Ghost Hunt 
by No. 13

By the time Tezuka had to get up on Saturday morning, he was far too tired to contemplate the events of last night. It was on autopilot he survived the routines and only sitting down at the table forced him to clear his head.

Silence hung heavily over the well-heated room, the clatter of dishware the only noise. Soothingly normal, unlike his mother’s very pale face and the concerned expression on his father’s face.

A drowned girl, a séance gone wrong, a knife aimed at his throat, Fuji coughing up blood – with a shudder Tezuka tried to block all those gruesome memories from his mind. Sitting at the breakfast table with his family, enjoying a good meal in tranquillity, the horrors of last night seemed incredibly far away. Almost, as if they only existed in his imagination.

Shuddering, he put down his chopsticks a little less graceful than usual.

“Are you alright?” Tezuka Kuniharu asked suddenly, breaking the stifling cocoon of make-belief. He’d heard what had happened from his wife, and almost found himself incapable of understanding. A séance? What was the world coming to?

But even his father, his always rational and level-headed father had listened and believed every word without a doubt. And when Tezuka Kunikazu was convinced, Tezuka Kuniharu ought not to ask anymore questions.

He hadn’t wanted to, anyways, once his wife had finished her tale. Instead he’d taken a deep breath, convinced himself, that no matter how twisted and cruel the ghost, work would be waiting tomorrow, the world would go on and they’d be getting rid of the ghost soon now. And then he’d snuck of and stolen a glance at his son’s peacefully sleeping face, only to reassure his unsettled heart.

Because, after all, there were no words do describe the relief he felt at seeing his son blink in surprise at the unexpected question from the other side of the breakfast table. If he’d come to find that chair empty…

“I’m alright, yes.” Tezuka Kunimitsu replied.

Ayana took in faded scratches on his cheek, looked at stormy, grey skies and leafless trees outside, and sighed. “You look tired. Do you want to stay home?”

“It’s okay.” Tezuka answered, shaking his head. “It’s only tennis practice today. I’ll be home early.”

And he really wanted to. But it was not to be.

The courts were sparsely populated this early, and Eiji kept muttering about awful training conditions. Autumn had finally given way to winter and they were all feeling the cold through their Jerseys. There was no rain, though, yet the sky remained overcast with thick, grey clouds being blown about by an icy wind. Eiji brought his scarf out in the beginning, but put it aside after running the first twenty laps. Oishi looked a bit paler than usual and Tezuka told him to take care during a private moment.

When Oishi had inquired about Fuji and Eiji had joined the conversation, Tezuka’s fists clenched. Trying his best to keep a straight face he told them that Fuji was down with a cold. Nothing to worry about, no, only the weather, and yes, Oishi was right, Fuji had always been a bit sensitive…

But he couldn’t stop the images assaulting his mind. Couldn’t repress the memories rising up, the knife, the possession and how limp Fuji’s body had been in his arms.

Sending a silent prayer to whomever listening, Tezuka wished for his own words to come true. That Fuji was truly only down with a cold – nothing more serious… Nothing that left bloodstains on papery white hands.

He should have been more insistent yesterday, Tezuka realized as Oishi and Eiji wandered off in order to join Inui and Kaidou for a practice game. Regardless of whatever Fuji had told him, he had been coughing up blood – they ought to have called a doctor at least. It must have been exhaustion gnawing at his resolve that had made him take Fuji’s word on the matter – but today, looking out on wind-swept courts, he had to admit that he was still worried.

Hopefully Fuji had gone to see a doctor today. Hopefully he wouldn’t be that deathly pale the next time they met, or look that utterly fragile. But honestly, Tezuka asked himself, what were the chances that Fuji had actually gone and consulted with a certified physician? Most probably he was trying to wait it out.

Tezuka turned his attention back to the courts, where Eiji kept muttering about how it was far too cold to practice, while Oishi’s return volley was blown off course by sudden gust of wind that left all occupants shivering.

Only Inui failed to complain about the cold, while Kaidou and Momoshirou had successfully been calling themselves names for long enough that Tezuka had a feeling next they’d dare each other to come to practice in shorts and t-shirt.

Well, at least that quarrelling kept them warm, Tezuka thought. And Kawamura had his own built-in heating system.

Although the regulars were holding up quite well, the non-regulars had a hard time standing the cold. Tezuka had already observed that Arai played the best in warm and sunny weather – cold November days weren’t meant for him. And he couldn’t even comment on the freshmen…

Although Echizen hit his way through all of his practice matches without a complain, or even blinking – looking asleep on his feet - and disappeared from the courts the minute he could, presumably to return directly to his bed.

