Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Clubit Academia ❯ Act 2 Chapter 8: A Priestess side story ( Chapter 14 )

Act 2: Chapter 8: A Priestess Side Story

 

Putting a clock into the room was a suggestion she should consider. Dorou's mentioning of it was ignored at first, another of the random comments he took to engaging in, but now it occurred to her that she had no idea just how long she had been sitting here, staring at the doll. It was Sunday, nothing important had been scheduled, though she still wanted to offer up a prayer for those who lay comatose throughout her room before the day was out. There was time for idle thought.

 

Yes, she should definitely set up a clock for the room. Making a note to pick one up the next time she was at the general store, Priestess got back to staring into the eyes of the featureless doll. It didn't have a face on its oval wooden sphere since the day the nurse got it. But that didn't stop it staring at her, day in, day out, even when she kept it locked up in her drawer, the one drawer Dorou could never pick open, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter what skills he had. They were other ways to lock a door besides sealing it with all number of mechanical locks.

 

The doll was wooden, different than the others. Priestess had never seen any of the other dolls, and probably never would, but she knew this one was different from the others. This one was made to last longer. Wooden, joints at the arms. One could mistake it for an artist's mannequin. Others had in fact made that comparison, the little red ribbon wrapped round its neck being the touch an artist might make themselves.

 

It had been longer, but Priestess had in fact snipped the red ribbon, carefully cleaving it so it would remain enough long enough to keep its tightness, yet stay short enough so it wouldn't get pulled at or snagged by anything. That was the worst thing that could happen.

 

**************************

Three years ago...

 

School had been out fifteen minutes ago, and she could hear the voices of the girls still outside the classroom. They were watching her, scrutinizing her, like vultures over their prey. Mother had told her to ignore them, but it was only working so much.

 

But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment... anyone who says, 'You fool!' will be in danger of the fire of hell.

 

No matter how much she read that phrase she still couldn't make comprehension of it. Mother had presented it as a challenge last night, and the words did nothing but jump around her.

 

“Oi, bible basher!” A coke can skittered off the table, narrowly missing her and hitting the cupboard behind her. It was clear they had meant to miss; they were aiming for her pride. “You'll go to Hell if you don't pick that up.”

 

She looked down to the crushed can, half pondering that it might have broken her glasses had it connected. Would it really be a sin? It wasn't her mess, but it would have inconvenienced someone else if she didn't pick it up, and asking them to pick it up was meaningless. Leaning down, she heard their giggles jump through the room, hurting her ears.

 

“She's actually doing it,” Lisa screeched in joy, like she had got a pig to accept some food in her hand, and was mildly disgusted at the result she got. “My god, you are such a freak.”

 

Leaving it on the side of the table, the girl turned back to her book, waiting for them to leave. After a few more names, they went to leave, more because they had a movie they wanted to see than because she was ignoring them.

 

They were stupid. God would punish them.

 

Eventually, their cries turned to a whisper in the winds of the corridor, and all became silent again. Good, now she could get on with her study without heathens getting in her way. Not that she had long left anyway. A long black car caught her eye from the corner of the window, and she slammed the bible shut, leaving her bookmark in the page. It was time to leave. Grabbing her bag and quickly stuffing the large hardback transcript into it, she rushed through the door, narrowly avoiding a teacher and quickly stopping to apologize.

 

There was a year left at this school. Then she'd be free to move about as she pleased. She was definitely going to get her father to put her into a boarding school. At least there she'd be surrounded by other Catholics. People who'll understand her.

 

Those girls were catholic too.

 

“Hey, did you get it?” A voice around the corner got her to turn her sprint to a light pace. For a second she feared it to be Lisa and Melanie, but she didn't recognize these two voices at all.

 

“That Hell Communications e-mail thing you sent me?” another voice said, this one sounding just as excited as the first.

 

“What's this?” a third voice asked, the twin sister of the first voice, she now saw as she turned to the cloakroom. Her coat was away from the girls, she wouldn't have to speak to them. The second girl turned to her for a second, but failed to recognize her and continue with the conversation.

 

“It's a website. I tried to go on it but apparently you can't. It says that if you click on the link at precisely twelve midnight, you see a bright candle appear on the screen, and one of username boxes show up. You can then type whomsoever name you want in the box. Click submit, and apparently, that person dies.”

 

“What?” the ignorant twin replied. “Is it true?”

 

“Who knows? Probably not,” her sister replied. “I don't exactly want anyone to die to test it out on anyway.”

 

“How about Katie?”

 

“Oh god yes. We should soo test it out on her.”

 

That was disgusting, she thought walking away from the trio and quickly regaining her speed as she got outside. How could anyone wish the death of anyone, even in jest? She wouldn't even want Lisa or her Art teacher to die, no matter how much she disliked them. Nobody deserved death at the hands of another person, no matter how bad they were. It was God's decision when someone was to be taken away.

 

A fake Italian accent broke off her thoughts. “Hey, my little jambalaya.”

 

“Uncle Frank!” She shouldn't have been surprised. He was her dad's manager, but the happiness of seeing the one man who understood her always made her detonate with joy. Jumping up at him, she barely heard her schoolbag hit the floor as he took her up in his big arms. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Do I need an excuse?”

 

“No, no of course you don't,” she replied hastily, hugging him tight, as if he would disappear given the wrong answer. “I'm just glad you're here again.”

 

“Don't I get a hug too?”

 

“Daddy!” And with agility surpassing that of a cat's, she jumped from one large man to the next, hooking onto her father's neck and hanging limply from it. For a second, he left her hanging, watching as she quickly struggled to attach her legs to him, before he scooped her up in both arms.

 

“Your mother had to go out to visit your grandmother, so we got told to pick you up here. We'll be heading straight to the gym. You don't mind watching your old man go a few rounds, would ya?”

 

“Of course not, daddy,” she replied. “I love watching you practice.”

 

Her father the champion, she thought to herself as they got into the black of the large saloon, the hidden driver pulling off a few seconds after the door shut. Were she one to boast, she'd stick it to that Lisa girl and all her friends that her daddy was one of the best boxers in the entire county. The best at the moment for sure. The champion. He had crawled his way to the top until he was able to stand on two legs and then started leaping and bounding until he had secured his position, and it was all thanks to Uncle Frank.

 

He wasn't her real uncle of course, but he insisted she called him that, just as he insisted on always eating pasta and pizza and wearing a brown tweed suit. Daddy always said it was one of his major issues, but she just thought it was cool. Uncle Frank had done so much for them and the town's old, dilapidated church. Being so rich, it was nothing for him to fix it back up.

