Revised July 1 2004

Summary:  Women are dieing, being slashed by a blade that is all too familiar. Can the crimes be solved before it's too late? And why do all the victims resemble one particular woman from the past? A/U: Reincarnation Fic.

Rurouni Kenshin & Samurai X Original Japanese Version © N.Watsuki/Shueisha Fuji-TV SME Visual Works Inc. Sony Pictures Entertainment

All Fanfics created by Chiruken (me) were written for the sole purpose of shared entertainment and not intended for publication or sale.

The Hitokiri Returns

By:  Chiruken

Chapter 2

2000

Saito slammed the door to his office closed with a well-placed kick, reaching to the side to flick the familiar black switch set in a scuffed and scratched chrome plate located conveniently just inside the battered and well-used door, illuminating his office with the flickering light from a bare sixty watt bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling and tossed his jacket carelessly over the back of his favorite chair, shoving his keys into his pocket automatically as he crossed the room, stepping around the familiar clutter with practiced ease. Though it hadn't exactly been a waste of time, his 'visit' with Kenshin Myoujin hadn't been what he'd call satisfying. He didn't like the smaller man and his superior attitude. Saito scowled and dropped onto the well-used sofa in the corner of his office with a groan, ignoring the uncomfortable poking of the springs jabbing into his nether regions. Someday I gotta replace this thing... It was a distant thought as he leaned back, arms spread along the back of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other with the ankle resting on his knee comfortably as he stared up at the ceiling sightlessly while contemplating his new client. Maybe 'superior' wasn't the right way of putting it. Whatever it was about the younger man, it was irritating. Sitting upright again, he allowed his eyes to roam over the familiar room with a half smile, remembering how neat Kenshin's office had been. He'd probably have a fit if he saw my office… He chuckled at the thought and made a mental note to avoid bring the younger man to his office if he could possibly do so.

He found it disturbing how familiar the younger man had been.  There were so many things about him that struck a chord of recognition within Saito's mind.  He didn't want to admit it, but the smaller man gave him the creeps.  First impressions were generally the best way for him to judge a persons character, but in the case of Kenshin Myoujin, Saito was disinclined to go with appearances.  He'd sensed that beneath the innocuous and quiet exterior the other man was a very complex individual with just a hint of danger clinging to him.  And of course, there was that unmistakable feeling of knowing him from somewhere else.  He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he knew they'd met before in a different place, a different time.  He didn't know how he knew it, but his gut hunches were rarely wrong.  There was also the eerie fact that he'd been dreaming about him for years now…for as long as Saito could remember he'd been seeing Kenshin Myoujin in his dreams and he didn't consider that to be at all reassuring since those dreams always left him with a disturbed feeling of intense sorrow and lingering unease.  He shook the lingering thoughts away and forcibly turned his mind away from the disconcerting certainty that he was somehow connected to Kenshin Myoujin on a deeper level than merely a client and consultant based relationship.  It was just too unsettling to contemplate.  He suppressed a shudder, not wanting to be connected to the other man in any way beyond that of a pay cheque coming his way once the case was satisfactorily closed.

He shifted until he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, breath emerging on a sigh as he allowed his muscles to relax for the first time since his new client's phone call earlier that evening. It was funny, though. Kenshin Myoujin kind of reminded him of himself at that age…arrogant and so sure of himself he couldn't possibly take a fall. The young man was about to get a rude awakening if the police got a hold of his sakabatou. He'd fall so hard and far that he'd never get up again and his family's money and influence wouldn't be worth a damn. If it came down to that, nothing would save him. It was amazing what ten years had taught him. He shook his head and forced the uneasy thoughts aside. He didn't want to feel any sort of affinity with the arrogant history professor beyond what he already felt thanks to the damnable recurring dreams. Saito sighed in resignation. He didn't like him, but he couldn't let him take the blame for something he obviously didn't do. He stood and grabbed his phone off his desk, punching the call return. An instant later he was counting rings.