In the end, Tezuka was glad when he was able to call it a day at 12.30 and dismiss the club. Watching Eiji and Oishi leaving together, chatting amiably, suddenly made him all the more notice the lack of a person at his side. Usually Fuji would be there, offering commentary without expecting Tezuka to respond – which, when he looked at it right now, seemed rather pitiful on his part.

So, maybe he’d just make a little detour over to Fuji’s house. Say hello to his friend, surprise him by telling him what had happened at practice – because he hadn’t been quite able to shake the image of Fuji’s hunched form, coughing up blood.

At least, he thought to himself, fixing his eyes on the clouds racing overhead, it wasn’t raining.

Which did little for his pounding head or his stuffed sinuses. When he sat up, the world spun like crazy for several seconds and he was thankful he hadn’t eaten a thing since – well, he was too dizzy to recall that right now, but anyways – last time, so there was nothing he could throw up.

He had a feeling he would have made more than one trip to the restroom otherwise – that is, if he actually managed to make his way there. His knees felt like pudding, weak, wobbly and utterly incapable of bearing even his own weight.

Really, the others were lucky, being able to practice tennis right now. Even if the weather was horrid, being out there seemed vastly preferable over his current occupation. Reading was out of question, the letters just kept blurring in front of his eyes, music made his head ache and if he tried to do schoolwork now, he’d only get blood on the textbooks in the end.

The air in here was getting stuffy, too.

After he had made his way to the window he decided he’d just risk the trek downstairs.

Yumiko would have his head if she returned to find him out of bed, but Yumiko wouldn’t return until later in the evening.

And he definitely preferred the wide-screen TV downstairs to his own, smaller version. Maybe he’d watch some DVDs until he fell asleep – it would at least take his mind of the constriction choking his lungs at every breath he drew. Or the pain coughing caused…

A cup of tea along the way wouldn’t be too bad either…

It was past one o’clock right now and Tezuka would be hard-pressed to deny feeling hungry. He could be sitting at home, eating lunch with his family right now, but guilt and concern for Fuji’s condition had won out in the end.

If he’d done something more yesterday evening. If, maybe, previously, he’d been more careful, if he’d been more attentive, Fuji might not have ended up like this. Ill to the point that made Tezuka wonder just how long it would take his friend to recover from this.

So Tezuka had called his mother and told her he’d be late, he’d go to Fuji’s first and his mother had understood at once.

‘That’s a good idea.’ she’d told him and he’d heard her smile in through the phone. ‘But you must be hungry. Why don’t you grab some lunch on the way? And maybe something for Fuji-kun, too.’

Tezuka had shuddered at that, remembering how thin his friend’s wrist had felt last night. But, he decided, this at least was something where he could help.

“Thank you.” Tezuka repeated.

Kawamura Takahashi blushed, while his father laughed heartily in the background. “It’s nothing, buchou.”

Tezuka didn’t say anymore, but he felt honestly grateful for Kawamura’s effort. The ‘burning player’ had agreed to Tezuka’s request the moment the question had left his mouth, very worried about Fuji’s wellbeing – and had, until now, never stopped asking whether there wasn’t anything else Fuji would be happy about.

But Tezuka couldn’t think about anything else in terms of food, thus accepted the carton of wasabi rolls, that Kawamura had insisted were on the house.

“Tell Fujiko-chan to get well soon.” ,Kawamura said, waving Tezuka good-bye, and Seigaku’s captain wondered what Fuji had done for the other regular to inspire such loyalty.

It was curious, really, that Fuji with his veiled intentions and ambiguous statements had found so many friends – and not only friends in name, at that. Tezuka had no doubt Kawamura, as well as Eiji, would step up the moment somebody tried to mess with their smaller friend.

And he himself would too, Tezuka realized, even if somebody could accuse him of playing favourites here. His feet stopped in front of a glassy display, reflecting the storm clouds in the sky.

So what did that mean, now, he wondered, absentmindedly starring into a flower shop’s window, he was another good friend of Fuji’s? Up on par with Eiji and Kawamura?

But, honestly, hadn’t they already been that close before? he wondered, aimlessly wandering down the street.

Um…

“Excuse me, sir, may I help you?”

Tezuka looked up at a smiling girl wearing a green apron that sported a smiling sunflower in surprise. An unexpected dot of colour – dull as they might appear in the poor outside light – in the grey day.

“Are you looking for something special?” she continued, happily oblivious to the question that had just spooked Tezuka’s mind,

“A bouquet for your mother perhaps? A thank-you arrangement? Or something for your girlfriend?”

“Yes.” ,Tezuka replied, eventually, having stopped listening after the ‘something special’ part, and didn’t really notice the girl’s widened eyes (as a matter of fact, he had also failed at realizing that this girl was in fact a fellow Seigaku third-year whose uncle owned the shop) and flushed face.

