In Every Life I've Lived: (4) Bona Vacantia

[hermiones]

Title: (4) Bona Vacantia
Fandom: JE
Pairing: Yamapi/Jin
Rating: R
Disclaimers: The angst is back, I'm afraid! The story heats up again. The next installment will be my last, and hopefully will tie this huge thing into a satisfactory close. And, just to give you a hint for the next one, there's going to be samurai involved. ;D Previous disclaimers apply: this is truly the craziest thing I've ever written, but I'm enjoying it so much. Bona Vacantia is defined in legal terms as ownerless goods.
Warnings: Scenes of frottage, angst, supernatural. Some disturbing content.





Ryo wakes up in the middle of the night, not knowing where he is or what he's doing. He's been sleepwalking recently, so he assumes that it's that. Turning over, he tries to go back to sleep. The dream he's woken up from haunts him behind the eyelids. He's thinking about his wife. She cheated on him, he's still angry. He gave up a job to be with her and that's how she repaid him. It'll have to be a divorce, he thinks, but he's still mulling it over. He's sworn off women for a while. Normally, it'd be a sacrifice, but lately he hasn't been interested. Maybe that's why his wife cheated on him in the first place.

Before he knows it, his legs seem to be moving of their own accord. He wonders whether he's thirsty, and just not awake enough to understand the connection between brain and muscles. This has never happened when he's been awake, but there's no reason why it shouldn't. Why it couldn't. Only he doesn't go to the bathroom. He grabs his keys, rummages through a drawer and draws out a rusty old dagger. He doesn't remember ever having it, and doubts the hotel provides such things. Perhaps the last person to be here left it in the drawer. He tries to put it down, but he can't.

That's when he panics. And, strangely, the more he panics the more it's impossible to control his movements. Dagger and keys in hand, he gets dressed. He opens the wardrobe, puts on a white suit. He didn't know he owned a white suit. Dark colours are more him. And then, that done, he laces up a new pair of black leather shoes. He brushes his hair, grabs his wallet, his car keys. He's not sure what's happening. He doesn't understand any of this.

He leaves the hotel room and takes the lift one floor up. There's nobody about, it's the middle of the night. Walking along the corridor, there's an eerie silence in the air. The only source of noise is a room halfway down, where a door is knocking on its hinge. Probably, the inhabitants forgot to close it properly, and it slams with the breeze of the air conditioning. That's when he notices the door next to the room, which is a little bit open. Somebody has tried to activate the lock, but the door has wedged itself open on the metal bar. Through the gap, Ryo crouches and takes a look. He really just wants to go back to bed. He tries to force it, but nothing happens.

Through the gap, a woman sits astride a man. She rocks backwards and forwards very fast, her hips a smooth undulation. She's young, expensive taste. She's wearing a thick, looped gold bracelet on her left arm. As her arms rise, it taps the wall that adjoins her room with the other. The man is older, much older. His face is an unattractive shade of purple. Her bra is an an attractive shade of purple, with frills on the back. He's squeezing her breasts in a way that suggests manhandling rather than skill, but she pays him no mind.

He finishes, she doesn't. She continues to sit until he softens, which is when he has the mental clarity to hand over a bundle of notes, which she counts with a smile on her face. They're natural together, somehow. He pushes her off, and she hurriedly looks around for her clothes. The anger builds. Strange, relentless anger, like locked-up water. Ryo doesn't understand it. As she pulls purple underwear over her wide hips, the anger bursts forth, from nowhere. From absolutely nowhere. He loves purple. His wife wore purple underwear on their wedding night.

He pushes the door hard with his shoulder. The man takes one look at him, assumes Ryo is her pimp, and makes a run for it, muttering that he's paid her, she's all his. The woman backs into the wall, her bracelet tapping against it because she's shaking from head to foot. At first, Ryo doesn't understand why she's so immediately afraid, because he's slight and not that intimidating. Then he realises that she's seen the dagger in his hand, and the danger in his face.

“I'm just leaving,” she says. “I'm out of here. Please don't.”

“I'm not here to pay for you,” Ryo spits. He takes his jacket off.

“I can't. I've just. I need to-”

“No,” he says. He approaches her. She flattens herself against the wall, breath coming hard. He raises a hand, wraps it around her pretty neck. She's not so tall herself, his hand pretty much fits around. Her eyes are wide. He knows that she can't breathe well.

“Why?” she's spluttering. “I didn't do anything-”

“My wife wore purple underwear on her wedding night,” Ryo says. He doesn't know why he's saying these things. Behind his eyes, there's total panic, revulsion, fear. He wonders whether she sees it, this woman, this unknown creature. It's like somebody else is speaking for him, moving for him. As if he's tapped into the part of his brain where thoughts are raw and actions uncontrollable. As if he has no morality, ethics, compassion left. As if he's an animal.

“She looked like you do now,” he says.

“I'm not...innocent,” she struggles against him. “Please, I'm not-”

“Oh, no, neither was she, in the end,” Ryo says. “She probably wore purple underwear when she took her lover, too. She probably looked like you do now. Standing against a wall, some other guy's come inside her.”

“We use-”

“Wet,” Ryo says. He moves his hand over her underwear, between her legs. “Here.”

He wishes he was dead. The self-loathing rises in him like acid, drowning him. He just wishes he was dead.

“This is nothing to do with-” She's really struggling now, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“You're all the same,” Ryo says. His tone is dull, his heart anything but. He wants to cry, too.

“No, please,” she says, shaking from head to foot. He looks to his side, sees that he's raising the dagger. A thought enters his brain. Trace the outline on her chest, of her frightened, frightened heart. It's a good, good heart. That doesn't make any sense to him, and he doesn't think that he can do that. It doesn't seem to matter what he thinks he can or can't do. Somebody else works that arm, somebody else flexes that fist.

He covers her mouth as the dagger slices her chest. Of course, she's screaming. She screams until the circle is complete, and then she slumps to the ground. The dagger glows white, Ryo's chest glows white, Ryo's eyes glow white. He wipes the dagger with his hand, wipes his chest, like his head's telling him to. He lets go, and the woman slumps to the floor. She's white, too, but in a different way. The mark on her chest is a red, burnt circle. She's dead.

She's dead.

