pulled up and Sakura climbed out of the back.

            She was dressed with the usual Sakura flair.  Despite the cold winter air, she was wearing high heels, a mini-skirt, a tight mid-riff shirt and a little leather jacket with a fur collar that was more for fashion than for warmth.

            “Hi, everybody,” she gushed, “you can relax now. The famous and talented Sakura has arrived.”

            “Give me a break,” Kome mumbled hunching her shoulders and shoving her hands in her pockets.

            “Sugi, be a doll and pay the driver for me,” Sakura said, flashing her crimson eyes at an appreciative Sugishita, who had slid his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose to take a better look at her breasts and the shapely curve of her backside.

            Ryoko gave him a sharp shove, saying through clenched teeth, “Quit ogling her assets and go pay the driver.”

            Sugishita stumbled forward under the pressure from Ryoko’s shove and gave her a sheepish grin.  “Okay!  Keep your hair on – I’m going.”

            Ryoko turned her attention to Sakura, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her forward through the grass and across the soft earth.

            “Hey!” Sakura complained as the spikes to her heels sank into the ground, in jeopardy of being broken off, “watch it.  I just bought these shoes, and they were expensive!”

            ‘Well then, you shouldn’t have worn them out here, should you?” Ryoko replied ruthlessly.  “You’re not here to add color, Sakura.  We called you to get your assessment .  So assess!” Ryoko directed waving her hand in front of her.

            Sakura shot Ryoko a fulminating glance which Ryoko ignored and then turned her crimson eyes to the crime scene.  Kome came to stand by Ryoko’s side to watch Sakura, now joined by Sugi, examining the evidence. 

            Sakura walked around, without touching anything.  She stopped by a tree that had three long slashes across it at eye level, the gouges running deep into the wood of the tree and then turned and crossed to where the body had been found, looking down at the ground where the earth had been churned up.  She crouched down examining the soft pile of soil and the tracks next to it, following them as they ranged across the ground beginning at the road and ending next to the pile of earth.

            “So,” Ryoko asked her as she finished looking around.

            “Hmmm,” Sakura mulled, pushing the sandy, wind blown locks of hair out of her eyes, “Old and new souls.  How odd,” she murmured to herself and then louder, “I feel a sense of evil here, but not an overwhelming one.  Whatever it was, it’s moved on and probably won’t come back.”

            Ryoko remained silent waiting for her to continue and when she didn’t, said faintly, “That’s it?  That’s all you can sense?”

            Sakura shrugged her shoulders and Kome added in disgust, “Jeez, Sakura, what do they pay you for!?  What a load of crap!  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that whatever did this isn’t here anymore!  Can’t you come up with something better than that?”

            Ryoko grabbed Kome by the arm, “Calm down,” she said, and then to Sakura, “I want you to go over to the morgue.  Maybe you’ll be able to sense something more if you take a look at the victims.”

            Sakura sighed in boredom, “Okay, whatever you say.  Come on pretty boy,” she said, addressing Sugishita, “you can drive me in that lovely car of yours.”

            Kome and Ryoko got into the rental car, with Kome muttering heavily under her breath all the way to the morgue.  Finally Ryoko said, “Come on, Kome.  You shouldn’t let her get to you like that.”

            To which Kome made no reply, but at least she ceased her complaints.  Kunikida was outside the morgue smoking when they drove up.  He came over and opened Ryoko’s door.

            “I see you found her,” he commented, pointing to Sugi’s parked car, as Ryoko unfolded herself from the driver’s seat.

            “Yep, we found her all right,” Ryoko replied, “but I don’t know how much help she’s going to be.”

            “So she wasn’t able to detect anything at the crime scene?”

            Ryoko shook her head, “Nothing but a vague sense of evil, or so she says.  That’s why I brought her here.  Maybe we can get something more out of her once she sees the bodies.”

