Tekken Fan Fiction ❯ The Stone Lotus ❯ Chapter Nine ( Chapter 9 )

Chapter Nine

The only light on downstairs was the kitchen light, and Kazuya made his way down the stairs, jacket in hand. He paused when he reached the bottom stair then looked over towards the kitchen where Anna was sweeping and singing softly to herself.

He was silent and listened; the tune was a Brahms lullaby. It was at that moment, he felt something jar the back of his mind when realized what it was she was singing. He blinked and saw her sitting on a bed in a white nightgown and with child, again singing, this time down at her swollen belly. She looked up and smiled at him, a discreet smile.

"Yes?" she said.

He blinked again then shook his head when he realized that she had stopped sweeping and had addressed him.

It took Kazuya a moment to find his voice, and only after an awkward pause and Anna arching a brow at him in impatience, he finally said, "Thank you."

"You're leaving?"

"Isn't that what you want?"

Anna didn't answer but looked down at her feet. Her silence made him smile; he wasn't expecting a reply.

He repeated himself, "Thank you, Anna."

Again, silence. His smile saddened a bit, and he finished going down the stairs then trotted over to the door. His hand grasped the knob to the front door, yet he hesistated. Suddenly, he wanted to go back to his prison, back to the comfort of at least knowing his place even if it was in confinement, back to being on the inside looking out.

Yet, he had no longer had a place.

With a heavy sigh, he forced himself to pull open the door.

"Kazuya?" she said, finally looking up at him again; he looked over his shoulder, frowning. When his eyes met hers, she continued softly, "Before you leave, there's something I have to ask you." He turned around and nodded. She then gestured at him to come back into the house before entering the living room herself then hurrying upstairs. His eyes followed her as he sat down slowly on the couch, and when she disappeared into the darken house, he turned his gaze forward at the opened front door.

The storm door was still closed, and the rosy light of the street light outside weakly lit up the living room along with the kitchen light. He frowned when his view was blocked by the Asian woman, who also frowned at him disapprovingly, again something he was not surprised by.

She crossed her arms, "You're not going to be able to answer her."

Kazuya looked away and ignored her.

"You have to acknowledge me," she stood in front him then glowered down at him, hands on her hips. "I made you what you are!--" He looked up and over at the staircase, as did the woman, when a door slammed shut upstairs. Defeated, the woman sat down next to Kazuya; she then let out a heavy sigh and chuckled.

"Fine, ignore me," she cooed as she wrapped an arm around him. "Just remember, though, which one of us cares about you." She hugged him before disappearing again.

Anna stepped down the stairs; in her hands, she held a leather binder stuffed full. Her pace slowed as she opened the binder and carefully thumbed through it until she found what she was looking for, then she continued steadily down and into the living room, eyes still fixated on the open book in her hands. She stopped a foot short in front of Kazuya then kneeled in front of him. Anna then rotated the book around and placed it on his lap.

The binder had been kept as a scrapbook and was full of photobook pages with newspaper clippings, magazine articles, and portions of internet printouts. Kazuya found himself scanning some of the text the best he could in the dark; for the most part, they were about medical news on cryogenics and cloning, a few business articles, and so forth. However, he didn't understand how they all related to each other or to him and Anna.

Then he saw it.

There was a small newpaper clipping, an obituary, that was in the middle of one of the scrapbook pages. It had been laminated unlike most of the other papers, and there was a tiny black and white photo that accompanied the little blurb.

Kazuya squinted his eyes, unable to clearly see the picture in the dim lighting, "Could you hit the lights for a sec?" Anna nodded once, rose to her feet, then casually made her way to the light switch in the living room. With a quick flick of her wrist, she clicked on the lights, then leaned against the wall and watched quietly, arms crossed.

When his eyes adjusted to the suddenly bright light, the frown on his face tightened; the corner of his mouth twitched as he stared down at the photo.

"Do you know who that is?" Anna asked, her voice a tad sharp.

He shook his head, "I've never seen this kid before in my life." He then looked up at her, confused. "I'm not sure what you're exactly asking me, though."

She glanced away at the kitchen, then back at Kazuya, and she shook her head in disappointment.

"I really don't understand, Anna," he murmured as he glanced back down at the binder in his lap.

