Ghost Hunt 
by No. 13

“DIE!” Fujiwara Amane screeched.

Suddenly the cold glint of metal blinded him, he saw a knife raised high above Fuji’s head, descending rapidly, felt his heart stop, horror freezing him –

Is this it? Shot through Tezuka’s head, his body mesmerized in disbelief, Am I going to die?

- and reflexes from life-long judo lessons kicked in, he grasped the arm, stopping the knife a hair’s breath away from his neck. Panting he stared up into that enraged face, unable to reconcile it with the person he knew, incapable of grasping the reality of that sharp kitchen knife still aimed at his jugular.

His mother screamed in the background, panicked, torn, horrified beyond imagination. This just wasn’t happening. The Fuji Tezuka knew would never ever raise a hand against anybody, much less a real weapon poised to kill. But those glinting eyes, flickering irritably in the unsteady candle light were fuelled by a cold rage that no feeling human being could ever show.

Swallowing thickly, Tezuka tightened his hold on the thin wrist, his own arms trembling as Fujiwara indignantly tried to force the knife down with everything Fuji’s already weakened body possessed.

“Kunimitsu!” he heard his mother gasp somewhere in the twilight, but didn’t dare to take his eyes of his friend’s possessed form, didn’t dare to even turn around and scream for help.

As if in slow motion Tezuka watched Fuji lift his left hand, a cold smile painted on lips darkened by candlelight. The gesture was so deliberate, sinfully sensuous - Fujiwara was giving him time to watch the slow transfer of the knife from one hand to another, giving him time to face his nearing death

“Kunimitsu!” Tezuka Ayana screeched, eyes wide in terror, seeing the knife pointed at her only child, that boy that even now wasn’t screaming for help or crying. She’d gladly give her life to take his place, gladly pay whatever price necessary to save his life – if there was anything good or right in this world, if there was anything at all, she prayed, they wouldn’t let her see her own child get killed in front of her eyes. Nothing could be that cruel, that couldn’t happen, just couldn’t…

“Hit him!” Yumiko’s breathless voice barely carried over from where she was, half on the floor, leaning weakly against the armchair she’d previously resided in. Her face was whiter than the wall, eye’s barely open, but focused and clenching her teeth against the darkness threatening to swallow her senses, she ruthlessly pushed on.

“Don’t hold back! Hit him!”

Tezuka didn’t consciously hear her words. Maybe somewhere deep down his brain registered them, just like it registered his mother’s screaming, the frantic pounding of his own heart – but sheer terror numbed everything.

Fujiwara Amane smiled sickeningly sweet as the knife passed into her left hand. Cold eyes were glittering in malicious delight at Tezuka’s horrified expression.

And Tezuka knew he’d be dead if he failed to act now. Gritting his teeth, expecting to feel cold metal penetrating his ribcage any minute now, he threw away caution, drew his fist back and punched Fuji in the stomach. Hard.

There was no pain.

The knife clattered on the ground, and Fuji slumped down beside him like a doll. Raindrops were hitting the window outside, the room was almost completely dark now, that most of the candles had gone out and, most curious of all, he was still alive. Tezuka took a deep breath, trying to calm his tattered nerves and adrenalin slowly drained from his body – but his heart kept racing.

Was it over? Had he … survived? Was tonight’s ordeal really over for good?

Wearily he glanced over to the two crouched woman beside the couch table. Yumiko was on her knees, barely able to keep her eyes open, yet struggling to stand. His mother was whiter than the walls, eyes wide in disbelief and hands clutching Yumiko’s shoulders. The terror and disbelief Tezuka had felt were still visible on her face, and realization, that everything was over was only slowly settling in.

And then, all of a sudden, she was on her feet, rushing over and drew Tezuka in an embrace tight enough to drive all air from his lungs. Numbly Tezuka let her, for the first time noticing the slight tremors cursing through his own body.

“Kunimitsu.” Her voice was choked by suppressed tears and her arms tightened even further around her son’s unmoving form as she recalled how close it had been. “Oh Kunimitsu, are you alright? Are you hurt? Are you…” she trailed off, gasping for breath, pressing her son closer to her chest, relishing in the sensation of feeling the warmth of his body.

