D. N. Angel Fan Fiction ❯ Touch ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I really shouldn't have to be putting this, but I know that there is some smart ass out there that would point it out if I didn't, so here it is.

 

Touch

 

Chapter 1

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I hate to fly. In fact, I hate heights in general, and frankly, I'm terrified of them. It's just a phobia I've had for a long time now. One of my first visions had been of a woman who'd committed suicide by jumping off a skyscraper in Atlanta, Georgia. I'd seen the ground rushing to meet her body, felt the sudden agony of flesh and bone crashing into hard pavement. Her name was Katherine. Katherine Cavanaugh. I haven't been able to look out a window higher than a ground floor one ever since.

 

So here I was, flying business class to Japan thousands of miles above the earth and praying to whatever deity that would listen that the damned flight would end really soon. My hands were sore from gripping the arms of my “comfy” seat too hard. The guy in a snazzy Armani suit that was sitting next to me kept glancing over at me worriedly, as if he thought I was going to pass out.

 

Which I was considering.

 

I checked my watch. The big, digital numerals told me that it was 3:42 a.m. in the States. Quickly calculation in the fourteen hour time difference, I realized that it was 5:42 p.m. already in Tokyo. That was good. I was going to need some sleep if I was expected to function. And the first person to ask me why I didn't sleep on the plane would probably get yelled at.

 

One of the flight attendants came over and asked me if I needed anything.

 

I gave the tired looking brunette a smile, albeit a thin one. “Nothing, thanks.”

 

“You don't like to fly, do you, honey?” she asked kindly, a soft and maternal smile spreading across her face.

 

“Not really.” Gee, what had been the first clue? My death grip on the seat, or my whispered prayers?

 

“Then why are you on this plane, dear? Why not a boat?”

 

I smiled at her again, this time grimly. “A boat would take too long, and I have a job to do.”

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Ten hours later, without any of the sleep I'd planned on, I stood in front of the Chief of Police of Azomano, where the killer was spreading his “art”. I looked like shit. My eyes were bloodshot, making my green-blue pupils stand out in contrast as they floated in all that red. On the ride over, once I'd figured out that I was going to have to see the Chief as soon as I got into town with no time to stop at my hotel, I'd attempted to comb my coppery hair with my fingers but hadn't really accomplished anything more than further mussing it. Eventually, I'd decided to hell with it and gave up, which is why I'm standing here looking like a victim in shock.

 

“Detective Simon,” the young, brown-haired man greeted me as he stood from his chair. He was younger than I'd expected, maybe in his mid-to-late twenties. “I trust you had a good flight?” His English was barely accented and he was practically fluent.

 

I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. “Not particularly, Chief Hiwatari. I'm not a big fan of flying.”

 

He walked forward, hand outstretched. “Well, than an extra thank you for flying all the way out to us.” He flashed a charmer's smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “Arigatoo gozaimashita,” he told me, bowing his head.

 

I ignored the hand. Shaking hands is against the rules since my leather gloves don't always prevent the visions from coming. It is really awkward to see people in a vision that has nothing to do with an investigation and then have to work with them. I'll never forget the vision I'd accidentally gotten off the lead detective from my first case about him and his wife… “Dooitashimashita.” I laughed at the slight surprise that registered as I accepted his thank you. “I do know some Japanese, sir. My skill isn't great and my accent is horrible, but I can understand and say simple things well enough.”

 

The hand dropped and he replied without missing a beat. “Of course.” He returned to his desk. “Please sit, Detective. I take it you've the case reports and other information we sent your superiors.”

 

I sat in the chair opposite him. “Yes, I have. I didn't read your profile though. That would be cheating. Speaking of which, when can I touch the bodies?”

 

Chief Hiwatari gave me a strange look, probably to do with my “interesting” (as some have called it) phrasing of my request, but answered, “Now, if you're ready. But first, I would like for you to…” His eyes fixed on something behind me, and he seemed to forget that he'd been talking to me. Turning in my seat, I sought out what had captured his attention so fully.

 

A boy, about my age, was leaning against the doorframe. He looked a tad torn up and his dark blue, almost sapphire, eyes glared angrily at Chief Hiwatari.

 

“Ah, Satoshi,” the older man greeted, smooth as oil, and stood with his hands planted flat on the desk top, “How did it go? Did you catch him?” He asked it in Japanese with just the barest hint of mockery that said he already knew the answer, but it would have passed as polite in less attentive company. Something was beginning to strike me as sour with this guy. He was too smooth, too polished.

 

Too much like a politician.

 

Like many cops, I am not a fan of politicians and their disregard for the rest of humanity, their two-faced behavior. Politicians and beaurocrats are the ones that usually slow down an investigation, making apprehending the perp harder. While the idiots in politics impede our work, the killer or rapist gets to strike again and again.

