Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Lies, Crimes, and Punishments ❯ Aftermath ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

He's dead? Yes, my friends, he's dead. As a doornail. Hiromiya and original characters are copyright me. If you try to steal them, I'll hunt you down like a dog. :)
Notes on last chapter - 110 is the emergency number in Japan for police. If you need an ambulance, dial 119. Just a good travel tip. What can I say, I'm a giver. ^_^

All he could do was shake his head. A policeman with a thick pad of yellow paper was jotting things as he asked Izzy for information.
"Did you see who did this?" No. "How long was the bishop by himself?" I don't know. "Do you have any idea who would've wanted to kill him?" No. No, I don't.

Finally frustrated, the man flipped the notebook closed and walked away to talk with the other detectives. Though hardly innocent, Izzy's eyebrows drew together and the crusty remnants of tears gathered on his lashes. If only... if only I hadn't been with Ken. I would've stopped this defamation - horror. He'd still be alive - I wouldn't be guilty. Guilty with Ken, guilty by letting him die.

He stood up, walking over to the basin of holy water, now tainted a light pink with the priest's blood. Two workers from the coroner's had taken out the dead body, wrapped it in a thick black rubber bag. But his face played back in Izzy's mind, reflected in the mirror of the water. His face. So full of terror. His body... No- He closed his ears to the buzz of crime cameras and chatter. Closed his eyes to the room. He could picture the murderer, pushing Hiromiya's head down, holding it beneath the water as he kicked and struggled. Making him suck in the liquid death when he couldn't hold out any longer...
He gritted his teeth. Jumped out of his chair, and ran out of the room.

He didn't stop until he reached his bedroom. Right after mass - it could've been ANYONE in there. Anyone... but it was HIS fault. Fooling with earthly, sinful pleasures, while another man - a better man - was defiled and slaughtered.

Why?

Ken shuffled through the snow banks to the front of the house. The white stuff fell through his boot collars, freezing his toes. A pink note of structural condemnation was stapled to the door of the ruined building. He tore it off - stupid society. Who did they think he was anyway? Some moronic derelict without enough sense in his head to know the building risked collapsing on itself? Like he had to be warned? Like he couldn't make decisions for himself?!

He crumpled it up, tossing it into the gutter, flow frozen into a small river of crystal. He didn't need one motherfucking bastard telling him what to do. He closed the door as much as it would behind him. So why was he in such a bad mood? Everything had gone well. Koushiro had... He had... And everything was perfect. Feeling a little better now that the wind was locked outside, he shuffled through the garbage on the floor, the garbage on the stairs, up into his room. This house was a fairly popular crackhouse, but he'd staked out this room as his own. NOBODY was getting it away from him.

Falling back on well-groomed manners, he unlaced his boots by the doorway, careful not to track any moisture and dirt in with him. The floor was clean here, greying boards exposed and swept clean. His mattress lay in the corner, and he flopped down on it, letting gravity have its way with him. No, he WAS happy now. He didn't even need that junk tonight. Koushiro had made him happy, cancel that - euphoric. There was nothing like... He'd given himself to him. He'd let him make love to him. Let him. He closed his eyes softly, if he wasn't careful, he would fall in love with him.

And that wasn't according to plan.

Achikawa and Isoroku returned three days later. But they weren't any help. They just cried and prayed - and Izzy hadn't told them about Ken. No, why should he? They weren't any older than he was and he didn't feel as guilty with them. Or as confident. So he kept it inside.

Better than planned, Ken hadn't come around again. He didn't want to risk an awkward moment, confrontation between Ken and the other priests. Still, part of Izzy was worried about him - he knew he was dirt poor and the weather was cold. Cold enough to kill.
Oh, his words! He had driven him away, and that same part of Izzy was slightly trepidatious about his actions.
But it WAS Wednesday. There were more important things to do.