He has to run. He has to run. What will he do now? What will the thing inside him want now? He's almost too afraid to find out. He wants to plunge the dagger into his own chest. He tries to move a foot, and it moves. He's back. He's back to himself. The thing, whatever is was, is silent. Back to himself, the first thing he does is vomit in the bin. That's the only thing he can do, really. Then, he goes over to the wall, taps his head against it until he can think. It turns into something of a masochistic activity, because he can hardly think. The only thing he can do now is run. He hasn't a hope in hell of getting away with it, but he can't think of a better idea.

He leaves her, lying on the floor, makes a run for it. He grabs his things from the table as he does so, his keys, the jacket he'd taken off. Things fall over, vases, lights. There's an unholy noise, but he doesn't care. He runs out of the door, slams it on its hinges, runs down the corridor. The room next door, the door is fixed. It no longer rocks on its hinge. Only, when he runs past, it opens and he panics. A head pops around the doorway, and Ryo turns around. It's a man, young, afraid. Afraid of so many things. A good, good heart. He can feel the anger rising in him, once again. His eyes are wet, angry, full of feeling and memories.

Another man's face appears. The anger quells, he turns more slowly. The thing is gone, once again. The three of them look at each other, locked in a silent confrontation. After a second, Ryo bolts, and the men disappear. He runs down the stairs, it's better than waiting for a lift. It could take ages. The men are probably calling the police, right now. He runs into the parking lot, unlocks his car. He sits in it, to catch his breath. The world no longer makes sense. His legs burn with lactic acid, his brain stings with intrusion. He doesn't understand what's going on. It's not possible to understand what's going on.

As he sits, he leaves the engine running. He needs a real noise, something to connect him to life. Silence really is deafening. He reaches out for the wheel, and sees that his hands are covered in blood. He can't remember whether they were like that before. He looks down, and his white suit is stained red. The smell of blood is overpowering. Raw, metallic, it'll be there forever. He'll never not smell it. And that's enough, that thought, to overwhelm him. He drives off into the night, tears streaming down his face. Slowly, slowly, he repeats the word, 'no', as if by saying it, he can undo the night.


He goes home a day or two later. He dumps the suit, buys some new clothes. He returns to his wife. She doesn't question where he's been, because the last time he saw her, another man was inside her. She no longer has the right to question his movements. But she notices that he is different, and presumes it's because of the losses he's experienced. She feels guilty, endlessly guilty, for what she's done to him. But at the same time, he's been different for a while, indifferent to her and to their life, and she did only what was absolutely necessary.

“I forgive you,” he says, without tone. Without care.

As much as she appreciates it, it doesn't make any sense, and she no longer wants a husband that doesn't care. She wants a husband who gets angry, who has passion, who has jealousy. She doesn't want a husband who sees her entwined with another man and does nothing. Why would she want that sort of man?

“Why?” she asks, not unkindly. “I-”

“I know what you did was horrible,” Ryo says. “But I love you. We'll get through it.”

She doesn't understand, but she knows when not to push it. Maybe things will work out. Maybe he's in shock. Maybe she shouldn't jinx it. How many wives get forgiven so easily, for doing such an awful thing? Maybe passion will come later. Anger, too. Maybe. In the meantime, he's a good man, a kind man, and she hopes that it'll be okay.

“Should we talk about it?” she asks.

“No,” Ryo says. “I don't want to. Not yet.”

“Okay,” she says. “Well, when you-”

“We should go away somewhere,” he says, abruptly. “It'll do us good.”

“Okay,” she says. “Where would you like to go?”

“Somewhere quiet,” he replies, dully. “Silence is deafening.”

“I'll find something,” she says. “Maybe a lake, or a mountain retreat? You're right, it'd be good to get out of the city. It's so noisy, so many people. It could be just us. We could do all sorts of fun things. Wouldn't that be nice?”

“I'm going to bed,” he says.

“Okay,” she says. “It's 2 in the afternoon. Are you very tired?”

“Yes,” he says, turning around to face her. His eyes are bloodshot, his face wretched. He does look so very tired. “I need to sleep. Don't leave. Stay.”

“I'll stay,” she says, wondering where she'd go. “We'll go tomorrow, okay?”

“Tonight,” he says. “Tonight. Please.”

Different. Indifferent. Two opposing moods in the same person. It's so strange.

“Okay,” she says, tone unsure. “If you like.”


When they drive out, they miss the television broadcasts. It's kept local, of course, because she's a working girl. But there are broadcasts, nonetheless. The police are hopeful of catching a suspect, they're working on many clues. Ryo's wife probably wouldn't have suspected anything, had she seen the broadcasts. She didn't know where Ryo was staying, and Ryo's not the kind of person to murder anybody. He doesn't have the guts for it, everybody knows that. His heart is too weak. Now, his heart grows in his chest and his feelings with it. Everything gets stronger by the minute. He had thought that forgiving his wife would be hard, but it wasn't. It wasn't at all.

Still, he doesn't want her to have any suspicions. Slowly, he's putting it behind him. He's trying to forget. The heart in his chest is allowing for it, is patching up wounds that it itself created. There's a certain irony in that that he'd rather ignore, but all the same he's glad that he's healing. The pain was unbearable, as he drove around in circles that night. Now, the pain is a pinprick, very little more. He knows that he should be worried about that, but he can't muster the energy to bother.

Ryo has always liked driving in the night, his wife knows. It beats the traffic, which annoys him. It makes him calm, empty, dark roads. She prefers driving in the day, because you get to see the views that way, but she supposes that the driver doesn't see the views either way. Besides, she's not in a position to argue with Ryo, so she goes with it. She sleeps for a little while, but wakes because he's driving fast, and she's not used to sleeping in the car.

“Which lake are we going to?” she asks.

“Can you put the radio on?” Ryo returns, as if he didn't really hear her question.

She does. It's some new, awful rock song she's heard a few times on her way to work. The girls in her office keep talking about it, this new duet act. Men falling all over each other, homoerotica, or something. She doesn't understand the new world. They're at the top of the Japanese charts with their song, this weird, weird song about ghosts and hearts and nonsense. And the women love them, good-looking men touching one another. She thinks it's strange.