It was answered on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Scratch what I said earlier, Myoujin. Keep that sakabatou under wraps for the time bein'." He dropped again onto the worn sofa, wincing at the protesting groan of the weary springs as he bounced up again with a grimace and sat again, this time in a different spot…one devoid of exposed springs. Tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he shifted and searched his pockets for his cigarettes with a scowl drawing the corners of his mouth down, eyes narrowed as he waited for the other man's response to his statement.

"Mr. Saito?" He frowned at the odd note in the other's voice, his senses coming to full alert. "Um…I don't think that'll be much of a problem now."

"What are you talking about?" He pulled the pack out of his back pocket his scowl deepening further. He hated flattened cigarettes…almost as much as he hated arrogant smart asses like Kenshin Myoujin. He smirked at the thought an amused glint entering his eyes. He wondered what the other man would say if he knew how Saito regarded him. With an inner shrug, he acknowledged that he could care less what his conceited client thought one way or the other just as long as he got paid for his services.  Recurring dreams aside, he doubted the other man and he could ever have a relationship of friendship due to the continued antagonism they obviously felt towards one another which suited him just fine.  There was something about the other man that made his hair stand on end when he'd met him earlier that evening.

"It's gone again."

The words were uttered flatly, devoid of any emotion. It took a moment for the meaning of the statement to sink in and penetrate Saito's inner thoughts. When understanding dawned, Saito dropped the phone and scrambled to pick it up again, cursing the whole time with an amazing show of uncharacteristic imagination as he dropped his cigarettes in his haste to retrieve the telephone, loose tobacco spilling from the pack and littering the scuffed hardwood floor. Juggling the two items he popped back up and hastily pressed the phone to his ear again, face red from having the blood rush to it from the awkward position, using his foot to brush the dry tobacco into concealment under the sofa automatically. "What?! It's…gone?" The words emerged on an incredulous shout as he surged to his feet again to pace around the tight and cluttered confines of his office, raking his hand through his hair in agitation, before sitting again perched on the edge of the sofa fingering the crushed cigarette package in a rare show of nerves stretched beyond endurance. Kenshin Myoujin had a disturbing effect on his normally tightly controlled reactions and he didn't like it one little bit. It made him want to do some serious physical violence to the short history professor.

"You don't have to shout. Yes, it's gone. It must have happened while I was in the shower. What do I do now?"

"First…don't panic." Saito sighed and leaned forward when he dropped his matches, uncomfortably aware that Kenshin's tone didn't reveal any of the characteristic signs of panic setting in. If anything, he sounded almost bored. He shook his head, understanding the younger man's reaction better than he'd like to. Poor bastard's in shock. He was annoying, yes…but he was still a client and therefore throttling him was definitely out of the question. Especially in light of his current mental state. He thought with a grimace. He new it would be bad form to further push his buttons when he was so close to the edge to begin with. "Have you considered that maybe you should keep it locked up?" His tone betrayed his understanding and momentary feelings of compassion. He settled the telephone between his ear and shoulder again and gingerly rubbed his temple where he felt the beginnings of a tension headache forming.  He had a feeling it was going to be one hell of a long night.

"The thought has occurred to me recently. But that does nothing to help me now!" Saito winced at the unmistakable alarm creeping into the other man's tone, a startling contrast to his previous calm. "What if it's being used to kill again? That sakabatou was created as a weapon of peace…intended to protect without killing. It must be found!" He could almost see Kenshin pacing around his office in agitation as his unmistakable panic grew.  He was almost relieved at the very human reaction he was now displaying.  His previous tightly controlled calm had been more than a little disturbing in light of the possible consequences of the occurrences of the evening.  There was no doubt in Saito's mind that his client's sword was once again being used to kill which didn't look good for his case.  One good thing about it…at least he was guilty of nothing more than blatant stupidity.