            Kunikida nodded, and Ryoko and Kome followed him inside.  Sakura was already in the examination room looking at the bodies when they went in.  Sugishita was with her, but his aversion to gore far outweighed his preoccupation with Sakura’s luscious figure, so he kept his distance, leaning against the wall next to the door while he waited for her to finish her examination.

            “This is not good,” Sakura told them as she looked at the body of the young boy.  “Whatever did this,” she told them pointing to the burn mark on the boy’s forehead, “is feeding on the flow of a human’s life force, drawing it out through the third eye.”

            “But what is it?” Kunikida wanted to know, “what kind of being could do that?”

            Sakura shifted her gaze away from the boy and on to Kunikida, “I don’t know,” she told him, “it doesn’t feel like anything that I’ve ever felt before, but – “ she looked back down at the boy, trying to understand exactly what it was she was feeling.  “Have you talked to Momiji and Kusanagi?”

            “No,” Kunikida replied, “I was hoping to avoid that.”

            “Well, boss man,” Sakura said turning away and walking to the door, “I don’t think you’re going to be able to avoid it much longer, ‘cause whatever did this isn’t going away.  It’s just going to keep getting stronger and stronger.”

            Kunikida gave a defeated sigh, “All right then.  I guess I’ll go talk to Kusanagi.”

            At his words, Sakura eyes lit up with interest, “I’ll come with you.  I’m curious to see what Carrot Boy has to say about this.”

 

Momiji squinted, looking down at the numbers she had compiled in her data on the iwatto that still needed to be added to her computer.  Water temperature, barometric pressure, average water depth, blah, blah, blah, she thought.  She crinkled her nose in frustration, her eyes sliding over to Kusanagi’s portfolio and camera for the hundredth time that afternoon as she sat, leaning over her laptop sitting on the kitchen table.  Kusanagi watched her watch him in secret amusement.

 He was sitting next to her, elbows resting on the table as he rearranged his photographs, adding some new ones that he had taken while away from Tokyo..  Momiji couldn’t seem to contain her curiosity about them, wanting to see them because they were so beautiful and feeling peeved at the same time that Kusanagi apparently hadn’t been too broken up about their separation, getting on with his life without her. 

“Is that Bandai-Asahi Park?  Those are some very lovely photographs,”  Momiji remarked, craning her neck, looking at the photographs, unable to keep the wistfulness and envy out of her voice. 

Unbelievable, she thought.  She was actually jealous of his camera!  But she couldn’t seem to help herself.  It was as if his camera had taken on a living, breathing existence.  It had been with him, wherever he went, his companion and silent witness, bearing the gift of his vision, of what moved him and what he wished to remember.  She wished with all her soul that it had been her that he had wanted to share these things with.  She wanted to be the one to bear witness to his vision, to see the world through his eyes, and have him share with her all the things in life that he found beautiful. 

It was a bleak feeling and she tried to push it away, but some of what she felt must have shown on her face for he said to her, “They’re only pictures Momiji.”

Her green eyes slid from the pictures to his face, and seeing his searching gaze, she buried her head behind her computer screen.  Her face turned red, and she kicked herself for being so transparent with her emotions.  She could still feel him looking at her and she forced herself to keep her eyes pinned to her data sheets, her eyes almost crossing from the effort.  She felt her shoulders sag in relief as she heard a knock at the front door and Kusanagi turned his attention away from her.

“Were you expecting someone?” he asked her, as she got up from her chair.

She shook her head and went to the door, Kusanagi following close behind her.  Her mouth fell open in shock as her eyes swept from Mr. Kunikida to rest upon Sakura Yamazaki standing next to him. 

“Sakura?”  Momiji breathed in amazement, her eyes sweeping up and down Sakura’s figure, taking in the black spandex and leather that Sakura was sporting.

From behind her she heard Kusanagi remark dryly, “Why, hello, Cherry Blossom.  I see you’re still shopping in the kiddie section for your clothes, eh?  I think you might want to try bumping them up a size or two, since you appear to be bursting at the seams.  It would be a relief to everyone, I’m sure, since I, myself live in constant fear of having my eye put out by a flying button whenever I’m around you.”