 

“So Jambalaya,” her uncle said in a booming voice that always got a person's attention. “Are you coming to see your father's fight on Friday?” He scratched his abnormally large nose as he took his hat off, revealing grey hair that looked as fresh and clean as hers.

 

“Uh huh!” she replied with an enthusiastic nod, bouncing on the leather seat as she did so. “I can't wait.” The Lord never had any issues against violence. As long as you didn't kill, then you can do all the damage you want. That's why she always liked boxing. A duel was the safest thing in the world. No one ever died. “You're gonna win again, right daddy?”

 

Her smile receded as she saw the glum look appear on her father's face. Shuffling restlessly on the exquisitely comfortable upholstery, he turned to the window for a moment, watching other kids still being walked home from school. They had caught up to them pretty quickly.

 

“Daddy?”

 

“Listen runt, there's something you should know,” her father said, his words hushed and apprehensive. His eyes darted to Uncle Frank, who had an episode of panic in his eyes. “We have to tell her. I don't want her getting disappointed on the night.”

 

“Tell me what?” Uncle Frank looked like he was about to object, but didn't get the space.

 

“I'm …I'm taking a dive on Friday. You know…lose on purpose.” His head turned away, not looking at anything this time, releasing a sigh that was filled with shame.

 

“A dive?” She knew what it meant. “But…but why?”

 

“It's…it's complicated.”

 

“Daddy!”

 

“His neck is injured, Jambalaya,” Uncle Frank replied, with tentative regret. “He'll need surgery in about a month's time.”

 

“Surgery!” she turned to her father in shock, hands clutching his shoulders in worry. “Are you okay, daddy?”

 

“It's not too serious,” he replied with a sheepish grin. “It affects my boxing mostly, so after this I'll be ducking out for a bit.”

 

“And it's not too bad either,” uncle Frank continued to explain. “We're going to be placing a bet on the other guy to win. A whole ton of money, help pay off the operation when we lose. It'll be fine kid, you'll see.”

 

The conversation died down after that, just a bit of small talk of school and friends. She couldn't stop thinking about it though, gnawing away at her as they turned to Uncle Frank's place. She knew it was for the best long term, daddy could always regain the championship anytime he wanted to, and the money was for a good cause, uncle Frank had already promised her that what was left behind would go straight to the church.

 

Yes, this was for the best. It really was.

**************************

The present

 

“In regards to the recent incidents, students and duelists are expected to stay in curfew at all times. Breaking of such curfew will result in disciplinary action. To arrange special situations such as appointments with the nurse or group practice during this time, please consult YY87 at least a day in advance. In addition we ask that duels should be conducted only with cards and should not include the use of your duel disk. This is for your own safety until we can ascertain the nature of this situation. We apologize for any inconvenience during this time. Lectures will continue as normal.

 

-Ryan"

 

This was stupid. If there were problems within the school then it should be shut down in the meantime. Not that he wanted that. In fact he was sure he would oppose it should it ever happened. Even so, wouldn't a normal school be closed in such a situation? Back at his old school, they'd have days off even if the boiler packed in during the summer. Students getting comatose simply for dueling was a sure reason to close the place down.

 

Leaping off the bed, Paine stretched lightly, scratching himself as he headed for the bathroom. Dorou had wandered off before sunrise, and he had only been woken up because the thief had turned off the computer he had left on all night. He was feeling a lot better now. The line dancing that had been occurring in his head for the past few days had finally subsided, and the acidic pain in his stomach now only bothered him after a heavy meal. He would have to test that out later to make sure if it was still there or not.

 

Shower. Lukewarm. Clothes off, what little there was of them, and then freezing cold water that scorched him. He nearly swore as he jumped back out of the small, rectangular cubicle, before inching his way back in again, twisting and playing with the knob until he was sure it was okay to step in.

 

His training began tomorrow, he thought as he lathered himself in the liquid that came from the heavens of the bathroom. It was time to become stronger. Something was happening in this place. Everyone knew it, but only he knew it had a source. The glowing robed figure that could defeat someone in one turn. He knew a lot of it had to be luck, getting just the right six cards that would spell your opponent's demise and using them to perfection, but the sooner he learned how to do the same, he could strike back. It would have to be him who would strike back.

 

He hadn't told anyone about the man yet. It just hadn't been the right time. It was a very guilty thought that he had, that he had spent the rest of last night playing games with Priestess and Dorou. They were in good books with each other again, and he hoped it would stay that way. Friendship was best when you were in a good mood with your friends.

 

But his thoughts turned back to the day before again. No one knew except him, and it was quite a dangerous thing for him to know. He had to tell the right people, or even just person. Knowing there was an actual malicious force in the area might cause a panic, and right now normalcy needed to continue if people were to remain safe. This guy had the power to put people into comas. Thing had to be played safely.

 

At least, all this was what he was telling himself.

 

People had already fallen, not even against enemies but friends. Priestess had told him that Meca-Necro, the one who had caused Haron to be comatose was one of his best friends, at least she thought he was. Even more so, Kenshin, one of the ten, and apparently tenth in the Shariku Rankings (a position he himself now held for reasons neither he or Shariku could determine), had been taken out. He didn't know the level of competition that well yet, but the lecturer had to be one of the strongest here.

 

Suddenly, Kenshin became more of a focal presence in his mind. Sure the man had to still be lying there! Defeated, whether comatose or dead he had no idea. Even if he was just comatose, by now surely his body must be suffering from a lack of water and nourishment. What was Paine still doing here? Rescuing his lecturer should have been an immediate priority.

 

You are having a shower.

 

Slamming the stop button on the shower, he could not dry himself fast enough, and even as he was leaving he was still having problems with buttoning his shirt due to his wet skin clinging to the nylon. Returning to the Old Forums again was something he had not wanted to do, but it seemed he must go there again, and find the body of his M…

**************************

 

“And as we're heading up to the twelve round folks, it really looks like it could go ether way. McJohnson looks weary but that doesn't mean he's a no show.”

 

“That's right Dave. If anything McJohnson has shown an amazing aptitude when thrown into a tight corner. Last month when he was working for the contender shot he turned all things around with just one punch.”

 

“And that may be how it goes here, Manny. The champion is clearly fresher folks but that doesn't mean he's at the peak of his health at the moment, and with that neck injury one good hit may be all it needs to take him down.”

