This is my first RW fic in a trilogy. Be warned about dark content & strong
language.

I have no rights.....etc.....etc....

Daughters of Darkness I: Ayame (chapter 1/4)

The request was distinct--a one-way ticket to Yalta on the worst airline
that used the local airport. Even Flying Dutchman Airlines coach class was
out of his meager price range. So that left nearly no options--maybe take a
train to a shipyard and leave that way, but the matter of timing was simply
too difficult. Besides, he didn’t really care where he ended up so long as
it wasn’t here. He had the few mementos and necessities he needed stuffed
in his duffel bag, his life savings stuffed in the pockets of his most
comfortable pair of jeans, and he was more than ready to go. There was no
one and nothing that would keep him here; by tonight, he would be gone with
not a bit of his tainting, hated presence lingering to sicken and destroy
anyone else. He tucked the neatly folded handwritten
farewell under his roommate’s bed pillow and left the simple apartment. It
was time to leave.

“What’s it say again?” the police receptionist asked dully.

“Just ‘Goodbye and sorry’. It’s not even signed,” Kento Rei Fuan anxiously
stated into the telephone. As was common with his anxiety, a tinge of anger
entered his words.

“So how can you be sure your friend wrote it?”

“It’s his handwriting. Besides, he’s been acting weird for the past two
weeks. He’s been having a hard time, and I’m just afraid he’ll try
something stupid. Please, try and find him.”

“We’ll see what we can do. Now, when did you last see him?”

“This morning! I told you!”

“Sir, calm down. We won’t be able to file a report for another twenty-four
hours unless there’s particular urgency t--”

“This IS urgent! He’s....not well, and he could hurt himself!”

“Sir, please stay calm and understand that we’re doing the best we can
under the circu--”

Kento slammed the phone down and sighed. How could they be so damn
heartless? Someone’s life could be at stake, and they were obsessing over
paperwork and procedure. His stomach practically turned with anger. Things
had been bad; still, it couldn’t be as bad as his friend had come to
believe. There was really only one outlet
that could help him, the last one he knew he should contact.

She hated special flights. They never seemed safe, and they attracted
oddballs, odder than her. Still, special flights were the easiest and
fastest way for her to get home. To get to her starting point would be a
better term, as she never really felt at home once she reached her
destination. Even if she was in an unfamiliar place
speaking an unfamiliar language, it would still have that welcome feeling
that she defined as an element of home. She couldn’t feel deprived,
however; not everyone was allowed to travel as much as she was, experience
so much the world has to offer so early in her life. She pondered this
dully as she sat in the airport lobby, trying desperately to concentrate on
the standard airport travelogue magazine. Her cyan eyes simply let the
print melt into a blur of
glossy gray framing the identical landscapes of orchards and dandelions.
She considered untying her long white gauzy scarf and freeing her wavy
amethyst ponytail, but that would do little to shut out the annoying crowds
that swallowed the lobby. She crossed her legs, the powder blue denim of
her jeans making a rubbing noise audible only to her as she began to tap her
tennis shoes in the air; out of boredom and anxiety, she rolled up the
sleeves of her loosely worn button-down sea green blouse. She truly would
snap if she had to just sit there any longer. Oh, what she wouldn’t give
for a distraction, any distraction...

“How much more do I need?” a young man asked at the desk, his words softly
lilting under a British accent.

“Twenty dollars, sir,” the agent said, reading off of a computer screen.

“Here. Can I have a seat now?” There was a bizarre urgency in his words
that caught her attention. She glanced up from her magazine and tossed the
useless collection of pages aside. The young man had to be no older than
her mere sixteen years, and his face glowed with an aura of both innocent
hope and profound sorrow. His
dark, oceanic blue eyes were distant in their gaze and appeared ready to
burst with saline tears at a moment’s notice; his honey brown hair was
well-combed except for a longer part in the back, which was slightly matted.
His simple clothes--a red striped T-shirt under a blue and white hooded
sport jacket, a pale blue pair of jeans, and
tennis shoes with flopping soles--were exceptionally well-worn, indicating
more than a day of wear on his slender body. He reached into his back
pocket and handed the attendant a twenty-dollar bill. As he stood waiting
for his ticket, he slowly let a sigh escape his lips. All in all, not a bad
distraction. The young man took the ticket and started towards the waiting
area with a meek utterance of, “Thank you, ma’am.”

