Phantom – Part One

Faint white figures paint my sleep;
Please don’t tell my secrets, keep them hidden.
-Coheed and Cambria, Blood Red Summer

The museum’s curator closed his leather-bound notebook with a snap, the worn cover still managing to look expensive in the dim light of his office. Smiling in a way that made the wrinkles around his eyes deepen, he pushed his seventy-year-old frame out of his chair and reached across his desk. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Tenaka."

The young woman in the chair opposite rose as well, and clasped his hand in a brief shake. "I’m glad to do it. My parents’ heirlooms should be put to good use, after all." Signing several of her parents’ collected antiques over to one of the largest museums in Japan had been an almost split-second decision, but it was one that she was quite glad to make. The money that she made from the investment was a nice incentive, as was seeing her name on the plaque that designated the museum’s beneficiaries.

The transaction over, she turned away from the cheerful old curator and picked up the small portfolio lying on the desk. "The items will be picked up later this week. How does Thursday sound?" The man was circling his desk now, crossing the room in his careful, cane-assisted gait and opening the door of his office.

"Thursday is perfect. I don’t have anything planned." Tucking the portfolio housing pictures of her family antiquities under her arm, she joined him at the door. "Pleasure doing business with you," she said with a polite nod, then stepped out of the room.

The bustle of the main museum was a slight jolt after the silence of the office - small children describing what they saw in loud voices to their complacent parents, the general buzz of conversation. She took her time walking to the main entrance, glancing at the exhibits and realizing with no small amount of pride that her own possessions would soon be among them. As she neared the door, she noticed that the shoes of a man who’d just entered were squeaking against the lacquered floor. ‘It’s raining,’ she thought morosely. The weathermen had been wrong again - the showers had begun much earlier than they’d predicted, and she hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Luckily, she was mere feet away from the museum’s gift shop, thankfully full of gaudy merchandise. Most assuredly, a gaudy umbrella was among the things being sold. Stepping onto the carpeted floor of the shop, she began to scan the displays with a purpose, uninterested in the small model samurai or the assorted plush toys. It was almost as if everything was purposefully jumbled together to make it impossible to get through the place without seeing every single item that they had for sale.

"Tenaka! Hey, you’re Sango Tenaka, right?" A very effeminate male voice called to her from the other side of the shop. Poking her head out of the aisle into which she’d just stepped, the brunette caught sight of a man waving in her direction from behind the cashier’s counter. His long hair was twisted up into a bun, and he appeared to be wearing makeup (though she sincerely hoped not).

"Um." Backpedaling, Sango brought her entire body back into view and blinked at the man. "Yes?"

Whether that was an answer or a question was absolutely unclear, but the cashier didn’t seem to care either way. "Oh, I knew it!" Then, to her chagrin, he waved her over. Resignedly, Sango trudged over to where he stood, looking rather like a prisoner headed to the gallows. All she’d wanted was to find an umbrella to get her home without half-drowning… "…what you’re doing for the museum," he finished. Sango stared. He’d been talking while she’d been fretting, and she’d pretty much missed everything that had been said.

"It’s no problem," she guessed with confidence. Apparently, this was the right answer, because he smiled.

"All right, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…" he cleared his throat and seemed to pull on his shopkeeper demeanor. "I’m Jakotsu. How may I help you, hmm?"

Heaving a mental sigh of relief, Sango clung to the safe subject. "I need an umbrella."

No sooner had the words left her lips than Jakotsu was pushing an umbrella in her direction. It was made of clear plastic, and judging by the small tag on the handle, it bore the image of two crossed katana when open. Traditional tasteless museum stock umbrella. She reached for her pocket to seek out money for payment. "How much?"

Jakotsu looked fairly scandalized. "Oh, there’s no charge! Not for someone as generous as yourself!"

Dimly, Sango wondered if he even knew that she was getting paid for her little ‘donation’. She had no time to consider this, though, because the umbrella was being pushed into her arms, and she had to grab hold of it before it dropped onto her toe. "Er… thank you. I’ll be going, then." She jerked her head toward the door as if to remind him where it was, then walked backward a few paces before turning and trotting back into the entryway.

The squeaking of wet soles was even louder now, and the gentle purr of rain on the high roof hinted at the driving rain outside. It had been such a nice day too, she mused, shifting her portfolio to gain a better grip on the handle of the umbrella. That was half of the reason that she’d decided to walk to this little meeting. Traffic would be hellish at this time of day, too - rain or shine, it was preferable to walk.

