Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Away From Me ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

By: Kirachu

Away From Me 
by Kira (kirabop@hotmail.com)

Author's Notes: Brought on by certain parts of the manga that made me raise an eyebrow and form a story in my mind. This takes place after the Kyoto arc, but then switches views to another point in time, and then switches back to the present, so to speak.

Warnings for some serious angst and a lack of continual updates because I am lazy and my inspiration is always fleeting. ^^;;

Thanks to Gaki and Ruby StarD for betaing.

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<p& gt;
I know the truth now 
I know who you are 
And I don't love you anymore 

Never was and never will be 
You don't know how you betrayed me 
And somehow you've got everybody fooled 

Never was and never will be 
Not for real that you can save me 
And somehow now you're everybody's fool 
--- Evanescence "Everybody's Fool"

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Chapter One

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

Those with faith placed their fates within the hands of an unseen God. Those that believed that there was something beyond life and there was an eternal world waiting for them on the other side, lifted their hands up and accepted his graces. Those that had faith did not fear death. For it was those people that believed that there was more to life than a simple existence, that they had been placed on this Earth for a reason, and that when their lives ended, that was when they would truly begin to live.

Those with faith were often blind. They had only the book of God to teach them. They had only a priest standing before a congregation speaking from the great book to tell them that there was more to life, that someone was watching over them. Some would have thought them ridiculous. Some would have thought their faith pathetic. But in the end, it was something to be admired.

They could not see their God. They could only believe the words of their book and priest. That was what faith was. To place belief in something that might not be there at all. To believe unconditionally, without evidence, that such things beyond the mortal coil did exist, that there was something more out there.

Faith was blind, but those with it had no fear. They knew that there was something waiting for them beyond life. They knew that there was always someone watching over them. They knew that there was more to life, a reason they had been placed on the Earth. They could not see it. But they believed it, unconditionally, blindly, devotedly.

"It has been six months since my last confession."

The Christians were persecuted in Japan and sought refuge in the churches. Some had come to the Oura Cathedral in Nagasaki. It was beautiful. Its face was turned toward the city, its backside to the ocean that stretched out behind it.

They were oppressed, treated like dogs, because they placed their faith in hands of an unseen god, different from the hands of another unseen god. No one was in the right or the wrong. No one knew which belief was the truth, if any of them were truths at all. But people fought bloody wars over different faiths, killed because of different beliefs, slaughtered into nations of people because they did not believe the same thing.

People believed that it was such a sin.

The masses for the morning had ended at the Oura Cathedral. Some people still lingered. Those that volunteered at the church were sweeping or mopping the floors, others were polishing the organ pipes. The altar boys were cleaning up after the last mass, that had ended moments before. The priest had retired for the evening, into his own chambers, only to be called out to confession.

A screen separated the two men. The man that had sinned, and the man that would listen to his confession.

"Has it been six months?" asked the Father.

"Yes, Father Black."

The priest was a man of mixed descent. He had been born in America, though his mother was Japanese. There he had attended private Catholic school and decided as a teenager that he wanted to become a priest to help others. He had come to Japan as a young man, to serve as a sort of apprentice to the former priest of the Oura church. When that man passed away, he had been ordained as a priest, and took the position as his own.

He knew the man sitting before him well. Once, he had come often to confession. But as the years wore on, his visits became more disjointed. It was as though he was trying to hide something.

And he was. Father Black had known the man for nearly forty years, in his entire time serving as a priest at the Oura cathedral. The Father before him had known the man as well. They both knew what secret it was he tried to guard with his life, what had made the visits become more disjointed. The man was not normal. He was not even human.

He never aged. In the time Father Black had known him, he was eternally a healthy, attractive twenty-six year old man. No lines of age appeared around his eyes or mouth. There was never a strand of silver running through his dark hair. He never changed, not after five years, not after ten years. He was always the same.

Dead people rarely did change.

"Will you hear my confession?"

Father Black raised a hand, making a gesture to indicate for him to continue speaking.

He told him his confession. There was a young boy, only thirteen. He had been an only child, adored by his parents. He was not very popular at school, but he had several close friends that meant the world to him. His grades had been excellent. He played on the school soccer team. An ordinary boy, with years of life ahead of him to live.