Sakura tossed her head and chose to ignore his comment, instead focusing her attention on Momij and her current choice of apparel. Momiji was wearing a shapeless sweatshirt and her favorite pair of jeans that, by now, were pretty shapeless as well, her clothes hanging on her like she was a wooden stick.

“Boring!” Sakura exclaimed, pointing to Momiji who self-consciously stepped back, her back bumping into Kusanagi’s hard chest, which rebounded her forward again.  Sakura gave a sultry laugh, and then dismissed her with a wave of her hand.  “You made a much more interesting fashion statement when you were in Tokyo.  Now they might as well hang you out to scare the crows.”

Momiji’s face puckered into a frown and she opened her mouth to defend herself but found herself gently pushed to the side as Kusanagi stepped in front of her.

“What are you doing here, Sakura?”  Kusanagi asked with blunt hostility.

“I might ask you the same thing, Kusanagi,” she replied, her crimson eyes sliding slyly from him to where Momiji peeked out from behind his back.

“That’s enough,” Mr. Kunikida spoke up, cutting off their exchange.  “Momiji, can we come in for a minute?”  He asked in a more pleasant voice, his brown eyes meeting the green ones peering around Kusanagi.

“Of course,” Momiji murmured and Kusanagi reluctantly stepped back to let Sakura and Kunikida enter.

“Why did you bring her here?” He muttered as Kunikida passed him.

Kunikida sent him a speaking glance and surreptitiously pointed towards Momiji trying to assume an innocent expression when Momiji turned and gave him a smile, asking him if he would like some tea.

“Umm, Sakura, why don’t you go and help Momiji get us all some tea?”  Kunikida suggested.

Sakura’s head shot around, her eyes widening first in amazement, then in disgust.  “You’re joking right?” she laughed, and when no one else joined in, said sourly, “I don’t do domestic.  Let little Momiji do it by herself.”

“Sakura,”  Kusanagi said disparagingly, “Momiji has a broken arm.  Why don’t you think of someone else beside yourself for a change and give her a hand.”

“It’s okay,” Momiji mumbled, not wanting anyone’s pity; especially Kusanagi’s, “I think I can manage it by myself.”  She smiled brightly at everyone and left the room.

After she was gone, Kusanagi stared coldly at Sakura.  She tried ignoring him for a few seconds, looking at her perfectly manicured nails and then at her perfectly sculpted legs, perfectly crossed, thinking to distract him with her good looks and charm.  Wondering if it was working, she glanced casually in his direction, her face collapsing into a pout.

“All right fine, “ she huffed ungraciously into Kusanagi’s unrelenting demeanor, “I’ll watch the water boil, but that’s it!”  She stomped toward the kitchen, her rear end jiggling precariously with every step.

“I’m relying on you to keep her busy for a few minutes, Sakura.  I need to talk to Kusanagi alone.”

Sakura didn’t say anything, flicking her sandy hair over her shoulder in a sullen manner as she entered the kitchen.

Kusanagi barely waited for the door to close behind her before he fixed his attention on Kunikida.  “So are you ready to tell me what’s going on?”

Kunikida sighed heavily.  “You’re not one to beat about the bush, are you?”

Kusanagi leaned forward in his chair.  “Not when it comes to protecting to Momiji.”

“Well,” Kunikida began, “I’m not so sure that this is about Momiji.”

“Then why are you here?”

Kunikida got restlesstly to his feet and paced around the small room.  “Because I’m not so sure that this isn’t about Momiji, either.”

Kusanagi got to his feet too and stepped in front of Kunikida, forcing him to a halt.  “If you’re worried about your ‘confidentiality’, don’t,” Kusanagi told him shortly, “I couldn’t care less about all your little governmental secrets.  My main priority has always been and always will be protecting Momiji.   If it doesn’t concern Momiji, then it’s just as well forgotten, as far as I’m concerned.”

