Chapter 5 – Yuki and Soujirou

Matsuoka Yuki hurried along the streets, anxious to get home before the rain came and drenched all the laundry that she'd put out to dry that morning. She grasped her grocery bags carefully with one hand while the other frantically tried to grab at her swirling hair. She'd never liked the wind; could never understand why some people seemed to love it so much. She absolutely detested it; hated the way it messed up her hair and made her feel as though she was covered in grime and dirt from head to foot.

She glanced up briefly and caught sight of a couple strolling along, evidently enjoying the wind and enjoying being wrapped up in each other's arms. The glazed, starry look in their eyes made Yuki sick; damn it, she did hate these lovesick couples. They were a menace to society – there should be a law banning all public gestures of affection.

Get over it, Yuki, a voice within her said. You know that you're simply bitter because you're a thirty three year old spinster, living alone without even the companionship of a dog and unwanted by any man. There will never be anything in your life except cashiering day in day out for the next fifty years…just get over it and let those other people enjoy what you can't.

She thought, fleetingly, of her friend Tsukushi who'd committed suicide a decade ago. Yuki scarcely ever thought of Tsukushi now; she seemed almost unreal, as though their closeness had existed merely in her fantasies. A made up friend from her childhood, one which had disappeared as soon as she matured.

Whenever she did think of Tsukushi, though, it was a mixture of love, tenderness, and another emotion almost akin to anger. Yuki had never thought she was angry with Tsukushi until the loneliness of her life caught up with her. Anger at Tsukushi for having so much…a rich boyfriend who loved her to the death, a rich devoted friend who lent her shoulder and a lot else whenever she needed it…Tsukushi, such a favourite with F4, so much in her life to live for. Yuki hated the anger; it wasn't her. But her hatred didn't hide the fact that she had nothing.

Had never had.

Once she'd thought that there was something – more specifically, someone. Someone who could have enmeshed himself into her life and given her a reason to live.

But of course, that was a long time ago. So long, Yuki never thought of it in the daytime. In the nights, ah, that was a different story…but Yuki liked to think that one was never in control of oneself in the darkness. One was not to blame for what one thought. It was the daytime, when one was fully in control, that mattered. And she never thought of him in the daytime. Not anymore.

Just a few more steps and she would be in the elevator. Heaving a huge sigh of relief at being out of the wind at last, Yuki stepped into the lift and relaxed against the wall. It would be good to be home again; perhaps she could make herself a cup of coffee, watch a bit of TV, then cook herself a nice dinner. It had been too long since she'd actually had a good meal.

There was a man standing by her doorway, but she couldn't tell who he was from the back. Probably he was the postman, coming to deliver her some package from her family in Canada. The packages did come occasionally; they were the highlights of her life. The only things that were different from the normal routine.

She neared the door and called out, "Yes, may I help you."

The man turned around and for a moment Yuki didn't register anything except that he was tall and handsome, and wore an expensive, impeccably fitted suit.

Then it hit her like a thunderbolt, and she felt the blood draining from her face as she finally recognized who he was.

Nishikado Soujirou.

She'd thought that she would never see him again. Not in this lifetime, nor any other. Now here he was, standing in front of her, smiling almost wistfully at her. The same smile which had captured her heart over fifteen years ago. The smile which she believed to have forgotten.

"Hello, Yuki," he said softly. Jerk!

"What are you doing here," she managed to mumble.

He hesitated. "I think it would be better if we could go in and talk…"

His words hung questioningly in the air between them. The very last thing that Yuki wanted was to invite him into her apartment, and he knew it…not by any supernatural telepathy, but because of the simple fact that when he'd come looking for her nine years ago, she'd told him straight out that she never wanted to see him again and that he was the last person whom she'd let into her apartment.

"You know that I don't want to talk to you." Her words came out coldly.

He sighed. "Yuki, it's been nine years. Surely we can put it all behind us…"

"And surely we can't." She remained still, glaring at him. This arrogant scumbag, this low down rotten jerk, thinking he could just walk back into her life like nothing had happened…

"Look, it's not for me, okay? I didn't come here to make up with you. I came here for Tsukushi."

Tsukushi?

"She's dead," Yuki said flatly.

"I'll go straight to the point. I'm hiring a detective to investigate Tsukushi's death, and we need your co-operation. Please, Yuki. This is very important to me…to Akira, to Tsukasa." He looked softly, tenderly at her and, unconsciously, his lips protruded into a slight pout. "Have a little sympathy, Yuki."

Yuki walked stiffly towards him and unlocked her door. "What do you know about sympathy," she bit out. "You sure didn't show me any."

He swallowed hard. "I know. I was wrong. But we'll discuss that later. Right now, I need an answer – yes or no. Will you help us or not?"

Yuki stared at him, as though trying to gauge how honest he was being. "You're investigating Tsukushi's death?" she said.

"Yes, I am."

She didn't need to ask why. She'd always known that he had doubts. Her fingers trembling slightly, she pushed open her door. "Maybe you should come in and talk," she said slowly.

Ten minutes later, Nishikado sat on the couch and regarded the woman opposite him silently. She looked far older, far more haggard than the last time he saw her. Then, she had been young and pretty and blooming, innocently attractive. Now she was pale, tired, weary of life – like a flower that had wilted because of lack of care. For a moment, he couldn't help wondering what she would look like now if he'd done what he should have for her all those years ago…

"How's your wife, Soujirou?" Yuki spoke first.

Nishikado swallowed hard. She'd deliberately asked that, knowing that the question would clarify their positions – he as another woman's husband, she as an estranged friend. "She's not my wife anymore," he said very quietly. "We divorced each other about a year ago."

"Really." Yuki's voice was flat. "Well, I guess my sympathies are called for." She looked at the clock with slight impatience. "So what is it about Tsukushi."

"I've hired this man," said Nishikado. "His name is James McGill."

"I've heard of him." Yuki looked just a little more interested now.

"He wants to meet you."

"I have no time."

"I'm writing an account of what happened and sending it to him," said Nishikado, refusing to be discouraged. "So is Akira."

"Doumyouji refused, I suppose," said Yuki. She got up and moved restlessly around the tiny apartment. "You guys have such inaccurate memories. How will Mr. McGill ever solve a crime from reading your accounts of it?" she frowned. "Tell him that I'll write one too."

There was a silence. She turned around to face him. "There, your mission is accomplished. Give me the address to send it to and I guarantee it'll be there in less than a week's time. Now, I suppose you can leave. Call me when the killer is discovered."

Nishikado got up. He could see no reason for him to hang about any longer, and yet he didn't want to go. "Yuki," he said softly, "I'm sorry."

She didn't answer.

"I've been wanting to say something to you for ten years, and this is it." He paused. "I know I was in the wrong. I made a lot of mistakes. If I could go back, I'd have done a lot of things differently."

Still she said nothing.

"I've been thinking a lot about you. If you would only give me a second chance, you know what I'd do in a split second, Yuki. But that choice is up to you. Entirely. If you ever feel like giving me that chance, I'll be waiting by the phone. Till then…I guess it's goodbye."

Yuki walked to the door and turned to look at him. Her eyes were dry and her hands were steady. "I think it's goodbye, too," she said.

And her voice didn't waver.

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A/N: Oh dear, this chapter should really be labelled "The Resurrection" shouldn't it?