 

The commentator's voices echoed through her ears and into the worry part of her mind. It's almost like they knew. It was weird how planning to lose felt like cheating, like one would feel if they were caught trying to commit suicide.

 

It would work though. It would definitely work, and then daddy would be okay. That had to be what God wanted for them, right? Or else they would have been caught by now.

 

The bell sounded, and both her daddy and the challenger rushed into the center of the ring. Both men sizing each other up before McJohnson knocked a round to her dad that looked like it would have taken his head off had he not bobbed under it. Shooting a blow to the man's chest, Daddy veered round and waited for his opponent to turn into position, popping off another three shots, all of which blocked by the heavier guys arms.

 

McJohnson was only half a stone off from being in the heavyweights, so he had the advantage there, a brick wall of muscle on both arms that were both shield and piston. Daddy was lighter though, actually on the other side of the scale. Dodging the punches should have been easy, were his opponent actually throwing any.

 

“Looks like he can't go on any longer,” an observer commented to his friend in the row behind her.

 

“Yeah, looks like things aren't going to go as predicted.”

 

“Man, we are going to lose a ton of money if what we heard was wrong.”

 

“I just wish we had betted on the champion now.”

 

“Ah you live and learn. Next time we know not to trust rumours. Of course the champ was going to win. He's the champ! How many times he beat this guy now?”

 

“But did you see what happened to the other guy's odds about an hour before the match…” His voice was cut off, as cheering filled the arena. The champion had delivered had delivered a tremendous shot to the ribs that sprawled the opponent back into the ropes. Trying to hold back her own cheers, as they would be lies, she watched the applause from all around her, including those behind her that were just talking.

 

She couldn't help but smile though. She wanted to tell them that perhaps they should not abandon their hope so easily, but it would look bad if she wasn't offering support for the obvious candidate. Yet this was the round her daddy was suppose to fall. It would be happening any minute now. The other guy just needed to punch him once more.

 

Reeling back onto his feet, McJohnson circled round her daddy a half way , feinting twice without receiving a response. It almost looked like he was waiting. She knew that's how he fought. The counter punch was the strongest in the challenger's arsenal.

 

As the crowd calmed back down, she swore she could have heard a jeer coming from the back. It was understandable, they had slowed down, their punches becoming light taps, as if they had both agreed to take it easy this round. Her daddy unleashed another shot to the guy's jaw, it barely connected, McJohnson pulling away from it as he stood up straight, and fell down hard onto the mat.

 

“What?” she shouted, as she saw Uncle Frank rise to his feet, just as the referee hand fell to the floor, counting the first. Just as shocked as her uncle, she watched as the count continued, jaw hanging open. It should have been her father on the floor. The challenger should still be standing tall. That wasn't even a proper punch!

 

“Nine…” For a second the count stopped as McJohnson appeared to start pulling himself up, gloves slipping on sweat covered canvas, falling back down in an instant. “…Ten!”

 

The gong rang twice, the truth evident on her father's wide eyes and gaping mouth.

 

**************************

 

She silently stole down the corridor. She didn't know why. Perhaps it's because she knew the loud noises were coming from the changing rooms, or perhaps because she didn't want to be attacked from reporters on all sides like last time.

 

Daddy had won. It didn't mean things were too bad. He'd just have to lose another match, right? She continued moving through the greenwash corridors, hearing even her light footsteps echo across the floor, closer to the thick, white door that led to the changing rooms.

 

“You were supposed to lose. It wasn't that hard.” That was Uncle Frank's voice. It felt like a giant was speaking compared to how small and tiny her father's voice sounded.

 

“I…don't… I didn't mean to… He just…H-he just fell. It wasn't that hard a punch.”

 

She heard a large clang, metal being smacked with a fist she knew did not belong to the champion. Lockers were suffering as a result of her daddy's victory.

 

“Well clearly it was!” Uncle Frank continued. “I heard the guy lost a tooth with that last punch. Would have broken his jaw were it not for the mouthguard! How could you do this to me? Have you forgotten all I've done for you?”

 

The room went silent, and she contemplated walking in, hoping to cheer the both of them up. Getting Uncle Frank to smile couldn't be that hard.

 

“God we needed that money,” her father eventually said, holding her hand back from the door handle.

 

“You needed that money?! You!” Uncle Frank exclaimed. “What about me, Jack? What about me? Do you have any idea how much I lost for all this? All because you couldn't fall down when asked?” The metal clang she heard again, several times in a row, followed by a gasp of pain and what sounded like something falling.

 

They were so angry it was scary. Everything had gone wrong, and there was nothing she could do about it. They were fools for trying to cheat really. She should have known. There were better ways of getting the money. More honest ways. How much could a neck operation cost?

 

She heard footsteps, and worried when she realized they were coming from inside the changing rooms. One of them was walking towards the door, probably Uncle Frank. From a moment fear pierced through her and all she wanted to do was run away.

 

“I was seconds away from doing so,” her father finally replied, halting the footsteps. “All I was waiting for was one more hard punch. Make it look real, but he wasn't...”

 

“Real? You wanna talk about real when you're head is in the clouds. A punch is a punch, and now I'm tempted to give you one of those myself.”

 

The door shook fiercely, and she let go of the handle as her hand vibrated along with it, the residual shock still managing to hurt her. Taking a few steps back from the door, she got ready to run.

 

“What are we going to do?”

 

“We?” Uncle Frank replied. “We're not going to do anything. You stay here. I have some calls I need to make.”

 

Not waiting a second longer, she shot off in the direction from where she came. She couldn't let Uncle Frank see her like this. Not with tears, not when he was so angry.

 

She didn't want to disappoint any of them.

 

**************************

 

Present day

There was chaos. Not visible, not to be sensed in any form of the word, but it was there, waiting. Contained chaos, and this one had to prevent it from overturning this boat of an Academy.

 

Ryan's curfew had been arranged, as requested by Shariku. Hall monitors were now present everywhere. Students would still be allowed to roam as they like, this one thought it was unnecessary to contain them completely in their dorm rooms, but dueling was now forbidden.

 

At the very least, no more casualties shall be incurred upon the battlefield until the Ten are ready.

 

The only matter was Kenshin. YY87 knew that the lecturer was capable, and had been know to leave at other times, often for the greater good of the Academy, but it was still unnerving for this one to lose track of one of the generals at such a critical time.

 

There was also the matter of these Old Forums. They were completely inaccessible now, and even the one entrance that the amateur had left for himself had now been sealed. All that was left was the one entrance this One had set up for emergencies, and that could only be unsealed by oneself.

 

That action would be performed in a moment, when the other One came.