The young man sat down in the last vacant seat--the one next to her. He
stared intently at the ticket, hardly noticing as she peered over at his
seat number; upon checking hers, she learned that they were to be beside
each other on the plane as well. Suddenly, he looked up at her with a look
of surprise, yet the woe in his stare
remained. She smiled nervously, a little taken aback by his demeanor.

“Can I help you?” the young man asked.

She smiled nervously. “I just curious where your seat was,” she meekly
explained. “Sorry.”

“No, I..I’m sorry. I was just startled. I didn’t mean to snap.” His
words dripped with a pathetic tone of pleading and repentance.

“You didn’t snap. It’s my fault for eavesdropping.” The two sat in
silence for a while until she simply couldn’t stand it anymore. A nagging
feeling grew in the back of her mind: in all likelihood, this one would be
the next one; she had best watch him carefully. “Uhm...I’ll be sitting next
to you, y’know. I’m Ayame Sudoh.” He didn’t respond. “And you are....?”

“Sai Mouri,” he responded, saying his name as though it were the definition
of ugliness. “I’m sorry, Miss Sudoh.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything. And you can call me Ayame.” Sai
nodded without a word, still seeming deep in penance. “Is it okay if I call
you Sai? Or don’t you like that?”

“You can call me Sai if you want. I don’t care.” Sai fidgeted with his
ticket. “When does the flight leave?”

“It should’ve left twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh. And where is it going?”

“You don’t know?” Ayame asked, clearly surprised. Sai just shook his head.
“Somewhere in the mountains, I think. I know about as much as you do. I
just wanna get outta here.”

Sai laughed and cracked a slight smile. “Yeah, same here.”

In the distance of the crowd, a voice cried out, “There he is!” Sai looked
straight at Ayame with concern, his meager smile vanishing. A small group
was fighting their way through the crowd rapidly. Sai almost seemed ready
to cry and started to shake physically, his entire body trembling. “Don’t
you eve--Hey! Outta my way!....No, I gotta get--”

“Who’s that, your brother?” Ayame asked.

Sai shook his head. “It’s my friend. He--he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
I was leaving for his sake, for all their sake. I don’t know what I’m
gonna do....” A few stray tears traced the contours of his face, and the
aura of hope that had once eased his sadness died, leaving only the misery.

Ayame touched his shoulder, trying to get his attention. “You wanna run?
I’ll try to buy you some time.” He started to sob bitterly, as the
frustrated cries from the crowd grew closer. His hand reached up to hers,
holding it shakily.

“No, I’ll stay, I’ll stay...” Sai stared straight into Ayame’s eyes, tears
cascading down his face. “Thank you.”

“Don’t move!” the voice from the crowd cried, now nearly on top of them.
Sai closed his eyes and let his head fall, still quietly weeping. A young
man around their age stood in front of them, not quite menacing but still
causing noticeable unease. He was dressed as if he had just left a farm,
clad in an old white T-shirt under a pair of mahogany overalls and a set of
brown leather boots. He was larger than Sai, although about the same
height. His bluish black hair poked out in front of his cobalt blue eyes
and over a loose yellow headband; his rotund face held a look of both relief
and restrained rage. He knelt down slightly and placed a hand on Sai’s free
shoulder. “Sai, I called everyone, and Mia’s expecting us.....” He turned to Ayame, noticing her hand on Sai’s shoulder. “Miss, could you please leave us for a minute?”

“Kento, it’s okay. Let her stay. She shouldn’t miss her flight because of
me,” Sai responded, wiping away tears. “And I’m not leaving.” He handed
his friend the plane ticket. “Could you do me a favor and get the refund?”
Ayame just watched silently, noticing the total absence of hope in Sai’s
demeanor.

“Sai, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you leaving?” Ayame whispered, lest the
explosive figure at the agent’s desk hear her.

“I can’t leave. I’ll never get a chance to.” Ayame stood up and went
towards the desk. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” Ayame slammed her ticket down on the desk, catching the
attention of both people. “Can I have a refund, please?” The agent glared
at her, then snatched the ticket away. Her instincts were too strong to
ignore; now she had to stay.

The young man glared at her. “What, were you going to elope with him?” he
asked accusingly.

“No, I just changed my mind,” Ayame responded, searching to cover up her
story.

“Yeah, right,” he mumbled as he took the refund from the agent. “Who are
you, anyway?”

“I’m just a friend, I guess. And if that’s your attitude, who are you to
question me?”

