I have been active! I promise! I didn't abandon anything!
This was a long time in the making. Please enjoy it. And don't forget to throw this exhausted author a review! ○IV○
The sun was shining merrily that early autumn morning, contrasting starkly with the mood at Number 457. The funeral having just been yesterday, the tenants still bore the traditional black of the mourner … yet it was not only their clothing that gloomed the place, but also their thoughts; creating in the atmosphere a black, foreboding shadow that clung to their backs like a demon on a damned man, ruining all attempts at cheer.
There was one mind in the house that morning, however, from which negativity seemed absent. This mind, unlike the others, was thinking about the future instead of the past; setting goals and mapping out upcoming actions all in preparation for his new purpose—a purpose set for him by none other than the mourned; his lost love, Rika Harada. She had closed her own door to him and gave way for another door to open … and Dark sat in the tiny study, thinking and waiting and planning in preparation to enter it.
'There will be no more sneaking around in the cover of night like a petty thief … I will go in the daytime, ring the bell and face him like a worthy man. I will show him that there is more to me than meets the eye, and hopefully earn his trust.' Dark tapped his fountain pen on the desk absent-mindedly. 'I need his trust if I am to make him well again …'
Dark looked down inattentively at an old newspaper he had brought in from the Harada's apartment, where he'd been penning out Rika's name over and over again, in various complicated calligraphic lettering underneath an unimportant article.
At least, he thought it had been Rika's name—Dark was surprised to see not Rika Harada's, but Krad Hikari's name curling up at him on the yellowed paper. Dark dropped his pen, hands shaking as he realized the extent of his mistake.
It seems, even as he had clearly been thinking Rika's name, Krad's had spouted out from the end of his pen, and it was this name that now shone over every available space on the paper—parallel to the emboldened titles; forming choppy boxes around articles; gathering at the corners like dust.
And then, without warning, the names became animate; coiling and crawling across the paper like inchworms, detaching themselves from the flat plane and becoming a part of the dimensional one. They pulled themselves up Dark's arms, curling around him tightly like ropes, trying to drag him down with them to the yellowed nothingness of the paper from whence they came. Dark screamed, trying to pry them off, but they only grasped him all the tighter, pulling down with a force that the black-haired man could barely fight. Ink slid like blood down his skin, staining everything a deep, dark black—it was into this the letters dragged him; into an inky blackness that yielded no light, yet had deeper dimensions than anything in the real world—he felt that he would fall forever, and never come to anything at all. The letters, now white against the darkness, detached themselves from him at once, and started coming together in a large mass, forming something so white that Dark had to shield his eyes in order not to be burned. Through eyes like slits, he saw Rika Harada standing before him, falling with him, just as radiant in death as she had been in life.
"R-Rika?!"
'Dark … how many times have I told you … that person needs you … more than I … why … are you … here?'
Dark felt like crying. "I know it!! I do!! Please Rika, help me out of here … Miss Rika, please …"
But Rika had already vanished; the letters were back again, shifting over one another hastily to form a taller figure, a slighter one—Dark gasped as Krad's body materialized in front of his eyes, as sallow and dreary as the day he had met the blonde. His dull eyes bored into Dark's head, and slowly, silently, he extended his arm out to Dark.
A dying red rose was clutched in his gloved hand. It was shedding browned, deadened petals by the clusters, and when the last petal fell, so too did Krad; falling backwards into the mass of churning, angry letters.
"Krad!!"
'Dark …! Dark …!'
Dark clutched his head, still crying out Krad and Rika's names as he attempted to fold into himself, to protect himself from the angry, buzzing letters that had swarmed around him once again, stinging him, biting him. Each letter seemed to cry out his name all at once, and the volume became such that Dark didn't think he would be able to bear it much longer. Clutching his ears, he attempted to drown out all the other voices with his own voice; calling out to Rika and even Krad in hopes that they would come and save him; save him like he had been unable to save them …
'Dark … Dark … Dark …'
"Dark!! Wake up, Dark!! Dark!!"
Dark's eyes swiftly opened.