Pushing through the revolving doors, she stood under the scaffolding just long enough to put up the umbrella (which was depressingly small). That done, she stepped out into the downpour, the scent of wet leaves and concrete strong on the still-humid air.

The museum wasn’t too far from Sango’s house, but the heavy rain made the walk seem infinitely long. She didn’t want to walk too quickly; a long stride would inevitably lead to a slip and fall, and the last thing she needed was to be drenched in water. The rain pattered loudly on the taut plastic above her, and she could see the dark, cloudy sky though the material.

Her thoughts turned to the little store that she owned, and she wondered if anyone had even shown up for work that day. Though Sango had loaned her more expensive antiques to the museum, she still owned many smaller trinkets that attracted the occasional wealthy buyer. It was for this reason that she’d opened up a small antique shop, filled with things ranging from jewelry to hand-painted pottery. Business was never really booming, but one sale could bring in quite a bit of cash; this allowed Sango to live comfortably off the profits and her inheritance. On rainy days such as this, however, her employees might deem the weather too adverse to go to work. Sango didn’t mind much if they took an unplanned day off, hence the reason that they did it in the first place.

The rain began to slacken a bit, much to her relief. The noise of the rain on the top of the umbrella ceased to be thunderous and became a gentle drumming. She let out a sigh of relief, then, much to her surprise, a chilly wind caught her hair despite the evening’s humid heat. Involuntarily, she shivered - and then, there was another sensation of cold, this one brushing across the back of her neck like fingers.

This feeling was so strong that she whirled around to look behind her, eyes wide and staring. Immediately, the cool breeze vanished, leaving the air as warm as it had been before. Of course, there was no one behind her, save a cyclist who was riding his bike on the street side of the curb, navigating between the bumper-to-bumper traffic and the sidewalk. Breathing out slowly and telling herself that she was being silly, Sango turned and began to walk once more.

Straightening her umbrella from its slightly leaning position, she walked a mere five meters before the man on the bike passed her. Apparently, he’d been pedaling much faster than she’d originally thought, because when he rode past, the tires of his bike splashed through a rather large puddle and created a veritable wave of muddy water. Sango’s khakis were now spotted with rather large spots of mud. Marvelous. She glared at the man’s retreating back for a moment, as if willing him to crash into a fire hydrant.

When he was out of sight, Sango turned her attention back to her poor, muddied pants. "Damnit." She swiped her hand over the largest of the smears and only succeeded in spreading a swatch of the stuff over her knee. Cursing again, she looked around at the buildings on her side of the street, hoping to see a place where she could get the worst of the stuff off. She was only going home, sure, but it would surely stain if she allowed it to stay there longer than necessary.

Fortunately for her, she’d stopped near her favorite coffee shop. Everyone there knew her, and it wouldn’t be a hassle for her to persuade someone to let her sit a bit and clean up.

As Sang walked toward the door, a man exited, holding a steaming cup in one hand. In a typically gentlemanly manner, he held the door open for her as she closed her umbrella and shook as much moisture from it as he could. "Thank you," she said out of habit, not even looking at him long enough to discern anything but the fact that he was smiling.

"My pleasure," was his smooth reply, and Sango merely grunted in irritation and moved into the shop. The scent of brewing coffee and sweet confections cheered her up almost immediately. It was warm in the shop, but comfortably so; two large ceiling fans revolved slowly overhead, keeping the place from becoming stuffy. As soon as the door shut behind her, the sound of rain vanished and was replaced by soft, tasteful music.

Leaving her wet umbrella beside the door, Sango crossed to the bar, which actually looked more suited to serve alcohol than coffee. The bottles lined up on the wall that looked like hard liquor actually held cinnamon, hazelnut, and other assorted flavorings. Sitting down on one of the firm green stools, she peered across at the cash register where a dark-haired girl was ringing up a customer’s order.

Grabbing a few napkins from the dispenser, Sango began to brush at the mud again, making a little more progress this time. Four rather muddy napkins were sitting on the bar within a matter of minutes, and she was working on a fifth when a cheery voice said, "Hey, there, Sango. The usual?"

Sango looked up to see the dark-haired girl from earlier smiling at her. "Not today, Kagome. Some soapy hot water would be great, though. Some jerk splashed me."