“I’m his roommate. I know what’s wrong with him, and I know he needs
help--” Ayame took her refund and stuffed it in her pocket, turning back
towards the waiting area. “Hey! Get back here!”

“Nooooo..” Ayame responded in a mocking sing-song. She approached her seat
and found it occupied. Another young man, probably another friend of Sai’s,
sat in it, his arm assuringly around Sai’s shoulders. He was dressed
hastily in a baggy, stretched-out green sweatshirt and a dark blue pair of
jeans with a set of worn athletic shoes; he was slightly pale, a whiteness
offset by his shock of electric blue hair. He talked quietly and never took
his deep blue eyes off his trembling friend. Everything about him seemed to
speak of sympathy and concern; Ayame simply couldn’t shoo him away, even if
he was sitting on her brown leather bag. A heavy hand came down on her
shoulder. Ayame yelped and was spun around by the young man in overalls,
whose face had become beet red around his clenched teeth. “Calm down,
okay?” Ayame calmly pleaded. “I just wanna get my bag and go.”

“Not till you tell me what you’re doing,” he almost snarled. Ayame
searched her mind, trying to find just the right excuse. "Well?”

“I DON’T KNOW. Okay?”

“Flying Dutchman Flight 273 to Sri Lanka is now departing from terminal 7,”
the intercom said, and the waiting area emptied out. Only the four were
there now, along with the agent at the desk.

“Sri Lanka?” Ayame said aloud to herself. “I was going to Sri Lanka?” She
looked at the young man, who was still beet red. “Where is Sri Lanka?” He
shrugged, then returned to his two seated friends. The blue-haired young
man stood up and handed him Ayame’s bag.

“Here,” the red-faced young man said, tossing the bag at Ayame. “See ya
around.”

Ayame just stared for a moment. She had to keep an eye on that pathetic
figure in the middle seat; it was almost time, and the last thing she wanted
was to see was that kind of suffering befall such a fragile spirit. But
how? There was obviously a formidable wall of protection around him,
especially that big guy in the overalls. They could only do so much for
him, however; once they were gone, he’d be alone, defenseless, and doomed.
She had to stay close now. Close but unseen, lest that one in the overalls
come back.

Tuesdays were always slow at the restaurant. It was somewhat expected; no
one really had spare cash to spend on a fancy dinner so soon after the
weekend. Only the first few booths were occupied, each holding only about
two people. It was still early in his shift, and he knew it would only get
slower. He sighed and yawned, his pressed white shirt pulling a little out
of its tight tuck in his khakis; he unbuttoned his dark brown blazer,
suddenly feeling flushed. His feet tapped, the toe of his polished brown
shoes rhythmically beating against the linoleum. He picked up the register
pencil and started to twirl it in his fingers.

“Sai,” Kento called from the kitchen door, dressed in his waiter’s uniform
and holding an empty tray. Sai looked up and dropped the pencil. “You’d
better fix your jacket. If Mama sees you, she’ll flip.”

“Sorry,” Sai responded, his tone a mix of apathy and guilt. As he finished
slipping the last of the blazer buttons into the buttonholes, a couple
walked in--a small doughy man and a woman who, at best, was rented arm
candy. Sai tried to retain his courteous manner; this was the last place to
bring arm candy. The man had a
half-burnt cigarette in his hand, the smoke wafting past Sai’s wincing face.
“I’m sorry, sir, but this is a smoke-free restaurant.” From the kitchen,
Kento poked his head out of the door; he had seen the no-smoking ordinance
turn ugly and knew he’d be needed if it did.

“What?” the man grunted.

“Smoking isn’t allowed here.”

The man grabbed the collar of Sai’s blazer and put the cigarette out on his
lapel, the fabric hissing under the hot ash. Once finished, he tossed the
butt in Sai’s face and stormed out, dragging his arm candy along with a
grumble of, “Damn Limey.”

Sai dusted off his blazer and closed his eyes, trying to ward off a flood
of tears. Kento rushed out to him and shook him a little, catching his
attention. “Don’t let that jerk get to you, man,” he said, failing to
bestow any sense of relief on his friend.

“Can I leave early? I don’t really feel up to working tonight,” Sai barely
squeaked out, his eyes still closed.

Kento paused; anymore, it was never good when Sai was this quiet. “I’ll
hafta ask Mama. Just hang out here, okay?” He returned to the kitchen with
a cautious glance back at the pitiful figure at the door before vanishing.