Ryo listens to the song, transfixed. His brain is processing the lyrics, she can almost see it working. He hasn't heard the song, then. She doubts he'd like the band. The thought makes her want to laugh, but she represses it.

He's listening so hard that the car veers over, and she squeals, putting her hand on the wheel. Ryo sees it, at the last minute, and hastily corrects it.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Are you getting tired?” she asks, hand on her breastbone. She's breathing hard, and the outline of her breastbone, her heart beneath-

“No,” he says, hurriedly. “No, no. I just lost concentration for a second. Put the radio off.”

She does, gladly, trying to get her breath back. He's looking to the side, looking at what she believes to be her breasts.

“Ryo!” she says, but in a weird way, it's flattering. Her husband never would have done that before. He was so wrapped up in other things, he never paid attention to her figure much.

“I'm not-” and he isn't.

“No, no,” she says, wickedly. “I like it.”

“I just-”

“You can look all you want.”

He falls silent, then, watching the road. He can't think of a single thing to say, to remove the image in his mind of his wife in the prostitute's purple underwear. Of his wife, fucking that purplish man. Taking money, stuffing it in her bra. Tucked it into the right side, left her heart exposed. If she'd tucked the money into her left side, maybe she'd have been safe. Maybe. Of course, if she hadn't been in that room, taking money in the first place-

“I'll look later,” he says. He doesn't mean it as a joke, but she laughs, and it's the purest sound on the darkest night, and he doesn't deserve or understand any of this.


What comes later is something of a blur. He and his wife stay at the lake, in room 902. Strange number, she says, mildly. At first, everything is okay. His heart grows and grows in his chest and he holds his wife, as if he really loves her again. It takes less and less effort every day, to pretend that he's crazy about her. He doesn't understand why, but he's not about to argue with it, the great sex, the contentment. He even forgets about the woman he's killed.

The symptoms disappear. He no longer feels compelled to do strange things. Until the second or third night he stays there, he doesn't remember which it is, he doesn't feel compelled to do anything untoward. And then, suddenly, without explanation or warning, he feels it again. The cabin next door, 893. The hatred, the need for revenge. The need to wipe the thing out of existence. The need to obliterate.

One minute, he's asleep. The next moment, he has a dagger in his pocket and a piece of paper in the other. The terror floods him, as he walks without control over his body. He wants to be with his wife. There's going to be children. There's going to be happiness. Walking around without meaning to, stabbing people without meaning to – that's not happiness.

Letters appear on the paper. He fastens the paper to the door of 893, with the dagger. The anger, the rage subsides. He goes back where he came from, and the feeling dissolves. He feels nothing but a strange drowning sensation, water in the lungs. He struggles to breathe.


“You are now free,” the man says, later still. There are no words to express the relief. It's a ghost. An unreal figure, but that somehow doesn't matter. In a weird way, it's reassuring. Ryo did these things because he was forced to, by something much larger than him. It's not something of this world. It allows him an iota of forgiveness.

“I am now free.”


He watches from 902, as the brighter force throws the dagger into the lake. The ghost can't reach it there. Ghosts have no substance, even bright ones, like the one that controlled him. He's not sure what he feels, then. A sense of completion, a little bit. A sense of final, final completion.

He goes back to bed. He and his wife have sex, because she has no idea of the things he has gone through, and because he needs, in some small way, to make her understand them. It's good sex. Really good sex. But he is empty, and hollow, and the drowning sensation is still there.

The dagger lies at the bottom of the lake, and Ryo's lungs are filling with water. His heart is filling with water. Suddenly, it all makes startling sense. As much as he coughs, as much as he splutters, the sensation will not go away.

He wonders, idly, whether it will kill him. Kill the heart that beats within him. Maybe he isn't free, after all.


The man called Ieyasu goes to the police. Yakuza have a strange bond with the police, Japan having its corrupt side, like any other country. Experts in crime make good advisors, so the police see it. And Ieyasu is a knowledgeable man. He's tracked down a good many criminals. Many murderers started out as gamblers, men who owed money to men like Ieyasu. Ieyasu, therefore, is good at tracking them down. The police appreciate him, offer him limited protection.

The man called Ieyasu uses different names all the time, the police know. A few years ago, he called himself something different. None of them can remember what it was, but his code names change as the years go on. For protection, they assume. None of them know what he really is. He's careful like that. Currently, he's Ieyasu. There's a certain irony to it. The man who brought peace to Japan, who locked it away from its enemies and friends alike, Tokugawa Ieyasu, now recast as a criminal boss who brings other criminals to the law's attention.

The man called Ieyasu highlights one name to the police. They've already been looking at it, because it's on all of the booking forms in the hotel. He booked his own room, one floor below the murder location. And he also booked another, where the police think he took the prostitute to avoid suspicion. Not many men book two rooms for this sort of activity, but Ryo's details are on both forms, clear as day.

The man called Ieyasu explains to the police that Ryo has all sorts of debt. It's true, naturally, but the police don't know that Ieyasu made the debt happen after the murder. Ieyasu is tricky like that. Time bends for him, chronology manipulates himself. The police eat it all up, the story, a petty gambler trying to hide his habit from his traditional wife. A frigid, traditional wife. The petty gambler, needing a quick fix, celebrating a big money haul. A pretty little whore. It all seems to fit.

“We interviewed two men,” the chief of police says. “Witnesses. They described the man you speak of. His name is Nishikido Ryo. We're going to bring him in for questioning.”

“You should,” Ieyasu says. “He is very dangerous. Unpredictable. Nobody knows what he'll do next. Out of respect for the law, my men have given up chasing him. We won't try to regain the debts he owes us until you have conducted a thorough investigation.”

“Appreciated,” the chief of police says. “We thank you for your time.”

And so it is that Ryo's whole life is turned upside down.


Yamapi is nervous. He's standing in front of the wonky full-length mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. He's trying to tie his tie, and it looks as wonky as the mirror. He frowns. Jin is scuttling around behind him, putting on his trousers with one arm and brushing his teeth with the other.

“I can't believe we slept in,” he's saying, around toothbrush.

“Fuck,” Yamapi says. “We said we'd stop being this useless when we graduated. When we got jobs and became adult people.”

