Tekken Fan Fiction ❯ Ashes To Ashes ❯ Forgotten ( Chapter 3 )

Boredom would have been a good verb at this point to describe how he was feeling. Bored, bored, bored. He sat and stared at the scrawling text beneath his elbows - why did he have to go to school anyway? To put it lightly, he felt completely out of place at this upper-crust primary school of all places; two long years ago he was a 'street urchin', with nowhere to go but beneath a bridge, nowhere to eat but from whatever restaurant around was throwing food scraps into a nearby dumpster. He, Lee Chaolan, was not a rich-bitch, was not an academic, and did NOT want to study English!

Sighing softly, Lee looked back down at his English textbook. Stupid, incomprehensible language. The grammar was back-to-front, and the words were impossible to pronounce. Yet, Heihachi, his 'father', had forced the class upon him. He hated studying anything, but more than anything, English. It was hard enough learning Kanji two years ago...now all these bizarre letters printed before him threatened to repeat the painful exercise.

A moment later, Lee flopped the book shut, and stared at the front cover. Class: 3B. Name: Mishima Lee. Mishima...no, he was not a Mishima, no matter how much they tried to change him into one. Heihachi wanted him to be the perfect son; obedient, intelligent, and a great fighter. Aiko seemed to want to force him into a certain mould, a certain pair of shoes...make him become someone that he was not, possibly someone she knew in the past.

As he brushed a few silky streaks of silver hair from his hazel eyes, Lee caught the old witch of a teacher glaring at him from above her old, thick spectacles. The scowl was enough to send shivers up his spine...and, for fear of his personal safety; he quickly re-opened the book and attempt to decipher this bizarre language.

***

Home. That was a strange concept to the young Mishima. After school every day he would jump into the back seat of a black limousine, trying not to even touch the leather upholstery within, as futile as it may seem...and watch the other children stare and mutter scornfully amongst themselves as he was driven off like a rich man's son. Yes, that was what Heihachi wanted him to be. A rich boy's son - something he wasn't.

The long ride back to the Mishima Zaibatsu compound was ample time offered to him to think. For an eight-year-old, he found himself to be awfully depressed. Everything was a drag...in any other situation, this position he'd obtained would be a joy, his life's dream...but all he could think about, night and day, was the way he was being forced to become something he was not, to become perfect...he was being built into something new, and the food, accommodation, the family...they were all just side-effects, nothing but small payment for his trials and troubles.

He never spoke to the drivers, only sat there, fiddling with the tops of his socks beneath his knees, or the pockets of his blazer. Of course, he had friends at school...but he was never allowed to invite them home...and certainly not allowed to let them ride in the family limousine. That would not do. That too, was a pain, along with everything else.

Of late, however, on those long trips home between the torment of school and the heavy loads of homework and study to 'catch up' with everyone else, he'd realised there was something else he could dwell on, to occupy his time. He'd begun to remember the appearance of that ghost...up until recently, he'd dismissed it as nerves and tiredness...but he'd realised that it actually happened when he'd overheard hearing his 'parents' talking in the dining room one night, when he was supposed to be asleep. They were speaking of another boy...a boy named Kazuya. He remembered that name instantly - the ghost! So, today, as he'd been doing over the last month or so, instead of feeling sorry for himself and feeling depressed, he'd decided to try and unravel the enigma of the haunted Mishima house.

So far, he'd formed a few theories as to what was going on. Though he was not an academic, he was still smart - street smart - something no Mishima would ever be, but him. The first was easy - they'd adopted another child before, and somehow he'd died. Lee was adopted, possibly, to replace him. After all, Heihachi often spoke of Lee as a remedy to Aiko's 'mothering instincts'. Another was that they'd known a child once, perhaps a nephew or a friend's son, and wished for a child the same. That would explain why Aiko wanted him to fit such a tight mould...but it didn't explain why he saw the ghost.

The third was the most scarifying of all, and the most unlikely in his mind. He knew, from talking with her, that Aiko was unable to have children - a medical condition she'd been born with. If she did manage to conceive a child, it would leave her too weak to do anything, or worse still, she wouldn't live at all. That was what the doctors had told her, she had said. But his theory ran like this; somehow, Aiko did bear a child, and it made her fall ill. She had the baby, but it didn't survive for long - as a result of whatever it was that was wrong with her. The ghost of the child was what was haunting him, in this theory...though he'd only seen it once. But there was only one thing that bothered him.