 

But what was this? Someone else was approaching. They stopped short when they came into sight of this one, but pressed forward none the less. It was the one known as Paine. It had already been suspected that he had entered the Old forums twice in the past day. Now he appeared to be open about it. Still, it was forbidden. Panting, he approached this one.

 

“I-I have to go in there,” the boy stated, out of breath. “There's… there's…” the boy's words failed him, and this one's hand stopped his advance.

 

“What is wrong, child?” this one said. “You should have received news already that this location was off limits. Now you seek to enter, and openly as well.”

 

“Just…” he wheezed. His appearance had fallen ragged in mere seconds, and for a short, long perceived moment, this one feared that he may be showing symptoms of falling into a coma. “Please, let me through.”

 

“This one cannot,” this one answered, applying a small amount of force to this one's wrist to push him back without hurting him. What this one felt to be the calm demeanor that was present in the child a moment ago had now abandoned itself to panic. Struggling uselessly against YY87's hand, one could sense this Paine had a most urgent reason to enter this place. However, one's own duty was present there too, and was to shield this place from any outsiders, no matter how desperate their reasons.

 

“Move!” he now commanded, though his body lacked the energy to back up his demands. “It's…it's…” The one known as Paine appeared to be having difficulty with his own words, and they danced on his lips as though nervous to move into the center of the dancefloor. Observing the worry lines cede and recede from his forehead, his eyes clenching as though battling some unseen force, this one questioned whether or not the child was currently sane. Clearly his fervent desire was affecting his judgment, as his appearance at the bottom of the hill now severely contrasted his current attitude. There was little talk of drug use in the Academia, and though this one had small suspicions, there was no reason to conclude that this child was now in desperate need of `a fix'.

 

Whatever his reasons, it was deducible that they were genuine, and even somewhat noble. Perhaps letting him pass was not out of the question, as long as he was not to mind being followed by this one.

 

“You are not to pass,” another voice beside this one stated. This one's surprise emitted itself as a sharp squeak, as one turned around to view the one known as Yo-Chaos Angel. He was the one this one had been waiting for.

 

“But I…But I….” the boy continued his manic mumblings, always failing to state his reasons. For a moment, this one felt pity on the child, and sought to take his side.

 

“He appears desperate, Yo,” this one said. “Perhaps it should be considered.”

 

“Shariku-sama had insisted that no one enter here during this crisis. I-indeed, no one is supposed to be here anyway.”

 

“But I need…” then the boy stopped speaking again. This one began to question his sanity once more, not merely comparing him to a derange madman, but whether he was facing an inner crisis. It did appear he was struggling with a demon in his head, and he almost cried out in agony. Yo took an apprehensive step back at the boy's sudden movements…and quickly stuttered out a demand.

 

“If you want to get in! Then tell us why. If not, get out of here! Or you'll face disciplinary action.”

 

It occurred to this one that Yo would never be a good security guard, let alone a skilled warrior like this one.

 

But with a long dejected grunt, the boy finally turned around and stormed off back in the direction of the Academia, holding his head as if it were to fall off any moment now. It occurred to one that perhaps this was the right thing. There was no reason for anyone to be in that place anymore, except for one.

 

“This one shall leave you to it,” this one stated, opening the remaining entrance. And, with a small bow, this one proceeded back in the direction of the Academy itself. Strategy Master's security arrangements had placed Yo in charge of that place in the meantime. Yo handled most of our administration work, and could work privately with a laptop in the meantime. He was the best choice for the situation.

 

This one had his own tasks to perform.

 

**************************

She was barely listening. Her tears were deafening his words to her ears.

 

“We didn't part on the best of terms. I had gotten angry at him for the smallest thing. Money. Money is nothing compared to friends. And yet I let it get to us, get between us. I wish I could tell him now that I'm sorry, that I would do anything to take back what happened. He was a magnificent boxer, and an even better friend.”

 

The church looked beautiful. Flowers of every kind, all his favourite roses and violets, were spread around the sides of the church. The place was full. She never knew her father knew so many people. Everyone from the boxing community to the local police force was here. She only had one friend attend and he was near the back somewhere, yet still there were over a hundred people here.

 

The coffin itself was the most expensive mahogany. She knew father wouldn't like having this much material fuss over him, the much money. Sure, he loved the attention he got but he always preferred it from his own inner skills and not the ability to throw cash around. But Uncle Frank had insisted, and now, as he stood in front of her deceased father, he wept bitterly for the fallen.

 

“He loved this church. He really did. Kept it close to his heart.” Her Uncle pointed to her, to the space next to her. She hadn't let anyone sit there, even though the church was full to capacity. “He was in that seat every Sunday, front row with his beautiful wife and adorable daughter. Now…there's a gap where our hearts should have been.”

 

A mugging. That's what they had been told. He always separated from Uncle Frank about two blocks away from home. Always took the dark alley. He knew it was so stupid a cliché yet the neighborhood was good around there. Yobs never darkened those street corners, until that night.

 

“It seems odd that he should die in a fight, but Jack was never one to advocate fighting outside of the ring. He would always prevent fights, not cause them. And no matter how many fights people would try to start with him, he would always smile back to them, and offer to buy a drink. He was against violence…and I've soiled his memory by having our last encounter end with it.”

 

Until the knife was wedged into his neck even after they got his cash. He wasn't stupid. He would have given them the money rather than try to be a hero. It would have been more of an issue for him to have fought back, mainly because he would have pulverized them.

 

They still stabbed him anyway.

 

“Well I'm going to make it back to you, Jack. The money doesn't mean anything to me. Not anymore. I'm donating what I should have used to pay for your operation.” He was shouting now, up to the sky, rather than the coffin besides him. She could hear a few people behind her become unnerved by it. “I'm gonna give half of it to the church, and the other half to your family. You've more than earned it my friend. No one has earned it more.” He rested his hand against the coffin, and stared deep into her father's face. “I just wish it could bring you back.”

 

Without warning, everyone around her started to clap. Those who could but for the tears even stood up and applauded him. Uncle Frank tried to hold them back, saying he wasn't worth it but they couldn't help themselves. Even when he fell down and she had to rush to help him up they didn't stop.

 

She wanted to clap too, but it was too hard. Was this God punishing them further? Was her dad dead because they tried to cheat? With everyone clapping around her, she wanted to scream.

 

**************************

 

Present day

 

Paine rushed back down the corridors of Clubit Academia, completely aimless in his pursuits. Rushing around, he almost ran straight into the gruff, mean lecturer as he paced hastily past him, a student with a pie on his shirt held tightly by his ear, being dragged behind him.