Moist, sparkling plains of deep scarlet were what he saw first.
"Daisuke …‼"
The little Niwa boy he had come to love as a brother was hovering over him worryingly, his back stooped to better see Dark's face.
Dark blinked, looking down. His cheek was plastered to the desk and newspapers beneath him, and at some point in his slumber he had knocked over his vial of ink, which now surrounded him like a blackened halo; as thick and dark as the blood of a demon. It reminded Dark of his terrible nightmare, and he quickly peeled his face off the newspaper and shied away from it.
But in that fleeting glimpse of the newspaper, he noticed—half in relief, half in trepidation—that, unlike in his dream, Krad Hikari's name was nowhere to be found. It had indeed been Rika's name, made beautiful by his pen, which he had been lettering.
"Dark … you were moaning and crying in your sleep … Are you all right?" Daisuke's tearful voice filtered through the darkness in his mind, shining through like a beacon of light and making the shadows dissipate. Dark, rubbing his reddened cheek, turned to his little brother.
"I am fine, dear Daisuke …" he replied kindly, pulling in the smaller redhead for a calming embrace. "Thank you for waking me." He held the boy at arm's length, giving him a smile.
Daisuke, sniffling with the aftereffects of his fear, smiled back. But it lacked sincere emotion, and that was when Dark saw through it.
"Daisuke … pray, why is there such sadness in those eyes of yours? You look as though your very spirit is dying, and your body facing purgatory!! If it is Rika's passing that is doing this to you, then we need to talk," Dark uttered gently, grasping Daisuke's chin lightly with his hand. Daisuke held a watery gaze with him for a few moments, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout that could only be described as completely adorable, before he gave a wail and pushed his face into Dark's chest.
"Dark!!"
Startled, Dark's arms hung suspended above the shuddering form of Daisuke Niwa as his mind struggled to catch up to the recent occurrings. Finally, Dark let his arms rest comfortingly on Daisuke's back, rubbing it a bit.
"Daisuke … shh … everything will be all right; you'll see …"
"Dark, you're leaving again, aren't you?"
The question caught the midnight-thief by surprise. He had not been expecting it. "Oh, Daisuke … is that what has you so upset?"
Daisuke looked sorrowfully up at him, tears leaving smudges as they fell down his cheeks. "You always leave us … why do you go away? Don't you love us anymore?"
Dark sent a pitiful, painful glance down at the younger boy, and then scooped him up and set him on his lap. Daisuke squeaked at the sudden action, but soon fell back against his brother's chest again. Dark rocked their bodies back and forth soothingly.
"Daisuke … I'm so sorry. Of course I love you, and Emiko and Kosuke, too! I don't mean to hurt you … I had not the foggiest idea you felt this way … can you forgive me?"
Daisuke burrowed his head deeper into Dark's embrace, and remained silent. Dark's heart steadily became heavier as the silence wore on. However, after a few more sniffles, the twelve-year-old redhead spoke, his words muffled by Dark's frock coat.
"Are you leaving soon?"
Dark looked up, and weighed the question in his mind. It was true; had circumstances been different, he would have been long since gone from the place, off roaming about the countryside and living like he had no ties to anyone. Much like he had done in his life before the Niwa's—homeless, heartless, a callous way of life. Not to get anything wrong; he was very fond of the Niwa's for giving him a loving family and somewhere to call home.
And yet, he had never been able to settle himself down and assimilate into their way of life; trying to do so always left him feeling claustrophobic and restless in 457, shut in the little apartment like a dog in its kennel. He couldn't help himself; he had always had a spirit as wild and kindred as a stallion, with a fierce and determined mindset to match it.
He had never regretted it, feeling that his adoptive family understood. But now, looking at the reaction he had unknowingly caused in little Daisuke, for the first time he felt sorry.
"No, Daisuke … I'm not leaving anytime soon. I'm staying here, with you. How does that sound?"
Daisuke gasped and looked up at him with sparkling, eager eyes; eyes that were, however, still not without sorrow; "Do you really mean it?"