Anna chuckled, "It's the same question I've asked you million times before: why her?"

"Her?" Kazuya looked up and and lifted a brow.

"Yes, her," she repeated. "Jun."

At the mention of that name, Kazuya felt himself grow sick. Again, he stared down at the newpaper clipping and carefully reread everything there, then studied the photo, which was of Jin Kazama in his graduation cap and gown. Jin himself was a handsome young man with dark features much like Kazuya, black hair that hung decidedly messy in his eyes, shy dark eyes, and a slight playful smirk curled on his lips. Kazuya was disturbed by how similar he and boy looked, and though he couldn't remember exactly who Jun was, he now knew what Anna was implying.

He continued to stare down at the photo. The longer he looked at it, the more ill he felt. The picture of the teenaged boy that grinned back seemed to mock him, a piece of his past that he never knew or was meant to know. In disgust, Kazuya slammed the binder shut, his eyes forward as he refused to look at Anna nor at the book in his lap.

Anna cleared her throat and continued, "Well?"

"I don't know."

She chuckled once maliciously and glanced away, "Of course." In response, he stood up slowly, the binder in his hands, and then looked over at Anna.

Kazuya shook his head once, "I was terrible to you in the past, wasn't I?"

"Not just to me," she replied coolly as he approached her cautiously. He held the book out for her to take, his eyes carefully looking up and down her as he searched for an retort. Yet, he remained silent and waited for the younger woman to take the book from his hands. She didn't and instead kept her arms crossed as she glared at him.

Finally, he cleared his throat and replied, "Thank you, and I'm sorry." With that said, Anna uncrossed her arms and gingerly placed her hands on the book, her eyes still hurt as she continued to stare up at him. Kazuya slowly pulled his hands away, closed his eyes, and let out a heavy sigh.

Slowly, he reopened his eyes.

"Bravo! Bravo!" the Asian woman cried, clapping her hands together. She smiled sweetly at the man gawking at her. She was clad in Anna's clothes; the binder, however, was gone. "Excellent performance!" She then leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck to hug him, still giggling from some kind of delight that Kazuya could not possibly fanthom.

She pulled away only to playfully brush her lips against his then grinned at him as she pressed up against him again, fully kissing him. Kazuya's eyes were still widened in fright when she pulled away to look into his eyes, and her smile grew. Her hands snaked from his neck down this his chest; he stiffened up under her touch.

"Stop it!" he growled as he pushed her away.

Anna was shoved back into the wall.

The back of her skull slammed back, and the impact caused her head to whip foward. The book dropped from her hands, and slowly she slid down the wall in shock, wide eyed as she stared up at Kazuya. She then blinked once before closing her eyes and slumping over to the side unconscious.

His hands started trembling as what he had done sunk in, then he kneeled carefully in front of the younger woman before timidly nudging her. When there was no response, the corner of Kazuya's mouth twitched, and he placed his hands rigidly on his lap.

He waited.

After several minutes, a strange feeling of calm washed over him, and he stood up slowly, gaze still focused on the unconscious woman before him.

This had happened before. Some feeling, some memory that he had long forgotten yet still didn't clearly recall was reminding him of that. His forehead wrinkled up with thought as he ran his fingers through his hair. He hated the not being able to associate his own memories to each other. He hated the physical reactions he was having to things he couldn't remember. The hallucinations...

Slowly, he started backing away from Anna. Had he had these before he had woken up from surgery? The very idea that he never been stable to begin with frightened him; he clutched his teeth nervously as he turned to face the door to leave.

He hesitated before he went out the front door, glancing over his shoulder at the woman that laid crumpled over on the floor. It came to him then; the last time he had seen her like that, she had been holding a combat knife. Absentmindedly, his hand went up to his cheek; with his index and middle fingers, he gingerly traced the scar carved there. The scene played startlingly clear in his head; she had been slumped over against the wall sized windows while in some kind of large office, papers and writing utensils scattered everywhere on the floor, the large steel desk overturned from the struggle they had had. He even recalled the evening skyline that glittered behind Anna, who had been wearing a rather revealing red satin evening gown that night; the room had been high up in a highrise office building, he recalled just from the vast amount of urban architechure the spead out from behind the defeated woman.