 

“If you're not going to respect the rules, then you might as well leave. I…” Paine tuned it out, tuned it all out. The headache had disappeared now; he guessed he wasn't as better as he thought he was, still suffering from some symptoms. Had he forgotten to take the medicine Priestess had given him this morning? He couldn't remember.

 

You had not taken it.

 

He couldn't tell them. For some unknown reason, when the time came, the important time when someone was in his need, he could not tell anyone. It was an emergency for damn sake! He shouldn't even be walking off in this direction. Heading back there and rescuing Kenshin should be his only priority right now.

 

And yet, he was getting further and further away.

 

The corridor opened out into a three way branch, a group of female students chattering in the hallway straight ahead of him. He veered off suddenly to the left and nearly landed smack bang into the head of the decapitated girl, as she floated off to the library. Ignoring her, he continued on, questioning what he was doing.

 

Was there something in his head? Controlling his action, preventing his words. He wanted so much to tell them that there was a problem. Wanted so much to tell them…

 

There is a foriegn entity residing within your cranial structure, separate from the regular collection of tissue and organs.

 

He stopped, his last footstep bringing the corridor to silence, the voice echoing in his head, though not speaking any further words. He stopped thinking, and heard nothing.

 

What on earth was that?

 

Questionable unanswerable. There is no subject.

 

There it was again. It was speaking… in his head? Answering the questions he thought to himself.

 

This headache was getting worse. To be able to delude himself to hearing voices. What were the chances?

 

The probability of unintentionally inducing schizophrenia-type behaviour is approximately 2,435,650 to 1.

 

Wait… that seemed a bit too efficient for just a voice in his head.

 

He waited, uncaring for others walking past him in the corridor, not even noticing the giant scorpion that was terrorizing passing students. None of it mattered. He needed to be sure of this.

 

Best way to figure it out would be to test himself.

 

“What is the square root of 23465?”

 

153.18289721767244339496565137577

 

“That… didn't actually help,” he said aloud to himself, as it occurred he didn't know if it was right anyway, or even if he did legitimately have some sort of super calculator in his brain that made him a genius. General knowledge would be the only way to make sure. He couldn't rely on logic or problem solving.

 

**************************

 

“Well, we just need your initial deposit miss, and then it's just these last two forms and you'll be all set for new savings account.”

 

“Oh yes, yes.” Her mother's hands dived to her handbag, shuffling through a thousand insignificant sheets of paper as she searched for the check given to them by Uncle Frank. It was their first account that wasn't in her daddy's name, and mother had been at a loss what to bring and what not to bring, leading to her bringing five forms of identification, three forms of address verification, one hundred or so bank statements (all in her daddy's name and therefore useless) and every letter ever sent to her from the Inland Revenue.

 

The Fifty thousand pound check had been lost in the meantime. It took a lot of awkward fumbling and embarrassing mountains of paper on the nice lady's desk before she finally found it.

 

“Here we are,” her mother said, passing it over, before turning to the forms that had been indicated. Her hands were trembling. Her mother had been trying to hide it for a couple of days now, but there was no stopping them. They vibrated the small slip of paper as she handed it over and they had trouble picking up the remaining pieces of paper as she shoved them unceremoniously back into her handbag.

 

“That's great,” the bank lady said as she watched her sign the final form, standing by the door like she was waiting to run out and scream `got another one!' “I'll just see if I can get this processed for you and we can get your account up and running as soon as possible.” The woman left, clicking her impossibly high heeled shoes on the hard wood flooring as she disappeared from sight.

 

She could get used to this type of environment. Banks were so peaceful, though not so much outside where the people of the street wandered back and forth to do what they needed to do. But in this office, it felt so serene. There was a harmony of sorts.

 

“You can go for a walk if you like,” her mother said, patting her on the head and inadvertently shaking up her daughter's hair. Without a word, she quickly bounced off her seat, and not even glancing back, moved on out of the room.

 

Since the funeral, since watching daddy get placed six feet underground and her insisting to everyone that she thought she had heard him move, she had said nothing. It was the bad end to a day that was going well. The ceremony had been nice, right through from the eulogy to the burial. At the time she hated that. Respecting the dead was one thing, making everything all superficial and proper just blew it all away. Her daddy was dead. Dressing up would never cure that. The only one who wasn't acting that day was her Uncle Frank.

 

“And I tell you my friend, you have just made an old man's day the best.”

 

“Uncle Frank?” she muttered for the first time in two days. Uncle Frank was here at the bank? She turned to look around at the crowd of swarming humans, moving about like bees with individual jobs that were all essentially the same thing. It was definitely the voice of her uncle that she had heard, but she couldn't see where he was.

 

“Not at all, sir. This is a very generous deposit for our bank. I must personally say it's quite an honour to have you decide to bank with us with this amount.”

 

She started taking steps across the lobby now. The conversation hadn't really pricked her ears yet and she was more intent on locating her Uncle Frank. It would be nice to talk to him after all that had happened. Even if they were just to hug it would be enough. She almost passed a large, obese man who was standing still going through his wallet when she tracked them down.

 

Uncle Frank must have been in his best suit ever standing there. It looked even more expensive than the one he had gone to the funeral with. His hair looked a lot neater and for once there was no poorly shaven chin. Her Uncle Frank always prided himself on looking good, but now, he was more handsome than she had ever imagined him. The smile on his face as he shook the bank man's hand was shining off of the bright lights in here and dazzling her.

 

“Well I might have come into a lot of money just recently, and I never got on too well with my old bank so I figured it was time for this old man to move on.”

 

The word `money' skipped through her head several times, playing the type of melody one could become sick of fast if they weren't careful when listening to it. Uncle Frank shouldn't have had that much money. With what he lost and the amount he donated to her family and the church, he shouldn't…

 

She slipped behind the fat man she was standing next to, somehow hiding from his gaze as he continued to rummage through his money. She heard a few curse words coming from him and tried to ignore them as her Uncle said something else to the Bankman, and turned off in the direction of the large, oak door exit.

 

Why she shot off after him, she didn't know. Her legs bounced agilely around the people storming in out of the rain that was thundering outside in the street. She watched him as he walked at a brisk pace outside, pulling up his umbrella and sheltering his expensive suit from the downpour. She was sure she had seen him in all his suits. He loved the ones he had and always sought to show them off, especially to her, the one most willing to spectate. Even his business suits she had seen him wearing, from the sleek black one to the strange beige one that she teased him about because it made him look like Frank Sinatra with the hat on. This was definitely a new one. He certainly shouldn't have been able to afford it and lose a large sum of money on a bet and donate fifty thousand pounds to the church, to them, and then put down a large deposit on a new bank account.