Dark leaned over, touching his forehead to Daisuke's. "I mean it," he whispered with a grin. After all, he mused silently, there was work to be done …
In the wake of the two brothers, on the desk left behind, a brilliantly shining name was left to be devoured by the hungry, black ink spreading slowly across the surface; never to be seen again. Rika Harada was gone.
How strange it was, Dark mused, that an object as simple as a doorway could part objects as vastly complex as different universes. They were the portals between worlds, separating the 'here' from the 'there' and creating little pockets of nothingness that acted as a transitional between them. Dark felt exactly like he had stepped into another universe when he crossed the threshold of 457; a universe that had no death, no sorrow, no pain. Rika didn't exist in this other dimension—people went by with the usual hubbub of a Saturday afternoon, completely oblivious to the fact that behind Dark—centimeters from his fingers, clawing and scratching at the wood of the door to try to take possession of him once again—were the shadowed beasts of sorrow; of a life lost and a family in mourning. They were not aware that in the wake of this anonymous stranger, whom they had never met … a world was ending.
Sighing, Dark pulled a cap over his tousled hair and turned up his collar against the wind, folding his arms into his body to keep them warm as he cantered down the stoop and joined the crowd milling about in the street below. It was a Saturday, which meant that the open-air London Free Market would be going on all day in various parts of the city. Tenant building #457 was in a very tightly-packed neighborhood, so naturally there were many wonderful things happening around Dark as he made his way down the street. Fishermen were waving their catches in the air. Red-faced, beefy housewives displayed their home-cooked cakes and pies with pride, creating an absolutely delectable atmosphere for shoppers. Artists showed off their creations, tailors advertised their services, and small children ducked between legs, calling out with squeaky lisps for people to buy the latest edition of the London Times.
It was all wrong, thought Dark, frowning at the cheeriness and gaiety surrounding him. It wasn't fair—didn't these people realize that someone dear to him had passed on? Didn't they understand that his world had crashed down upon him? Didn't they realize that his poor, dear Rika was dead? Didn't anyone care?
But no, no, that wasn't right. How could they know? They lived in worlds as separate as the night and the day—no one had been to his world, had seen the darkness there. Oh, surely there were some … but obviously none present in this glittering, sunlit globe. He was alone, and never had he felt more so.
"S'cuse me, sir? Penny for the Lon'on times?"
Dark blinked at the little voice, and looked down to where it appeared to be coming from. A little whelp of a boy was looking up at him with large, misty white eyes, brandishing the morning paper.
Dark stared at the smudged little face peering up at him, and felt a large weight remove itself from his shoulders. He smiled and crouched down to the boy's level.
"Good day, little sir. What is your name?"
"I dunno 'bout sir, but me name's George—like the King! Does this mean you're buying me paper?"
Dark smiled at the child's frankness. "No, but I'll tell you a secret …" He pulled out an entire pound, and put it in the startled child's pocket. "There's really nothing interesting in the rag today," he said laughingly, and stood back up.
Patting the child's head, he took his leave. He couldn't afford to be held up for very long, after all. His destination was still a good long walk's off. Thinking about where he was bound, he unconsciously gazed off to the west, where he could literally feel the presence of the one he meant to call on. What was he doing now, Dark wondered …?
Ten minutes into his excursion, Dark knew he was getting nearer. He had officially passed through the invisible interface between the poor and the wealthy, into that shaded gray area between them known as the business district. He passed lawyers' firms and industrial factories (distinguishable by the dark smog hovering over the premises like black, greasy thunderclouds), hotels and hospitals—but what Dark found strange, though wonderful, were the plethora of people—people from all different backgrounds and social statuses—who looked up from their eventful lives to acknowledge him. Women waved and giggled as he passed them by; gentlemen tipped their hats and bid him good day; children with their canine companions ran through his legs, unafraid! Dark found this mysterious friendliness very spiritually recharging, and soon found himself smiling as he made his way down the street.
At the end of the business district was the London National Bank, agreeably one of the most beautiful buildings in the business district. Dark was just passing it's wide, grand staircase when a voice called out to him through the crowd.