Kunikida shook his head and looked away from Kusanagi’s bold gaze. “It’s not that, Kusanagi.  Momiji is the most precious thing in the world to me besides my wife and I trust you to take care of her.  If I trust you to take care of her, don’t you think I would know that I could trust you to maintain any secret that I had, no matter how great or small it might be?  No, the real reason I didn’t want to tell you was because I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.  You and she deserve a little peace. “

“Peace?” Kusanagi laughed incredulously, “even if the world stood still, there would never be any peace for me around Momiji.”

Kunikida looked at him in an odd way.  “What does that mean?”

Kusanagi ran an exasperated hand through his hair and shook his head.  “Forget it.  It doesn’t mean anything.  Momiji just has a way of getting under my skin, that’s all.”

Kunikida’s eyes flashed with understanding, but he didn’t say anything.  Instead he returned to the sofa and sat down.  “I need you to come to Wakasa with me.  Today.  There have been some more attacks and I want to see what you think – if you can pick up on anything.”

“What?  Like Aragami?” Kusanagi wanted to know.

“Maybe,” Kunikida admitted, “but maybe not.  That’s why I want you there in Wakasa.  If it is Aragami, then maybe you’ll be able to sense something.  But I don’t want Momiji to know about it just yet.  She hasn’t had a chance to recover yet and I don’t want to alarm her unnecessarily.”

“What about Sakura?” Kusanagi wanted to know.

“She’s already been to the crime scene and seen the victims.  She couldn’t give us anything concrete.  She suggested that I call you in and I agreed.”

“How generous of her,” Kusanagi replied acerbically, cutting off the rest of his comment as he heard Momiji’s voice approaching the kitchen door. 

“No, Sakura!  Let me do it.”  Momiji said, her voice raised in panic.  There was a loud crash of china shattering against the stone floor and then silence.

In a low voice, Kusanagi told Kunikida, “Tell me where it is.  I’ll meet you there.”

A few seconds later, Momiji and Sakura came out of the kitchen, empty handed, Momiji wearing a turbulent expression and Sakura a petulant one.

“Well don’t blame me,” Sakura said matter of factly.

“But I do blame you,” Momiji said through clenched teeth.

“Well you were the one that dropped the tray,” Sakura replied heatedly.

“Only because you managed to sling boiling water all over my hand!”

“What?” Kunikida demanded in alarm, shooting to his feet and grabbing up Momiji’s hand.  Kusanagi too had risen to his feet and they both crowded around Momiji, looking at the angry, red welts forming on the back of Momiji’s hand and wrist.

Momiji managed to pull her hand free from Kunikida’s grasp, pulling her sweatshirt sleeve down to her fingertips to hide the burn.  “It’s okay,” she murmured lightly, “she mostly missed, but only because I dropped the tea tray to avoid the water.”

“Well, what about me,” Sakura wailed, holding up her own blistered fingers for them to view.

“I tried to tell you not to pick up the kettle, that the ceramic handle gets really hot, Sakura, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“Owwhhow,” she wailed, her eyes squeezed shut dramatically, “my pinky hurts.”

Kusanagi just looked at her dispassionately and rolled his eyes.  “Is your IQ smaller than your dress size, or haven’t you figured out what HOT means yet?” he asked caustically, angry at her for hurting Momiji with her carelessness.

Sakura seemed to immediately forget about her injuries and she opened her eyes to shoot Kusanagi a defiant glance.

“I am very well aware of the meaning of the word HOT.  Just ask my last boyfriend, or would you care for me to demonstrate it for you?”

            “No thanks, I think I’ll pass,” Kusanagi jeered.

            Kunikida stepped between them, like a parent separating two brawling children and since there was no tea to serve and Momiji couldn’t make any more because her tea service had been shattered to tiny bits, Kunikida took Sakura by the arm and dragged her towards the door before she could make any more trouble.

