November 14th, 2009
"What have you got for me?" Detective Rhodes asked as he closed the office door behind him.
Curtis, his partner, was there already. He was sat in one of the two chairs facing the head of the Virginia P.D.'s crime-scene investigation division, one Malcolm Pushard. Rhodes hated the man, his matter-of-fact attitude and obsessive attention to detail were qualities he neither admired nor shared, thus the men remained at loggerheads; the fact that Rhodes could see these traits in every aspect of the office made him feel angry by simply being there.
Pushard visibly bit back a snide comment on Rhodes's tardiness and answered him. "Cause of death, sequence of events leading up to death and the murder weapon," he drawled.
"I'm assuming that when you say you have the cause of death you mean it wasn't anything to do with his head no longer being attached to his body?"
"Not quite," Pushard muttered, throwing the case file onto the desk.
Rhodes picked the file up and leafed through it without sitting down. He settled on a page and read it carefully, scanning the lines with his finger while Pushard grunts impatiently. "Lungs full of blood," he mumbled at last.
"I'll save you the headache; the victim died because his lungs filled with blood. Based on the wounds inflicted, vic drowned in his own blood as a direct result of his throat being cut—"
"Either that or he died while his head was being sawed off."
"That's what we're thinking, yeah."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ. So what was the weapon?"
"A long, slightly curved blade. New, probably never been used before as the wound showed no sign of notches in the blade or, either that or it's well-maintained."
"What, like a kitchen knife?"
"No. More like a katana," Pushard said. He noticed Rhodes's confused expression, then added: "A samurai sword."
"Great. So he was killed by ninjas?"
"Samurais are not ninjas. Take the report, there's a full account of what we think the sequence of events were and it's given us some insight on the perp too."
Rhodes nodded and continued reading.
"And when I say 'take the report' I mean you should have it in your hands while you leave my office."
* * *
Unknown date
The skies were clear; cloudless and calm, a relaxing visage indeed. The boat rocked gently with the waves of the ocean that stretched to each horizon. Over the side of the one-man craft there protruded a fishing rod, the line hanging into the sea, completely unattended. The boat was empty otherwise. Why the boat was here and who it belonged to -- these things were a mystery. Had it been washed away from the safety of its dock, or had the fisherman to whom it belonged simply been consumed by the insatiable depths? This much was unclear and the truth would never be uncovered.
It was well that there was no-one around. Just the sky, the sea and the boat. And the fish, of course.
And those fish were biting...
The rod wobbled in its place of resting, a notch in the boat's side. Something had taken the bait and without the fisherman on board to reel it in it had nowhere to go. Nowhere but down. Bubbles broke the surface as the fish struggled, fighting in vain with the anchored tether.
Suddenly the water beside the boat erupted as a figure burst through the surface, grabbing the side of the boat. The boat began to capsize but the man threw himself into the craft and tipped it back with a splash. He gasped for air as he lay on his front, eyes closed behind a veil of thick black hair that had wrapped itself around his face; his soaking-wet clothes clung to his body in tatters, by which fresh wounds were exposed to the sea air. His chest heaved with the effort of forcing the water from his lungs, with the effort of breathing and the freedom from the clutches of the sea to do so once again. And so he lay for quite some time, allowing the air to flood into his lungs. Occasionally he would cough a wad of salty phlegm into his seaborne sanctuary with a groan that was discomfort and relief rolled together.
The castaway's hand gripped the side of the tiny vessel and he looked over the side with bloodshot, yellow eyes. Despite his situation, the clear sky was very relaxing and looking at it eased his troubled heart, but his mind still posed the question...
Where am I?