"Eyup! 'Ow do, gaffer? Where's tha bound, then?"
Dark blinked. Another person willing to stop and have discourse—perhaps this was God's way of cheering him up! He was grateful; he felt better for it. He turned to the man leaning against the stone pillar at the foot of the bank's stairs, smiling.
"I am no one's boss, but it flatters me to hear you speak so. I tell you I'm off to see a friend. But, if I may be so blunt, why do you ask? Would you have something of me?"
The Yorkshire man, arms crossed over a workman's shirt, tossed the tan bangs away from his face with a jerk of his head, and made his way over to Dark.
"Tha looked mardy, so I thought I'd make thee goodly again …"
Dark smiled wider to hide his confusion. He had never been good with the Yorkshire dialect. "Er … thank you?"
The man, acute to confusion when it came to his colloquial language, rubbed his head and laughed heartily. "Tha' munst be so flummoxed, gaffer. I only meant that tha looked badly, and I aimed t' reet it. But 'twould seem only reetin' going on here is thissen!"
Dark laughed along with the man to buy him some time to figure out what he was laughing about. 'Okay … munst is easy, that means must not … flummoxed? Dear lord, what on earth does that mean? Flummoxed, flummoxed … ergh …'
The man didn't give him any longer, for he spoke again. "Aye … to say honestly, I saw thee goin' west, and I 'appened that tha wo off to the Hikari place. Ist th' where's tha bound?"
Dark looked up sharply, startled. He didn't say anything for a while, pondering as to why this man knew of his destination where there were so many other places to go when traveling west. When his eyes found no answers, his mouth sought them instead.
"Who are you?"
The man looked at the ground, a sudden meek look overtaking his boyish face. "Me nayam's Elliot, gaffer, n' I wo a manservant at the Hikari Manor long ago, when all the Hikari wo still living. I seen tha cum' out o' the Manor a fortnight ago, and wondered who tha was and wot tha wanted theer. An' just now, seeing thee again … I was suppos'en that th' Manor was where tha's going. 'Aving spent me whole life theer, I wo interested …"
Dark was surprised. "You were a manservant there? Then you know of Krad Hikari, and that he still lives."
Elliot's face darkened. "Aye, gaffer, tain't a bloody soul in this warld who can forget the likes o 'im. Krad Hikari, bonny lad, he. Fairer than o flower, but a rum'un--darker than a blood 'ound … I 'appen it's 'im wot did his kinfolk in …"
Dark scowled, somehow upset to hear the harsh words come out of the manservant's mouth. "Rubbish! I don't believe a bloody word of it. I'm sure you ran off well before you could find out the whole story!"
Elliot's fists clenched at the accusation being hurled at him. "Oh, aye?! Nowt o the sort!! It's Krad what fired me!! 'Ow dare tha chelp 'bout what thissen dunno? What's tha know 'bout the story, eh?! Tha don't know owt!!"
The two stared each other down for a while, both panting in anger, before Dark backed down somewhat.
"You're right. I do not know much—not compared to you, someone who's lived a lifetime at the place. But I do know this: murderer or not, Krad is in dire need of help, and I'm the only one who can give it to him," he said firmly, and aimed to walk away from the infuriating, confusing Yorkshire man and leave him behind.
"A right bloody fool, that's what tha are," came his disgruntled voice, and then surprisingly his body fell into step beside the midnight thief. "Krad'll murder us both 'fore the sun sets," he sighed forlornly.
Dark froze. "Both?"
Elliot blinked at him. "Tha's daft as a brush! O' course I'm going withee!! If't lad hadn't fired me; I wouldst ne'er av flown the house! Me n' Freedert n' Kyle all woulda stayed …" He seemed sadder now, as he trudged slowly onward through the streets.
"... Wot tragedy begot th' Hikari? They wo allus a darker sort … but ne'er did we servants expect wot wo to cum' …" Elliot sighed, and put his hands in his tattered jacket's pocket. One of his fingers poked out through a hole in the bottom.
