Ghost Hunt 
by No. 13

Sitting down slowly, Tezuka absentmindedly wondered what to say. Fuji was smiling at him expectantly –but Tezuka had no words to share, all he wanted to do was reach out and touch him.

Fuji blinked in confusion when Tezuka failed to move. Focussing his slightly blurry vision he found a strange expression on Tezuka’s face – one, that he had never seen before. There seemed to be a whole myriad of words stuck on the tip of his tongue, but none emerged.

“Te…” Fuji started and had to clear his throat, even though it hurt like hell. His voice sounded like his vocal chords had been scrubbed with sandpaper and actually speaking felt worse, but seeing Tezuka like that made his heart ache to a degree that every other kind of pain faded into the background.

“Tezuka… what is…?”

“Kunimitsu.” Tezuka suddenly interrupted, “We agreed to use our first names, don’t you remember?”

And even though he felt like he had been run over by a truck, Fuji couldn’t help but smile. Tezuka looked rather mystified at his own behaviour which was, admittedly, not typical, but somewhat … for the lack of a better word, cute.

Giggling slightly – he tried to suppress the fit welling up inside, because his lungs wouldn’t stand for it and also because a great part of his sudden amusement most certainly had to be credited to hysterics – Fuji nodded.

“Yes, Kunimitsu.”

The name felt unfamiliar on his tongue, but the slight twitch around Tezuka’s lips was all the assurance Fuji needed.

“So…” Fuji continued, eyes scrunched up in a wide smile, “How are you?”

Drawing a deep breath Tezuka forced his scattered thoughts to gather; forced himself to focus instead of running through a million and one scenes of what he could say, what could happen in his mind.

“I’m fine.” He replied, “The pin missed any vital points.”

Fuji’s eyes flew open, bewildered.

“The p…”

To raise his voice so suddenly had not been a good idea. He doubled over coughing. Dry, hacking coughs at first, but the tell-tale ache deep in his lungs warned him to avert his head in time.

Tezuka felt like crying when Fuji’s coughs finally abated and his friend turned around with his lips coloured red from blood.

Both started speaking at the same time; Tezuka to apologize and Fuji to demand clarification. Feeling oddly embarrassed, Tezuka mentioned for Fuji to speak first, even though he wondered whether he should let him speak at all.

“Wh… what pin, Tezuka?” Fuji questioned, looking as worried as Tezuka felt.

“The hairpin that …” Tezuka trailed of, because ‘that you stabbed me with’ didn’t quite seem like an appropriate thing to say. “The hairpin I got stabbed by.”

Fuji noted his odd formulation, but refrained from inquiring – testament to his weakened condition. Mustering a half-hearted smile Fuji turned his head to look up at Tezuka.

“I’m sorry. … But I’m … afraid I don’t remember.”

Tezuka felt what little colour he possessed leave his face.

“The last thing I recall… is when you were knocked down in the cellar. After that…”

Fuji shook his head. Tezuka bit his lip and instinctively reached out. This time, he didn’t stop the gesture half-way, but let his hand drop to cover Fuji’s much smaller one.

“Don’t worry.” Tezuka said gently, thinking it wasn’t a bad thing if Fuji would be spared the horrid recollections. His gazed dropped to their entwined hands and he realized, that this meant, Fuji had forgotten about his confession, too.

Was that a good thing?

Maybe, because Tezuka had lost his head back there. Though, he also had to wonder, whether he would ever feel daring enough to word those feelings again.

“Don’t worry.” He repeated, feeling like a broken record, “We got out. Even though…”

Drawing a deep, painful breath, Fuji closed his eyes for a moment. “Ne, Te – Kunimitsu, you’re the only person who knows what exactly happened.”

Then those sky-blue orbs opened and found Tezuka’s face, taking his breath away with their clarity.

“Please tell me. … I want to understand … what happened to Nee-san … and to you, as well.”

“But I don’t…” Tezuka replied spontaneously, fingers unconsciously tightening their hold, “I don’t even understand what happened myself.”

Fuji had to smile at Tezuka’s expression. “Then tell me. … Tell me and we’ll figure it out … together.”

Tezuka’s breath caught. Looking up, he found a slight blush colouring Fuji’s cheeks, and dared to hope in the back of his mind, that Fuji wasn’t only talking about those events. But also about the possibility of “them”…

Still, Tezuka scolded himself, with both of them hospitalized and so many unanswered questions, it was too early to think of love, yet.

Even if the way Fuji looked at him, the way he felt a comfortable warmth spreading through himself when seeing that smile, the words they had exchanged back in that cellar – even if everything left no doubt, at least then a hospital was not a place for a confession.