Saito shook his head with a silent sigh of resignation. Kenshin Myoujin wasn't about to relax, but he definitely had to get his priorities straightened out and fast. Ideals were all well and good just as long as they didn't get in the way of reality. "Look, whether it was meant for peace, hope and charity or not is a moot point, Myoujin. It's being used as a murder weapon and that's definitely not good."  He snorted softly, somewhat amused by his understatement of the obvious.  "Finding whoever is taking it should be the top priority here." He stuck a bent and flattened cigarette in his mouth and tore a single match free of its resting place in the book. He paused for a moment to rearrange the mangled cigarette between his lips before striking the sulphur head against the striking strip. "Any signs of forced entry?" He spoke around the filter before touching the flaming match to the tip of the cigarette, the acrid scent of the burning match-head drifting up into his nostrils. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the familiar scent.

"Like broken windows?" Saito rolled his eyes and inhaled deeply, and then slowly exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling. "Smashed doors? What exactly should I be looking for, here, Mr. Saito?"

"All of the above and then some. The guy had to get in somehow, right?" He sighed and stood, patting his pockets in a quick search for his keys. "Look, don't touch anything. I'm coming over and I'll check it out, all right?"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever. Don't touch anything…got it." The line went abruptly dead.

Saito shook his head and grabbed his jacket as he tossed the telephone onto the sofa, watching it bounce once before sliding to a rest next to the threadbare armrest farthest from him. Squinting his eyes against the tendrils of smoke drifting upwards to obscure his vision with stinging wisps from the cigarette dangling from his mouth he shoved his arms impatiently into his jacket.  Shaking his head he removed the cigarette from between his lips to tap the ash into the overflowing ashtray.  "Moron."  Saito strode purposely towards the door and yanked it open with more force than was absolutely necessary, pausing to flick off the light switch throwing his office into semi darkness, the neon lights lining the streets shining in through the window, the battered blinds not doing much to stop the light from sneaking into the shadowed space.  With a final shake of his head he slammed the door shut, checking to ensure that it was locked and stomped down the stairs to the street.

Saito studied the large double doors with a scowl and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, taking note of how solid they appeared from the exterior. Nothing. Not a scratch, mark or splinter marring the scuff-free wooden surface. Even the metal scuff plates were devoid of marks, the muted light cast by the street lamps lining the street at regular intervals reflected in the highly polished surface at the base of the double doors. He wondered for a moment if his client polished the scuff plates to bring out the sheen he was observing.  He shrugged and pushed the thought aside as being unimportant and a waste of valuable time.  Obviously the front door hadn't been used to break in. He raised his hand to knock, eyes straying to the sign written in Asian calligraphy. What I wouldn't do to know what exactly that says…maybe I should bring Jii-san by to check it out… He abandoned the thought almost as soon as it formed. He didn't want his grandfather anywhere near Kenshin Myoujin…it would be too embarrassing to listen to him complain about how untraditional his ungrateful grandson was. He was certain Myoujin would be more than sympathetic towards the old man. Probably talk to him in Japanese and earn a few extra brownie points… "Can I open the door now, Mr. Saito?" He blinked at the muffled, but distinct question, jarred out of his sarcastic and uncharitable thoughts by the timely interruption.

"Uh…yeah." He lowered his hand as the door swung open. "How'd you do that?" He frowned down at his client, taking in his pale countenance and anxious expression.

"I'm psychic, didn't you know?" Saito scowled at the sarcasm in the other man's tone, his good feelings towards him winking out of existence in an instant in the face of his obvious sardonic attitude. "It's called security cameras, Mr. Saito."

"Security…" He began only to bite back the rest of his statement with a forceful curse as he reached out and grabbed the smaller man by the front of his shirt and shoved him into the wall, using his foot to slam the door closed with enough force it rattled against the jamb, the brass door-knocker clanking twice. "Did you say security cameras, Myoujin?" He stared hard into his startled blue gaze. Kenshin nodded quickly. "So…if you have security cameras, why didn't you mention it earlier?"