Dark was confused at his feelings towards this man. An embodiment of contradiction, that was for sure—saying one thing and doing another. Such cruel words had he spoken against Krad! And yet … he was now on his way, possibly all the way to death's door, to aid Dark in his mission to cure the wretched angel of his diseased mind and emaciated well-being.
As they walked, and as Dark mused about his newfound ally, Elliot talked.
"Though if thee don't mind me curiosity … how didst thee cum' to th' Hikari Manor in th' first place? Ne'er 'ave I seen wit' me own eyes another soul in th' place since th' tragedy …"
Dark pondered whether or not he should divulge that information to the seemingly goodly man, as his intentions that night had been far from it.
"Well … a difficult question to answer, I'm afraid. There, er, was in fact a reason … but …" the thief chattered nervously, afraid of losing face in the presence of such an obviously honest man—but it ended up making no difference. Despite the lack of education, Elliot was by no means dim-witted.
"I see. Another collector, then, out to take fer thissen the famous Hikari artworks. Tha'd be su'prised how many of thee theer are," he commented off-handedly, outwardly unaffected by Dark's revealed occupation. Dark rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.
"Er, right. That was of course the reason. I'm sure you understand why I was hesitant to give it," Dark stated lamely, as if to give an explanation for his lack of articulation. However, he sent a sidelong glance to Elliot's blank face. "Though why you aren't a bit more curious about it, I do find odd. Have you many art thief companions, then?"
Elliot shrugged. "Th' warld ain't so nice a place no more, gaffer. 'Specially in our warld; th' underground of th' city. Tha' tend t' know a few people, if tha know wot I mean."
Dark knew very well what the Yorkshire man meant. He turned his violet gaze back to the cobblestone beneath him, smiling ironically. "Heh. Truer words never spoken."
Topics of conversation seemed to elude the pair then—uneasy silence fell heavily between them as they made their way through the business district, both hearts beating to a cadence of dreadful anticipation. For Dark, it was anticipation based on an aching need in his soul to see the blonde man again—and for Elliot; it was dread for the young aristocrat's reaction at once again seeing not only a servant he had fired long ago, but also a man who had tried to rob him!!
'Summit tells me that Krad'll withhold th' welcomin' committee when we get theer …' he thought to himself cynically.
Large factories gave way for large businesses, and large businesses gave way for small businesses—and soon businesses altogether thinned out, giving way for beautiful English manors and homes. The two members from below London's poverty line grew steadfastly more and more nervous, until it seemed that the ill-fated Hikari manor loomed darkly over all London; though the reality of the situation was that they had not even begun to see it yet.
Dark began fiddling nervously with his cap, pulling it off and adjusting it, only to put it back on in the same state in which he had removed it. A question tumbled across his mind noisily, until he felt the need to voice it to his companion.
"Elliot … I had begun to think … and I'm not quite sure if … well, what do you think we should … when we get there, I mean …"
The Yorkshire man didn't even waste energy on deciphering Dark's unfinished thoughts. He just turned to look dryly at Dark's turbulent amethyst eyes.
"Honestly, gaffer—with th' way thee just spoke, one would think that tha'd be the one with th' accent! Spit it out, lad," he advised roughly, but one could not miss the beginnings of a smile curving his lips. Dark smiled too, silently grateful that the tension of the situation had been neutralized. He put a hand sheepishly behind his head.
"My apologies. What I was trying to ask, is what you advised to do once we arrived at the manor. I mean, should we knock on the door? I admit I was hoping—"
"Tha's daft!" Elliot suddenly barked, interrupting the thief mid-sentence. Dark looked up sharply, eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Elliot glared sternly back.
"What?"
The Tyke man folded his arms across his wide chest. "I've said it before, 'n I'll say it again. Tha's madder than th' Hatter, 'n I mean that in every sense o' th' word," he stated matter-of-factly.
Dark's features fell flat, and his fists clenched. Bristling like a cornered cat, he tersely replied, "Well, that is an opinion you have made quite clear, Elliot. I would warn you of repeating yourself again, lest you sound forgetful!"
