Ghost Hunt 
by No. 13

Before Tezuka could ponder Fuji Yumiko’s gift any further, his mother returned to the living room, looking more tired than he’d seen her in a long time. He knew her well enough to tell that her resolve was waning. That child’s death, the little horrid tale of a possession gone wrong, all was taking its toll on her.

“Is it really okay?” ,she asked when Fuji re-entered the living room, now dressed in a casual yukata, carrying several devices, that – as far as Tezuka knew – had never been mentioned along with ‘séance’ or ‘exorcism’. His mother was worried, and maybe, just maybe, Tezuka contemplated, they ought to stop here and sleep before doing anything else. His friend’s pallor was a sickly white, that rightfully roused Ayana’s concern.

“Yes.” Yumiko responded, passing her on her way to the kitchen. She, too, appeared exhausted and her eyes held a haunted quality that Tezuka hadn’t previously recognized. And yet… perhaps it had always been there. Only his questioning her abilities had brought it to the forefront.

A soft clink drew his attention back to the glass table he sat in front of. Fuji had begun putting down that odd assortment of gadgets, thin wrists trembling slightly, but still moving oh so gracefully.

Eyeing the devices, Tezuka frowned. A sphygmomanometer, an electro-shocker, a set of pointy needles, some candles and last of the strange assortment was a water-gun. Ayana looked rather upset, and Tezuka, too, wondered what Yumiko expected to happen.

Just at that moment the person in question reappeared from the kitchen, bearing a tray with hot tea and sweets – to sooth everyone’s nerves. They ought to be calm, Yumiko explained, otherwise chances were they might encounter some trouble. Nothing too bad, no, but hysteria just didn’t mix well with the occult.

“Well, hopefully we won’t be needing any of this.” she declared, sounding a bit more energetic after having consumed some chocolate, “But just in case something happens I’ll explain what you need to do.”

Tezuka’s mother nodded gratefully, even though she remained worried. He eyed his friend wearily, wondering if Fuji was truly fit and up to the task. If this were tennis practice, he’d long send his team mate to the nurse’s office, if not straight home.

“First, during the session, Syusuke and I might not react to outer stimuli or notice anything going on, even if it’s a large-scale event like an earthquake or a fire. The easiest way to call somebody back is to douse them with cold water.”

She pointed at the water-gun. “Sometimes, though, that’s not enough. In that case the needles come in. Aim for the pressure spots in the back of the neck, or – easier, stick one into the flesh between thumb and forefinger of the left hand.”

That, at least, would be safe. Tezuka didn’t understand very much about pressure points, beside the fact that he very much liked the occasional massage of said spots. Perhaps his mother knew more, but just in case, he’d rather stick a needle into somebody’s hand than into somebody’s neck.

“This one.” she went over to the sphygmomanometer, “Will be taking Syusuke’s blood pressure during the session. Should the value drop below the critical limit, try to stop the session at once. Wake me first, however, because if the value’s below the line, you won’t know just whom you’re waking up.”

Ayana shuddered and Tezuka tried to suppress all the gruesome images assaulting his mind. Whom you’re waking up – so there was a possibility of waking some blood-thirsty spirit? Swallowing thickly, he pushed the queasy feeling aside and listened on.

Yumiko’s face grew even grimmer as she turned to the electro-shocker, not paying any attention to Ayana’s aggrieved expression or Tezuka’s frozen mask of suppressed horror.

“If worst comes to worst and one of us suffers a heart failure…” and judging by Yumiko’s grave expression, she’d already seen this happen – though Tezuka didn’t even want to know when or how - , “One of you should immediately alarm an ambulance. Afterwards please try to revive the person in question.”

Ayana was as pale as a ghost herself and Tezuka wondered if they should really go through with their project. It sounded worse minute by minute. But both Fujis appeared determined and calm, and Tezuka decided to trust their judgement. Even if his logical mind was screaming bloody murder at the moment.