“I'm not an adult person,” Jin says, firmly. He hops out of the door, one leg in his trousers, one out. He shouts from the bathroom, “Fuck law degree. Fuck law office. I am not an adult person yet.”

“Can't argue with that,” Yamapi says, cheerfully. “First day. Fuck. Are you scared?”

Jin coughs. He's been doing it for a few days. A lingering cold, he thinks. Yamapi waits for it to stop, and then Jin says. “Nope. Not scared. Excited. Fear is for adult people.”

“That makes me adult, then,” Yamapi says, sighing and giving up with his tie. Jin comes back in, trousers on, toothbrush gone. He comes up behind Yamapi in the mirror, reaches around him and adjusts the mirror. Then, watching himself and Yamapi, he slowly ties Yamapi's tie for him. Jin is good at ties. Good with his hands, period. Yamapi tries not to think about that. They only slept in because they stayed up last night. And the sex, fuck, that was worth it, but-

“We're on opposite sides of the city,” Jin says. “Meeting up for lunch out of the question?”

“Do we get lunch?” Yamapi says, hopefully. “I packed sandwiches in case.”

“Oh,” Jin says, crestfallen. “I think I'll quit if we don't get lunch.”

His face is impish, hot. Halfway between cute and horny. The combination is irresistible, and Yamapi has to force his feet to move away from him. He picks up his briefcase, checks he's got everything. Jin does the same. It's funny, Yamapi thinks. Two such similar people, doing such different things. They went to the same school, the same university, studied the same subject. Law. Both went into criminal law. Bought an apartment together. Started dating, having excellent, harmonious sex. They have the same taste in food, the same penchant for beer. They like the same cars, they like the same girls, and guys. They're both night owls, bad in the morning. They're both disorganized. They both have big appetites, in every respect.

The only difference is that Yamapi works for defence and Jin works for prosecution. They've always been that way. Jin was quick to criminalize everyone, back in law school. Yamapi was quick to defend. They've just always been that way. They don't talk about law too much in detail, because it ends up in a stubborn argument. Things often do, with them. They're as stubborn as each other. They don't try to think too far into the future. Yamapi packs up his briefcase again, finds his car keys, kisses Jin hard on the mouth and leaves. Jin leaves some five minutes later, once he's checked his briefcase, grabbed his car keys and found himself without anyone to kiss goodbye. They drive to opposite ends of the city, expecting very different days.

Instead, the similarities just continue.


Yamapi walks in, a little late, but nobody seems to notice him. The men are all standing around, restlessly.

“I'm new,” he says, idly, to nobody. “New intern.”

The boss comes out of his office, shaking hands with a slight woman. She's pretty, timid looking. She has dark hair, a cardigan on. Pearls around her neck. She's tearful. Yamapi processes it all.

She leaves. “Ah,” the boss says, nodding to Yamapi. “Everyone, this is our new intern. Yamashita Tomohisa. Just graduated from Tokyo. Be nice to him, make him feel welcome. And let's all hope he does better than the last one.”

Yamapi swallows, hard, looking around.

“Just kidding,” the man continues, and Yamapi laughs, because everyone else is. It isn't unkind, just unfamiliar. “Hope you'll excuse the rapid introduction, but we have one hell of a case to be getting on with. You'll like this one, boys.”

Everyone stands around, eagerly. At first, Yamapi thinks that they're enthused about the promise of a good story, and then he remembers that at the end of the briefing, the boss will picks a team to compile evidence and arguments. He's not expecting to be picked, not for a good case on his first day, but he can see the men that really do hold expectations. He can distinguish between them and the men that are just idly hopeful.

“Our client is the wife of a man currently being held for the murder of a prostitute. She says he'd never do anything like that.”

“The sex, or the murder?” Yamapi says, can't hold it back. He's too used to lectures and tutorials, where interruption and contest were regular themes of the day. Everyone turns to look at him. “Sorry,” he says. “Speaking out of turn. Got it.”

“Good question,” the boss says, nodding at him. “She says both. He's not the type of man to commit either crime, as it were. Problem is, we've got a hell of a battle on our hands to prove it. Two witnesses claim to have placed him at the scene of the crime. His name is on the booking of the room in which the murder took place. His DNA is on the victim's body.”

“Surely it's a closed case?” one of the men says. He's frowning. DNA is the big kicker. Difficult to argue against biology.

“I'm not sure,” the boss says. “He's in the police cells right now. He's been claiming, get this, supernatural forces led him to do it.”

A low whistle goes around the room. This is a good story.

“Supernatural forces?” Yamapi says. “Can we admit that, in a court?” He's been taught otherwise, but the differences between law in a classroom and law in a court are vast and endless, he's beginning to realise.

“We can,” the boss says. “If anything, it'll work in our favour. Law is often a performance. Appeal to the audience, and we can net the case. Supernatural forces, that's one hell of a story, don't you think?”

“What sort of supernatural forces?” the skeptical man says. Yamapi later finds out that his name is Tego, but at the time, skeptical man works fine. “Would make someone kill someone else? That's one big supernatural force, right?”

“A ghost, he's claiming,” the boss says. “Normally, ghosts don't have the power to intrude on people's decisions, I know. But vengeful spirits? Definitely. This is no normal ghost, he says. This is a vengeful spirit. He claims that the ghost is...not passive. Aggressive, definitely alive. I want you to investigate this for me. I want my team to get me all the information on this they possibly can. We're going to put on a show, boys.”

“Do you think he's innocent, boss?”

“I think he did it, sure,” the boss says. “But perhaps it wasn't him.”


Jin sits around a table with twelve other men. The boss sits at the head.

“Defence will fucking ride this one,” The boss is saying. The men are nodding. Nobody speaks out of turn here. Jin's learnt that the hard way. “Supernatural forces always get those bastards excited. People say law is a show. It's not a show. It's about justice. It's about locking up the people who endanger other people. This is not entertainment. Anybody who says as much is an idiot.”

“They can't submit supernatural forces in a court of law,” one of the men says. “It's not ethical.”

“Law isn't ethical,” the boss shrugs. “If they can convince the jury of it, who knows what'll happen? It's our job to stop this. The man is guilty. We have his name on the room, we have witnesses, and we have DNA. This is almost slam-dunk. We just need one more thing.”