“What would you like then? Roses, perhaps, are classical – or maybe an arrangement of roses with other flowers to…”

“A cactus.” Tezuka said, shocking her into silence.

“Well…” she said after a couple of minutes, “We do have some pretty exemplars – if you’d like to come in and take a look?”

Ten minutes later Tezuka emerged with a cactus that ought to sport pretty pink flowers if cared for properly, questioning his own sanity and leaving the girl wondering if there was anybody in school whose favourite flowers were cacti…

With a smile she shut the door, barring cold and icy air from entry, though the day all of a sudden appeared less bleak than it had. Love could brighten up even the dullest days, she contemplated. And obviously melt the heart of the most stoic person at school, too.

She still didn’t know whose favourite ‘flowers’ were cacti, though. Well, she’d just ask Eiji next Monday, he always knew everything about everybody.

Coughing, he hugged his yukata closer to himself, glad to be able to spend the day inside and pitying the other people who had to go out and work. Maybe, he contemplated, wistfully glancing up at storm clouds overhead, the coming frost would chase away this dreary weather. Bathed in the crystal clear light of a December sun, the world outside wouldn’t be looking half as forlorn and barren.

Maybe he would stop feeling so cold.

With a sigh Fuji leaned closer to the kitchen stove, trying to absorb the warmth emitted, even though his skin was already covered in a thin layer of sweat, his insides remained frozen. An unexpected coughing fit sent him to his knees, one hand clutching desperately on the counter, the other one pressed firmly in front of his mouth.

The world in front of his eyes was spinning, blurring, twisting itself, but he only dimly was aware of the whirring colours and distorted noises – the raw burning in his chest left no room for consideration. Gasping for breath he weakly leaned back, letting his head knock against the stove. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on the dull pain the knock sent ringing through his skull, trying to forget about the constriction of his lungs, about the salty taste filling his mouth, the liquid sticking to his fingers…

How he wished to be somewhere else right now. To be far, far away from all this. To close his eyes and wake up from this nightmare; open his eyes to a bright blue sky and the feeling of warm sunrays on his skin.

But when Fuji opened his eyes again, all he saw were polished floor tiles and an empty room. The wind could be heard howling outside, but besides that there was only silence. And his own ragged breathing that sounded disgustingly loud.

Drawing himself up wearily, he shuffled over to the sink, to wash away the blood staining his hands and lips – he’d never forget Tezuka’s face last night. The way that stoic mask had betrayed shock and concern… Fuji couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

His heart hadn’t felt so cold, last night. Oh, perhaps he’d been completely worn out by the possession, exhausted beyond reason, but hadn’t been frozen on the inside. In pain, maybe, but content. Happy, even. Happy, that somebody had been there to hold his hand, to stay by his side until he fell asleep.

And that genuine concern in Tezuka’s eyes… he’d felt so wonderfully warm back then, touched by that unusual display of emotion to the point of tears. To feel loved and appreciated, even when he wasn’t smiling; to let go, fall and be caught…

A hiss brought him back to reality and with a hoarse chuckle Fuji turned to the boiling water. His mind was drifting, he realized, painting beautiful, gold-tinted pictures, even when the reality looked so bleak and cold. Tezuka most certainly hadn’t quite realized how much his small gesture last night had meant to Fuji; he’d certainly claim to only have done his duty as a friend.

Still, it was a memory Fuji would cherish.

He’d just finished preparing his tea, when the doorbell rang. In annoyance, Fuji contemplated pretending nobody was home and waiting until whoever that was left again. But the air in the kitchen wasn’t getting any warmer while standing around motionless and he began feeling light-headed again.

It would be best to open the door and send whoever it was away, or accept the delivery, or just do whatever and then go straight back to the couch and lay down…

The world was darkening around the corners, as Fuji struggled over the door. Something wasn’t right, his mind kept screaming, but everything was spinning, his nerves exploding. He was sweating, hot, burning even, but then shivering violently from the ice cold air filling the corridor.

Wrenching the door open with cold sweat covering his brow, Fuji tried to catch his breath. Hanging onto the doorframe with trembling fingers, an icy gust of wind tore at him suddenly and send his nerve ends screaming.

Struggling to remain conscious Fuji lifted his eyes.

And met a smirk, colder than the November wind. Life had fled the scenery, grey against grey in a blur of ever-shifting silhouettes, one shape more surreal than the next; branches like skeletal fingers, reaching from beneath; the dead reaching up to drag the living underneath. Deep, dark eyes twinkled with malicious mirth - as a nightmarishly soft voice announced.

“The time has come.”

And Fuji knew no more.

On to Chapter 13~