He had leukemia. But he struggled with his disease, fought through it, and had been able to be like any other child in the world, playing sports and joking with his friends, attending class and making the grades.

He had a relapse. His parents rushed him to the hospitals; the doctors rushed him through treatment. He remained there for a month, struggling to live, fighting the disease. When his parents had nearly lost all hope, something of a miracle happened. He began to gain his strength back. He was able to do things completely on his own again. The hospital staff was often subjected to having him running up and down the corridors, kicking a soccer ball. He was perfectly healthy. They thought, for a moment, he would be able to beat the disease.

But that was not what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to die. His candle of life had flickered out, yet he still continued to live. It was not his pre-determined fate. It was not the destiny that had been designed for him.

So the man sitting across from Father Black, confessing, had killed him.

There was a girl, beautiful, but sad. She had never had any friends growing up, not through grade school, not through any grade. She was always alone, with not a friend to lean on, and only a sickly mother as her companion.

She had met a young man. Kind and wonderful, attending college and hoping to become a doctor someday. She had fallen in love with him. But there was a hold-up at a drug store not far from where she lived. He had been there, picking up the prescription of her mother's medicine. He was caught in the cross fire of bullets.

Unable to accept his death, she had taken a razor blade to her wrists. But her soul was unable to move on, tormented by the death of the man she loved, and the responsibility she felt for her sick mother. She was unwilling to move on, to leave her mother alone with no one to care for her. She wanted more than anything to stay.

But she could not. The dead were not meant to interact with the living.

So the man sitting across from Father Black had taken her soul.

"Asato," Father Black interrupted, gently. "What is it that you are looking for when you come here and confess to me?"

The young man shook his head. "I have committed so many wrongs in my life," he said softly.

"Do you expect forgiveness?"

"No." His eyes shifted, fell to his hands. He had beautiful eyes, the color of amethyst. Shining violet eyes, like the stained windows of the church that spilled multi-colored light to the floor in jagged, twisted shapes.

"The only ones who can give me forgiveness are dead," he said quietly.

"You must forgive yourself before others will forgive you."

But it was not his forgiveness that mattered to him. The guilt that he felt for his sins would always stay with him. It was an unbearable pain, but a pain he was gradually learning to accept and live with. There were too many people he was close to that would not forgive him if he tried to find a way away from his guilt -- he had tried that once, and he could never do it again. And so his guilt remained to go hand in hand with living.

It was their forgiveness that was important. He would not be able to believe that what he did was right, that it was his job, until he knew that they understood and accepted it. But until then he would live with his guilt, continuing to seek redemption and forgiveness for all that he had done.

"God works in strange ways," Father Black said. "But He has a plan for all of us, and a meaning to all that He does."

"What god would want a child to die? What god lets children die?"

Father Black smiled gently. "There is not a person in the world does not question that. Even those that have placed their faith in their beliefs and their God all their lives." He shifted slightly, folding his arms across his middle. "But you, Asato, you are not even of this religion, yet you continually seek me out."

"I... needed someone to talk to. Father Tojo never sent me away, even though I am not..."

"Nor will I. I just find it curious that here is where you seek salvation."

He knew no where else to go. He had never had a faith. His sister had read to him from the Bible at times, but never preached to him -- simply shared the stories. He had always found them fascinating. But a religion, that he had never been able to find. Those with faith he admired, but he found there was no place for it in his life.

It was when the guilt had become so overwhelming that he had to seek out someone. He had found Father Tojo. The man never questioned him, only listened to his confessions, and would give him guidance. Father Black was the same.

"Asato, you say you want forgiveness from all these people, over all these years. But... I think that you are looking for forgiveness from someone."

He lifted his head sharply, amethyst eyes piercing through the screen separating them.

"Is that so?" Father Black asked.

His gaze fell, thick eyelashes veiling his eyes. The people he wronged were strangers. The people he killed he had never known. He never knew their families. He knew only the circumstances surrounding their deaths. Only what he was supposed to do. Kill if they had succeeded their pre-destined life limit, or guide their souls to the land of the dead. That was what he was to do.

But the people he knew and he cared for, those people that he had wronged... what of their forgiveness?

He had always tried to banish the memory of that person from his mind. But it always came flooding back to him. Images of crystal eyes, of blood, of hands on him, caressing him; images of fire and destruction. Voices in his head, screams of pain, quiet whispers, promises that were always broken. Flooding back until the memories were overflowing, overlapping, and he couldn't breathe.