"It…uh…slipped my mind. Saito…could you put me down, please?" Saito lifted his lip in a blatant snarl and shook his client roughly, hoping that he rattled some intelligence into his obviously empty head.

"You are such a moron." He released the other man abruptly and turned sharply away, raking a hand through his hair in agitation.  He didn't want to explore why the smaller man rattled his usually calm nerves so easily.  He'd never met anyone who could irritate him as easily as Kenshin Myoujin.  It was a fact he didn't much care for.  "Why don't you show me the tapes now?"  The sooner he completed this assignment, the better he'd feel, he was certain of that.  He couldn't wait to see the last of his current client.

"I'd love to…but they're gone, too." Kenshin straightened his clothes with an irritated scowl. "Did you have to pick me up by my shirt, Saito?"

"I could've used your neck." He looked around the dim interior. "For God's sake, turn on some lights. I can't see a thing in the dark."  The other man's seeming propensity to the dark and mysterious was grating on Saito and the dimness of the interior of the building was making his hair try to stand on end, a feeling he wasn't particularly fond of.

"You're not a very likeable guy, are you?" He turned and opened a panel, revealing a row of switches.

"I'm not here to win popularity contests, Myoujin." Saito blinked in the sudden brightness. He looked around curiously.  "What kind of doujou is this?"  It certainly didn't look like any other doujou Saito had ever been in before and he felt his curiosity rise another notch.  His client was one mystery after another, yet one more reason he found the other man irritating.  He didn't like mysteries, whether they be in the form of novels, movies or people.  It left too many questions for his normally orderly mind to try to find answers for and he certainly didn't want to know more than absolutely necessary about his current client.

"It's my house, Mr. Saito…not an actual doujou, though it does have a training hall."

"Why would you live in a neighbourhood like this?" It seemed odd that a man with as much money as Kenshin Myoujin had would choose to live in such a rough area.  He sighed inwardly, acknowledging that he'd risen to the bait and was now intent on unraveling the mystery known as Kenshin Myoujin.  He longed for a bottle of pain killers as he felt his temples begin to throb as his tension rose.

"I like the ambiance." Saito scowled at him irritably. "It's close to the campus where I teach, Saito. I'm in walking distance…which means I don't have to worry about parking."

"Oh." Saito shrugged and turned away. "All right, where's the back door?" Without answering, Kenshin led him through the house…which looked more like an old warehouse to him…to the back. Saito studied the door with a frown. "Do you lock your doors, Myoujin?"

"Of course I do. Despite your obvious low opinion of my level of intelligence, I'm not an idiot."

Saito snorted derisively choosing to remain silent rather than voice his opinion on that front. "Any other ways to get in here?"

"The windows on the second floor…but they're barred." So much for his idea. He frowned thoughtfully. Locked doors and barred windows…no signs of forced entry. Security cameras and missing tapes. It was beginning to sound rather suspicious to him.

"Does anyone else have the key?"

"Aside from my father?" Saito nodded. "Not that I know of. Why?"

Saito shrugged and leaned back against the wall to study the smaller man. "So…have you chosen a good lawyer yet?"

"I'm not amused, Saito. I need help, not bad jokes." Kenshin raked a hand through his wet hair. Saito frowned. So…he'd been honest about something at least.

"I need the truth, not elaborate lies. You better start leveling with me, Myoujin, or you're going to be locked away for a very long time."

"I gave you the truth, Saito. Do you honestly believe anyone would be stupid enough to make up such a ridiculous story?" Kenshin turned away and began pacing. "I told you before that I didn't do it. Why won't you believe me?"

"I believe that your technique wasn't the one used to kill those women. I believe that you're a smart ass without the brains to think up an elaborate plan like this. And I believe you're a moron for not leveling with me. But…I know you aren't telling me everything." He folded his arms across his chest and leveled a direct stare at the smaller man. "I suggest starting at the beginning and not leaving any details out this time."

