Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan or any of the events, characters, or locations in it. Does anyone here know anyone who owns the location specified in a book?
Chapter One
This story begins on a wintry weekday afternoon in Tokyo, when the cold winds and grey clouds lowered sulkily over the rooftops, half-heartedly threatening snow or sleet or freezing rain, and withholding it just as indecisively. It was the sort of cold, damp, noisy, windy day which makes one feel dull and tired and irritable; and which makes one want nothing so much as to get somewhere warm and well-lit and quiet, or, if one is already in such a place, makes one want to never leave it.
So when Hattori Heiji said he had to stay after school to look into one of the many cases of items that had mysteriously vanished that he had taken up since he and Tomoya Kazuha had transferred in from Osaka, and when Kazuha said she would wait for him, Mouri Ran and Suzuki Sonoko quickly seized the chance to postpone their walks home (Ran gladly, as her walk home was longer and in the opposite direction as her friends') and said they'd wait with Kazuha.
"I'll be glad of the company," said Kazuha, slinging her book-bag onto a chair and collapsing into another as Heiji left the room. "It's taken Heiji more than fifteen seconds to find this 'vanished' item, and he'll talk of nothing else when we're alone, the ahou."
Ran said: "He must be glad to have someone to discuss his work with," and, always practical, got some homework and pencil out of her bag before she sat down.
"Husbands always confide in their wives," teased Sonoko.
"He's not– it isn't like that!" protested Kazuha, red-faced. "We're just friends!"
"Oh?" said Sonoko, smirking. "You can't fool me, Kazuha-chan. I've got a nose for these sorts of things – and," she added, complacently, "it doesn't hurt to have eyes, either. I saw the way you were looking at him at the Halloween ball. 'Oh, Heiji'," she mimicked, clasping her hands and gazing at the ceiling with much lash-fluttering. "'Heiji, my love' – right, Ran?"
"What?" said Ran, without looking up.
"I was not," spluttered Kazuha, leaping to her feet.
"You were so," taunted Sonoko. "Ran knows – oh, you weren't there. I'd forgotten."
Ran said, "What?" again, but this time she raised her head.
"Haven't you been listening?" demanded Sonoko.
"No," said Ran, gesturing to the sheet of paper in front of her. "I've been doing my homework."
Kazuha peered over her shoulder. "You're half done already!"
"It's English, isn't it?" said Sonoko. "Yes, it is. Somehow I'm not surprised."
"Ten years in America," said Ran, shrugging and smiling. "But what were you saying?"
"The Halloween – "
" – Costumes this year," said Kazuha, aggressively. "Hardly a ghost or a vampire to be seen, but there must have been hundreds of Luke Skywalkers."
"It's so commercialized," complained Sonoko, compliantly. "What I wouldn't have given to see a good, old-fashioned ghost!"
"Ghosts aren't real," said Ran, vaguely and irrelevantly, her mind already straying back to her homework.
"Of course ghosts are real!" cried Sonoko. "Haven't you seen Midnight Vision? Or The White Rose? It's so thrilling – and romantic!" she added, straying as well. "Lovers' feelings continuing after death... how tragic!"
"Heiji doesn't believe in ghosts," said Kazuha, fingering the omamori hanging from her neck.
"This, Kazuha-chan," said Sonoko, "is the twentieth century. Wives don't have to believe what their husbands do anymore."
"I don't – and Heiji's not my – oh, stop it, Sonoko-chan!"
"Ran agrees with me," said Sonoko impishly.
"What?" said Ran.
"I said – " began Sonoko.
"Done already, Hattori-kun?" said Ran, in a pointed manner.
"Yup," said the Osakan, leaving the door open behind him and tossing a packet of pink envelopes to Sonoko, who caught them with an exclamation of delight.
"Thanks!" she said. "Where did you find them?"
"Oh, around," said Heiji. "What are you talking about?"
"Ghosts," said Ran, as she began stowing her homework away. "Sonoko says they're romantic."
"They are!"
"They might be," said Heiji dryly, "if they existed."
"They do!"
Heiji slung Kazuha's bag over his shoulder and picked up his own. "I'm not convinced. I've investigated supposed ghosts before, and they've all been hoaxes."