 

Asking questions to herself was something she always held back from doing, never liking idle speculation, but this time she couldn't help it. How did he have that much money? And why did he have the limousine? She stopped as she saw him approach the ten window behemoth, before rushing up quickly to the other side. This was making even less sense. He only rented the limousine on the weeks where her daddy's fights were coming up. He couldn't afford the fees for the chauffeur alone, yet there was that mysterious driver she never saw, opening the polished door so that her uncle could get in. The driver looked at her for a second, and she made out as if she was crossing the road, a lie in action, before sweeping round to the other passenger door, opening it and, with thanks to central locking, getting in.

 

Her Uncle was still talking to the chauffeur, shaking his umbrella down and trying to get it on neither of them. She had seconds to act and she couldn't even tell herself why she was in there. There was just something wrong with all of this and she knew if she didn't get the answer now she would never know it. A black throw-over was crumpled up in a ball on the seat just behind the driver's. Uncle Frank never sat there, and with a stride that amazed her at not making a sound she grabbed it and threw herself under it, masking herself under the small drinks table there and hoping it was enough.

 

“Oh, and dim the lights in the back, would you?” her uncle said as he finally stepped into the backseat. “I feel in the mood to celebrate. I'm sure Nicky wouldn't mind if I have a few just before we got there.”

 

Through the fabric of the throw-over, she observed him quietly, seeing as he took his coat off, leaving it at hanging on his shoulders, in a style that only he and al Capone could pull off. Cackling to himself, he reached over to a bottle of brown liquid. She didn't know what it was specifically, just some alcoholic beverage that he had never allowed her dad to drink. Taking what looked like a tablespoon full down into his gullet and making a big deal out of it, he sighed loudly with relaxed content, before his mobile spoiled the moment for him.

 

It wasn't for long. As soon as he looked at the screen he appeared overjoyed and flicked it on. It was a new phone as well.

 

“Hello, if it ain't the challenger. How you doin', my little Jambalaya."

 

Her heart almost froze and shattered in her chest. He wasn't speaking to her, both relief and torturous anguish swept through her heart at the same time.

"I've been waiting for your call ever since you fell down for me.”

 

“Yeah….Yeah…..Yep it's all going down a treat.” He laughed a hateful laugh that she had never seen from his lips before. “The money I donated was nothing to the money I got. Soon as I spread the word that Jack was going to dive all the bets tables turned round in an instant. Who ever heard of the odds being better for the champion than they were the challenger? Then you did your part and wham, one million pictures of our dear majesty the queen, all for just you. and. me.”

 

He…he didn't. He couldn't have. Why would he? But what about all that he said?. Was he just getting the money after he heard what happened with the bets, or…

 

“Yes I know they were in tens and twenties. It was a metaphor, yer damn idjit. What matters is that we have a lot of them, and all we had to do was toss out one reject.”

 

There was no way…Why would he have? He said money didn't matter. He couldn't have…

 

“Hey, you can visit them in there once right? They'll definitely get put away. Being angry at your friend losing a boxing match is more than enough reason for an ex-convict and two thugs to get violent and…” His voice trailed off, or perhaps her brain couldn't take listening.

 

He did.

 

“Yeah, I'm ready. We're going to have quite a night. Got us a fancy restaurant out of town…” A pause. “Well we can't be in town,” he illiterated heavily. “We have to keep this whole sordid a little hush-hush for a bit. It's why you're getting a holiday to the Bahamas, ain't it….” He stopped speaking again. His face looked a little perplexed, a little annoyed. “I already explained this to you. We can't just stay here. There'd be too much suspicion. It's why we're taking it to Italy. I'll be following you in two weeks time…. I got business to take care of. I just disappear and it looks weird. I leave saying I can't take it in this town anymore after a week or so it looks gives me a leaving party.”

 

It…it had all been fake. A trick. She wanted to cry. Wanted it as much as she knew she couldn't have it.

 

“You don't think I want to out this **** hole of a town? All I've wanted to do for the past seven years is get out, escape from his damn place, abandon every god obsessed child whose precious daddy just died and leave them all to rot.”

 

Her food was trying to get out. Not just her food, it was like everything from her organs to her soul just wanted to pull themselves out of her mouth and die quietly underneath the rug. She held on, digging her fingernails into her hands and wishing she could make them bleed.

 

This was one of god's helpers? The town's biggest contributor.

 

He didn't care at all. How could the Lord…

 

“I'm hanging up,” he shouted, turning the phone off and slamming it over to the seat above her. For a second she was fearful that he would stand to go pick it up and see her, but he just relaxed further into his leather seat and went to take another shot of the strange brown liquid, that she now desperately hoped to be urine.

 

**************************

Present Day

Library. Large. He hadn't been here before. Quiet as well. The only people actually here, being the two girls that he had seen the gruff lecturer telling off the day before. The small, actively violent one he hadn't classed as being the study type, though it did only look like she was reading a fantasy novel now. The other one, the tall, studious one, seemed engrossed in a science book.

 

Geography section. Keep mind clear. He didn't know anything about it. He had to keep his mind focused. Don't let it stray off topics easily, even though there is a strategic advantage in doing so, as it would allow him to think of potential conflicting variables through random thought. No! Don't be stupid. Ignore that thought and keep focused. 502.21: Geography.

 

All he needed was an encyclopedia. A junior edition would do. It would actually be preferred. He didn't want to spend too long scanning for a simple answer. Passing a small section on rainfall, he saw a introduction on Africa and decided it would do.

 

Head for a table. Away from others. Not too difficult with only four people between ninety or so study desks. Corner desk. Perfect for privacy. Sit down. Stare at book. Now wait. Ask with a whisper.

 

“What is the capital city of Tanzania?”

 

Dodoma. Dar es Saleem is also an acceptable answer.

 

With a thud, he dropped the book onto the desk, and opened it up. It took but a moment to find the country in question, and confirm the answer, showing it to be the same as the one the voice said. It was real. It couldn't have been him.

 

He checked twice again, just to be sure. First with Botswana and then with Nairobi. Being answered with Goborone and `that's not a country' he couldn't doubt it any further. There was something there.

 

It couldn't be described as a voice, no more than his line of thought could be considered one. He heard it, yet without tone nor pitch that would make it appear human. Yet it was not a monotone either. It simply was.