 

The blue-haired boy, Satoshi, walked into the room slowly. He moved stiffly, holding his back perfectly erect. One arm clutched at hi side and I saw, once he passed me, that high back had two wounds about six inches long just to the inside of his shoulder blades. The white cloth of his shirt had thin streaks of blood on it.

 

“I told you to stay out of it,” Satoshi told the older man coldly. He glanced down at me and looked away contemptuously. “Is she your new puppet? Your new Mio?”

 

I may not speak the God forsaken language but I can sure as hell understand it!

 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I stated, not the least bit sorry, and pushed myself out of the chair, “but I'm the puppet of the United States government. Who's Mio, by the way?”

 

Satoshi looked at me with a bit more attention, frowning. “American? No wonder, your accent is terrible.”

 

I gave him an unfriendly look. “If you'd forced yourself to learn a language from one of those `For Dummies' books in eight hours on a red-eye flight, then your accent would be bad too.”

 

Chief Hiwatari cut off whatever Satoshi's reply was going to be, “Satoshi, this is Special Detective Cassandra Simon from the F.B.I. Detective Simon, this is Satoshi Hiwatari, my son.”

 

“A pleasure,” Satoshi replied dryly, bowing stiffly. These Asian courtesy customs must really irritate people when they have to be nice no matter what was going on.

 

“Nice to meet you too,” I replied, trying my absolute hardest to at least mimic being polite.

 

“She's here to help us find our killer. Which reminders me, Satoshi, you and she re now, as of this moment, the lead investigators in the case,” Hiwatari continued.

 

The hell?

 

“I already have a job, Father,” Satoshi half-hissed. His anger and…fear? was palpable.

 

Hiwatari waved Satoshi's protest aside. “Dark can wait.”

 

“But others can't,” Satoshi rebutted, just the faintest hint of a plea creeping into his voice. There was something strange about his voice now too. It had a slight accent, as if someone else was speaking besides Satoshi Hiwatari.

 

That's ridiculous. I'm definitely suffering from lack of sleep.

 

“Yes, they can.” Chief Hiwatari said firmly, tone hard and maybe a bit cruel. The two of them stared at each other with what felt like mutual and intense hatred.

 

Wow, talk about awkward.

 

“Um…gentlemen?” The both glanced at me, barely breaking their eye contact. “This is fascinating and all, but I would like to get started soon. You two can fight later, on your own time if you don't mind. I came here to get this done. Chief Hiwatari, I ask you again, when can I touch the bodies?”

 

“Now, as I said before,” the brunette answered.

 

“Good. Now that that's settled, here are the few rules I have about the way I work. One, you will not ever touch my hands, especially if I am not wearing gloves. Two, do not touch my belongings. I don't want to pick up anything you imprint on them by accident. Three, I go everywhere armed. There are no exceptions. I have put some influential people in jail, and they have friends that may want some retribution. Four, the minute I hear a psychic joke or someone guesses my ability, I am gone. Five, remember that you are not my boss, and are not someone I am required to report to.” I paused for a minute to let him absorb these conditions and then moved on, “If you can remember those five things, I'm sure we'll get along just fine.” I made sure to finish with a smile.

 

Hiwatari seemed to think about that for a while then nodded. “One of the men will take you to the coroner's office. Both of you.” His tone brooked any and all argument.

 

I noticed a small ribbon of blood slowly dripping down Satoshi's back, the dark red liquid staining the tattered cloth of his shirt. The growing crimson spots of blood were downright disturbing. I let my unease show. “If he's supposed to come with me, he should see a doctor first.” I hoped the way I said it translated as “Argue and die”.

 

The Chief barely spared a glance for his son. “He won't need it.”

 

My mouth almost fell open. Satoshi was bleeding for Christ's sake! He was also supporting his side with his arm, a classic sign of cracked or broken ribs. Satoshi was in need of stitches and x-rays. Can't his commander, his father, see that?

 

I must have let my opinion show openly on my face, because Hiwatari hastened to assure me that Satoshi could handle it. Resisting the urge to tell him to fuck off and take Satoshi to a hospital was difficult. But I didn't.

 

Me and Satoshi exited the office and he led me to the waiting unmarked police car. Another officer was waiting to drive us. Really classy.

 

Once in the backseat, I turned to my new “partner”. “Are you going to be okay?” I asked skeptically.

 

“I'll be fine,” he said, words short and clipped.

 

“If you say so.” There was nothing I could do if he didn't want medical treatment. I leaned back into the seat, closing my eyes. So tired… “How long until we reach the morgue?” Maybe I could catch some sleep…

 

“About forty-five minutes, ma'am,” the officer driving replied, pulling out of the station's parking lot.

 

The ma'am part rankled, but I let it go. Forty minutes was all I was going to get so I'll make the best of it. “Wake me up when we get there please.”

 

I was asleep in no time at all.