"But not all of them are," shot back Sonoko. "What about the Kudou house – it's haunted!"
"'Kudou'?" repeated Ran, pausing in the act of putting her pencil away.
Sonoko whirled on her. "You've heard of it? – Oh, of course you would have; it's just a few blocks away from your house, after all."
"I haven't heard of it," said Ran.
"It's pretty famous among the students here," said Kazuha. "I'm surprised you don't know about it."
"You say it's haunted?" queried Ran.
"Some of the students say it is," said Sonoko, dropping her voice to a whisper. "People have heard someone crying, and seen lights go on and off, even though the Kudous haven't lived there since the murder."
"I think I've heard of this," said Heiji, pausing by the door. "Otousan was here investigating something to do with the mafia about eleven years ago, before it happened. He worked with Kudou Yuusaku then. It was a burglary, wasn't it?"
"What happened?" said Ran.
Kazuha reached for her omamori again. "Someone broke into the house, and a little boy was there alone. He called the police, and the burglars must have panicked."
"They killed him," said Sonoko, dramatically, "and now he's haunting the house, waiting to get revenge."
"They must have been on drugs or something," said Heiji. "He was only eight or nine. Otousan met him, too, when he was here – he said he was a smart kid." He frowned. "What was his name? D'you remember, Kazuha?"
"Umm," mumbled Kazuha, uncertainly. "Shintaro or something, I think."
"No, not Shintaro – oh, I remember now! 'Shinichi' – it was Kudou Shinichi, of course."
Ran's pencil snapped with a loud crack.
"Sorry," said Ran, blankly. She stooped to pick up the pieces that had clattered to the floor as her companions turned to look at her. "You – you're sure it was Shinichi?"
"Yes," said Heiji, confidently. "I remember now. I was interested in it when Otousan first told me about it, but the burglars got clean away with the loot. There were no clues at all."
"Oh," said Ran.
Sonoko said, "Are you okay?"
"I knew someone named Kudou Shinichi," said Ran, slowly. "It was a long time ago – before I moved to America. I was – surprised – that's all."
"I'm sorry," said Kazuha, a note of curiosity in her voice. "Did your parents work together on a case or...?"
"We should hurry or we're going to be late for dinner, Kazuha," said Heiji. "Come on, Suzuki-chan, your house is on the way to ours. 'Bye, neechan."
"Right, right," said Sonoko. "Goodbye, Ran. I'll call you, okay?"
"But – " said Kazuha; she paused to glance at Ran's still face, and then took Sonoko's arm and followed Heiji. "'See you later, Ran-chan."
"Later," said Ran.
She watched them go down the hall, turning the broken pieces of the pencil over and over in her hand; listened, when they turned a corner, to Sonoko's petulant voice (in which the word "ghosts" was audible from time to time); Kazuha's, quiet and cheerful; and Heiji's, sounding disinterested and unconvinced, until they faded away with the sound of a closing door. Then she put the broken pencil carefully into her bag, buckled the bag onto her shoulders, and left the school.
So – Kudou Shinichi was dead.
Odd, that it shocked her so much. After all, it had been ten years since she had seen him. Many things could happen in ten years... and she couldn't even remember what he had looked like now; his face had gone dim and blurry in her mind. Hadn't he had blue eyes? Yes, blue eyes, and black hair; but she couldn't see the shape of his eyes or the sweep of his hair anymore.
Odd, that the thought of that boy, energetic and cheerful, sometimes interested, sometimes bored, but always determined and quick to act upon his determinations – odd that the thought of him still and solemn in death hurt her so much; her stomach had clenched into a tight, nervous knot of unhappiness. After all, they had barely known each other before her father had taken her across the seas, away from his memories of her mother. How many months had they known each other? One? Two?
Odd, that stab of emotion that pierced her heart when she realized that he had been lying cold and dead and buried under a concrete slab for ten years, while she (silly, silly girl) all unknowing, dreamed of meeting him again when she returned to Japan, as she must some time – of telling him about her karate championships and hearing about his soccer tournaments.
How very odd.