Kenshin sighed and shook his head. "All right, all right. I won't argue with you.  Do you want a drink, Mr. Saito?"

"Coffee. Black." He followed him to the kitchen. Saito looked around with a scowl. "You don't spend a lot of time here, do you?" It was kind of creepy how clean the kitchen was. He made a mental note to never invite the smaller man into his home. By the looks of things the homey clutter he enjoyed would probably send Kenshin Myoujin over the deep end.

"I don't know how to answer that." Saito blinked and stared as Kenshin opened and closed cupboard doors, withdrawing a spotless coffee maker, can of coffee, and a filter. "I don't go out much, it that's what you mean, but I don't spend all my time in here." Saito watched in fascination as Kenshin meticulously measured exact portions of coffee. "Strong?"

"Huh?"

"Do you like your coffee to be strong enough to melt your spoon or do you have a normal stomach?"

"Uh…normal I think." The smaller man carefully closed the coffee can and placed it back in the cupboard before turning to the sink. He isn't normal. Saito thought dazedly as Kenshin filled the pot and poured it into the reservoir on the coffee maker, and then turned back to the sink to wipe it dry, pausing to lift the pot again to wipe its bottom as well as the shiny clean hot plate beneath it before replacing the pot once again.

"You said black, right?" He turned and caught Saito's stunned expression. "Is something wrong?"

He shook himself and quickly nodded. "Hell yes. Are you some kind of neat freak?"

Kenshin shrugged and retrieved a cup. "I like things to be clean and orderly, Mr. Saito."

Saito frowned thoughtfully. "I see. So the blood on the sakabatou must've driven you nuts, huh?"

"It isn't good for the blade to sit like that without cleaning it. It'll rust." He gestured to the table. "Have a seat. The coffee'll be a minute." He pulled out a chair and perched on the edge of it. "And yes, it was difficult to remember to not clean it."

"I imagine it would've been." He sat slowly and pulled a note pad from his jacket along with his highlighter. He really had to remember to buy pens in the morning. "How about you begin by telling me when the sakabatou first went missing, all right?"

"Would you like a pen, Mr. Saito?" He looked up and scowled at Kenshin's amused expression. "Or do you prefer fluorescent pink?"

"I'm fine, thanks." The other man shrugged with a grin, clearly amused by the situation. "Fine. A pen would be nice."

"I thought so." He stood and crossed to the counter, opening a drawer. "Any preference for colour?"

Saito gritted his teeth. "No." He answered flatly. "You don't have a lot of friends, do you, Myoujin."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He tossed the pen onto the table.

"I can't think of anyone who'd like your sarcastic attitude." He smirked at the younger man's annoyed expression. "A little close to home, huh?"

"Think whatever you want, Saito." He turned his back on Saito. "Coffee's ready."

"You do realize the police will investigate your background thoroughly…including your social relationships." Kenshin paused in the act of pouring coffee, shoulders stiff. "You know how it is. They'll bring in a psychologist or a profiler…call it whatever you want…and they'll pick you apart piece by piece and put you together again like a human jigsaw puzzle. Any discrepancies in your personality and you're sunk…of course, I've never heard of anyone being convicted and locked up for being an asshole."

Kenshin set the mug on the counter with a bang, leaning forward, shoulders shaking. Saito studied him in mild surprise, wondering if he was about to see the infamous Myoujin temper whispered about around town. A moment later, Kenshin gasped and tuned to face Saito again, doubling over with laughter. "That's real mature, Saito. I thought name calling was usually left behind in grade school." He straightened slowly, blue eyes reflecting his amusement. Or are they blue? Saito frowned slightly. Now that he got a good look under decent lighting, he could've sworn the younger man's eyes weren't just an ordinary blue…but more like a soft violet colour. Shaking his head imperceptibly, Saito pushed the odd thought from his mind. Who cares what colour his eyes are? He's an ass…though the ladies probably don't care… He focused on his client again. "You're one to talk, you know. I doubt you'll receive any awards for being Mr. Congeniality anytime soon."