The bell at the door rang, and Sai opened his eyes, dreading another
customer. He met a slightly familiar gaze--the girl from the airport. She
was wearing nicer attire than a few days before--a longish khaki skirt and a
lavender hooded blouse with brown flats--but still sported the same ponytail
held with a gauzy white scarf as a week ago. She smiled slightly, and he
returned it as best he could, an aura of despair still clinging to him.

“Hi,” the girl said, displaying a meekness he didn’t recall from the
airport. “Do you, uhm, remember me?”

“Somewhat,” Sai said, mustering a smile. “Ayame, right?” Ayame nodded and
giggled slightly. “Would you like a seat?”

“Sure.” Sai led her to the closest seat in the middle of the aisle, as
opposed to a cramped little booth, and handed her a menu. “This is where
you work?”

“Yeah. I don’t really want to work, though. It’s been a rough night.”
Sai sat down at the table, watching as Ayame read the menu. “Can I ask you
something?”

Ayame looked up. “Shoot.”

“Why did you change your mind about the flight? I thought you wanted to
leave.”

She paused in a moment of anxious thought, desperately seeking just the
right excuse for her actions; if she had to be honest, he’d never believe
her. “I just changed my mind. Besides, you were the only not-crazy person
on that flight. There was one guy--I was sitting next to him before you
came--he was letting a snake lick him!
Then he lets this snake--a copperhead--crawl around on me, which is never a
good idea ‘cuz animals just don’t like me. He said something like, ‘Suzie
likes you’ and was just really scary. If he was any indication of the
passenger list, I really didn’t wanna brave it alone. And I don’t even know
where Sri Lanka is.”

“Sri Lanka?”

“That’s where we were gonna go.”

Kento reemerged from the kitchen, first heading for the host’s stand. As
he passed the first table, he stopped, looked back, and spun around. “Mama
says you can leave if you want. Just let us know where you’re going first.”
He then caught sight of Ayame, who edged back a little. Even in his black
trousers and long black apron, she still found him intimidating. “You
again.”

“What?” Ayame asked, surprised at his disgusted tone. “We were talking.”

“Kento, meet Ayame,” Sai said, hoping to break the air of displeasure that
engulfed the table. “Ayame, this is my best friend, Kento. You remember
him?”

“Yeah. He accused me of seducing you.”

“What?”

“I never did that!” Kento shouted, attracting the attention of a few
patrons.

“Yes, you did! You accused me of eloping with him!”

“Well, that’s different than seduction!”

“It was the way you said it! ‘Are you ELOPING with him?’, if I’m correct.”

“Guys, stop! Please,” Sai interrupted. “You’re making a scene.”

“No, SHE’S making a scene!”

From the kitchen, a woman’s slightly peeved voice shouted, “Kento!”

“Coming, Mama!” Kento gave one last glare at Ayame. “See what you did?”
Then he stormed off into the kitchen.

“He just doesn’t like certain people,” Sai explained. “Would you like to
get together for lunch or something some time? I don’t really have anything
to do, and all my friends are busy during the day.”

“You’re asking me out? That’s a little forward.”

“I.....it’s just....I haven’t had anyone around I could just talk to for a
while. All my friends are worried about me, so I can’t really hold a normal
conversation with them anymore.”

“Well, if there’s something wrong, you shouldn’t just blow it off or blow
off your friends. And I hate to say anything since I don’t really know you,
Sai, but there IS something wrong.”

“I know. They can’t really help me anymore, though. They just make it
worse. I don’t know how to tell them without hurting their feelings. I’d
just like to spend a day with someone who won’t baby me or keep me under
constant guard.” Sai stood up, pushing his chair away from the table.
“Here.” He grabbed a napkin and jotted
something down on it with his register pencil. “Call me sometime tomorrow.
I’ll probably be home all day. Right now I’d better catch up with Kento.”
He started for the kitchen but abruptly stopped and turned to Ayame. “Did
you come in here just to talk?”

“Yeah,” Ayame confessed, blushing slightly.

Sai meekly returned her timid glow. “Thanks."

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go to school today?” Kento asked as he tried
to finish the knot in his red necktie. Sai sat up in his bed, still in his
cotton pajamas. “Everyone wants to see you again.”

Sai stared forward in an unfocused gaze, doing his best to block out the
memories of that wretched building. “I can’t go back,” he said, the only
phrase he ever used in relation to school.

“It won’t happen again. Is that what you’re so afraid of?” Kento
struggled his way into the dark tweed blazer and turned away from the hall
mirror to face his friend. “You can’t hide here forever.”