Father Isoroku had insisted on delivering mass instead of Izzy; he'd seen too much this week. Izzy in return insisted on helping out in some way and was again manning the confession box. Not long after services ended, a black shadow creeped into the other half.
"In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost."
"Bless me father, for I have sinned."
"Tell me, my child, what was it?"
"I..." The figure, who Izzy was squinting at, trying to discern something of his features, stumbled over his words. "...saw something... bad. Something very bad."
"And why is that your sin? What did you see?"
"I... saw a man die." WHAT! Every neuron in his brain shot awake. Wha...?
"Who... who did you see die?" He tried SO hard to sound as calm and condescending as possible. Was it possible? Was the murderer sitting next to him? Did he come back to the same church just to confess?
"The... the... old father guy here." The man, who Izzy could now tell had black hair, seemed calm, trying to find a perfect description for the elderly priest.
"You... you saw him die?" He couldn't control his voice anymore, rising into an excited yelp. He was barely sitting on the seat, ready to spring out and nab this evil man.
"Well, I knocked on his door, but it was locked after mass. I... was looking for a... a donation." He shied into himself, trying not to spill his story, but ending up doing so anyway. "You see... father, I've been having money problems lately. I needed some money... and the church helps those in need... right?"
"Right, right, of course, go on." Hurry up and tell me!
"And I was gonna ask the church for some money. So... you know... I could pay my bills and all... and well... the door was locked... so I went away." The man finished his words, inflection of tone indicating that his story was over.
"And?!" Izzy was losing patience. Obviously, the man was trying to hide something.
"Oh, yeah. And then I came back later, cause... cause I wanted to try again... and I opened his door. It was unlocked. He was dead, leaning into the water. I was going to try and do CPR on him or something, but... if I touched him... the cops would be all over me..."
"But you didn't kill him?"
"Huh? No! No, I just saw him... dead." Izzy burst out of his side, yanking opening the confessor's door. The man looked up at him, white as a sheet. But courtesy and taboos were the last thing on Izumi's mind. His blazing eyes asked the only question possible.
"Did you see who killed him?" The man, a tall and burly construction worker type, shook his head frantically. "Would you talk to the police and tell them what you DID see?"
"What? No! No, no no. Hell no. I'm not talking to any cops. They've got it in for me... But you see father... I had to confess. Cause I saw him dead and I didn't do anything. Am I going to hell?" He almost laughed. How often he heard that question.
"No, no, you're not. You are forgiven, but in the future, try to not step out of helping someone. Our jobs here on this earth are to help everyone. Help our neighbors, our enemies-"
"Oh, thank you, father!" The man shook his hand firmly. "I feel so much better." He was frantic to leave, but Izzy caught his attention one more time.
"Well thank you for coming to mass... what did you say your name was?"
"Junich-" he hesitated. "I gotta go." The doors opened, cold wind hissing through. And he was gone.

The father walked steadfastly down the corridor. There was important business at the other end, funaries to officiate and acolytes uninitiated. All in a day's work.
The perfect symmetry of the checkerboard marble floor stretched out into both ends of the darkened hallway. The walls vaulted high overhead, marble angels and cherubs and devils peering down at him from their lofty perches. Smiling through their holy grimaces and malevolent come-hithers. At him. At his cloak of sin.
Could everyone see it?
"Come here, Izumi." What? Where was that voice? It seemed to call from everywhere at once, so unlike regular voices. It bounced around the columns and his standing figure, as if the voice was a tangible being, floating around him, all-encompassing. Oh, there was no time for that now. He continued on, vestments swaying with his feet. Yes, there was something that needed doing at the end of this infinite hall.
"Izumi? I need to tell you something." That voice again. It quivered slightly in the baritone of old age. A hint of the Queen's English to tone it, then dead silent again. He spun around, becoming frustrated.
"What? What do you want!?" He froze in shock or fear or... some dreadful feeling as warmth crept around his feet. His eyes bolted wide, wanting to run, but trapped firmly in their sockets. Only able to stare as his head forced them to look down. At it. At the blood pooling by his feet.

Blood? Oh god, no.

"Izumi, I have a favor to ask," spoken peacefully from the ceiling carvings above him, yet he began to shake in terror. It wasn't seeping, no - flowing like a faucet from his feet. He lifted each foot up to check - but he felt no pain and saw no wounds. What the hell? And now it spread gaping and wide, touching both sides of the cavernous corridor. It. was. everywhere now.

Oh God... No...

The hallway had to be maddeningly long, but the red flood was rising now as if from some monstrous burst dam. Pouring from nowhere and touching everything. It coiled up his ankles, soaking his shoes and the bottom of his cassock. It was warm. Warmer than his own body, cold and panicking. Up his calves, tracing like delicate fingers. Calling, probing, reaching, pulling up farther and those damned statues were still gloating!
"Stop IT!" He tore his eyes away from the liquid that promised to soon suffocate him. Those dead stone eyes, hollow and sarcastic above him. Taunting him down below, soon to die, suffering every second before.

"Izumi, I want you to meet a friend of mine." That voice! Again! He wanted to cry.
"Shut up!" He was still screaming at the angels, but the voice... That fucking voice-
"Shut up! I don't care! Shut up and go away!!" The tears broke over his reddening cheeks, the lake of blood now waist deep and soaking in, feeling its way farther against his skin as if with a mind. Scaring him for the pure joy of it.

"Izumi, come over here."
That voice- Where was it coming from? His own mind? It seemed so familiar, like a separate personality, a long lost older brother...
"Be a good boy, Koushiro."