"So you're saying I'm right?"

Kenshin shook his head with a grin. "I prefer solitude, but I do have friends…not that it's any of your business, Saito." He set the mug on the table in front of Saito.

"I suggest you start taking this seriously, Myoujin. If you don't you just might find yourself laughing your way to prison." The younger man sobered instantly. "Much better." Saito turned his attention back to his notepad. "All right. Let's try this again. When did the sakabatou first go missing?"

"Two months ago." Saito made a quick note and looked up expectantly. "It was returned two days later, cleaned of course." Saito nodded and wrote the information down. "A couple of weeks later it happened again, the same as before. It's been like that for two months until a couple of days ago when my sakabatou came back with blood on the blade. Now, two days later, it's gone again."

"How many times, exactly, did it go missing?" This was the clincher in his theory. Depending on the answer, he could have the break he needed, or he'd be blown out of the water.

"Including this time?" Saito nodded and leaned forward. "Five times."

"Five?" He repeated, barely containing his excitement. This was it. To date there'd been four murders involving women with what Saito had recognized as a katana blade's wounding pattern. Kenshin nodded slowly, leaning away from him. "Well, well…now we're getting somewhere."

"Uh…where, exactly, would that be?"

"If I'm right…and it looks like I am…there'll be another murder tonight."

Kenshin paled. "And this is…good?" He sounded appalled. "Saito…someone could die tonight…by my sakabatou…"

"Yes…but look at it this way. Now we know it wasn't you…right?" He leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head with a satisfied smirk.

"I know it wasn't me, you pompous jerk!" Kenshin stood and began pacing around the kitchen. "You're missing the point entirely. If the killer is targeting women, then another innocent woman will die tonight. My sakabatou will take another life. It has to be stopped, Saito!"

"Sit down, Myoujin. I'm not happy about another woman being murdered, but at least we're getting closer to stopping this. We know the killer is using your sakabatou. He takes it…and returns it. That means it'll come back."

"I'm sure the woman who dies tonight will appreciate your logic." He sighed and sat again. "Can I see those photographs again?"

"Sure. Why?" Saito pulled the envelope out of his pocket and tossed it on the table in front of his client.  He watched the other man closely, still curious about his earlier reaction…or rather non-reaction…to the grisly photographs of the murder victims.  He reached for his mug and took a slow sip of the hot coffee, surprised at how good it tasted.  He had to grudgingly admit this was the best cup of coffee he'd had in a long time.  It certainly beat the mud he was capable of producing.

Kenshin set the photos on the table in front of himself and frowned thoughtfully before removing all the pictures except for the four taken of the victims faces. "Did you notice anything strange about these women, Saito?"  He asked with a thoughtful frown.

He scowled and leaned forward. "No. Should I have?"  He set his mug on the table again and looked between his client and the faces of the dead women.

"They all look alike…well…kind of. Black hair, blue eyes…young, pretty. They're all very similar…and probably built the same, too." He pulled out the other photographs again. "I'm not sure…but…" He frowned, studying each picture closely. "They all look to be…um…small."

"Small? Give me those." He snatched the photos and scowled at them. "You mean short, right?"

"Being of a similar height disadvantage, I prefer vertically challenged, Mr. Saito."

Saito looked up quickly. "Whatever. Short is short." He set the pictures on the table again. "So…he's after short, pretty, young, blue-eyed, black-haired women. That doesn't really help, you know."  He pursed his lips thoughtfully.  "Unless you take into account that they all appear to be Asian."

"I thought it did." He sighed and leaned back again, closing his eyes. Saito frowned. Kenshin Myoujin was uncannily familiar, though to the best of his knowledge they'd never met before.  It was downright creepy, he decided.  Suddenly Kenshin straightened and smacked a palm to his forehead. "Oh…oh…I'm such an idiot!" He jumped to his feet, clearly excited about something.