Elliot didn't goad the thief further. He wasn't stupid; Dark was a man who could hold his own in a fight. Instead, Elliot rushed to explain himself, all-the-while digging through various pockets frantically.
"Even if tha didst git an answer frum knockin' at th' door, I doubt tha'd be welcomed within. And since I also doubt that thee came all th' way just to stand on Krad's stoop, I 'appen we should break in first, n'then find th' lad," he said.
Surprise once again played across Dark's features. "Break in?! Good heavens, man—if anything warranted unwelcome, it would be that! Shouldn't we enter properly, as men, and not force entry as thieves would? I dare say that Krad has had enough of people like me…"
Elliot shrugged. "If thee feel's we munst, then we waint. I really wo'nt plannin' to anyway—I have th' key."
Dark was flabbergasted. "A key?! By God, a key! Why didn't you tell me before?!"
Elliot let a grin show. "Tha's easily chuffed, gaffer. I dursn't mention it, fer I thought such a thing warranted no mentionin'. After all, I did tell thee I wo a manservant, did I not? Why wouldst, then, I not have th' key to the servant's quarters?" And with this, he gave a little noise of satisfaction, for he had finally rummaged around in the right pocket. He procured from it a broad metal key, rusted from age and dulled from use.
Dark immediately snatched it away. "Excellent!"
Elliot made an unsuccessful attempt to take it back. "Give't back! Tha'd be my key, not yourn!"
Dark held it away from the slightly-shorter man, a playful grin on his face. "Oh, don't be so childish, man. I'll give it back once its done its duty."
Elliot gave up for the moment, sulking back to Dark's side. "Murdy pincher," he mumbled angrily.
As Dark secured his stolen property, chuckling at his companion's brooding, the two passed that invisible interface between surrealism and realism—now, suddenly, the Hikari manor really did loom ahead of them; a lighthouse beacon in a stormy sea of black fog and gloom. A somber silence fell on the pair, and suddenly neither of them wanted to take a single step further.
They loitered across the street from the place, hearts racing and valor fading, waiting for the other to move first and restore their courage. As they skulked by the entrance, Dark couldn't help but personify the house, and his ruminations were enough to glue his feet to the cobblestone steadfastly. He observed the many, flashing white windows, side-by-side and leering at him like the teeth of a feline predator, and he felt like a small mouse, about to be gobbled up. Really he was making it much more terrifying than it needed to be—for in truth, what was to be more feared? A silent, stationary house with all its brick and mortar—or what lay within it?
Elliot, for better or worse, interrupted his thoughts with an awkward clearing of his throat. "If we're to be goin' then I suggest we git goin' while the goin's good. Unless tha's plannin' to spend th' night here … in which case I'd be takin' me key and leavin' thee now …"
Dark shook his head, half at Elliot's threat to leave, and half to free his mind from its terrifying invention.
"No. Let us be on our way, then," he sighed, and took a brave stop forward, over the gutter and onto the street. As predicted, once one of them summed up the courage to take that first step, the other fell into stride, and before either of them knew it the great house impended before them.
They both took pause, straining their necks to look the manor in its broad, imperturbable face. Elliot let his eyes wander over the familiarity with past regrets and looming dread, succumbing to Dark's earlier fear of the unknown, of the dragon that lay in wait for them. He let out a low, trembling whistle, and muttered, "Lardy-loo … it's been a score o' years since I wo here last …"
Dark, gulping, let his satirical side take over. "Well, let's hope you at least remember where the servant's entrance is …"
And so speaking, Dark took the final step towards his destination; the ultimate foot forward that put a close to his life of the "then" and an open to his life of the "now" ... that final step, as true and unshakeable as fact, that led him to his future.
This story is as unpredictable as the weather ... so I will no longer make any attempts to dictate when it ends. I'll just go with the flow, and when it ends, it ends. :)
Please leave a review; this was incredibly taxing to write and I would like some compensation. (only a little one, pleeease?) lol :) thanks!