Forgive me.

I did what I had to do.

"Perhaps you should seek that person's forgiveness," Father Black said.

"That person is dead," was the soft response. "I will never have his forgiveness."

A rustle of movement came from the other side of the screen, the shift of a jacket across the fabric of the cushioned seat, and the sound of hands being pressed into pockets.

"Thank you, Father, for your time."

"Take care, Asato. No one deserves to live in such pain."

He bowed his head to the Father and turned away. The door to the confession booth opened easily. He stepped out of the darkness of the confessional into the well-lit church. Light filtered in through the stained glass windows. A beautiful piece of art was made from the glass, depicting the crucifixion of Christ. The light spilled out onto the main aisle, covering it in a warm pool of light. He had once met a man there, kneeling in that space. It seemed almost a distant memory now.

A few devoted members of the congregation were kneeled in the aisles, hands clasped together in silent prayer. He had never prayed before. He confessed his sins to the Father, but never prayed to the God that was supposedly forgiving of all deeds.

He was not sure what he believed. But since he was dead, it hardly mattered where he placed his faith. He already knew that there was a world beyond that of the living.

People confessed their sins and stepped outside of the church feeling as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. He stepped outside of the Oura church and felt as though another had been dropped. Why had he been so stupid to begin thinking about him . . . he had thought that he had finally accepted and moved on from that. The memories still lingered in his mind, but he had people in his life now he was not willing to allow the past to hold him back from.

He had tried for so long to banish those memories from his mind, he had not realized that trying so hard was what kept them there. Eventually he just stopped thinking. He had focused on his work, and gradually, thought less and less of the traumatic memories, until finally it was just another flickering memory in the back of his mind. Something that had barely touched him. Someone that had barely meant a thing to him.

It was a lie, but it was how he was able to survive. That time would never leave him. That person would never be gone from his mind. But he had to try and live without the memory. He had to, for the sake of someone that cared for him, and he cared for in return.

"Tsuzuki!"

He lifted his head. Standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the church was his younger partner, the one that had a hand in all of his wrong-doings. The one that stood by his side through it all. The one that pulled him back the edge when he had wanted to dive over. The one that he had to live for. He could not hurt him like he had before.

He had not realized in that moment how selfish he had been.

Kurosaki Hisoka. He had thought him irritating in the beginning, unable to listen to advice, unwilling to do as he was told. Another stubborn kid with an attitude problem.

His opinion had quickly changed. Hisoka was a stubborn kid, he did have an attitude problem, but there was more once the surface was scratched. They had worked together for a year and a half now, the longest time period he had ever been able to keep a partner. They had to be doing something right.

"You said to meet at the restaurant." Hisoka folded his arms. They both had a habit of standing each other up. But instead of letting it slide by, Hisoka always annoyed by it, and Tsuzuki always hurt.

Tsuzuki smiled at him as he began the trek down the flight of stairs. "Sorry, I had some stuff I wanted to take care of." He skipped the last two steps and landed with a thump beside Hisoka. His younger partner rolled his eyes, but didn't seem interested in pressing the topic further.

"They haven't got any new assignments for us yet," he said. "So we're free for awhile."

"Ah, good." Tsuzuki stretched out his arms behind his head. "I've been needing a good break."

"Don't get too comfortable. It's probably not going to last long."

Hisoka unfolded his arms from his waist and tucked his hands carefully into the pockets of his jeans. His shoe scrapped across the pavement. Tsuzuki had always watched him in the beginning of their partnership, his gestures, his careless movements, studying them and learning what they meant. Hisoka always rolled his eyes when he was irritated, or thought that his older partner was being ridiculous. He ran his fingers through his hair when he was being nonchalant. He picked at the knee of his jeans when he was bored.

He scrapped the ground with his shoes when he was uncomfortable.

"What's up?" Tsuzuki asked.

"Something's bothering you."

Not a question, but a statement. Hisoka always knew when something was. It was not only his empathy, but the connection he and Tsuzuki shared. Sometimes, he never needed to depend on his empathy to know what Tsuzuki was feeling.

"What were you doing in the church?"

"I need a mocha," Tsuzuki declared, and before Hisoka could stop him, he had began walking down the winding path leading away from the church toward the nearest café.