Kagome rolled her eyes in sympathy. "The weather’s awful, huh? Just a sec." The younger girl vanished into the back, and Sango took the moment to contemplate, resting an elbow on the bar.

Sango had long ago come to the conclusion that her life was quite boring. Being the owner of her small antique shop really didn’t count as a ‘job’, meaning that most of her time was either spent in front of the television or wandering the streets. She didn’t even had a love interest (well, there was Kuranosuke, but she didn’t really count him most of the time). Her life was an endless cycle of tedium, and it was on days like this that she realized it most. If mere rain could make her day more interesting, she definitely needed a change of routine.

Kagome, ever the efficient one, returned and set a steaming glass of frothy water and a clean white cloth on the bar in front of her friend. "There you go. Try not to rub in circles. That only makes the stain work in deeper."

Sango, who had been rubbing in circles since she’d sat down, grumbled something bitter and seized the cloth, dipping it into the water and setting to scrubbing again. She really just wanted to go to sleep tonight, without having to worry about doing her laundry as well to get those stains out... "Not very busy, is it?" she asked Kagome conversationally.

Kagome looked around to be sure that there were no waiting customers before leaning over the bar to talk. "Nah. You’d be surprised, though, how many people will stagger in after this rain stops. Something about coffee while the trees drip is very attractive to most."

"Don’t get all philosophical on me." Sango sighed, dipping the cloth again and nearly scalding her fingertips. The dirt was coming off fairly easily now. She’d been right in her decision to come in here. The shop was empty of people to wonder what she was doing, save for a couple in the far corner and a pale-haired man at the other end of the bar who was reading the ‘Arts and Religion’ section of the newspaper. "What time do you get off today, anyway?"

Looking up from where she’d been wiping down the counter, Kagome looked pensive for a moment. "Nine. I have to close up, though, so it’ll probably be about ten."

"Hm," Sango muttered. Only a few spots left now. "Movie night?" Even in her twenties, Sango could appreciate the occasional good movie. "A good horror film just came out on DVD, and I thought..."

She trailed off as Kagome began to slowly shake her head. "I’ve got classes over at the community college in the morning. As much as I’d like to, staying up all night is out of the question."

Sango smiled wryly. "Ah, it’s okay." With the last of the spots scrubbed into oblivion, she dropped the cloth onto the counter beside the napkins. Times like this made it glaringly obvious how mundane and unconventional Sango’s life was. Since she didn’t need a day job, she didn’t have one. She had enough credentials to work, but she just lacked the motivation. Sometimes, she felt like an old infirm, trying to get others to slow down their own lives long enough to help her break the monotony. "I should go, then."

There was a soft clunk as Kagome placed a to-go cup on the counter. "Chocolate frappucino, shot of hazelnut. We’ll do the movies tomorrow, Sango - I promise."

Grabbing the cup, Sango stood, her smile rather forced. Though she’d refused it, the first sip of the frozen coffee did wonders for he mood. After she’d said her good-byes to Kagome, she walked out into the newly-broken sunshine in considerably higher spirits. The rain having stopped, she hadn’t even bothered to grab the tasteless umbrella. She’d never have used it again, anyway, and it would have turned into useless clutter.

Sipping at the frappucino, she walked the next few blocks quickly. Large swatches of the sidewalk were already dry, shapeless blotches of grayish-white in the dark gray of the saturated concrete. People were pouring back out of wherever they’d fled to escape the rain.

Ten minutes later, Sango was standing at the low gate of the small cemetery that served as her personal shortcut home. No one had been buried there for years, not that it would have given her qualms, anyway. She wasn’t one to believe in malevolent spirits. A small path wound through the crumbling tombstones, eventually ending up in a patch of trees very near her home.

The path was muddy because of the rain, but the trees that leaned over it had kept it from turning into a veritable river of muck. Without hesitation, Sango pushed the rusty gate open and slipped into the cemetery, immediately taking to the path and beginning to follow its winding track through the tombstones. The shallow mud made slight sucking sounds against the soles of her shoes, but nothing splashed onto her pants, for which she was very grateful.

The tombstones were of varying ages, the newest dating back five decades. The part of the cemetery in which Sango walked was no longer used, having become full, and the newer gravesites were in the expansion that had been added to the property about ten years ago.