He pulled his hand away from his face; this was the first time in years that something that concrete had came to him, something that made him that sick in his stomach, something that finally proved that he did exist outside of that institution. Something to prove that he did have a place in the world.

His eyes narrowed in spite as he turned back around and exited.

*****

For the most part, the evening sunlight was still bothering Hwoarang, and he squinted as he looked out towards the cemetery again through his passenger's window, anything to avoid eye contact with Julia. She, however, wasn't paying attention to him as she drove, which he knew was nothing more than another tactic to avoid talking to him. Yet, whatever it was she was looking at, he wanted desperately to look at, and he fought to keep his eyes from closing as he looked towards the reddening sky as the sun started to deepen and set. The little headstones reflected the crimson light, and it looked like an ocean of blinding light as they drove past. He couldn't keep his eyes opened anymore, and Hwoarang squeezed them shut, just for a moment.

When he reopened them, he was sitting alone, the car parked. Alarmed, the boy straightened up in his seat and looked out of the passenger window. He was still at the cemetery, to which he could see Julia walking casually towards the car from the entrance gates, her hands tucked in the back pockets of her jeans. He narrowed his eyes as the driver's side door opened, and she slid it and slammed the door shut in one motion. Without saying a word, the younger girl started the car and and started to back out to leave.

It was nearly evening, and the sun's light had softened into a gold and blanketed everything as they drove away from the cemetery. Hwoarang shifted in his seat to look over his shoulder through the back window, and he watched as the headstones and statues disappeared row by row as they were were swallowed up by the horizon. He felt himself smile when the cemetary completely receded from view, and he sighed with relief and turned back to start speaking with his companion. As he opened his mouth to say something, he saw something from the corner of his eye, and he whipped his head towards the windshield.

Instinctly, he reached over and yanked the steering wheel from her. He wasn't fast enough though, and when Julia slammed on the brakes, it caused the car to veer, skid, and spin eventually only straightening out long enough for Hwoarang to see exactly who they were going to slam into: Jin.

He stood in the middle of the road, jacket slung over his shoulders as he extended a thumb as to hitchhike. His eyes were fixated at the vehicle spinning out of control towards him, and yet Jin smiled amiably when the car finally tipped on its side, still sliding towards him as sparks and glass showered from the metal grinding on the asphalt. The impact threw Hwoarang onto Julia, who ended up being pressed up against broken glass, warped metal, and the street.

Instead of moving out of the way, however, Jin stood still and watched as the car continued towards him, brakes screeching. His grin broadened, and he placed his hands on his hips then shook his head as if laughing. Hwoarang covered his face with forearms and braced himself for another impact as the car skidded towards Jin.

Hwoarang awoke with a start then blinked twice, his breathing heavy. Disoriented, he sat up from where he had nodded off during the ride back home, then glanced over at Julia. She was humming along softly to a song that was playing the radio, which had been turned down low to keep from waking him. The older boy sighed heavily and slumped back in his seat.

She reached over with her right hand and turned down the radio completely, "You feeling better?"

"Huh?" Hwoarang blinked again and glanced over at his companion.

"You were tossing and turning in your sleep," her eyes were still on the road; it was dark now, and ocassionally, a pair of headlights would flash by them. Hwoarang straightened up in his seat again.

He frowned, "Oh, sorry. Bad dream."

"Looked like it." She glanced over at him with a relieved smile. He, however, didn't smile back and straightened up completely in his seat and looked forward again, his eyes carefully watching the road ahead, as if waiting for something to happen.

Finally he said, "You never answer my question."

"There's nothing to tell," she replied in a matter-of-factly manner. Her eyes were still fixated ahead, however.

"There's nothing to tell?" he repeated cynically. "That's why you were acting all crazy today?" Julia chuckled once in response and kept her eyes ahead, as did Hwoarang.

He continued, "And you know, all I want to do is help." He glanced over at the younger girl and smiled wearily; she remained silent. "Or am I not allowed to do that either?"

"Stop it, Hwoarang," she finally replied.

He frowned, "Stop what? Nothing's happening. You made sure of that." Again, Julia said nothing; soon, the city limits became visible, and the road was lit up by rows of rose-colored street lights lining the way into Dreyfus. Frustrated, Hwoarang threw up his arms then crossed them before slumping back in his seat again.