Gathering himself, Tezuka began to retell the story – in full-length and with biting his tongue not leave out the more uncomfortable details – for the first time. And probably, also for the last, because he most certainly wouldn’t tell anybody else about a dead girl’s ghost acting as his guide.

Fuji nodded, looking quite concentrated in spite of the exhaustion threatening to pull him under. Yes, his eyes opened wide when Tezuka described Yumiko’s unexpected arrival, and he tilted his head, listening to his friend describe her actions as precisely as his memory allowed.

Tezuka himself felt himself relaxing. It was odd to give words to that paranormal experience, yet having Fuji sit there, nodding contemplatively, did a lot to sooth his frazzled nerves. Because, at least, to somebody else it seemed his words were making sense.

So, even though ratio told him not to, Tezuka gave in to his curiosity and asked Fuji after a short silence: “Do you know … what she did?”

Blinking because he hadn’t quite expected a question when Tezuka hadn’t completed his summary yet, Fuji turned to look at Tezuka. Smiling wearily, he sighed.

“I think I have an idea. But…” coughs interrupted him once again “… it would be clearer if you told me what happened afterwards.”

Tezuka complied, fists unconsciously clenching around the fabric of his hospital issue gown, as he recalled the little ghost’s entrance on the scene. How that door had opened so painfully slow, with tiny, whitish fingers reaching around the frame…

Amane’s confusion turning into bloody determination. His own puzzlement.

Everything seemed less horrifying putting it into words here and now, Tezuka noted absentmindedly, within the hospital’s clinical light, tales of ghosts lost all their credibility. But if he turned to look out of the window, into the pitch black darkness of the night, he could feel the cold crawling down his back once more, he could recall the icy night air on his skin again; icy in contrast to the warm blood that had been dripping from his own body…

And when Tezuka had ended his tale Fuji looked pale, paler perhaps than before. A painful stab at his heart made Tezuka consider postponing all explanations until the next morning, but then, tomorrow there’d be doctors and nurses around, family members and other people who’d declare them insane if they heard them talking of ghosts. There’d be the sun up outside; there’d be another day gone by – because, Tezuka could tell, with each passing hour those sensations lost their feeling of reality.

Maybe, if he didn’t keep reminding himself, he’d think he’d dreamed everything in a year’s time…

“I think…” Fuji’s soft, contemplative voice drew Tezuka from his own thoughts, “I think I understand.”

Flashing a weary smile at Tezuka, Fuji sat up straighter. “What Nee-san did, well… you know what the ghosts intended to do, no?”

Feeling eerily like a student, Tezuka nodded obediently. “I may not be an expert on this subject, but they said they wanted to, well, revive themselves and to be more powerful than before.”

“And therefore, they needed to complete a spell.” Fuji contributed, looking rather grim, “To be honest, the spell was nothing spectacular – it was only quite old, so neither Nee-san nor I actually remembered it when trying to figure out the ghosts’ intentions.”

Tezuka could only helpless frown at Fuji’s remark. At least Fuji had heard of it. He himself hadn’t even considered ghosts as a part of reality until barely five days ago.

“The spell required a certain number of souls and that I suppose is the reason, why there was the rumour about a curse lasting on that house.” Tezuka concluded, slightly unsure if he understood the connections correctly.

But Fuji didn’t protest. “Yes.” He had to take a deep breath to stifle another onset of coughs here. “Not just any souls though, but those of persons who died either in the house or on the compound. …Because even though they were not necessarily bound to that house, they had made it the centre of that spell some 400years ago…”

“And so the rumour came to be …” Tezuka concluded, voice heavy with dread, “So we entered the scene around the time when their soul collection was almost completed.”

Another nod from Fuji. “Yes, they were only missing one and, well, a vessel. We almost served them both on a silver platter.”

“The little girl who died, was the last soul needed, then. And you…” Tezuka swallowed. Talking about the events, rationalizing them and viewing them from a detached perspective worked wonderfully – yet the moment the ‘you’ left his lips, the moment he once again envisioned that scene in the cellar – darkness pressing in from all sides, cold iron between them – his heart faltered.

“I was supposed to be their vessel.” Fuji finished and then continued with half-smile. “I didn’t quite agree with that idea in the beginning, and tried unsettling their preparations which is why you found me in that secret cellar.”

Tezuka swallowed, trying desperately to keep those horrifying memories at bay. “But I couldn’t …”

For half a second, silence settled over the two of them; Tezuka wondering silently how much pain and trouble he could have sparred everybody, had he just succeeded back then. Remorse and guilt only started tugging at his soul, when Fuji’s voice cut them through.