As she walked, that odd sensation came again, a cold brush on the back of her neck. Not even turning this time, she attributed it to the coldness of her drink and completely ignored the fact that, the first time she’d felt it, she hadn’t even had the frozen beverage.

After what felt like far too long, Sango was pushing open the door to her house and kicking off her shoes in the entryway, sighing in relief. The day had gone on long enough, and the only thing on her mind was a hot shower and bed. After stepping into the kitchen just long enough to toss her empty cup into the trash, she walked to the end of the hall and into the bathroom. Though she lived alone, she closed and locked the door behind her in typical single-female fashion.

The mud incident, coupled with the humid day, had made her feel rather filthy, so the first blast of water on her skin was very welcome, and she closed her eyes and ducked her head under the water, immediately soaking her scalp. Closing her eyes against the water, she turned her back on the showerhead and groped blindly for the bottle of shampoo that she kept hung on the shower rod. When her hand fell on it, she picked it up and flipped the cap open, cracking one eye open just enough to ensure that she poured the right amount into her head.

At that moment, a flicker of motion caught her eye, and she glanced upward in alarm. There was nothing there, of course, but Sango still pulled back the shower curtain to check. The room was empty, and the lock on the door was still latched. Shaking her head at her own skittishness, she pulled the curtain closed once more, then commenced with washing her hair. Her vigorous scrubbing sent a gob of shampoo foam into her face, and she winced as it inched toward her eye.

"Ow," she grumbled, turning to face the water and allowing it to rinse the suds from her face and hair. Flicking the last of the water from her eyes as she brought her face from under the showerhead, she caught that flicker of movement again. Trying to convince herself that she was imagining things, she tried to ignore it... But her mental alarms wouldn’t allow it, and promptly began to clamor for attention.

As quickly as she could, Sango snapped her head upward.

Her eyes fell on a man’s face. A man’s lecherously grinning face. Then, quite abruptly, the face dropped downward and out of sight.

Sango uttered a startled scream and reached for the shower curtain, pulling it to the side just enough to peer around the edge of it.

The bathroom was utterly empty, just as she’d left it. The lock on the door was still engaged.

As quickly as she could, Sango leapt from the shower, not even pausing to turn the water off, and grabbed her towel from the rack, wrapping it around the necessary parts even as her eyes darted around in search of a weapon. Unfortunately, bathrooms held very little in the way of damaging weaponry... In a moment of panicked desperation, she seized the plunger from beside the toilet and slowly unlocked the bathroom door, ready to attack anything that moved.

What kind of freak was this, anyway, who could get into a locked bathroom and lock it back behind him?

There was no one in the hallway, but Sango was far from relieved. This just meant that he’d gone off to another part of the house, probably prepared to lie in wait until it was time for her to get dressed... Holding the plunger aloft with both hands, Sango crept into the hall and began to creep down it, intent on checking the rest of the rooms.

As far as her senses could tell, after she’d made a ten-minute search of her home, she was the only living thing inside it. Still, she didn’t relinquish her weapon, debating whether she should call the authorities. Obviously, the man had run off as soon as he’d been spotted, but who was to say that he wouldn’t be back? She decided, though, that the best thing to do first would be to turn off her shower water, at least. As she re-entered the bathroom, wondering idly how he’d managed to peek over the shower curtain (standing on the toilet, maybe?), she noticed that her still-hot shower had almost completely fogged up the room, and beads of moisture were inching down the mirror. With a sigh, she walked over to the shower and reached in, turning off the water with her left hand while her right still held tightly to the plunger. Great... her electric bill would probably give her hell, after heating all of that water.

She was just straightening and wondering if she could persuade Kagome to let her spend the night (no way was she sleeping here until she found out how that guy had gotten in) when a distinctly male voice spoke from behind her. "Boo."

Completely automatically, a short scream escaped Sango’s throat. She whirled around, realized that the man was far too close to her, and swung the plunger like a baseball bat.

Said plunger seemingly went right through the man’s torso, and the wall took the force of Sango’s blow.

Sango blinked. Blinked again. Okay... maybe Kagome had slipped something into Sango’s coffee, thinking that she needed something to help her relax... That would explain it - her aim had been off, that was all... Squaring her shoulders again, she swung her weapon again, aiming carefully and ignoring the fact that the man didn’t seem to be doing anything to prevent her from striking him.

Yet again, the plunger passed through his body, without so much as ruffling his clothes.