The rest of the car ride home was silent; Hwoarang spent most of time staring out of the window; Julia never answered his question, nor was he expecting an answer. Again, he was an outsider, someone not close enough to her to even have the truth shared.

And he accepted it.

He followed her inside quietly, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. Julia herself seemed in better spirits since she could now avoid talking to Hwoarang completely in the safety of her home, and she started conversing brightly in Navajo with her mother, who was sitting on the couch reading a fairly thick novel, as soon as they entered the room. He sat down next to Michelle and slumped back into the cushions, hands still in his pockets.

Michelle marked her spot, closed her book, then addressed Hwoarang in English, "Long day?"

He nodded weakly then glanced over at Julia as she wandered into the kitchen.

"Okay if we order pizza, Mom?" the younger woman called as she opened the fridge and stuck her head in.

"Of course. And by the way," Michelle yawned then reopened her book, "Xiaoyu called."

"Aw....and I bet she wanted to see Rang," Julia sighed as she came out of the kitchen. "I totally forgot about that."

"Hey, Rang, pizza's okay, isn't?" she added quickly, voice still bright. He nodded his head in response and narrowed his eyes a bit at the younger girl. She turned her back to him and stretched a bit, "I think I'll run over to the boarding house and see if she wants to come over, since it's on the way to get our food."

"Take Robert with you," Michelle murmured quietly as she continued to read.

He shook his head, "Nah, I'm fine. I'll just wait here."

"Are you sure about that?" The older woman lifted her eyes at Hwoarang, and he nodded once then shifted in his seat to make himself more comfortable. She then shrugged and went back to reading silently.

"Okay, then I'll be back in a bit," Julia chirped as she headed to the door; the older boy gave a mock salute to her as she went out the door. When the door latched shut, he sighed heavily with relief, then shifted again, eyes heavy. Michelle lifted her head and closed her book before turning fully to face the younger man.

She frowned, "The two of you didn't get into a fight, did you?"

"Heh, no," he chuckled bitterly. "She doesn't talk to me enough for us to fight." Michelle shook her head sadly at that response; she set her book down next to her then placed her hands in her lap.

"You know," she began softly, "I think it's just...Jules has a hard time opening up to people now. Losing Jin was really hard on her--"

"--I know, and I respect that." Hwoarang reopened his eyes and straightened up in his seat to better eye the older woman. "It was hard on me too. But, you know, I don't appreciate her making me feel like it's my fucking fault he's dead. No one had any idea what was going to happen, except for maybe him."

"I know," Michelle looked down at her hands. "...I really shouldn't be trying to make excuses for her."

He shook his head once solemnly, "She's your daughter. You're supposed to do that." Michelle blinked, taken back by that comment, then let out a soft laugh. Hwoarang found himself also cracking a small grin then chuckled a bit.

His grin grew, "It was meant to be a comforting statement."

"That it was," the older woman smiled.

"Michelle?"

"Yes?"

Hwoarang sat upright; the smile on his face deepened into a frown, "So, did she ever tell what happened that night? I mean...other than the shooting."

The older woman's smile melted into morbid surprise. Her mouth dropped open from shock at the boy's question.

After a few moments of searching for something to say, Michelle managed to stutter in a whisper, "Is...is that what's been going on between you two?"

"She told you then. About whatever it is that really happened to Jin," he replied calmly, relaxing a bit and leaning back in his seat. "I take it, you won't tell me either."

"It's not that, Robert."

He laughed a bit, "Look, I realize I'm not family, but--"

"--You are family. I don't want you thinking anything else," she said firmly, finally finding her voice. "It's just..."

"It's just what?" Hwoarang crossed his arms and lifted a brow as he waited for an answer. However, Michelle found herself looking down at her hands again. Her hands curled up into fists; she then flexed her fingers nervously. But as Hwoarang expected, she didn't answer.

He chuckled softly and shook his head, "Just forget that I asked." The younger man then stood up and stretched, preparing to sit awhile back in Julia's room. Michelle kept her head down; her hands were trembling, and again she flexed her fingers, this time popping them.