* * *
February 21st 2010
The pen flicked free from Dakari's hand as he woke suddenly, the stylus clattered across the dresser and landed on the floor with a thump. He was in the Hotel Ibis -top floor- at the corner of the building just like he always preferred. The night had set in and it was raining once again, weather that Dakari was rapidly growing weary of after having spent so long in Albany, where he believed there'd be snow tonight instead of this constant, depressing rain. He rose from his seat at the makeshift desk and stretched as he moved towards the balcony window, looking out to the Portsmouth Guildhall, where he had wrestled only four days ago. Or, rather, where he had attempted to wrestle. His contribution to the bout was abysmal, at least in his own eyes. They had won, but that detail was irrelevant. His mind was elsewhere, far away from the ring.
Specifically, he thought of Jody's words, and his own future. His fate was in her hands now and there was nothing he could do about it. She had not attended the show on Thursday, at least not as far as he was aware; he had been unable to find her at any rate. But what else could he say to her? He could neither justify nor explain his actions to himself, never mind to the woman who was mindful of the interests of her business and not of his own. If she had discovered the truth so quickly then so could anyone else, should undue attention be drawn to it -- a detail Jody had spelled out for Dakari in plainest black and white when they'd last spoken.
"If anyone finds out about this incident, Just Wrestling could be in serious trouble," she'd said using that same fierce tone of voice she'd intimidated him with during their first meeting. "You should've told me the truth from day one."
"I couldn't, I--" he'd tried to explain.
"I don't care," was the growled response. "This could cost us – and by 'us' I mean 'you ' – a lot of money. Probably your career too. Do you understand that?"
"Yes."
"You could go to jail. I'm surprised you're not there already, at this rate. I can't believe you lied to me, I even asked you if you had anything like this you needed to tell me! And you said no!"
"There isn't anything!"
"Right. What about past convictions? Or, worse yet, current ones? You know I only had to ask everyone else this once, right? You're not a fugitive are you?"
She'd spat 'fugitive' at him as if it were poison. Oh, she was furious. He'd denied all accusations, of course, but she still didn't believe him and probably never would. He knew that answering her – no matter how truthfully – was completely redundant now, as were the answers themselves. Fortunately by this point they'd both recognised this fact; Jody's assault came to an abrupt halt, her resolution was even further from his expectations.
"It's no good arguing about it now, Dakari. The fact is, you've proven your abilities in the ring and you're helping us sell tickets – for now. If you jeopardise that again – God help you. In the meantime, there'll be no more of this 'being mysterious' or 'out of contact' any more. When I call you you will answer that phone. That means if I need you for any reason what-so-ever, as long as you're under contract with Just Wrestling you'll do as you're damn-well told, understand?"
He'd nodded.
"And no more lies!"
Dakari had opened his mouth to speak, but was shot down instantly.
"No. Look, I don't really care if you can explain why you did what you did or not. You said you haven't, so anything else is a fabrication. It's done and there's nothing you nor I can do about it. If you do anything that could potentially harm this company and its reputation again then I'll turn you over to the authorities. Got it?"
He remembered how awestruck he was at having been completely and utterly verbally destroyed. He'd never been spoken to in such a way in his life, and thus his feeble response was a feeble "Yes," though it was no less sincere for it.
He couldn't allow what she was threatening to happen.
He needed this.
"Never," he muttered as he bent down to pick up his pen. He retrieved it; when he stood upright again the air in the room seemed to become cold and a shiver rolled through Dakari, in its wake the hairs on his arm stood to attention and the clear plastic pen in his hand had steamed up with condensation somehow. He looked to the window again to ensure it was closed and his eyes locked on the dark shape that was stood there, looking into the hotel room.
Dakari's breathing stopped and his mouth was agape with surprise. There was someone there on the balcony watching him. He couldn't make out the face, it was too dark; nor could he move to switch on a light or find a weapon as he was paralysed by fear. As Dakari watched the smile form beneath the wide-brim hat the stranger wore he heard the low, deathly cackle echo all around him. It was then that a terrible realisation dawned on the aspiring young wrestler, the fact set alight his mind yet he could not move to confirm his fears.
The apparition was not on the balcony beyond the window.
It was behind him.