Overwhelmed by his mother’s sudden emotional outbreak, Tezuka numbly raised one arm to put around his mother’s shoulders, his brain still desperately trying to piece everything together.

He dimly realized he was still holding his friend’s small wrist, twisting the entire arm in the process. But Fuji wasn’t protesting, still and lifeless on the ground.

An cold shudder ran down Tezuka’s spine as some half-formed thought arose within the depth of his mind, but before that dreadful image could unfold, Fuji Yumiko’s breathless, strained voice cut through the fog currently enveloping him.

“Excuse me, Tezuka-san…” Yumiko muttered, weakly pushing past the two of them, eyes fixed on her brother’s motionless form.

Gasping where anybody else would already be in tears, she sank to her knees beside him. Heaving a wistful sigh, she gently reached out. Close up, Tezuka could see tears shining in her eyes, yet she denied herself the comfort of crying.

“Syusuke…” she mumbled, reaching out a trembling hand to feel her brother’s neck. Tezuka Ayana’s embrace loosened, as she, too, turned to look at the unfolding scene and bit her lip. She’d almost forgotten about poor Fuji-kun, and seeing him now, pale and unmoving, did little to assuage the guilt clawing at her heart.

“Is he…?” she asked, voice trembling with renewed worry.

Fuji Yumiko turned a tired smile at both Tezuka’s, eyes lingering for a moment on the wrist that Tezuka was still holding fast.

“He should be okay.” She mumbled, but didn’t sound very convincing. Ayana’s frown deepened and Tezuka wondered why Yumiko still appeared nervous. Granted, the pulse he felt underneath that delicate skin wasn’t strong, but it was steady at least.

Yumiko smoothed her brother’s hair back gently, before drawing back her hand and abruptly bringing it down with a slap.

“Syusuke, wake up!”

Tezuka’s eyes widened in surprise and Ayana drew in a sharp breath. Gathering her wits she made to protest.

“Fuji-san, maybe…”

“Syusuke!” another slap and with a wistful smile Yumiko turned to her guests, “This is only to make sure the spirit has really gone.”

She didn’t like what she was doing either, Tezuka Ayana realized while her heart clenched, there were tears shining in Yumiko’s eyes – all she wanted to do was to hug her brother but what she had to do was something entirely different.

“Syusuke!”

And this time it worked. Lashes fluttered, Fuji groaned and turned his head, before opening his eyes. They were glazed from fever and exhaustion, but Tezuka felt relieved at seeing their deep blue again.

Yumiko actually sank back with a sigh and for a moment it seemed she would just faint there and then, but she remained upright.

“Nee-san…” Fuji whispered, voice hoarse, “Tez…”

A violent coughing fit swallowed the rest of Tezuka’s name. When it eventually let up, three people watched him anxiously. He could only lean back, body completely limp from exhaustion and try to give them a reassuring smile…

Then his eyes fluttered shut and he slumped over, unconscious once more.

Ayana instinctively reached out and put a hand on his forehead. Her eyes widened suddenly, much to Tezuka’s concern, and with a grave expression she turned to Yumiko.

“He’s burning up!”

Fuji Yumiko, looking dead herself, mustered a faint smile that was meant to be reassuring. “It should be okay, though. Only after effects from the séance… He’ll be fine …”

“Shouldn’t we call a doctor?” Ayana asked in disbelief. Had this been Kunimitsu lying on the floor, had this been her own child she would have long since… But Fuji-kun wasn’t her child and Yumiko wasn’t even his mother, but worst of all, she seemed to have experience with situations as this.

Tezuka glanced over to his team mate’s pale, barely breathing form. He was still holding onto his wrist and could feel the pulse’s faint beating. The heat emitting from flushed skin and the soft shudders that ran through that small body ever so often.

His mother was right - they ought to call an ambulance.

“It’s not so bad.” Yumiko said, affectionately patting her brother’s hair, “He’s always like this afterwards. The fever should go down in an hour or two, so please don’t worry.”

‘Should go down’ Tezuka repeated to himself, ‘But will it, though?” He had a feeling that all those séances Yumiko talked about had been performed when Fuji had been healthy – not additionally sick with a cold that seemed to get worse by the hour.