The ghost spoke of killing, not death. Death would fit most, if not all of his ideas...but not killed. That was the little phantom's exact words. "…or you may get killed too."

Though the whole idea was gruesome and black, it was nothing unfamiliar; strange things happen on the streets. He was not afraid, only curious. Now, if only he could get rid of this depressing, dark 'home' life. He could properly investigate this whole mystery - like a real live detective!

Finally, the limo pulled up to the massive iron gates of the Mishima Zaibatsu. The guards let it pass through, and the driver hurtled the sleek black car up the driveway toward the house, parked, and let Lee out.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Lee wandered out and up the stairs of the mansion, his head down as usual, and wandered indoors. Aiko was downstairs with a glass of wine. She waved. He waved back. So much for a greeting, a hug, a kiss hello...so much for a family. They were so over-rated.

There was a snack sitting on his desk in his room, thankfully...he was sure ravenous from a hard day at school. As he sat down to eat, he pulled his books out of his bag, and plopped them on the desk before him. English for beginners, third grade science, The Math Wonderbook, social studies notebooks, WWII text...blah. Time for another riveting session of homework.

***

After a hard day of work, Heihachi felt remarkably good. Perhaps it was the lovely dinner Aiko and the chefs had prepared that evening for himself and Lee...she'd even been so kind as to flash him a smile as she ate. It was forced, but nevertheless, he appreciated the gesture.

At any rate, it was time to tidy up some business. Work was never done, after all. He picked up his briefcase with ease, no matter how much junk there was in there, and wandered upstairs to his office.

He passed by Lee's bedroom on the way down the hall; the door was shut and the light was on. Good, he was working too; such an obedient boy. The thing he liked about that child was the fact that he didn't protest as much as Kazuya. Kazuya... the name still haunted him! Why must that child refuse to die? It was not fair; such a failure, an annoying creature...Aiko had loved the brat so much that Heihachi almost - almost - felt guilty for disposing of the boy. Alright, so he did almost miss him. He couldn't even remember why he hated the child so much. The memories still remained clear in his mind - he was a good father, a good husband...but he was not ready to be a father. Aiko was not able to be a mother either - she was not physically able to have one...until Kazuya appeared into the world.

Something Heihachi found himself forced to admit was that Kazuya was a bright boy. He'd always been top of the class, the only one bale to read and read properly, and though he was weak for a fighter...he'd mastered the art of tactics at the mere age of five. He almost missed him - he was sharper than Lee, and he was his own blood.

But the past is the past.

As he neared his office, he could have sworn he heard the voice of a child humming. Strange. It sounded a little like Lee. What was that boy doing? He glanced back over his shoulder at the door down the hall; still closed, light still on. He was supposed to be in there! What was he doing in his office?!

Heihachi flung the door open and marched in. "Lee what are you doing in here?" His voice was carefully modulated and patient, but bordering on the edge of dangerous. The child stopped humming for a second, but continued a moment later.

After dropping his briefcase aside, Heihachi looked up at his desk...and he could have sworn, his heart stopped dead in his chest.

Sitting at the desk was a young child, humming peacefully as he assaulted a large piece of paper with a crayon. It wasn't Lee.

He stared, spellbound and speechless as the young boy continued to draw with his oversized black crayon, a red one in the other fist, a few locks of raven hair hanging down over his dark eyes. Eventually, the child looked up. Heihachi's heart froze over within the blackened depths of the child's icy, obsidian glare.

After a moment, the boy looked down, placing the crayons aside, and picked up the piece of paper, leaning back in the huge leather swivel-chair like the Zaibatsu's CEO might. "Look what I drew, Daddy..."

The paper was scribbled on with remarkable ability for a five-year-old. Between the two sets of tiny fingers lay a playful image of a family; on the left, a tall stick figure with two black triangles on his head, one on either side, and a broad smile. On the right was a shorter figure with a triangle for a body...in the middle of the two, holding onto corresponding hands, was a small black-haired child, smiling innocently. A house on a hill lay in the background, and a grinning sun shone in the sky above.

Heihachi gasped and stumbled back, tripping over his case, and ended up crashing to the ground. The sound of his laboured breaths were all that filled the room. The small boy slipped off the chair, and disappeared behind the desk for a moment. He walked around the back, and stood beside it, leaning against the richly lacquered, highly expensive woodwork, and tilted his head to the side. "What, are you surprised to see me, Otousan?"