            “I really just stopped by to see how you were feeling,” Mr. Kunikida told Momiji as he dragged Sakura over to the car, her heels clomping and scraping against the drive as she tried to keep up with him.  “I’m sorry for all the trouble!”  He shoved Sakura into the car and turned and waved again, before climbing into the car himself and driving away.

            After they had gone, Momiji stood at the open door, her arms crossed against the cold, staring after them.

            “I wonder why he brought her here?” she said, mostly to herself and felt Kusanagi tugging on the back of her shirt, pulling her inside.

            “Who knows,” he lied, shutting the door.  He stepped closer to her, taking her hand and pushing up her sleeve. 

            Momiji felt her breath catch in her throat at his closeness, and kept her eyes centered in the middle of his chest, feeling suddenly too shy to look up into his face for some odd reason.

She felt his long fingers, still in their black driving gloves, lightly trace the redness on the back of her hand and her breathing became even more difficult. 

            “That woman is a menace,” Kusanagi muttered under his breath, but in a very normal voice as he let her hand go.  “Do you have anything you can put on that?” he wanted to know, still standing too close to allow her to think clearly.

            Momiji nodded and edged away from him slightly, hoping that the distance would help her heart, which had become lodged in her throat, to relocate back into her chest and allow her to speak.    “It’s really not that bad,” Momiji said, but Kusanagi disagreed with her, asking her again if she had anything to apply to the burn.

            “There should be some burn ointment in my first aid kit,” she told him.

            Kusanagi asked her where the first aid kit was, and then told her to sit down, which she did, waiting patiently for him to return.  Kusanagi climbed the stairs two at a time and went into the bathroom, looking on the shelf where Momiji said the first aid kit would be.  Everything was neatly arranged so he found it rather quickly.  He opened it up, took the burn ointment out and slipped it into his pocket.  He hated doing this, but he needed an excuse to leave without arousing her suspicion and this was the only way he could think of. 

Lucky for him that Momiji was right.  The burn really wasn’t that bad and didn’t really need any ointment, but it was the only excuse he could think of on such short notice.  He went into Momiji’s spare bedroom, his bedroom for the time being, and pulled his black coat out of the closet.  Folding it over his arm, he returned back downstairs.

            “I couldn’t find any,”  Kusanagi told her briefly as he returned to the living room, slipping his coat on and heading to the front door.  “I’ll go get you some.”

            Momiji stood abruptly and stammered, “oh, but you don’t have to do that, Kusanagi.  I don’t want you to go to all the trouble –“

            “Don’t be silly,” he told her in dampening accents, “it’s no trouble at all.  I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said without looking at her, and opened the door.  Momiji tried to stop him, but he was not to be dissuaded, infuriating her by saying as he left, “be a good girl while I’m gone.  And don’t touch my camera.”

            Momiji ground her teeth in irritation at that.

 “As if I would!”  she muttered, incensed, but Kusanagi didn’t hear her.  He was already gone.

 

Kusanagi arrived behind the local high school long before Kunikida; the advantages of traveling by air.  He wanted to make this quick and if he had ridden his bike, it would have taken too much time.  There was no one around right now and Kusanagi didn’t approach the yellow tape marker.  Instead, he turned in the other direction and began wandering through the trees.  It was Friday afternoon, and the school was unusually quiet. 

It must have been a kid from the school that had been killed, Kusanagi thought.  That would explain the silence; the local officials would have taken every precaution to ensure the safety of all the students until they were certain that the threat of danger had passed. 

A light rain began to fall through the trees, hissing and popping against the brown leaves scattered across the ground and Kusanagi turned up the collar of his long, black coat.  He took one more look around and then turned and headed back in the other direction.  As he neared the yellow tape, Kunikida’s car pulled off the road and onto the grass and Kunikida and Sakura climbed out.

“Sorry,” Kunikida said, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his overcoat as he approached Kusanagi.  “You haven’t been waiting too long, have you?”