"No arguments from here." Saito muttered under his breath, silently adding crazy to his assessment.  The smaller man, he decided, was beginning to remind him of someone on a caffeine overdose.  He could almost see him vibrating his barely contained energy as he shifted from one foot to another and stared into space for a moment before turning his gaze back to the photographs still laid out on the table.

He shifted his gaze back to Saito for a moment.  "Wait here…I'll be right back." He turned for the door nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry before pausing and turning back to the still seated man. "No, on second thought…come with me…and bring the photos."

Saito scowled and stood, gathering the photographs. "Now what? Do you just happen to have an album stashed away somewhere detailing all the women around here matching the description of these ones?"

Kenshin spared him a brief glare though there wasn't much heat behind it.  "No…and save the sarcasm." Saito followed him up the stairs to the second floor. "In here, Saito." He turned into a door off to the side of the hall, reaching to the side and flicking on a light.  Soft, muted light filled the sparsely furnished room.

Saito looked around himself with a frown. "Your bedroom?" Kenshin nodded and jumped onto the bed, reaching up to a photograph hanging on the wall. "What's that?" He moved closer, watching as the younger man brushed his fingers over the glass with a strange expression crossing his youthful features.

"This was a photograph taken in Yokohama in 1877, Mr. Saito." He stepped off the bed and landed lightly beside Saito. He pointed to a young boy in the old photograph. "Myoujin Yahiko, my great-grandfather…adding three more greats to that. He was ten years old when this was taken."

"So?" Saito scowled irritably. "I don't have time to take a stroll down memory lane with you." Despite his harsh words he looked down at the image being pointed out to him.  He ignored the jolt of impossible recognition he felt when he looked at the boy in the photo.  He could detect no immediate resemblance to the boy's descendent he'd taken as his client.

Kenshin moved his hand, revealing a pretty young girl in a slightly rumpled kimono. "This is Kamiya Kaoru…" Saito grabbed the framed picture and stared at the smiling girl in shock. He knew her…it wasn't possible, but Saito knew her.  How many times had he seen her in his dreams?  Dreams filled with incredible sorrow that somehow left him waking with a feeling of unfinished business.  He shook the odd feelings away with great difficulty.  He dealt with the tangible proof that could be collected with painstaking mental processes and a healthy dose of grueling labor, not with half remembered dreams that made no sense in the glaring light of day. But even more shocking than the recognition he felt from those same strangely recurring dreams was the uncanny resemblance she had to the recent murder victims.

His eyes moved to a tall man dressed in white and felt a shiver race up his spine as his hair tried to stand on end. He pointed. "Who's this?" Something within the recesses of his mind whispered 'ahou'. He shook his head, not understanding what the word meant, but recognizing it as something his grandfather had said frequently.  This was another face he recognized from having inhabited his dreams.  He was beginning to wonder if it were just some freak coincidence or if perhaps there was more to this than first met the eye.  He was almost afraid to find out.

"Sagara Sanosuke."

He started visible.  "Sagara?"  He repeated slowly, mind racing.  He wondered if it could be possible that the man he knew as Bob Sagara was somehow related to the young man he was currently staring at.  Slowly, his eyes moved to the final figure in the 123 year old photograph. He stared at the smiling young man in disbelief. Except for the crossed scars on his left cheek, longer hair and Japanese attire, he could've sworn he was looking at Kenshin Myoujin. He cleared his throat before attempting to speak. "And who is this?" Somehow, deep down, he knew the answer already as that same voice whispered in his mind 'Battousai'.

"Himura Kenshin…the man you called Hitokiri Battousai, Mr. Saito."

"Battousai…" Saito repeated numbly. Despite the cheerful smile on the young man's face, Saito saw clearly a deep sadness and weariness in his expression. He swallowed and looked away from the disturbing photograph. He studied his companion for a moment, and then held the framed picture up, eyes moving from the man identified as Hitokiri Battousai to Kenshin Myoujin and back again. "You…um…you kinda look like him, you know."