 

“What is this?”

 

Question unanswerable. There is no subject.

 

He groaned in mental agony. “This voice in my head. What is it?”

 

The voice in the head is usually considered to be one of two things. A) the current line of thought that a human is engaging in that moment usually considered a single active thought process, though this is not necessarily true. B) A voice that is considered a foreign element in the human mind, usually associated with schizophrenia.

 

Well, that made him worry, as well as ticked off. It was all willing to answer questions before. Now it was asking for specifics.

 

“What is this voice in my head that answers the question that I am asking?”

 

That is Knowledge.

 

“And what is Knowledge?”

 

Knowledge can be considered one of two things. A) The sum or range of what has been perceived, discovered, or learned. B) The gift that was left to Paine after his encounter in the Old Forum.

 

“And,” Paine said, growing a bit more confident now. “Who left it to me?”

 

Unknown. You encountered two individuals at separate points. Both robed figures. The first was considered female. The second is unknown. No referential details were discernable. The gift could have been left by either, though it is highly likely that it was the genderless robed figure.

 

Damn. That wasn't the answer he wanted. Was this `Knowledge' thing limited in what it knew, or was it specifically not telling him certain things?

 

The `knowledge' thing is unlimited in its knowledge of general knowledge, technical knowledge, logic and problem solving tasks. However, it will only be able to observe current events and report them back as facts limited to its current awareness.

 

So… if what it was saying is true, then it could remember what Paine remembered in the Old Forums?

 

That is correct.

 

“Are you sentient? Aware?” Paine became aware himself that he had started to speak to it naturally. He hid his mouth under his hands, hoping no one would see that he was speaking to himself.

 

This is knowledge. That is all.

 

“And why are you here? Why are your inside me, able to do this, answer all of this?”

 

Because you wanted to know.

**************************

 

Exhausted. Mouth panting. Lungs heaving. Body shaking. Forehead sweating. Clothes ruined. Hair soaked. Location unknown. The school. Ran fast. Never as fast before. Shaking. Scared. Exhausted.

 

Ran out at first opportunity. Uncle Frank already gone. Doors locked on all sides. Knobs shot down into the doors. Impossible to grasp. Spent three minutes struggling to get at them. Gave up. Felt defeated. Ready to be caught. Rain pounding outside. Expecting his return any minute now.

 

Looked at backseats. Removable. Spent a moment fiddling with the catch. Needed to be pulled at both ends simultaneously. Lots of stretching required. Finally got them. Pulled seats back. Climbed through. Unlocked the catch of the boot and heard the rain pound heavier as a result.

 

Ignored fallen seat behind her. Didn't care. Just ran. Nothing to care about. Only one thing to care about. Pain. What pain? Which Pain? Betrayal. Hatred. Agony. Cold.

 

Racing. Looking for something familiar. Looking for nothing. The streets bled with rainwater. No coat. Glasses become an obstacle. Cross road. No green cross code. Hear car horn. Get hit by nothing. Graze knee.

 

Time passed. Arrived at school. Panting. Pain in stomach. Pain in heart. Pushes forward. Body on auto pilot. Mind on engine failure. Tears on full throttle. Unnoticeable in the rain.

 

Knees give in. Crash down on tiled floor. Spider passes by. Ignores. Doesn't care. Doesn't know. Scream. Scream loud. Let the world know that it can't hear anything anymore. Hate.

 

Cough taste of vomit out of the mouth. Feel back pains from not stretching before running. Resolution appearing from nowhere. Stand up. Continuing moving. Don't question how got inside.

 

Reception (where she hesitated everyday before entering). Lobby (where she learnt of pain). Corridor (where she was hidden among the sheep in wolves clothing). Cloakroom (where girls would talk casually of death). Stairs (one floor above where she would rest and read). Another corridor (would only travel down once a week). Wooden doors (locked, but it didn't seem to matter). The classroom (filled with computers, latest in internet access, she had been banned for overusing).

 

Legs give out again. Mouth wheezes unneeded carbon dioxide. Breathes in unneeded oxygen. Hands grasp green carpet. Dark grey in current condition. Hung head. Defeated. Never fought. Unable to fight back. Opponent without need to enter the ring. Glasses fall off. Go to shatter against the floor. Fail to.

 

Stop. Relax. Rest. Why?

 

Faith shatters instead. Can't take anymore. No need to. Everything destroyed. Family. Friends. Beliefs.

 

Self?

 

Something ignites inside. Something wonderful. Something horrible. It begins to burn her. Soothing flame. Not much left to burn up. Replaces. Hand clenches over carpet. Only one feeling remains. Vengeance!

 

Pain burns out the rest.

 

**************************

A distant humming brought her back to focus, the darkness of the room didn't matter to her. Her night vision had slowly adjusted itself since entering that man's limousine. Regardless, she fished her glasses out of the fog surrounding her and put them back on before standing back up again.

 

The IT room had been a favourite place of hers to hang out. There, she need not talk to anyone, and entertainment was easily provided by the Internet. Even so, she had been banned for the sake of her education a few weeks ago, having stayed in a bit too long during lunch and missing lot of beginnings of lessons.

 

Now it would serve to help her. She turned, one computer was left on for some reason. Perhaps someone had thought it to be shutting down and left it to do so, only for it to get trapped in its own process as she had seen many times before. Perhaps it was a guiding hand. It did not matter. She approached it and, grabbing the mouse, watched as the desktop flickered back to life, the image of the school logo on the background, a lion with a crossed spectre.

 

The Internet. She knew where she was going, knew what she had to do. She looked to the clock, knowing what time it was before even doing so. She had a minute left, and hoped she would find it on the first search page.

 

No, not hoped, not anymore. From now on, she would only know.

 

Hell Communications. She typed it in without hesitation, possessed almost by her own anger and hatred. Not even knowing if it was true, she sought to discover, and then claim.

 

The results were many. Thirty seconds. But the first one was clear. Hell Communications. She clicked on it. Twenty seconds. 404 Page not Found. For a second she froze. Longer than a second. She clicked again. Ten seconds. Nothing. Again. She bit her lip. Nothing. Five seconds. Again. The bar seemed to freeze. She watched as the clock at the bottom changed to all zeroes, and then; a candlelight.

 

An animated Gif ignited a wick at the top of a candle, and she watched the flame come into being. She stared for a moment, relishing its digital warmth, before realizing that a type box had appeared, with a macro underneath: `Submit'.