Kusanagi shook his head and Kunikida stepped under the marker, followed closely by Kusanagi.  Sakura on the other hand had only made it a few feet from the car.  The rain was making the soft ground even softer and her heels were sinking so deeply into the earth that every time she took a step, it pulled her shoes off.  She lifted her foot, curling her toes to try and keep her shoe on and windmilled her arms to avoid toppling over. 

Sakura cursed heavily under her breath as she watched the retreating backs of the two men, her mood not improved by Kusanagi’s casual words of dismissal.  “Your not exactly dressed for field work, Faith Healer,” he said without even looking at her, “so why don’t you stay by the car.  We really don’t need you over here anyway.” 

Sakura shouted an obscene suggestion at Kusanagi, which he just ignored and bent to look at the crumpled metal frame of the bicycle.   Kusanagi had seen wrecked bikes before but never one quite as odd as this one.  It wasn’t just bent and crushed from impact, it was actually twisted like a corkscrew in the middle, and crushed like an accordian. 

“As you’ve most likely concluded,” Kunikida spoke, standing next to him, “the victim of this particular attack was nothing more than a boy.”

“Do they know when it happened?” Kusanagi asked, standing and moving on, “was it daylight?”

“Closer to dusk,” Kunikida told him.  “Most of the victims have gone missing at night, but not all of them.”

Kusanagi listened to his explanation not making any comments as he crouched down and looked at the long, deep narrow indentions next to the footprints of the boy, both darkened with blood spatters.  With his eyes, he traced the outline of the claws set close together and then another set where the outline of the boy’s body had been made with white tape. 

He stood abruptly and pointed down to the tracks, “Did you see this?”

Kuikiida came over and looked down, wondering what he was looking for.  “What?”

“It changed,” Kusanagi said.  He frowned and narrowed his gaze as he looked around at the rest of the prints.

“What do you mean, it changed,” Kunikida asked.

“I mean, it literally changed its appearance.”

Kunikida glanced up at him, “how can you tell that?  These tracks look the same to me as those over there.”

“Well they’re not,” Kusanagi replied with a frown.  “These are shallower, and the gait is farther apart.  That suggests not only a change in size but also in weight.”

Kunikida looked back down, but still didn’t see any difference.  “Are you sure?” he asked, turning his head to follow Kusanagi’s movement as he moved over to look at the ground near the tree scarred with slash marks.  “They look the same to me.”

“I know what I see, Kunikida,” Kusanagi retorted.  “Look here,” Kusanagi motioned him over to the tree and pointed down.

Kunikida came over and Kusanagi pointed to the boy’s footprints next to the tree.  “He must have been running from it and it struck out at him, hitting the tree instead.  But look at how far back it was standing when it struck.”  Kusanagi moved to stand next to the attacker’s tracks to demonstrate his point.

“You’re right,” Kunikida said, “it would have had to change its appearance drastically to be able to hit the tree from there.  Is it Aragami?”  Kunikida asked heavily, dreading Kusanagi’s answer.

Kusanagi didn’t answer, turning his back to Kunikida and walking back over to the outline of the boy’s body, passing it and stopping next to the soft pile of churned up dirt.  “It travels underground,” he murmured.  Kusanagi crouched down, placing his hand on the ground and closed his eyes.  He opened them again as Kunikida approached him.

“Is is Aragami?” Kunikida asked again.

Kusanagi stood up, frowning.  “I don’t know.  It’s gone now, whatever it is.”

“How can you tell that it won’t be back.”

“I didn’t say it wouldn’t be back, I just said that it was gone.  It travels underground, or at least it can travel underground if it wants to.  If it were underground close by, I would be able to feel it.”

Sakura finally made it over to them, her muddy shoes dangling from her fingers.  “Well, Carrot Boy, what did you find?”