"Do I?" Kenshin shrugged and turned to the bed. "Pass me the photo's of the murdered women." Saito did so automatically. It was a striking resemblance that Kenshin Myoujin bore to Himura Kenshin. He wondered if he'd been named for the man in the picture. He stared at the photograph, his pulse thudding almost painfully when he noticed the katana at his side. Could it be possible that this was the same weapon he'd seen earlier? "Uh…Saito…are you all right?"

"Never better." He answered dully, mind racing faster than he could possibly hope to keep up.  If he remembered correctly, Bob Sagara had a daughter.  He scowled and stared sightlessly at the photograph he still held.  He couldn't recall her name, but she must be close to twenty by now.  He vaguely remembered an annoying brat constantly hanging off of him whenever he'd stopped by their small apartment.  He wondered if Bob still lived there.  He suddenly felt the need to renew old ties that he'd all but forgotten about over the course of the intervening years.  He closed his eyes briefly as he tried to recall what the kid had looked like.  If he remembered correctly, she'd had dark hair and…his eyes snapped open.  She'd had blue eyes.  Eyes like the young woman in the photograph he still held.  He resisted the urge to swear violently.

"Maybe you should sit down…you look a little pale." Dimly Saito was aware of the younger man producing a chair and slowly he sat, never once taking his eyes from the photograph.  He'd have to look Bob Sagara up in the morning.  He couldn't afford to make a mistake.  If the killer were targeting women who resembled this Kamiya Kaoru, then Bob's daughter may be in danger.  That was, of course, if she were still in the area and if she did indeed follow the pattern of resemblance.  "Saito…do you need some orange juice or something?"

He blinked and looked up at his client. "No, why?"

"You looked about ready to pass out. Are you diabetic?"

Saito scowled. "No, I'm not diabetic." He stood and dropped the photograph onto the bed. He shook off his odd feeling of déjà vu and turned to face the smaller man, making a mental note to not forget to contact his old "friend", Bob Sagara, and learn the whereabouts of his daughter. "All right, the victims might resemble that Kamiya girl." He paused and blinked in surprise. "Kamiya…as in Kamiya Kasshin?"

Kenshin nodded. "She was the last Kamiya to train an apprentice in her family's techniques. She died before she could pass it along to anyone else. The last apprentice was Myoujin Yahiko."

Saito turned back to the bed and stared at the girl in the picture. "No children?"  He asked it though he already felt he knew the answer.

"Never married. She died three years after this photograph was taken."

Saito grabbed the picture again and stared hard at it.  From the recesses of his memory one of the earlier nightmares returned to him.  He closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to remember.  He had a vague image of a young woman in a yellow dress…or was it a kimono?…laying in a pool of blood, her clothes torn and bloody. "Tell me, Myoujin, how did she die?"  He was rather pleased that his voice emerged sounding almost normal.

"She was murdered, Mr. Saito. I don't know the details. They were never documented."

Saito stared at Himura Kenshin in silence for a moment before tapping his finger on his image. "And him? What happened to Himura Kenshin?"

"He died a few weeks after Miss Kamiya."

Saito looked up slowly and studied the smaller man intently. "How?"

There must have been something in his expression because Kenshin took a quick step back. "Um…h-he committed suicide, Mr. Saito."

Saito swore softly under his breath and set the picture down again. "Ever have a feeling that you knew something, but there was no way of knowing?"  He asked almost conversationally, eyes lingering on the young woman in the old photograph.  He was now determined more than ever to solve this case he was currently working on.  He had a feeling that, somehow against all odds, these recent murders were tied into the past and the young woman in the 123 year old photograph, Kamiya Kaoru, was the center of it.  How this could be, he didn't want to begin to hazard a guess at, he just knew that there was a connection and if he didn't find it soon and bring closure to whatever it was that was occurring, Kenshin Myoujin just might share the same fate as his namesake in the photograph.