He could see right through the wretched creature! He was sure he was losing his mind. Losing his mind! It couldn't be guilt...he hated the child! But he was his own son...his own son...his own flesh and blood. He'd betrayed himself by betraying the child, it was obvious now...and now the boy stood before him, a ghostly apparition, a shadow-less imitation of his former self.

"You...you're dead! You're supposed to be dead! How...how are you here!" The words didn't want to come.

The child smiled innocently, and wandered over to the quivering man. "I am dead..." The matter-of-factuality in the child's youthful voice was painful, even to Heihachi. Yes, indeed, regret, guilt and pain were emotions he was feeling at present.

"Then leave me alone! Leave us alone! You don't belong here!" His voice was shaking in fear...he scuffled backward, panicked, as the child approached him. He glanced away a moment, then back at the boy...only to see him differently...somehow...he was slowly changing...though it didn't seem as if he was any different. Before his very eyes, the clothes melted away to nothing, and the child's colour dissolved. Slowly, surely, great gaping wounds appeared here and there; the most prominent was a raw, bleeding, open laceration across his tiny chest...great trails of crimson snaked down his small, naked body...over the existing cuts, wounds and intense black bruises. The child's face darkened...though the flesh looked pale and cold, dark rings formed beneath his eyes, with more bruising and wounds appearing...and he scowled, staring up at his father through lowered brows.

"I would if you hadn't killed me..."

Heihachi was staring at a corpse. A corpse...a living corpse...the walking dead. He was never superstitious, but this was insane. He knew he was losing it at this point. "Leave us..."

Kazuya stepped closer. Heihachi found himself up against the wall...nowhere left to go. The apparition leaned down gracefully, letting a tiny, cold hand rest against his father's cheek. For what seemed like eternity, the two locked eyes...from one strong soul to another, their stares seemed to exchange more talk than words could ever hope to...and only then did Heihachi realise what atrocity he had committed. The ghost before him was once a living creature, free-thinking, intelligent - and once his own. A child is the greatest gift one could wish for - the affirmation that one's soul will never die; it will be carried on from generation to generation, appearing here, appearing there, once in a while, in every descendent. And he'd ended his only chance to do so. He would die; he would die with his body. But worse than that - Aiko was right. He'd committed the ultimate sin, and had never realised it. Well...here was his fate. To be haunted by the guilt, the knowledge that he could never undo the damage; not with Lee, not with anyone.

Slowly, Kazuya's wounds faded, and he returned to his previous appearance. The hand shifted, and the boy walked away from the still slightly panicked man. "I know you're sorry, father...you don't have to say it. I understand..."

He took a breath. "You understand what...?"

Once again, Kazuya's haunting eyes locked onto Heihachi's. "That you feel guilty that you can never make Okaasan happy again...because I am gone..."

That hit home. It was true; no matter how hard he tried, Aiko would always be the depressed housewife, sitting at home with a bottle of wine, wishing to die, and join the only joy left in her life that had been taken away from her. Oh, why had he been so blind? So cruel, so heartless...if only he knew he was supposed to love his son as a gift of life...not a burden upon an ill woman.

Again, the child began to sing...a soft, gentle song...the dark, ghostly voice hitting perfect notes. "In the memory you'll find me, eyes burning up..."

He was walking away, slowly becoming more and more indistinct. Heihachi scrambled to his feet...he couldn't let him just disappear! How could he ever make things right?

"The darkness holding me tightly..." Before he could finish, he disappeared completely, leaving a sickening silence hanging in the room like the smell of death. ...Until the sun rises up. Heihachi knew that song. He also knew, now, that the sun would never rise up. It only rises once in a lifetime...and Heihachi had shot it down in the morning.

***

Lying in his bed, Lee tried to decipher more of that mystery that he'd begun to unravel. Music played softly in the background from the small radio sitting on the windowsill...it had been words from it that had reminded him of the ghost in the first place... A little piece of paper with a picture drawn...floats on down the street till the wind is gone...and the memory now is like the picture was then...when the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again...

The song continued...knowing he was meant to be asleep at this hour - since everyone else was - he reached to turn it off, then fell back down against the pillow. This darkness, this position...it reminded him of that first night in the Mishima household.

He rolled over towards the door, just as he had two years ago, to stare at the darkness. Creepy. He felt, somehow, as if this was almost a game...and to tempt fate, to see if lightning strikes twice in one place...he rolled over to look down at the end of the bed. And clamped his hand over his mouth to strangle the scream that came.