“The murder weapon,” Jin says. “It wasn't found in the room.”

“The murder weapon,” the boss says. “Nishikido Ryo hasn't told us where the murder weapon is. We're doing some investigation with the police, as he went to stay at a lakeside resort having committed the murder. We think the murder weapon may be there somewhere.”

“Good place to hide a knife,” one of the men says. “Needle in a haystack.”

Jin flips through the autopsy photographs, winces. “The marks on the woman's body. They're...strange.”

“Yes,” the boss says, idly. “They are. Doesn't matter. If we can match the knife to the whore, and the knife to the suspect...it's a slam-dunk. Doesn't matter what the other side comes up with.”

Everyone nods, not daring to push the boss on the team he's chosen. Jin looks around the table and senses a hierarchy. The better, more favoured people, they sit closer to the boss than everyone else. They sit with the sort of ease that accompanies favouritism. Jin sits right at the end, because he's new, and it turns out that the boss doesn't like interns much. Until they're experienced, less likely to screw things up. The rest of the men pay little attention to Jin, until he talks, and then they look resentful.

The boss picks a team of seven. Five he keeps with him, two he sends out to the lake to aid the police.

“Don't let anyone else find that weapon before us,” he warns them. “And don't say anything, to anyone.”

“Yes, boss,” the men say, nodding with gratitude. The drive is hours away, but they're glad to have something to do for their boss that isn't making tea. It's been a while since that was the case.

“Oh,” the boss adds, as they leave. “Take the new intern with you. What's your name again?”

“Akanishi Jin,” Jin says. “Thank you very much, sir, I appreciate-”

“Dismissed.”


Jin is packing when Yamapi falls through the door. It's raining and his umbrella is temperamental.

“Hey,” he says. He drops a bag of shopping on the floor, apples spill out. He eats one, looks at the suitcase. “Where are you going? Jin?”

“Hey, hey,” Jin says, reaching into the cupboard for another shirt. “I'm going on a mission. Boss sent me to some resort to find a murder weapon. Exciting, huh?”

Yamapi's eyes go wide. “Oh man. That's cool. How long will you be gone?”

“No more than a day or two, I dunno, they don't think it'll be long. Sorry – I wanted to stay, hear about your day, but they're picking me up in an hour. It's kind of hardcore, this. Was your day good?”

“Yeah, it was good,” Yamapi nods. He sits on the bed, eats his apple. “I got picked for the team.”

“Wow,” Jin says. “Great stuff. Does that mean you'll get to present?”

“Nah, I doubt it,” Yamapi says. “But I get to compile the case, or help at least. Which is something, right?”

“Yeah, it is. Your first case. That's so great.”

“Don't take that shirt. It's cold out there, you'll freeze to death.”

“Oh,” Jin puts it back. “Thanks. You like this shirt.”

“I do,” Yamapi says. “You can see your nipples in it.” He's grinning around the apple.

“Fuck off,” Jin says. “It's not that thin.”

“Got time for a celebratory fuck, then?”

“Huh?”

“Well. You're off searching for a murder weapon. I'm compiling evidence for a case. Good fucking first day, deserves good fucking, period.” Yamapi is grinning wider, wider. Jin likes it. He kicks his suitcase off the bed.

“A quick one,” he says, impishly, tearing Yamapi's jacket off, his trousers, his socks. Yamapi reciprocates, going for Jin's tie last.

“Leave it,” Jin gasps, breathless, leaning over to kiss him. “Yours, too.”

“Kinky fucker,” Yamapi says. But he does.

Jin settles on his back, his shirt riding up. He looks like a dirty schoolboy. It is kinky, but Yamapi likes it. Yamapi lies on top, the kissing continuing. Jin strokes his back, his shoulders. They rub together, pressing gently, experimentally at first. Jin's eyes are lidded, his breath downy. He's hardening against Yamapi. They harden together, moving with more force as arousal chases through them. Yamapi licks a path from Jin's collarbone to the shell of his ear, loosening his tie and shirt buttons to get access. Jin squeezes his shoulders, presses his hips up, “yes”.

They push together, harder. Yamapi rises up on his arms, so he can move better, harder. Jin's eyes are black, his hips moving faster with each thrust. He reaches down, circles Yamapi's cock with his hand. The pressure, so specific and so good, it feels incredible after loose, blurry friction, and Yamapi cries out. He leans down, reciprocates, and Jin makes a strangled, needy sound. He pulls Yamapi down on top of him and they roll together, like puppies, undignified and clumsy, trying to get it as hard and as hot and as fast as they both need it.

With the other hand, Jin grabs Yamapi's tie and pulls him in, hard, for a kiss. He's gasping into it, thrusting into Yamapi's hand.

“Close,” he mouthes, against Yamapi's lips. Yamapi can only nod, vaguely mumbles, “fuck yes”, speeds up as much as his wrist muscles will allow without wishing death on him. Jin is practically fucking his hand, now, he's that desperate, that needy. It's better than the feeling of Jin's hand on his cock, almost, to see him like that.

Surprisingly, he comes first, the image of Jin fucking himself on Yamapi's hand too much to bear. It takes him a bit by surprise and he yells, his throat sore afterwards. He's lost the apple in the bed, somewhere. Jin comes just as he's done, a wrought scream that covers the walls. He lies, afterwards, Yamapi on top of him. They're both exhausted, content. Kinky, shirts wet. Ties around their necks. Jin holds Yamapi's in a loose hand. It's possessive, and Yamapi likes it.

“You should finish packing,” Yamapi says, mischievous. He knows Jin hasn't got the strength to move, not for another ten minutes.

“Fuck off,” Jin says. “Ten more minutes.”


In work the next day, Yamapi is trusted with perhaps the most important task of all. Nobody can understand this, because he's new and because he hasn't proved himself. They're not outright resentful, but they're not pleased, and he receives strained small talk before he leaves the office to visit Nishikido Ryo in custody.

“Let me know anything and everything that he says,” the boss advises him. “Don't leave out a detail. You never know what might come in useful on the stand. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Yamapi says. “I understand.”

Once he's gone, the boss sits down with the rest of his team. He wants to discuss the unlikelihood they'll win the case, and what they can do to intrude upon the defence team.