Before anybody else dies, he told himself, willing the dread cursing through his veins to subside.

“Very well then.” Yumiko flashed a last smile at the seated group and Tezuka noted that his friend had already set everything up. A shiver ran down his spine as he gazed onto the solemn faces on the other side of the table.

“We shall begin.”

Fuji Yumiko extinguished the light, leaving the living room lit by only a few candles. Tezuka had a hard time recognizing anything in the darkness, dancing flames created new perspectives, and only the rain remained steady.

“The seventh of November. At five o’clock in the afternoon. In the Tatsunori mansion, on the second floor.”

It wasn’t a statement, it was a razor-sharp command, cutting like a whip through the thick darkness smothering the room.

Yumiko’s eyes were barely open, Tezuka held his breath and noted his mother sitting tensely beside him. Fuji’s eyes had slipped closed, head slightly tilted forward. Honey-brown strand shaded his face, and the flickering candlelight cast strange expressions on too-white cheeks.

“Who was present?” Yumiko demanded suddenly. Swallowing, Tezuka forced himself to remain seated, eyes on the sphygmomanometer, telling him everything was normal, still, only Yumiko wasn’t … was…

Was she herself of wasn’t she? He had no idea, knew much too little to be able to tell – only he wouldn’t dare cross this woman’s path, not when ghosts obeyed her.

“Four persons.” Fuji whispered, voice oddly hollow and distant, “Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Syusuke, Tatsunori Ichirou and Fujiwara Amane.”

Feeling her heart stop, Ayana starred wide-eyed at Yumiko. Tezuka drew in a sharp breath. Fujiwara Amane. The woman who’d possessed Fuji. She just had to be it; the last unknown person in the equation. That name they’d been missing – the key to solve this puzzle.

“Fujiwara Amane.” Yumiko repeated firmly, “Are you willing to speak with us?”

Intrigued and horrified, Ayana leaned forward, mesmerized by the events unfolding in front of her eyes. Tezuka’s logical mind still tried to hang onto denial, to seek out the logical explanations – but he wouldn’t deny his fascination, nor the fact that he sat, waiting with baited breath.

For a spilt second too long silence ruled. Then Fuji chuckled, in the rich, honey alto voice Tezuka had only ever heard once before and his blood froze. His friend’s head came up slowly, a malicious smile on an even paler face, eyes glittering, their usual clear blue replaced by a darker colour.

His mother gasped and Tezuka’s eyes strayed to the sphygmomanometer, heart frantically praying that everything would be okay.

“Speaking to you? Audacious woman, how dare you address me as one of yourlike? The blood in my veins in second too none, though, I might just forgive you that slight and, knowing what hardship will await you, indulge you a little.”

Her laughter was brittle, sensuous and so very, very arrogant. So absolutely unlike any gesture Fuji would ever make – and, truly, Tezuka found himself barely recognizing his team mate like this.

“Why did Tatsunori Ichirou kill all those people?” Yumiko asked directly.

“Oh, that?” she chuckled, a vibrant, careless sound, “Do you really care about those sixty-something persons? You should know better than to care for a peasant’s fate. Or any other than your own, anyways.”

Ayana gasped, almost recoiling in horror. This was … what kind of a person was that Fujiwara Amane? What kind of a life nurtured such opinions? What did…

Horrified and yet fascinated, Tezuka leaned forward, studying that face. The warm candle-light cast a healthy glow on what had been ghostly-white cheeks, enhanced high cheekbones, darkened eyelashes and created a picture of a stunning, sensuous female.

“Indulge me and answer the question.” Yumiko insisted patiently. A pale sheen of sweat was covering her face and Tezuka found his eyes straying to the gadgets – hopefully, they’d be able to react in time, should the occasion arise. But another, worried glance to the sphygmomanometer told him, that readings were still normal.

He looked up just in time to see the Fujiwara Amane roll her eyes, as if annoyed by the question.