"Robert, sit back down," she said calmly, eyes still fixated on her shaking hands.

He frowned, "Michelle?"

"Just sit."

He obeyed quietly and sat slowly back into his seat. The older woman looked up; her mouth was drawn down in a tight frown, and her eyes were watery. Her hands finally contracted firmly into fists, as to keep them from trembling.

She kept her voice and gaze study, "There are some things in this world that can only be witnessed, not explained." Hwoarang swallowed hard and nodded once, keeping eye contact and afraid to blink.

"You know those cliffs outside of town?" she began again, voice still steady.

Hwoarang nodded once stiffly, "Yeah...I think the Mishimas own those lands, right?"

She nodded, "About thirty years ago, a boy was dropped off the highest cliff there. I'm not sure of the entire story, since I only heard it second-hand from a friend, but I do know...that boy survived."

"You're kidding me," the younger man lifted a brow and leaned back in his seat, astounded.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Michelle began wringing her hands together. "When my friend told me about his brother surviving that, I almost didn't believe it, not until I saw the scars."

She frowned again, "By all rights, that boy should had died. His injuries were just..."

"Okay, so you have this insanely lucky kid that survives a drop the size of a small highrise onto solid rock..." Hwoarang crossed his arms, "What does that have to do with Jin?"

Michelle smiled wearily, "I'm getting there." She flexed her fingers again then balled them back into fists; she then placed them on her lap. "My friend thinks that his brother really died that day."

That statement took the younger man by a bit of surprise, and he blinked once before clearing his throat nervously. The conversation had already been unnerving enough for him, and the sudden cryptic notion of death bothered him even more. He glanced away at the window, actually praying that Julia would be home soon, though he knew better. With a heavy sigh, he turned back and looked Michelle in the eye. The older woman's face was tired and solemn. He shuttered as he realized that she meant every word at she had said just moments before.

"You seem afraid of death," she said.

"It's not that," he replied quietly, his words almost lost completely in his throat. "I guess it's from when Master Baek told me about his father."

"Yes?"

Hwoarang looked down at his own hands, eyes watering, "He killed him." He chuckled a bit cynically before looking up at the older woman again, "This man, the greatest, kindest man I've ever known murdered his own father. I just...I can't imagine killing another person, especially my own blood. Even when I was part of that gang... Then Baek died so suddenly..." He blinked off the oncoming tears.

He hadn't really cried since he was a little boy. Between the beatings from his father and his parents' violent arguements, he found that it was better to numb himself to the entire situation. Pretend he was somewhere else or someone else.

"Emotional death," Jin had said in a rather matter-of-fact manner to other boy while shrugging, "It happened to me after my mom died. I just stopped giving a fuck. I still don't give a flying fuck."

"Are all you Mishimas like that?" Hwoarang had asked in reply.

Jin's face hardened, "Yes, but only because assholes like you ostracize us."

It was that statement that made Hwoarang completely want to turn around his life. Bettering himself, somehow pulling himself out of the void he had made. He didn't want to be dead, yet when he finally let himself feel again, it just seemed like the blows hit him harder than ever before. The people he loved were leaving him or ignoring him.

"Robert?" Michelle asked softly, "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not." He looked glanced away at the windows once more then shook his head. "I've never been okay."

"That's not true."

He laughed a bit and turned back, "Whatever. And...what you said before about that guy dying, I guess, it made me think of something Jin said to me a few years ago. But, heh...yeah, sorry, didn't mean to change the subject."

"It's okay," she smiled. "If you want, I can put on some tea then we can finish talking ."

A small, relaxed grin started to crack on his lips, "I'd love that." He then stood up and stretched, "I think I'm going to wash my face, too. Okay?" She nodded and rose to her feet as well before strolling to the kitchen.

The icy water felt refreshingly painful against his skin, and Hwoarang cupped his hand underneath the running water again then splashed the pool of water up to his face. After doing this a few more times, he finally stopped the water and pulled off the towel that had been hanging around his neck to dry his face and bare chest.

As he patted his face dry, he stared at himself in the mirror. There were bags underneath his eyes from the lack of sleep from the past couple of days, and he could even see a few grey hairs in his overgrown spikes. He groaned and rolled his eyes at the discovery, yet bitterly mused that Julia had caused it all and decided on redying his hair red later.