With a weary sigh, his still very much upset mother leaned back and acquiesced. Tezuka had to admire her for her capacity of holding up that well, even though her world-view had just been torn into smaller pieces.

“Fuji-san… you must be very tired yourself.”

Which was perhaps the understatement of the century, but politeness required Ayana to remain indirect. Yumiko looked like the living dead, face white and the fact, that she remained kneeling spoke for itself.

“Please let my son and me stay for a while and tidy up for you.” Ayana gestured to the teacups and the various articles strewn over the room.

“Aa, thank you very much but…”

Ayana firmly interrupted the meekly voiced protest. “No, please, let us help. I feel awful for you and your brother putting so much effort into an affair that doesn’t even directly concern you, so let me try to repay you even with such a small gesture.”

It felt strange, disjointed even, to listen to that formal conversation after everything that had taken place, Tezuka thought. Yet on the other hand – it brought a feeling of normality and after tonight, after all these surreal, dreadful events, normality brought safety.

“Well…” Yumiko said, smiling, and everybody present knew Ayana had won that one, “In that case… I can’t refuse.”

With a weak smile that was gaining resolution fast, Ayana turned to her son. “Kunimitsu, could you please take Fuji-kun to his room and make sure he is comfortable? I’ll call you when everything’s done.”

Usually Tezuka might have offered to help his mother with tidying up, but for once he simply nodded, barely even noticing Yumiko’s grateful smile, before bending down to pick his team mate up.

Fuji felt a lot lighter without his winter coat, Tezuka noted, maybe even a bit too light – but well, according to Inui Fuji had always been on the thin side, and with his cold and all the additional stress now, he just might have lost a little too much weight. Hopefully it wasn’t something some pieces of wasabi sushi wouldn’t cure …

But honestly, Tezuka wondered how long Fuji would be able to make up for what he lacked in strength with technical precision on the court. No matter how much Fuji simply tried to smile it all away, there was no denying that he was smaller and more delicately build than most others their age. And Kawamura had already taken Tezuka aside and requested not be put into the same block as Fuji for the next ranking matches …

At the moment however, the persisting cold appeared more worrisome to Tezuka, as he laid his charge down and frowned when Fuji kept coughing, even in sleep. Not the wet, body-wrecking coughs, but small and very unhealthy-sounding ones.

Drawing up the blankets around his friend, making sure he was warm and comfortable felt like a tiny, helpless gesture – more a symbolic move than anything that would truly help Fuji now. But, biting his lip, Tezuka had to admit defeat here. He knew far too little to do anymore for his friend, so with a sigh he turned away, intending to fetch a cup of tea from downstairs.

A soft groan and fluttering eyelashes made Tezuka halt in his retreat. Blue eyes barely managed to focus on his and Tezuka wondered if Fuji actually recognized him, or if the fever had rendered him delirious.

“Te…tezuka….”

Fuji blinked, fighting of the darkness creeping back from the edges of his vision. Everything was blurry, numb and felt strangely detached, as if he was somewhere deep underneath some watery surface, starring up at the events taking place high above.

“A… are you…?”

Another coughing fit racked the slight frame, making Tezuka clench his fists, damning his helplessness.

And then something red splattered on the blue patterned blanket. Immediately Tezuka found himself back at Fuji’s side, wide-eyed and numb with sheer horror, one arm flung around Fuji’s trembling shoulders, the other reaching for a nearby glass of water.

“Fuji!” he exclaimed, terrified, as Fuji wiped wearily at his bloodstained lips, getting the cotton of his sleeve soaked. There was no indication from his movements that anything was wrong, even more wrong than before – only that tiny mechanical gesture, blue eyes not even widening slightly at the sight of blood…

Heart beating rapidly and with cold sweat beading his brow once again, Tezuka felt afraid to let go of his friend, but the blood…

… this was beyond mere exhaustion. Fuji needed to go to a hospital. Now.

“Sorry…” Fuji muttered meekly, as if sensing the panic crawling through Tezuka’s veins, and tried to hold back further, horridly wet coughs. The fact alone that there was blood staining his hands sent icy chills down Tezuka’s spine.