"NOOOOOOO!!!"
He screamed for all he was worth. His breath came nearly as fast as his heartbeat. It was dark now, but he could tell he wasn't standing anymore, he was lying on a bed. That was the first thing he was aware of. That, and that the blood had disappeared.
"Father Izumi?"
"Huh?"
"Are you okay?" Achikawa's face formed in grey shades floating through the darkness of the priests' bedroom.
"Um... yeah. I think so."
"It sounded like you had a nightmare... Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," Ah. Reality came back down and wrapped around him like the blankets he still clutched tightly. "I'm fine. I didn't wake you, did I?"
"Oh, don't worry about that. Just try to get some sleep."

But good or bad, sleep didn't call for the young man anymore that night.

A quick shower, some fervent prayers uttered kneeling on the side of his bed, a jog down to the basement to check on the boiler, then back up for a bite to eat. It was 7:30, and he was feeling so behind. The other fathers had woken at the standard quarter to 5, but tiptoed out without shaking him awake as well. Why? He felt guilty about sleeping in, so he resolved himself only to a piece of toast.
Oh, screw that, he was hungry! Penance and guilt could come after a hearty breakfast.

He sat down alone at the long dining table built for a rectory of brothers, bowl of Choco-puffs ready and waiting. It was one of his little pleasures, but he had so many secret little bits of happiness lately that somehow the bowl of sugared chocolate was diminished. He didn't like the feeling. Sinking into him as if every breath he now took was on the edge of shame. But he dug in anyway, hungry, human.
"Father Izumi?" Achikawa broke through the kitchen door, urgency wet on his words.
"Mmm?" He'd been too eager and couldn't speak, his cheeks full of food.
"There's a policeman who wants to see you." Shit. Even though this civil servant was most likely here to help, Izzy's initial reaction was still quite common and worldly. A policeman. Coming to take me away for my sins.
"Okay. Um, father?"
"Yes?"
"I just wanted to know, with all due respect, why you and Father Isoroku didn't wake me up when you both did?" A soft smile spread over the other's lips.
"You've been under so much stress, finding him... like that... then running the church by yourself and dealing with the police. I mean at mass you-" He paused, cutting off his intense line of reasoning. "And then last night, your horrible nightmares... We ARE human, father. And we decided it would only be merciful to give you a break from morning rituals. You're not mad, are you?" He could've swore - if he was allowed to - that the other man stuck out his bottom lip.
"Ah, no, I'm not mad. Um... Where is this policeman?" He brightened considerably.
"Detective Abe. He's sitting in the choir."

The scarlet light traced around his body, sitting in the pews. Church, all in session and proper, was one of the most uncomfortable places for him. But here, now, sitting with his eyes closed on the benches in the choir's alcove, letting the colored sunlight drift around him: it was different. If not for the statue of the half-naked, perpetually tormented man hanging above him, he'd be at peace.
"Detective?" That was his cue to come out and play with the real world.
"Yes?"
"I'm Father Izumi - I was told you wanted to talk to me?"

There he was, sitting on a bench, shrouded with light. It was uncanny, a strange aura around him like the sun coming out through the trees on a cloudy day. But then, this was St. Barnard's, and a lot of strange moments passed under its pitched roof.

...But enough of that. Izzy spotted him and introduced himself to the oddly serene policeman. Catching himself to prepare and harden his emotions for the black questions.
"I guess there's just a few things that need clearing up. Oh, by the way, I'm Lieutenant Detective Abe, Homicide/Sex Crimes division... Um... Going right into it... Did you touch the Bishop or disturb the scene at all before you called the police?" A sign, a sigh from Izzy-
"...Yes." Izzy couldn't meet his eyes, staring at the little loops in the carpeting, screwing his mouth into a grimace. "Yes... I turned him over because he wouldn't respond. He was so stiff- But I didn't even go back into the room until after the police - I mean you - I mean - you know what I mean... arrived." Some quick jots in a water-spotted notebook.
"This is a church, and you see people from all walks of life come through here... Have there been any suspicious or shady people who got to know the bishop very recently before he died? Or any people at all that were friends with him, any recent fallings-out..."
"No." He was adamant about this. "No, everyone loved Hiromiya. He was like a real father to all of us and everyone in his congregation. No. Nobody."
"Okay. Have there been any-"
"Wait." His black eyes drew from the floor, catching the detective's green orbs in mild surprise. He was kind of cute, his eyebrows held up like that, waiting with piqued interest for Izzy's mouth to move.
"Yes?"
"Um, there was one person who saw the bishop dead - besides me - before I called the police."
"Yes?..." His pencil sat at attention. This might be easier than usual.
"It-it was some guy, down on his luck... He told me that at confession - which I shouldn't even be telling you this - but..." Ah, what was one more breach with the big G? Izzy's list was already so pock-marked and long... "He went back into the rectory, to the father's room, to ask a favor, and found him..." Izzy shook his head, trying to understand the man's true intentions, "and he ran off without telling anyone. He only came clean with me on the premise of anonymity."
"Why didn't you tell us before?!"
"I-I didn't know! He just told me at mass yesterday! I-I... Sorry." His black eyes lost what luster they had, falling dull and unfocused; back on the carpeting.