Despite the distractions, he was reluctant to go back into the living room. He could, however, already faintly smell mint from the kitchen mingling in with the perfumey soap aroma in the bathroom, and he slung his towel back around his neck before shutting off the lights and exitting.

He shuffled slowly back to Julia's room to get a clean shirt, feeling somewhat better. However, he still had a heavy weight on his shoulders. He flipped on the light to her room, entered, then headed over to his duffle bag in the corner. Taking his time, Hwoarang dug through until he found a short sleeve plaid flannel shirt and threw it on, not bothering to button it yet. He then straightened up and headed towards the door.

As always, he stopped at the mirror.

This time, though, he studied each picture carefully, as if trying to find some kind of key to what Julia had said. He found himself idling wondering exactly what was he supposed to believe in as he looked over each picture of Jin and himself. Hwoarang chuckled maliciously as he noted that Jin seemed to have so much more presence than he in every photo. He loved the irony; Jin had always been obsessed with death, a subtly morbid, sick fuck who yet was more vibrant because of his fascination with mortality.

And now here that sick fuck was, immortalized in a pink and lacey shrine in some girl's bedroom.

Hwoarang's grin grew, and he glanced down at the a the top of the dresser. Something caught his eye, however, and he blinked and looked back down. He frowned.

He had never bothered to notice what Julia kept on there. Of course, at the surface, it looked like any other young girl's dresser, covered in trinkets and neat little baskets. At one side, a mirrored tray sat, covered with bottles of perfume, yet he spied a prescription medication bottle. He gingerly picked it up.

It was still half full, and the issue date was well over a year old. His frown deepened as he read label. Valium. He figured that she must had had problems sleeping after the murder, and he shrugged it off. Carefully, he set the bottle back down.

Amist the bottles and baskets was an old cigar box. He recognized it, mostly since Julia had carried it around like it was a bible when they were teenagers. A dog-eared corner of some kind of paper stuck out from it, which he had never seen the box like that; it had always been kept closed neatly.

The smell of mint was getting stronger, and Hwoarang clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue as he stared down at the little cardboard box. It was so tempting to open it, yet he felt like he was violating part of what was left of his friendship with Julia already. He glanced over at the door and stretched, getting ready to leave. Yet, he looked back at the box and cringed.

"Aw, fuck me," he mumbled as he picked it up and flipped over the lid.

He blinked and picked up the photo that was lying in there.

It was of Jin no less, but the photo had been carved into with some kind of utensil, and the emulsion had been scratched away in some places. The photo, he recalled, had used to be on the mirror. It was the one of him shirtless, yet now horns had been scratched on to his forehead and wings protruded from his back. There were a few little drawings around him of archaic symbols and some writing, which he couldn't translate. Jin's face was also scribbled out and where his eyes would had been, the paper had been punctured completely through.

Hwoarang bit his bottom lip then gently set the photo on the dresser. There was one other item in the box, which he also recognized. It was the gold chain that Julia always wore with the weird Aztec coin charm and the ring that Jin had given her on it.

It dawned on him suddenly that he hadn't seen Julia wear it since the funeral.

He snapped the box shut then quickly and quietly placed it back on the dresser. He then carefully plucked up the photo and shoved it into his back pocket, then he hastily left the room, shutting off the lights behind him.

As he emerged from the hallway, he was still buttoning up his shirt and walking briskly towards the breakfast room. Michelle had already helped herself to a cup of tea and was drinking silently. When she heard Hwoarang enter the room, she smiled fondly and gestured for him to sit. He obeyed quickly.

"I was getting worried," she chuckled.

He grinned a bit and inhaled in the scent of tea, "Sorry, I had to get beautified." The older woman's smile broadened at that comment. Carefully, she poured the boy a cup of still steaming tea then just as cautiously set down the hot kettle. She then picked up her own cup.

Hwoarang continued as he took a sip of tea, "So, you were going to tell me about this boyfriend you travelled around with? The one that lived in Chicago?"

Michelle looked up in shock midway between taking a drink, nearly dropping her tea. Nervously, she set her cup down, keeping her eyes on the younger man, "I...I never told you about Lee."