“They're out searching for the weapon,” the boss says. “I want us to be doing the same. I'm not suggesting that they'd tamper with the evidence, but it pays to be the people to find the murder weapon. Gets the police on your side. Not to mention, we'll find what about the weapon the defence will complain about, before they get a chance to form an opinion. It pays to be in first.”

“You didn't think to send Tomohisa-san searching for the weapon?” Tego asks.

“No,” the boss says. “For a very good reason. I've reason to believe that his partner is working on the defence team. I have people who do research for me, you know this. I don't want the pair of them meeting up at the lake. Too dangerous. Anyway, this task is far more important than Tomohisa's. Ryo isn't talking. Not to anybody.”

The men nod, plans suddenly becoming clear to them. “We should head out as soon as possible,” they say.

“Yes,” the boss says. “Needle in a haystack. Find out where the police have already searched, and go from there. We must find that weapon first. We must.”


Ryo Nishikido is dulcet. If people could be dulcet, he would be. He's staring at the counter before him, barely listening. There's nothing energetic about him. He doesn't even look as if he wants to claim innocence. This isn't what Yamapi was expecting.

“If you tell us where the weapon is,” Yamapi is saying. “We can help you. It may look cut-and-dried, but it isn't. We've got all sorts of ideas. It'll be okay. But we need your help.”

“I didn't ask for this,” Ryo says. “I'm sorry. I didn't.”

“Your wife did,” Yamapi says. “Don't you want to-”

“Look,” Ryo says. He raises his face, which is a car wreck of emotion. “Do you have a wife?”

“No,” Yamapi says. “No. I'm with someone. I've been with someone a few years.”

“Have they ever cheated on you?”

“No.”

“Imagine coming home, and finding somebody else inside them. On top of them. Touching them, the way you touch them. Making them come. Making them make the faces you thought unique to your sex life, the things they only did for you. Imagine how that fucking feels. My wife-”

“She's guilty.”

“Yeah.”

“But...is that why you did what you did?”

“I didn't do what I did. I mean, I did, obviously. But it wasn't me. It wasn't in my control. I don't know what happened. I've gone over this.”

“I know,” Yamapi says, nodding.

“Are you new? You don't seem very good at this.”

“I am,” Yamapi says, refusing to be flustered. “But I'm committed, and I'm determined not to let you or your wife down. Whether or not you're bothered, she doesn't want to see you go to jail for this. She wants to be with you. Yeah, if Jin slept with somebody else, I'd be pissed. Really, really upset. But I'd try and work it out with him, because I love him.”

Ryo seems startled. Yamapi's not sure which bit has alarmed him. “So, if I were you, I'd work out whether you want to waste our services, because your wife has gone to lengths to attain them.”

“Okay,” Ryo says. “You're a pushy guy.”

“New people usually are,” Yamapi says. “We have to be, I guess.”

“You want to know...what? I've told your boss everything that happened.”

“In the hotel room, sure. But there was stuff that happened later, wasn't there? You went to a lakeside resort after the...incident.”

“Yes,” Ryo says. “I wanted to be with my wife.”

“What happened then?”

“It...the thing. It happened again. I didn't want it to, but it did. I saw these two men, the same two men I saw in the hotel room. I didn't know why they were suddenly there, again, and it made the thing angry. It happened again, without my control.”

“What happened?”

“The...my legs, they moved without my intending them to. I woke up, walking around. I took the knife, and a bit of paper. Words appeared on it, without me doing anything. I pinned the note to their door.”

“What did the note say?”

“I missed you at the show.”

“What did that mean?”

“I don't know. I really don't. I didn't write it.”

“Okay,” Yamapi says. “What did you do after that?”

“I went back to my cabin. Minutes later, the two men came out. They were running away from something, or someone. It seemed like a ghost, the same ghost who...had captured me. The same ghost I confronted, that night.”

“What did the ghost say, when you confronted him?”

“That he set me up, because it wouldn't matter if I was imprisoned for a murder. I wasn't important. It didn't make sense, because he's a ghost. It isn't like he could be imprisoned. You can't lock up supernatural beings. Why he needed me, I don't know. He turned to...smoke, after our conversation.”

“But the men were running from him?”

“Yes. He was back, then.”

“Did they have the knife? Is it still on the door?”

“One of the men had the knife. He...”

“Go on. Please.”

“He threw it into the lake.”

“Didn't the ghost-”

“Ghosts can't go into water. They have no substance. They'd be drowned.”

“The knife is at the bottom of the lake?”

“Yes,” Ryo says, looking guiltily at the floor. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier-”

“It's okay,” Yamapi says. He's excited: maybe the evidence will be gone. Water tends to destroy fingerprints. Perhaps this is good news, after all. “Thank you for your time. You've been great, seriously. I'll. We'll be in touch.”

“Sure, I-”

“Thank you.”

He leaves, a flurry of papers and briefcase. Ryo looks after him, dejectedly. “I've got this cough, see,” he says, to himself. “Watery, fucking cough. What does that mean?”


Yamapi talks over the news in the car, and over the 'phone his boss seems as pleased as he is. They agree that fingerprint evidence may have been destroyed, and with Yamapi's information, it'll be easy for the defence team to find the weapon before the prosecution team. Yamapi, as far as the boss is concerned, has performed brilliantly. He's authorized to take a half-day, to go on a date, dinner, relax. He's done well.

Ecstatic, he drives home, does a little dance in his apartment. Wishes Jin was there, so he could speak to him, share the triumph, the way they used to do with their exam results. He picks up his 'phone, dials.

“Hey,” Jin says, and in the background, there's the sound of a car engine. “How's tricks?”

“Great, fuck,” Yamapi laughs, breathlessly. “I just. I had a great day. I talked to our client, found out where the murder weapon we were looking for was. I found it out, all by myself.”

“That's great!” Jin says. The men in the front seats pay him no attention, as always. “Good for you.”

“I've got a half day,” Yamapi says. “I'm going out to dinner.”

“Fuck, don't,” Jin says. “Prosecution doesn't believe in food.”

“Oh,” Yamapi says, feeling for him. “I'll think of you, when I'm eating steak. The local has a deal on. If you can eat two, they're on the house. Big ones, too.”

“I hate you. I officially hate you.”