"H-hey! Don't ignore me!"

Hisoka had to run to catch up with the long strides Tsuzuki was taking. When he finally did, he was out of breath, and glaring up at Tsuzuki only resulted with an amused smile from the older man. He let out an irritated sigh and looked away.

The café was almost empty. A handful of teenage girls were the only other patrons. They looked up from their muffins and cappuccinos when Tsuzuki and Hisoka entered, exchanges glances, and giggled. Hisoka felt his cheeks tinge pink despite his best efforts to stop them. The girls were speaking in hushed whispers about them, but as teenage girls went, a hushed whisper was the loudest scream. Some of their comments even had Tsuzuki raising an eye.

He stepped up to the cashier and ordered himself a caramel mocha. He gave Hisoka a nudge with his elbow.

"What do you want?"

"Um." Hisoka tore his eyes away from the girls. "Whatever you're having."

"Whoa, really? Sugar, even? Caffeine? What's wrong with you?"

Hisoka glared. "Shut up, Tsuzuki."

Tsuzuki grinned, but stopped teasing him long enough to place the order. He also snatched himself up an enormous chocolate chip muffin to snack on, and with a bit of prodding, was able to convince Hisoka to get an equally enormous blueberry muffin. With their drinks and food in hand, they went outside to sit down at one of the patio tables.

Hisoka picked off one of the blueberries from his muffin and flicked it to the pigeons dancing around their table, hoping for a scrap to eat. "Are you going to keep ignoring me?" he demanded.

"I might."

Hisoka flicked one of the blueberries at his head. It bounced off his forehead and an eager pigeon gobbled it up.

"Ouch." Tsuzuki whimpered and rubbed his forehead. Hisoka looked away, irritated. As though a blueberry hurt as much as a brick barreling into his head.

"I was confessing."

Hisoka looked up at him. "You were what?"

"Confessing," Tsuzuki repeated. "I've done it for awhile. It helps, to have someone to talk to that will listen and won't judge. You know?"

Hisoka nodded his head, though he was not sure if he did understand. He would never be able to go to a complete stranger and unload all of his woes. Maybe it was because he was a private person. Tsuzuki was not. He shared his feelings with everyone. Not always the ones that mattered, like when he was hurting or needed help, but he was quick to tell you he was hungry or bored, or he thought you were being mean, or any other number of things.

Maybe it was easier to tell a stranger the things he couldn't share with anyone else.

"I always wonder if there is a penance we must pay as Shinigami," Tsuzuki murmured. "But until I find out, I can only seek forgiveness in the only way I know how."

"By confession?" Hisoka asked, still a little more than confused.

Tsuzuki smiled. "It's one way."

Hisoka picked away another blueberry. "I guess so."

Tsuzuki watched as the pigeons scrabble over the blueberry. They were so occupied with pecking and scratching each other, they did not notice a smaller one duck in and snatch it way. He smiled slightly.

Moments like these had been rare in those memories that had flooded back to him. In that time, he had always felt as though he had to constantly look over his shoulder. He had never been comfortable. He had never been able to sit down and enjoy a free moment with a friend. There had never been any free, carefree moments. Everyday, he had been in danger.

"If it helps you to talk to someone, then... I'm glad."

Tsuzuki glanced up at his younger partner. Hisoka was not looking at him, but the grappling pigeons. He knew by that lingering sound in his voice that Hisoka was glad for him, but it bothered him in someway.

He had never asked, and Hisoka had never said so, but he knew that Hisoka believed that he thought he was incapable of listening to him. Hisoka thought that he saw him as unworthy of knowing.

It wasn't true. He had just never known how to be forthcoming. Being open had gotten him burned in the past. It was an experience he hoped not to repeat.

"Sometimes it's better to talk to someone you know, though," Tsuzuki said thoughtfully. "Because they understand better."

He picked off a chocolate chip and tossed it to the pigeons. They gave up their search for the elusive blueberry and pounced upon the new crumb.

"You know, in all the times I have gone to confession," Tsuzuki began, slowly, "I have never asked for forgiveness of the one person I want it from the most."

Hisoka looked away from the pigeons. "Who?"

Tsuzuki closed his eyes.

"... I'll tell you."

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

I killed the person I loved.