 

For a second she hesitated, her throat gulping, her lip threatening to draw blood. This was it. If this was more than a sick joke, she would kill someone. Someone who deserve to die. Keeping her thoughts away from her upbringing as long as possible, she typed in the name `Franklin Richards'.

 

The Submit button clicked loudly as she hit return.

 

Wait. No! She had hit return instinctively, years of entering passwords quickly having caught up on her. She paused for a few moments, not sure what to expect. Before the box disappeared and was replaced by words that froze her completely.

 

“Your desire has been processed.”

 

Suddenly, the lightning crashed and she turned in shock, seeing a shadow jump across the surface of the window, as if its owner thought it had seen her. Someone was there! This was bad. If she was caught now, it… The door creaked, and she turned round slowly to see it, no one there, the room empty save for her.

 

Confused, she quickly came face to face with her stupidity. Full of pointless hate. At least this bout of insanity had cleared it. With a sigh abandonment and resignation, she fell down onto the chair behind, and let the tears come forth.

 

“Hello.”

 

Her head bolted upwards, causing her glasses to jump off her nose and land back down. At first she looked towards the door, expecting to see someone at the only point of entry. But again no one was there. Slowly, she turned round to look at the room fully, her eyes closing down on the fire exit, and one small dark haired child wearing Japanese clothing.

 

The girl looked at her with red eyes that seemed only able to look straight ahead, as if the path behind her was forever meaningless. Taking steps forward, the newcomer approached her until she was but five feet away. Both remained frozen for a moment, before she could take no more.

 

“Who are you?” she asked the child, who she noticed was not wet in the slightest. A Japanese kimono would have been drenched at that point, but her hair was not slick or matted, nor was her small chin dripping water. Though the fire doors were open, it was hard to tell if she had come through them or not.

 

“You summoned me, did you not? I am Enma no Ai.”

 

“The Hell Girl!” So the site was authentic. Turning to the screen, she didn't feel much surprise that it had turned off, but her curiosity was not stemmed enough for her to try and turn the computer on once again. She looked back to the Hell Girl.

 

“Please...take this,” the little one said, passing her a small doll made of straw. She looked at it carefully a moment. It was cheaply made, with a red ribbon around its neck being its only fashion accessory. Without even asking why, she felt her hand latch upon it, sliding it out of the Hell Girl's hand.

 

“What is this?”

 

“If you truly seek revenge, you will then untie the ribbon.”

 

The ribbon was a simple red string, tied in a knotted bow, as easy to undo as a shoelace.

 

“Once you do so, you will then officially enter into a contract with me.”

 

Her voice was so gentle, calm and delicate. It was hard to believe it was the voice of a murderer. It was more like talking to a shy child.

 

“And the one you seek revenge on shall immediately be taken unto the pits of hell.”

 

Hearing this, her hand tore towards the red string, intent on ripping it off as fast as possible. Hell deserved him. He deserved Hell.

 

“However…” The voice stopped her hand as if it had grabbed her.

 

“However?” Her hand was on the string now. Without meaning to, her fingers were playing with it, peeling it out of its loop a millimeter at a time.

 

“If I deliver your revenge I must have you make restitution to me.”

 

“Restitution?” That wasn't in her dictionary.

 

“When one person is cursed, two graves are dug,” the child continued, her eyes never quite focused upon one thing, yet always staring forward, pinpointed on something only she could see.

 

“And when you die, you soul shall join theirs, and be thrown into the pit of hell. And your spirit shall forever wander in pain and suffering, having never known paradise.”

 

She…she would go to hell as well? Once this string was removed, it would mean… She froze, save for her hand, which moved more than enough to make up for the rest of her body. To do this would avenge her daddy, but… but…

 

“The decision is y…”

 

“Wait!” she shouted, causing the Hell Girl to stop. For a second it looked like the child was going to disappear, but instead merely turned back to look at her would be client.

 

“How can you expect me to do this?” she shouted, her fear dissipating. “How could you expect me to sacrifice my soul to kill someone?” The Hell Girl looked at her for a moment, as if confused.

 

“That is the price you must pay. Do you not seek revenge?”

 

“Of course I do,” she spat out. “Of course I want revenge. Right now I want that man dead more than anyone I've ever disliked. He destroyed my family and left us smiling at him, making us believe in him while he laughs behind our backs.”

 

“And that is why you sought to hire me.”

 

“But…but…” the words slipped through her mouth. “I can't do this. How could I do this when it is the last thing daddy would want? He wouldn't want me going to hell. And if I could go to hell, then that must mean… I couldn't. I couldn't abandon it, knowing that it now exists. If I willingly damn myself, then that man would have destroyed our family, would of separated us forever and… I'd never see daddy again.”

 

The room was silent for the moment, the rain deafening, the shadows shifted as they waited for a response. The Hell Girl stepped up to face her head on, and now the little girl's eyes stared directly into hers. For a second she thought she might go blind, but failed to turn away, as the little girl's hand stretched towards her again, touching the doll gingerly, before disappearing.

 

“I have given you yours options,” her voice said, disembodied. “The decision is now yours to make. I will give you as long as you need.”

 

The room fell silent for a few seconds, before both doors crashed shut. As the rain fell to a silent shower, she dropped down into the chair.

 

The computer sprang back to life, illuminating the changes in the doll.

 

*****************************

 

Present Day

What had happened after that, she didn't want to remember. She was away from it all now. Away from her school. Away from the other students. Away from Uncle Frank. Even away from her mother. At Clubit Academia, she was free from all the reminders of a time and place that destroyed her with a few swift and malicious strokes.

 

All that was left now was the nurse's office. The duels. Dorou, and now Paine. She was free, though not completely.

 

It must have been five now. She usually left now for lunch. She could only be gone ten or so minutes, what with there being five patients needing constant supervision. She would grab lunch and head straight back. She hoped to meet Dorou along the way.

 

With a long, relaxed sigh, she stood up, taking the doll and looking at it carefully one more time. How long would she have to hold it? She didn't need it as much as she did need it now. Placing it carefully on the desk, she tested the tightness of the red string before placing it back in its drawer and locking it with the simple key that she kept on her at all times. Then, quickly grabbing her white purse, she headed off for the exit.

 

She didn't hope now. She only knew.

 

It was enough.

 

 

 

Final Note: Enma no Ai is borrowed from the series `Jigoku Shoujo' and is used without permission. To witness more of her commissions, obtain them through innovative methods at www.animesuki.com.

 

For those actually bothered, the bible quote is taken from Matthew 5:22