“I know.” Sai fell into his layers of blankets and comforters and seized a
plush blue dolphin the size of his torso. Kento half-sneered at the sight
and stormed into the bedroom; his arrival prompted further burrowing into
the folds of the blankets.

“Look at you, man. All you ever do is hide in here and cry like a baby!
Is that all you wanna do with your life? You’re only giving them reasons to
shun you now. You gotta get out and do something!” He waited for a
response but received only more crying. Deep, low, bitter, wounded sobbing.
“Things aren’t as bad as you think, Sai. You’ve got us, Sayoko....You
don’t need to do this.” The crying continued, growing louder and more
wounded. Sai curled up into a tight ball, only his hair peeking out of the
blankets. Kento sighed and gave up. “I’ll see you later.”

Sai waited until the apartment was silent. He pushed aside the blankets
and peered around; he was alone. He sat up slightly, still keeping the
blankets wrapped around his body. A huge sigh heaved through his suddenly
frail figure, and he hugged the plush dolphin with a last, shaky sob. “At
least you don’t yell at me, Sparkle...” he whispered to himself, as stuffed
toys usually can’t hear. He stood up and walked over to the dresser, on top
of
which was a leather-bound scrapbook. Carefully, he picked up the scrapbook
and returned to the bed, flopping all of his weight down onto the mattress.
As he leafed through the heavy pages, his sobs turned into faint smiles.

Each page held a piece of his life, a tangible reminder of an intangible
memory. The earliest photo was when he was two, right before he first swam
underwater. The sensations always stayed with him, even if the details were
long lost. The sting of the salt water’s first kiss on his eyes, the
delight at the sight of something bright and fast swimming by, and the
strain in his lungs as he swam in vein towards the surface, a strain
relieved as his mother pulled him through the surface and into her warm
embrace. It may well have been the best single moment of his life. As he
turned the pages, more memories came back: his first successful cooking
attempt; his first pet, a goldfish named Sunny; his first bicycle; and
others. As he reached the last few pages, the smiles began to melt, and the
urge to cry returned.

“Mummy.....”

The memory of the morning a few short months before was still fresh in his
mind and ate away like an infected, festering gash on his soul. The night
before, he had to work, and he wouldn’t be home until late. They had eaten
dinner together, when he first noticed how sickly she looked. Still, he
couldn’t afford to miss any more days at the restaurant, and she wanted him
to go. He gave her a good-bye hug, which she returned with a kiss on the
cheek; calls of affection echoed from the doorway: I love you, sweetie; I
love you, too, Mum. Then he left, and upon his return, he simply crept into
bed. When he woke up, she wasn’t waiting at the table drinking her coffee.
She was still in bed--and wasn’t breathing. Despite his every attempt to
get help and get her to breathe, she was gone. He sat there long after the
ambulance arrived, still shaking. She was the only parent he had ever
known, having lost his father too early to remember, and now she was gone.
His sister refused to speak to him, his peers treated him like garbage, and
now his friends had turned against him. He knew this was his punishment.
He should’ve stayed home that night and stayed with her; instead, he went
off as he always did, and this was how he had to pay for his neglect.

“Mummy, I’m sorry...” Sai wept as he ran a palsied, unsteady hand over her
funeral card. “I’m sorry.....” The sobs returned stronger than ever, and
he curled up into a ball again, letting the scrapbook fall to the floor.
Slowly, the sobs exhausted him, and he closed his eyes, still sniffling as
he dozed off.

The ringing phone revived him, and he wearily shoved the blankets off his
body, still not quite sure if he had heard anything. Sai rubbed his eyes,
the cooling paths of his tears still apparent to the touch. He staggered to
the phone and roughly picked up the receiver. Every bit of him hoped that
this wasn’t the school calling again.

“Hello?” Sai groaned into the phone.

“Hello, Sai?” a familiar female voice asked. “It’s Ayame. Are you okay?”

“No. Could you come by, please? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Are you sure she’s here, Domus?” the silver-haired young woman in
skintight black leather asked what was apparently nothing.

“She’s here, Eshe,” a dull man’s voice responded. “If she robs me of
another adequate meal, so help her......”

“I won’t let her take another away from you, Domus Nen. If all else fails,
we’ll compensate. This situation does lend itself to compensation rather
well.”

“See to it that it never comes to that.”

“Yes, Domus Nen.”