“Really, now, is it that important? He killed them to restore me, and now that he’s done that and we’ve found a suiting vessel, it’s only a question of time until we can be together again.”

Biting her lip, Ayana couldn’t help but stop all the thoughts assaulting her mind. What was that woman, what kind of a life had she lived? How could such a despicable creature exist? Wasn’t … wasn’t the value of a life universal? Transient?

And how, how in the world, could such a cold-hearted female come to grasp the concept of love? Or was Tatsunori Ichirou, the murderer, after all, only a victim himself? A man, doomed by his love to a ruthless, inscrutable, power-hungry female – a love that bound him even after death?

Tezuka noted with a frown that Fuji’s blood pressure had dropped a good bit by now.

“He promised me eternity after all.” her voice – if it was possible for such an arrogant and self-centred creature – grew wistful underneath all that smugness, “And than he went out and never came back, that idiot.”

Ayana tensed up, wide-eyes fixed on Fujiwara Amane’s silent form. This ought not to be possible, she ought not to wonder what happened there – and why, why, why did she feel a twinge of sympathy at the end of that last sentence?

That woman was responsible for the death of many people. One preschool girl, and almost her own son, too – and yet, she wondered what exactly had happened four hundred years ago.

There was a silence that Yumiko only broke with great care. It was thin ice they were treading on, now, she realized. Fujiwara Amane had shed her outer layer in a curiously careless manner – as if she didn’t recognize the priceless information she currently handed out. As if her identity and that plan, she and Ichirou were currently acting out, was no secret at all…

Right now, she could either find all the answers they longed for – or everything could go to hell.

“Tatsunori Ichirou – were you married?”

“Yes, isn’t that funny?” that cold voice sounded oddly split, torn between its usual arrogance and a more emotional tenor, “Our parents had that marriage arranged and we’d never met previously. Everybody only told me that married life was horrid, and that I should go and try to become the Shogun’s concubine. Not a problem as I was considered the most beautiful woman in all of Japan.”

Her laughter ebbed away, leaving Ayana mesmerized, torn between disgust and fascination. That righteous, unmindful woman concerned with only herself had left a bad impression, yet, now, hearing her speak of affairs of the heart, of love and life – she was just another female, once arrogance and pretension were stripped away.

“I guess…” her smile grew malicious once again, foreboding in the flickering candlelight, “You actually deserve the entire story. Well, needless to say and very much to our own surprise, my husband and me fell in love. People had called him a heartless demon, who had only money and no honour, but really, people are the worst.”

The rain outside continued to fill the silence, raindrops sliding down the window panes, distorting reality. Such a dreary and cold November night – and the candles barely could hold the darkness at bay.

“Because of their rumours, various nobles approached me, offering me to become their concubine, or even their wife, promising to send assassins after Tatsunori. They told me they’d give me a happy life, and while those offers of luxury were quite tempting, I knew that none of them understood what I wanted like Tatsunori did.”

She believed herself justified, Ayana realized with a shudder, that woman hated humanity in general because of rumours – and thus saw killing not as a crime, but a necessity. The idea alone made Ayana’s blood run cold.

“Good soul he is, he had the most annoying once taken care of immediately. The rest never ever dared showing their face at court again.”

“Then, however, I was approached by the Shogun himself. I could only deny by pointing out the possessiveness of Tatsunori… And barely six weeks later my husband had to leave on a punishment expedition to the south. But we managed to pull one on his highness – he might have killed us, but he’d never gotten what he wanted.”

Something changed in the atmosphere, Tezuka realized. While she’d been lost in memories until now, Tezuka found those dark eyes slowly returning to the present. Fujiwara Amane’s gaze settled itself onto her audience, cold and untouchable. Cold, calculating and a hint of insanity lingered in those eyes, when blood-red lips stretched themselves into a malevolent smile.