Now Abe felt bad, pushing this man of God too hard. A sudden impulse to rub his shoulder reassuringly took hold of him. What? No. No? His smooth red hair fell into his eyes, just as dead and limp and saddened as the rest of him.
"Sorry." That was all he could offer back. He received a quick glance up from the floor, but that was it. The priest remained silent and stony. "Did you get his name?" He didn't wish to push, but it was his job.
"He didn't say, wouldn't say. When I asked, he nearly blurted it out, but..." He was trying to think. He had to think... "I know it started with a 'J'."
"Good." More scribbles on the paper. "Could you give me a description?"
"Well- I don't want you going after this guy just based on what I said... I mean, he said he didn't do anything, and we don't even know who he is, or have any evidence against him... And-and we just can't call on a city-wide manhunt - and why would a murderer come back to the same church - and AND tell everything at confession!? He might as well just handcuff himself and turn himself in with a bow and ribbon on his head!" The fire was back in Izzy's sable irises, Abe smiled quietly.
"Yes. True. You're right except for the fact that we might not even want to make him a suspect. We might just want to interview him, see if he disturbed anything at the scene of the crime. That alone would help our investigators out considerably."
"So he's not a suspect?"
"I don't know." He couldn't lie - he couldn't lie. Whether or not the man was guilty remained to be seen. "But I do need a description. You did see him, right?"
"Yes, I got out of the box to speak to him face to face."
"Excellent." The detective was visibly excited and enthused. The general questions started. "Was he tall, short...?" Izzy's eyes glazed over watching an internal memory.
"Tall. Much taller than me... He was- how tall are you?" He could tell there was still some bit of childhood left in the young priest, his question light and curious.
So the detective stood up.
"Yeah. Yeah, about three, four inches taller than you."
"Build?"
"Um, he looked like he did manual labor. Not an office, desk and chair type of guy."
"So not like me?" He was still standing, and Izzy allowed himself a small laugh as the policeman sarcastically posed, bodybuilder style, in all his toned computer-worker glory. 'Is he flirting with me?' The question was on both mens' minds.
"Uh, no. Not exactly." Slightly embarrassed now, the detective sat back down.
"Next... hair color?"
"Black. It was really black, I could tell through the screen in the confessional, even before I saw him." As Abe wrote, Izzy noticed his hair was bleached blonde, black peeking out at the roots.
"Great. It helps to have an attribute like that connected to a memory." At Izzy's confused silence, he glanced up from his notepad. "Helps to ensure the memory is genuine, not altered by time or other factors." His red brows twitched quizzically, questions answered, but more springing up. "Psychology major." He pointed at himself with a wink.
"Oh! Computer Engineering major." And with a blush for the wink and for ancient history, "...unfinished. Or in progress. Whichever you prefer." He was flirting! All that was good and holy, he was flirting with a policeman!

Abe smirked, unaffected on the surface but his mind in turmoil. He continued with his questions.
"Any outstanding features? A necklace? Scar? Tattoo?"
"Um, he had the beginnings of a beard, I remember that... But nothing else. I'm-I'm really sorry, I'm afraid I was too excited at the moment. My memory is tainted, like you said." Like the rest of him. But he wasn't about to say that.

Abe had all the information he needed, and Izzy was glad the interview was over, yet sad to see this interesting man go. He was so fucking weak... And on top of that, Ken was right.
Ken...
"Thank you again detective. I'll be sure and call if I see him again. I'm still sorry I can't remember his name." He walked him towards the doors.
"That's okay. And my name's Shinseki, by the way." Was he flirting with a priest? Yeah, he was... Worthless brain.
"Izzy", he returned. "...It's just a nickname, but everyone calls me that." Shinseki leaned up against the massive doors which dwarfed him, blonde hair brushing and gel crunching softly against the wood.
"So what's your actual name, Father Izumi?" His eyes. Green and drilling and though he didn't like the question, he liked the way he couldn't escape their grip, their depth.
"Koushiro. But - like I said - no one calls me that." The detective nodded his head lightly, a sly smile growing on his face despite his efforts to keep it locked away. He opened the door to leave, placing a lingering, comforting hand on Izzy's shoulder.
"Well, make sure to call me if you remember anything else." As he walked out into the falling snow he mouthed the word.
Koushiro