“Not much,” he told her shortly, looking down at her feet,  white from cold and covered in mud.  “Are you nuts?” He asked her, “It’s wintertime, Sakura,” he informed her in case she had forgotten, and she made a surprised whoop! as he picked her up.

“Kusanagi!” she breathed, batting her eyelashes at him, “you really go all out when you want to sweep a girl off her feet, don’t you?”

            “Save it for someone who finds your overblown charms appealing,” he told her in clipped accents and received a smack to his head for his effort.

            He dumped her to the ground next to the car and she would have fallen onto her rear had Kunikida, who had been following close behind them, not stretched out his arm to steady her.

            “Has anyone been attacked by this thing and lived?”  Kusanagi asked slowly, looking back through the falling rain at the yellow tape in the gathering gloom of the evening.  Kunikida shook his head and Kusanagi continued his questions, “How many victims?”

            “Twelve so far, ten in and around Sappora, the other two here, all within the space of about three weeks.”

            Kusanagi thought hard.  “A creature that prefers the dark, traveling through the earth and attacking mostly at night, it’s shape adaptable with incredible strength, “ he said, thinking of the bent bicycle. “It could be Aragami,” he murmured, trying to find a hidden correlation between what he saw here and what Moe had told him about Momiji’s accident and the incident with his mitamas.  “It could be… but it doesn’t feel…right.”  He said the words softly, mostly to himself and then focused his gaze on Kunikida’s tired and stressed figure. 

It was apparent that he had been putting in a lot of over time on this case, and apparently with good reason.  But there was something in Kunikida’s brown eyes, a kind of wariness when he looked around, that couldn’t be explained by what Kusanagi had seen so far.

“What is it you’re not telling me?” Kusanagi wanted to know.  Kunikida didn’t say anything and Sakura snorted, drawing Kusanagi’s attention to her.

“You haven’t told him about the bodies yet, boss man,” she said.

“What about the bodies?” Kusanagi inquired with an eyebrow raised at Kunikida.

“This thing is not just killing its victims in regular animal fashion,” Sakura responded before Kunikida could say anything, “It’s draining the spiritual energy from it’s victims from here,” Sakura pointed to the small dot on Kusanagi’s forehead.  “It leaves a mark on the forehead and the victim’s entire body is affected by it. ”

“What kind of mark?”  Kusanagi questioned.

“Sort of like a shadow or a burn,” she replied vaguely.

“No,” Kunikida interjected heavily, turning away from them, fighting with himself over his decision to tell Kusanagi about the one mark that had been different.  He needed to know, Kunikida thought to himself.  After looking at this recent attack through Kusanagi’s perspective, it became clear that it had been more than an aberration in the shape of the mark. It was a sign of things to come.  “There was one time that the mark was different,” Kunikida turned back and told Kusanagi watching the change in Kusanagi’s face and body as he learned the truth.  “That one time, it had the definite shape of a mitama.”

Kusanagi felt the hot denial rush through him at Kunikida’s words. No, he thought angrily.  No, dammit! 

“What?”  Sakura yelped, “you didn’t tell me about that one,” she shot an accusing glance at Kunikida as Kusanagi struggled to come to grips with the truth.

“I had been hoping that its shape had just been a coincidence,” Kunikida admitted, “but after what you and Kusanagi have told me, I am fast coming to the conclusion that it was no coincidence.”

“So it is Aragami,” Sakura said and they all fell silent as each considered the ramifications of her statement.

“Does that mean that Susano-oh has returned as well?  And what about Kaede?”  Kunikida wondered aloud.

“What about Momiji?” Sakura spoke up.  “Do you think they’ll come after her again?”

“Momiji will be protected no matter what,” Kusanagi replied in an uncompromising way.  He had lost her once already.  He was not about to do so again. “She will not be sacrificed again.  I won’t allow it.”

“Neither will I,” replied Kunikida.  “I think it’s time to reassemble the original members of the TAC. Maybe with a little luck we’ll be able to stop this thing before it gets any stronger.”