Not quite getting the hint, Sango swung again, and again, and again, until she couldn’t lift the damn plunger anymore and could only glare up at him through her wet bangs.

"Are you done?" he asked calmly, an inscrutable smile on his face.

Sango dropped the plunger and sat down heavily on the toilet, staring blankly at the stranger. His short black hair was pulled back in a small ponytail, and his eyes were a soft violet. Now that she was studying him closely, she realized that he looked slightly incorporeal, like a shadow given substance and color. His black jeans looked worn, they fit his form very well and had a hole over the left knee. His shirt was deep purple, and proclaimed ‘Make Love, Not War’ in vibrant gold lettering. Two gold earrings gleamed in his left ear, one on his right. "Who... what... are you?"

"Well, that’s rather rude of you," he said, crossing his arms and faking a pout. "But, if you’d think about it for a moment, you’d realize that you’d already know."

Despite her utter disbelief (and her hope that all of this was illegal-drug-induced insanity), Sango couldn’t help but glare pointedly. "All right, fine. I’m a ghost," he said, spreading his arms wide as if he was an exhibit on display.

"Ah," Sango replied, thinking that she would definitely have to have a talk with Kagome about those illegal narcotics, and remind her that drugs were bad. "Right... and... just why were you spying on me in the shower?"

He looked at her as if he was surprised that she hadn’t already figured out the answer to this question. "I’m haunting you, of course."

Sango put a hand to her forehead and sighed. ‘Okay, Sango, hold it together...’ Aloud, she said, "Just why are you haunting me, hmm?" This night just kept getting weirder and weirder, and at the moment, all she wanted to do was fall asleep and forget all of this (or remember it as a dream).

For a moment, his calm smile flickered to something not unlike anger, but the expression quickly faded. "You mean to tell me that you don’t remember? That’s low, even for you."

"Remember?" Sango echoed, looking back up at him. "What is there to remember? I’ve never seen you before."

"Well, that’s impossible," he said simply, "since you killed me."

Sango’s mind practically shut off. "Wha?" Sango was utterly sure that she hadn’t killed a person in her life; hell, she hadn’t gotten into a fight since eighth grade. But the fact still remained that there was a ghost standing (floating, she mentally amended, seeing as how his sneakers were hovering about three inches off the ground) in front of her and accusing her of murder. "I did not!" she countered weakly, sounding sort of like she’d been accused of stealing the cookies from the cookie jar. Who, me?

"Yes, you did," he replied with conviction. Yes, you!

Sango stood abruptly, glaring into his face. "I told you, I’ve never seen you before!" Couldn’t be!

"Your face. I remember it. I even remember your name - Sango. It’s one of the few things that I do remember. I remember you... and I remember that you killed me."

All right, she’d had enough of this. "Fine. Even though I don’t know you, I killed you. Well, you could at least tell me your name so that I could go through my old yearbooks. Maybe I broke your heart once, or something."

The ghost looked defensive. "Maybe you did break my heart. But I know that you stopped it."

Sango rolled her eyes, but the conviction that he had was rather frightening. To mask this effectively, she drew on the security blanket of irritability. "Look, just tell me your name!" she snapped.

He paused, then drifted a few inches away from her. "Well... I don’t recall."

Sango twitched. "You don’t recall...? But you recall that I supposedly killed you? You’re delusional, ghost-boy." She walked past him toward the bathroom door and called over her shoulder. "Kindly get the hell out of my house."

"Or what? You’ll hit me with a plunger?" the ghost quipped dryly.

With a huff of annoyance, Sango began to walk again, pausing in the doorway to say, "You don’t even know who you are. How can you possibly know my name when you don’t even know your-" she turned, preparing to glare - only to find the bathroom empty again. He had vanished. "... own."

Coming to her senses quickly, Sango retreated to her own room and closed the door beside her, unsure of how much good it would do her. "Good riddance," she said quietly, then set about cautiously getting dressed for bed and braiding her damp hair. Every shadow was a potential spirit, but she managed to get into bed without perceiving a single ghostly presence.

It took her an hour to convince her subconscious that the encounter had been a hallucination, and another half-hour to fall asleep.

After her breathing had become steady with deep slumber, a cool gust of air from nowhere ruffled her bangs, carrying with it a soft whisper. "Sango..."

Yep. New fic. Review, please!