“Have you arrived yet?”

“No,” Jin says. “About ten miles away. It's this lake, it's in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“Who are you talking to?” the man driving says. “Jin-”

“It's my boyfriend,” Jin says. “Hang on, Pi.”

Yamapi isn't talking. Things are slowly sliding, horribly, into place. Jin's at a lake, searching for a murder weapon. A murder weapon that's underwater. They can't be working on the same case. It's not possible. It's not possible. It can't be. It can't-

“Pi, I'm gonna have to go. They want me off the 'phone.”

“That's...fine, fine, I'll speak to you soon?”

“Sure,” Jin says. “Enjoy your steak. Bastard.”

Yamapi manages a strained laugh, and Jin hangs up. Yamapi sits on the bed, slowly. There's an apple under the covers, he can feel it through the bedsheets. He doesn't know what to do. He just doesn't know what to do.

He could tell Jin, but it doesn't seem right, somehow. It's not his place. And maybe Jin already knows. The thought hits him like a bucket of cold water. What if Jin knows already? Is he just humouring him?

No, he thinks. He didn't know. Makes no sense for Jin to know. Maybe their bosses don't know, either. Maybe it's just an awful coincidence. Maybe it's just something terrible, like that.

He's suddenly glad that he didn't tell Jin where the knife is. It's an awful sensation, because he's never wished something like that on Jin before. They've always been close, supportive, loving. Never had secrets. This is one hell of a secret. It's much bigger than Yamapi, than Jin, than the two of them together. Jin never asked, he supposes, and if he knew Yamapi was on the same case, he'd have asked. Jin doesn't know.

Suddenly, Yamapi feels as though he's cheated. There's an awful awkwardness about it. As if Jin's just about to walk in, find him entwined around another person. Only it isn't a person, just a great, big, ripe secret. Juicy and full and all his own.

A better boyfriend would tell Jin. The big question is: is Yamapi a lawyer first, or a lover? The truth is, he doesn't know.


Jin gets out the car with the others, stretches his legs. The air is cool, fresh, somehow familiar.

“Your boyfriend?” one of the men repeats.

“Yes,” he says, idly. “I know it doesn't go down well at office parties, not being heterosexual, but yes.”

“What did he say?”

“None of your business!”

“It might be our business,” Tego says. “He's a lawyer too, isn't he?”

“Yeah,” Jin says. “So? It's not like we're working on the same case.”

They give him looks. And then, they give him Looks.

“Go and search around the lake,” they say. “If you can't convince him to spill you a secret or two. We'll go and talk with the police.”


Jin walks towards the lake, trying to steady his mind enough so that he can think. He doesn't understand why he feels like he's been here before. He hasn't. He's never been outside of Tokyo. A part of him went into law to get the experiences, the life-changing events, that he couldn't afford to get by travelling. He wanted an exciting life. He didn't want to work in some dreary office all his life. He's never been here before, and yet it seems to familiar.

And then, then there's Yamapi. They could be working on the same case. It's not out of the question, just bad luck. Sometimes it happens. They knew it might, the moment they decided to specialize in opposing teams. It's just that Jin never foresaw this. He never thought that it might lead to a problem like this. He wants to call Yamapi, to ask him where the murder weapon is, before Yamapi realises that Jin's working for the other side. But that's too cruel, he can't bring himself to do it. He's a lover, before he's a lawyer. That much, he has to keep remembering. Law gives him experiences, brings joy into his life, but it isn't Yamapi. Without Yamapi, he doesn't think he'd be able to feel joy at all.

So he continues rummaging through the shrubbery, feeling unnerved, wanting to go home. Stray fireworks lie in the bushes, a piece of paper wafts by. I missed you at the show. Fireworks, show. Makes sense. He's outside cabin 893, a strange number for a cabin, he thinks. Great view of the lake, though. He wonders whether this man, Nishikido Ryo, stayed in this cabin. Perhaps the murder weapon is in here, after all. The door is ajar, so he pushes it, and walks through the door.


Yamapi goes back into work, needing the quiet of his office over the vague smell of sex in their bedroom. He goes through the case, even looks at the autopsy pictures, which he always hated doing at university. It's when he sees that there are no stab wounds. He was expecting awful, gory stab wounds. Instead, the victim looks as though she's been burnt. Burnt with a circular instrument, her chest raised and red. That doesn't make sense. A knife wouldn't do the sort of damage. They must be looking for the wrong murder weapon.

He 'phones one of his colleagues for advice.

“Waiting for divers to get here,” the man says. “Thanks for the tip-off, about the lake. Prosecution don't seem to have a clue. It's good news.”

“No problem,” Yamapi says. “I was going through the autopsy report-”

“Yeah, it doesn't quite fit, does it? That's our angle. We'll know more when we get the knife.”

“What if it isn't the murder weapon? It could be something else.”

“Nishikido Ryo has admitted that he stabbed her with that blade. Maybe it'll make sense when we see the blade. If you're bothered, look up similar cases in the database. See if you can't find anything else that's odd, doesn't fit. I think this case gets more and more interesting by the minute.”


Jin prowls around the small cabin. Burnt out candles, there's that sort of smell in the air. He loves candles. The cabin is stuffy and freezing, unlike the lake air. It's unfortunate, because it exacerbates his cough, which gets worse by the day. He had thought that fresh air would do him good, but it doesn't seem to be having much effect. He goes into the bedroom. The bed is unmade, the sheets gone. Room service doesn't seem much cop, then.

He sits down on the bed, pinches his nose. He doesn't think he wants to be here. He feels uncomfortable, tired, sick. He looks through the cabin from his vantage point, sees a candle burning. Blinking, he questions his judgment: no candles were burning when he came in. And then, there's nothing after all. No candles. Strange. Perhaps he is ill, perhaps he's seeing things. Otherwise, this doesn't make a great deal of sense.


Yamapi can't find anything in the database. This hasn't been done before, this bizarre method of killing. All he can find is vague references to some ghost story, rumored to have happened hundreds of years ago. Yamapi isn't sure they can submit that in a court of law.

He 'phones the colleague back.

“I found some ghost story,” he says. “About this way of killing people.”

“Ghost story?” the man says. “Right, okay. Go on?”