“Don’t be.” he muttered, voice flat, “Where’s your mobile?”

“Eh?” Fuji managed to open his eyes to glance astonished at Tezuka for a moment, before a small, tired but honest smile spread on his face, “Whom do you … do you want to call at this time, buchou?” he gasped, “Some girlfriend I …” coughing ensued once more, leaving Fuji to finish his jovial phrase in a hoarse whisper, “… don’t know about?”

‘Idiot.’ thought Tezuka, but it was suffused with heart-wrenching affection. To see Fuji joking, now, even though he was coughing up blood, unable to even sit upright on his own…

Things weren’t meant to happen like this, he realized. Somebody as mercurial and strong as Fuji wasn’t ought to be lying down here, sick and weak – only because of some ghost.

“Fuji…” Tezuka gave his team mate a small shake as he noticed him slipping away once again, “Hold on! I’m going to call an ambulance! Stay awake until…”

And Fuji chuckled. “Ne, Tezuka, I … I haven’t hit my head nor … am I in any kind of mortal danger.”

“You’re coughing up blood!”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Fuji!”

“Te…” Coughing again, and Tezuka rose, ready to run downstairs and get help immediately. Fuji hid his face in tissue that slowly became red, but reached out a trembling hand for Tezuka’s sleeve.

The gentle pressure would have never deterred him in terms of strength – but the gesture stopped Tezuka cold.

“Sorry … you had to see that.” Fuji gasped. “It’s just a … a side-effect from being possessed … nothing serious. Honestly … I’ve had worse.”

Tezuka shuddered to think of what ‘worse’ implicated. He wondered if he’d ever be able to call on Fuji’s bad form on the courts again without having to question the reasons for the tensai’s bad performance- had there been a session the previous night, had…

He closed his eyes, frowning how many times he had already confronted Fuji about ‘playing around’ or ‘not playing up to standard’, when Fuji perhaps hadn’t been able to help it.

Well, no crying over spilt milk.

“Ne, Tezuka … I don’t think I’m going … to make practice tomorrow…” Fuji muttered, eyelids dropping and breaths growing shallow.

“Of course not.” Tezuka insisted harshly, before slumping down exhausted. The panic that had frozen his blood before receded slowly, leaving him only more tired and upset. There were so many thoughts rushing through his head, so many things to consider – he felt like he could drop dead himself, right here. Too much had happened tonight, too much revealed – he felt he ought to sit down and consider everything rationally, go over it, pick up the pieces and put them together, now, that he had answers, but something within himself rebelled. He didn’t want to think about everything now, he wanted to lie down and sleep. He wanted this horror show to be over, to wake up and go to tennis practice tomorrow and find Fuji waiting for him with a smile, healthy and whole. Not that fragile doll in his arms with lips reddened by blood.

Glancing at his charge, he still felt compelled to call a doctor or do anything else to help him… but Fuji’s eyes, glazed as they were, were calm and free of desperation, telling him to trust his judgement and stop worrying.

“Are you okay? Honestly?” Tezuka asked, painfully aware of each laboured breath his friend drew.

Fuji smiled tiredly. “Yes… A bit exhausted though…”

Settling the smaller frame gently back against the pillows, Tezuka felt strangely reluctant to let go. He didn’t want to loose that warmth, to loose whatever proof he had that Fuji was here and alive.

Perhaps this was how his mother had felt downstairs, before, when she’d suddenly drawn him into that bone-crushing hug. Perhaps those strange, heart-wrenching emotions were…

Drawing a sigh and deciding that it must be well past his own bed-time for his thoughts move in circles like this, Tezuka detached himself and stood. Fuji, it seemed, had already gone back to sleep – the exhaustion must have been overwhelming.

“Sleep well.” Tezuka whispered, willing a dozen of other good wishes for his friend along with those two words, before he turned to leave.

A soft, barely audible voice caught his attention, when he made to shut the door behind him.

Fuji appeared asleep and he wasn’t sure if he was actually meant to hear those words that fell from Fuji’s lips.

“Ne, Kunimitsu… thank you… thank you for everything.”

On to Chapter 12~