“Underneath the teahouse in the garden, there’s a secret room. One built from stone, not wood. Tatsunori locked me in there, together with food and water enough to last half a year or more. But I never saw him again…”

She’d died a grizzly death, Ayana realized, taken aback and wondering how she’d managed to uphold her arrogance after spending a long time imprisoned underground. For that devotion and nothing else, only for that, this horrid woman called Fujiwara Amane deserved respect. But honestly for nothing else.

Had Tezuka Ayana been a lesser character she would have condemned her. Righteously claimed that she suffered only the fate she’d deserved, if not much less. Because, obviously, others had suffered worse because of her.

“What will happen once you are restored.” Fuji Yumiko asked suddenly, voice heavy, as if over-tired. Tezuka glanced over at her and saw sweat shimmering on her brow, posture slumped in the candlelight.

“Oh…” a coy giggle, the pitch too high to be considered sane “That’ll be wonderful! We’ll finally get what we deserved all along! Immortality! Forever! Together! It will be only me and him, the two of us for the rest of eternity and beyond. There’s nobody who’ll ever hold sway about any of us again, we’ll beyond reach for you mere mortals!”

The alien smile on Fuji’s face turned into a dark smirk. “And no exorcist can banish us, our powers shall be unrivalled. We shall surpass even the demons.”

Tezuka shivered, eyes widening in disbelief. His mother gasped, half-a-second away from protesting, from demanding to stop. Just stop. Those awful words, those horrid happening, this terrible reality – couldn’t they just escape? Close their eyes and wait for everything to pass?

And then Tezuka’s eyes dropped to the sphygmomanometer again. He frowned, seeing Fuji’s pulse dangerously low and faint – still above critical level, yet.

Perhaps now was the time to intervene…

“So are you planning to stop me, foolish girl?” Fuji – or, rather Fujiwara Ayame – rose up gracefully, “Afraid that your pitiful powers won’t measure up to me anymore? And that’s not speaking of those two mere mortals…”

A condescending look cast into Tezuka’s direction. “What do you intend to do when things happen? Bang on doors, scream your throat sore, just like you did the last time? You do know…”

And suddenly she was far too close, her face hovering a hair’s breadth away from Tezuka’s. He barely recognized his friend then, not daring to move.

“You do know what happens to fools who interfere?” she hissed. Tezuka desperately searched for a flash of blue, for some hidden understanding in those mercilessly dark eyes. But there was no trace of Fuji Syusuke to be found.

A gasp behind him, something hit the table and he only heard his mother’s choked “Fuji-san!”

Something had snapped, something had given – a violent shift in the air, but he didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t see, couldn’t even glance away from the dark, abysmal gaze that held him captive. He couldn’t look past the slight body in front of him, had no clue what was happening – only that it left his blood pounding, himself dizzy and frightened, trying to hold on best he could.

“Fuji-san!” his mother called frantically, and flesh hit flesh. He feared the worst, but a mad scramble for their side was stopped by Fujiwara Ayame’s impetuous voice.

“You are powerless here. You couldn’t stop me back then, you won’t stop me next time. Do the only intelligent thing and draw back. Go home, back to your pitiful life and forget about this! Greater things aren’t meant for small minds like yours, brat.”

Tezuka glared at her, defiance flashing in his eyes. Refused to acknowledge her words, to heed her warnings; ignoring her threats.

“Tezuka-kun!” Yumiko gasped weakly, pulling herself into a sitting position with the help of Ayana’s arm. “Stop!”

Tezuka would not stop. He wouldn’t back down, not to such a person – he wouldn’t bow to such a vile creature as long as there was breath left in his lungs. Fujiwara Amane’s expression twisted in cold rage.

And all of a sudden she moved. Cold metal glinted high in the air, a kitchen knife aimed precisely at his throat, Tezuka realized in morbid, frozen fascination. How did…?

“DIE!” Fujiwara Amane screeched.

On to Chapter 11~