“Well, apparently it happened once, back in the days of piracy. I don't know an exact date. 1300s, though, probably. According to the story, this pirate ship sailed past a cave rumoured to be full of treasure. They tried to get into the cave, but they couldn't cut the entrance vines down. They had to give up a heart to get inside. They cut out a man's heart to get the treasure.”

“Oh,” the man says. “Yeah, I've heard that story. It's on the radio all the time. Those...fags on the radio sang about it. My daughter sings the song all the time. Drives me crazy.”

“What song?” Yamapi says, surprised.

“Oh, you've not heard it. It's just, yeah, about that story. About love, about sacrifice, stuff like that. You know what rockstars are like, they just embellish things they hear. We can't admit that in a courtroom. It'd make us look like idiots.”

“I don't want to admit the song-”

“Yeah, but that's what the jury will know about. They won't know this ancient story, but they'll know the rockstar version. Forget about it. Stories that old are rarely true, anyway.”

“It just seems weird-”

“Give it up,” the man says. “Got to go. Divers are here.”

Yamapi sits back in his seat. He scrolls down through the text, wondering what happened to the man who lost his heart. He lived, apparently. Seems odd to him. The girl died, so maybe it's not the same thing after all. It just seems strange, the markings sound so similar. It doesn't seem as though Ryo stabbed her. It seems as though he cut out her heart.

Her good, good heart.

Things come in waves. Small at first, just words. The laugh of a bright, bright man. The words dripping from his lascivious mouth. Jin's heart. He had wanted Jin's heart, in the cave, the treasure somewhere, the ship outside, the smell of sea salt, the fear in Jin's face, the death, the living, the blood in the air, the-

Jin trying to go on, to love on, the moments afterwards, taking the dagger and sailing away, Jin collapsing, the smell of sea salt, the blood in the air, the fear in Yamapi's face. The living. That strangled, struggled living. The colour draining out of everything like a map, like a map gone green to white. Smoke, candles, a hotel room. 893. 893. 893.

Ieyasu.

893.

The lake.


The search teams work quickly. Jin walks out of the cabin to find them there, the divers. They're scouring the surface of the lake, he sees that immediately. His team arrives with the police. They're angry, that they weren't informed about the imminent arrival of the diving teams. It would have saved them time, they're saying. The police just shrug. “Their find,” they say, motioning to the defence team. “Intern got the information, apparently.”

The prosecution team are staring at Jin. Tego looks at him especially hard. 'You're closest to the lake', he seems to be saying. 'Can't you pull something off?'

Jin's 'phone goes off. It's an e-mail, which means that he can check it without arousing the fury of his team members.

Get out of there. Jin, get out of there. Meet me back at the apartment. Take their car if you have to. It's important. I'll explain later. Just trust me.

-Yamapi

Well, that's just another fucking thing that makes no sense, Jin thinks. He's rooted to the spot. He doesn't know whether to stay, or go. He walks down towards the lake front, treading in somebody else's footprints. He wants to run, but he isn't sure why. It wouldn't be a good idea, the ground is wet and muddy. He walks, slowly, carefully. He walks until the water hits his feet, and it doesn't feel wrong, so he keeps going.

The police are shouting at him, but the water is cool, and refreshing, and right. He has a cough, see, and perhaps this will make it go away. He's knee-deep before he feels it: everything changes. Like water, everything bends to a new shape. He's looking for a dagger, with an edge of a heart. An edge of a heart he's missing. It's his dagger. It's his water. It's his life.

He scoops the water up in his hands and there's sea salt in his mind, Yamapi's voice in his ear as he lay on the deck, that low tone, that needy, low tone, 'stay with us, stay with us, stay with me'. Did he say that Jin would survive without a heart? He said that Jin would survive without a heart.

“You have me,” he'd said, and Jin hears it again, clear as a bell. “You'll survive without a heart. I have one, and we'll make do on that. Please, please stay with me.”

And Jin had, he thinks. He'd loved Yamapi as his heartlessness would allow. And Yamapi had loved him back, and it was all fine, until Yamapi had thrown the dagger in the lake – why had he thrown the dagger away? The dagger drowns, Jin's lungs drown. It all makes sense. The ghost couldn't get to it. The ghost, he'd wanted Jin's heart. Jin's heart, in a ghost's chest. Beating. Yamapi had thrown the dagger in the lake.

If Jin can get his hands on the dagger, maybe he can restore-

They're screaming at him, the men on all sides. It must look strange, he supposes, but this is his water. He knows water. He's a pirate, after all. He tries to tell them this, but nobody is listening.

The water turns from murky to white. It loses colour, definition. The divers are confused. Everybody takes a step back. Jin pushes on, because the dagger must be here somewhere, so he pushes on until he can't feel ground under his feet.


Yamapi sits on his desk and waits for a reply. He gets none, after ten minutes. Jin is good with his 'phone. It's an oddity.

He 'phones his colleague back. “What's happening?” he asks. “Have you found the dagger?”

“Dagger?” the man says, laughing. “What are you, 500 years old? It's a knife. No, we haven't. Some lunatic's wandered into the lake. He's prosecution. They're always prosecution. The lake's gone this funny colour, isn't that strange? We're waiting to get the lunatic out of the-”

Yamapi hangs up. He takes several, very deep breaths. None of them help him to breathe.


The man called Ieyasu waits by the side of the lake. The police let him onto the scene of the crime, of course. He says he's here to help. He disappeared, but nobody paid it any mind. Of course.

He's made of smoke, the man called Ieyasu. And he waits, as Akanishi Jin strides out into the water. The water is white, because Akanishi Jin touches it, and Akanishi Jin is colourless. He has only a sliver of a heart. No character. No love. Only what he can sap from the man called Yamapi. Yamapi isn't here, now.

Yamapi isn't here. Akanishi Jin will bring the dagger to him. It's in the middle of the lake, but it moves, second by second, closer to the striding figure of Akanishi Jin. He won't have the strength to resist. The heartless never do. It's one of their greatest features.

The man called Ieyasu unfurls himself, and waits by the side of the lake. The heart within his chest beats, ready for completion.

“Takauji,” Ieyasu says. Takauji has betrayed him. It will not happen again.

“You must do me one favour.”