"Big boys aren't meant to scream." It was him again. Him.

Lee swallowed, and scuffled back in the bed. This time he wouldn't be scared...the kid was right. He was eight - a big boy - and big boys don't scream. Besides, this would help to solve a mystery...THE mystery.

"I know who you are..."

The ghost smiled. "I know who you are too..."

Lee decided to bite the bullet. "Kazuya...I need to ask you something..."

Silence. The two stared for at least a few seconds...then the youth turned and walked away.

"No wait..."

He kept on walking.

Lee leapt out from beneath the covers, bounded across the room, and grabbed at the boy's hand...only to remember that he was a ghost, and you can't touch them...

...but nevertheless, a moment later, he found a tiny, warm wrist in his larger hand, and the small boy looked up at him, shocked, and even a little scared. The wide obsidian eyes reflected...fear. Yes, he was still only a little boy.

Since he was so much bigger than the little Japanese boy, he suddenly felt like a bit of a bully. He loosened his grasp. "I'm sorry...but I really want to know..."

The tiny wrist tugged slightly against Lee's hand. "I don't want to talk about it..."

"Please...I need to know..."

Silence again...this time, Kazuya kept his eyes away from the older boy's. "He killed me." Though it was so quiet, the little voice was still almost inaudible. The look in the boy's eyes was almost heartbreaking...a child should not be betrayed like that.

Lee finally found his voice. "Who?"

Kazuya shrugged his little shoulders. "Otousan."

A chill ran down Lee's spine. No wonder there was something strange about the old man, and sinister about the extreme lack of anything related to Kazuya...it had been an incestual killing. "Why?"

Kazuya yanked at his arm again, this time with enough force to almost pull Lee over. His voice cracked, and his face winced on its own accord. "I dunno..." The tears came.

Now this, this, was heartbreaking. Lee's first instinct was to comfort him...he didn't mind hugging people. At this time, especially, this little ghost could use a hug. Lee's longer arms reached out and grasped the child, drawing him close. Kazuya's tiny hands clutched at Lee's flannelette pyjamas, and he buried his face into the older boy's chest. He didn't want to cry...but he couldn't help it. He missed his mother. He missed life. Hell, he even missed his father...even though he'd never said a kind word, encouraged him, hugged him, smiled at him...he was still his father, and he'd betrayed him. It wasn't fair.

It was ages before Lee finally let go of the little boy. He looked down at the apparition, and smiled softly. "It's alright...believe me you're probably better off being away from all the homework and training and getting beaten up in sparring..."

Kazuya smiled ever so slightly, and nodded. "I know...I'm just...stuck here, you know? I have nowhere to go...all I can do is watch everyone...living...and wish that I could join in too..."

Now why wasn't that like every other ghost story he'd read? "You mean like heaven? Why can't you go there?"

He shook his head, ignoring the raven locks that hung before his eyes. "I dunno...I can't find where I'm meant to go...I think I'm too young..."

Too young to die...how true.

The child continued. "They say that you can't sleep before midday...I don't know what it means though."

Lee stood, and yawned. It was late, after all. "I don't know either...I'll try and work it out though...it's probably one of those old-fashioned riddles only grown-ups understand..."

"Probably. I hate metaphors..."

Lee arched a brow. "Metaphors? You're younger than me and I don't even know what that means! What sort of a kid are you?"

Kazuya had turned to leave already, but looked back for just a moment. "I may look only five...but it doesn't mean I'm going to stay that...if you must know...I'm really nine...but I died when I was five..."

That explained a lot. Part five year old, part the same age as Lee. The childish emotions, the more mature thought processes. What a horrible way to be. "I should've guessed. Well, you know what?"

"What?"

Lee smirked. "You can haunt me as much as you want...I like you..."

"Will you be my friend then?" Kazuya smiled hopefully. Just because he's dead, doesn't mean he can't have friends...right?

"I'd like that." Lee's smile grew somewhat as he snuggled down into bed.

Kazuya grinned back, and turned back toward the door. "I'd like that too..." A moment later, he walked through the door, and disappeared.

***

A/N: yes, this was a bit of a semi-songfic...lyrics, if familiar, are from Linkin Park - Forgotten. Suitable from the title to the words in most places. Used to be addicted...now addicted to Chop Suey. I already babbled about that one, as you all know >/

Next chapter coming soon, hopefully.