“Tatsunori returned and knocked you out. … You know, for a moment I thought he’d killed you, but then I noticed you were still breathing.”

Fuji reached for a glass of water positioned strategically on the bedside table – his vocal chords weren’t yet up to the strain of long conversations, and both of them ought to rest – but curiosity and a desire to finally complete this confusing story; to find closure, compelled them to carry on.

“So I made him promise not to harm you.”

“Which was a foolish thing to do.” Tezuka replied, harsher then intended, and gripped Fuji’s hand tighter to show, that it was worry that caused his criticism. Fuji looked like he was about to protest, though, so Tezuka wearily shook his head, indicating that they could discuss this point at another time.

Fuji, however, only weekly shrugged his shoulders. “That is about the last thing I remember. But, according to your version, they started the ceremony and had more or less completed it, when my sister entered the scene.”

“She said something about not being able to undo the whole spell, but … I apologize, I didn’t quite understand what she was saying, so I’m incapable of telling you…”

“Never mind. You said, that one girl’s ghost – probably the girl who drowned – showed up.”

Tezuka nodded, pulling himself up a little straighter in his chair. The late hour was beginning to eat away at his energy reserves, but his mind was longing for an explanation – anything, that he wouldn’t be seeing senseless nightmares tonight.

“I guess…” Fuji set out, “I guess Nee-san sort of ‘substracted’ one soul from the spell and more or less made the entire thing collapse.”

“That makes sense. It would explain why they were that set on getting another soul.” Tezuka agreed.

“Which in the end, made Amane try to kill you. However, since she didn’t know about the condition I had imposed, it backfired. The moment she won that soul she lost her vessel…”

Once again, an odd feeling crawled up Tezuka’s chest. There was the horror of that night; fear and dread and terror, but underneath it all, beneath all the cruelty, the murders and the bloodshed, the reason for everything, Fujiwara Amane’s and Tatsunori Ichirou’s ultimate triumph and downfall at the same time – love.

It might only have been a split second, but Tezuka had seen it in their faces, had seen that one, honest emotion play there and understood, that no matter how evil their pretences, how callous their actions – they had retained a central part of their humanity.

And maybe…

A cold, icy cold shudder ran down his spine.

Maybe that pin had missed any fatal spots on purpose…

The conclusion, the implications – Tezuka didn’t dare thinking any further. Because, if this was true, if Fujiwara Amane had indeed done so, then …

“Nee, Kunimitsu…”

The soft voice cracked, unexpectedly and Tezuka’s eyes shot up in time to see Fuji shudder violently. Blue eyes, brimming with tears, were returning his astonished gaze, a myriad of emotions swirling within.

“Thank you.” Fuji whispered hoarsely, “Thank you. If you hadn’t been there I …”

Shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it himself, Fuji continued. “I wouldn’t have survived the ordeal.”

Tezuka instinctively bit his lip. He’d told Fuji the whole story, yes, the whole story until he’d followed the girl to the lake and everything had gone wrong and he’d ended up with a hair pin in his stomach.

But not a word about his strange encounter with Fuji as a ghost.

Or his confession.

“Kunimitsu?” Fuji tentatively called out, “Is everything alright?”

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe something else, but within a heartbeat, all the sensations that had crossed Tezuka’s soul within the last five days resurfaced at once; in a surge so powerful it left his rational mind in shambles and he leaned forward.

Leaned forward and drew Fuji into his arms, who only gasped in surprise, before melting into the tight embrace. He ought to have been at least confused about Tezuka’s atypical behaviour, if not by the way Tezuka clung to him, like drowning man to his lifeline.

Yet for the first time since almost 24 hours ago, his overloaded brain slowed down; spinning wheels losing speed, disrupted thoughts gently fitting themselves together again and his nerves could finally calm down.

Fuji was save and sound in his arms, sick and weak perhaps, but alive and breathing – Tezuka could feel each breath the delicate figure in his arms drew. The flimsy material of the hospital gown let him feel each bone as if he had direct skin contact, even though in reality, only their cheeks were touching. And while Fuji’s was unnaturally warm – most certainly due to a fever – it was much, much better than the cold.

Other than last night, this time in his arms, Fuji was alive.

With a soft, almost relieved sigh, Fuji leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of Tezuka’s neck and closed his eyes. Completely entrusting himself to his friend, he couldn’t help but marvel at the change that had overcome his ever-so-stoic friend. Yet, Fuji smiled softly, this was a good kind of change.

Because maybe…

Just maybe…

The previously unspeakable had a chance now.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and if you have suggestions or comments, please share them with me.

On to Chapter 21~