The cold wind was stinging her eyes. She wiped them, almost angrily, and abruptly turned down a street that did not lead to her home.
The Kudou house was a block over and three blocks closer to the school than the place her father had rented, between a towering stone house with steepled red roofs and a squat, white house with rooms projecting awkwardly out at uncomfortable angles.
The Kudou house was enclosed by a tall stone wall; the wrought iron gates were locked and chained, and the rust was red upon chains, gates, and locks alike. Beyond the gate, Ran could see the sidewalk and long grass littered with dead leaves, brown and black, and a low pile of moldering leaves lay under a naked tree. There were weeds growing in the garden plots, and the border-stones were uneven and askew.
The house itself looked neat enough – someone had cleaned the gutters recently – except for the leaves caught in the door- and window-frames; it had an empty, blank look. One window was boarded up, and this door, too, was chained, though the chain was black and not rust-red.
Ran stood at the gate, fingers wrapped around the bars, and gazed at the silent house. Her eyes traveled slowly from the roof to the foundation and back up again. Then she let go of the bars, stepped backwards, turned, and continued down the street. She did not look back.
----------
That night it began to snow.
It was snowing still when Ran woke the next morning. It snowed all through the morning: as she dressed and groomed, cooked breakfast for herself and her father, and as she walked quickly to school with her mind firmly upon the weather and the fact that her father had come back late and reeking of alcohol again. It snowed through her morning classes and through the lunch period.
By one o'clock the heavy, soft downpour had become a series of doubtful flurries born on a playful wind. When school let out, even these had ceased, and the pale grey sky had scrubbed its face of clouds and become a brilliant icy blue, punctuated only occasionally by scudding pure-white clouds and cold yellow shafts of sunlight that played over the drifts of snow, reflecting painfully off them, and making them almost impossible to look at.
"Snow!" said Sonoko enthusiastically. "I love snow. Frozen angels' tears and symbolism: snow-white means innocence, purity – like you, Ran."
"Thanks," said Ran. She gathered her books and papers together into her bag. "Would you like to come over and – and bake cookies?"
"I've got a recital," said Sonoko gloomily. "Maybe next week?"
Ran watched her go dispassionately and then turned to the two transfer students who stood beside her. "What about you, Kazuha-chan? Hattori-kun?"
"I'm meeting otousan and going with him on a case," said Heiji apologetically. "Maybe Kazuha...?"
He scooped up a pile of books and their bags and left Kazuha and Ran together. Kazuha folded a piece of paper methodically and looked across at Ran without moving her head.
"I already told Heiji I'd come with him," she said slowly, "but I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Ran-chan, are you all right? I mean," she went on hurriedly, "you seemed really upset last night."
Ran turned startled eyes on the girl. "Upset?"
"You went all quiet," said Kazuha quickly. "And your face... it was white. I'm sorry if I'm intruding."
"It's fine," said Ran, smiling. "I was upset. Shinichi and I – we'd only just met when 'tousan decided to move to America, but we were fond of each other. I was surprised, mostly. I'd no idea he was dead."
Kazuha smiled back, uncertainly.
"You should catch up with Hattori-kun," Ran told her. "He's taken your bag with him, you know."
"That ahou!" said Kazuha fondly. She tucked her papers into her pocket and darted forward to give Ran a brief hug before following after Heiji.
Ran walked home quickly and without any deviation from her normal route. The snow along the roads and sidewalks had been swept away already, but there were white drifts still on most of the roofs. There was a tiny pile of muddy snow near the door of her apartment; and on the door itself she found a note in her father's handwriting which read simply (and rather crookedly): Out for dinner. Back before 12.
"Mah-jongg again?" said Ran, exasperation in her voice. She balled the note in her fist and shoved it into her pocket while she unlocked the door one-handed.
The apartment was a wreck. The remains of her father's breakfast were scattered on the table and the floor, and beer cans were strewn liberally across the furniture in front of the television, which was on to a news channel with the sound muted.
Tossing her bag onto the table, Ran fumbled in her pocket for the crumpled note and threw it into the trash-can, then turned the TV off. She stood in the middle of the room and stared blankly at the chaos around her – beer cans, crumbs, her father's wrinkled clothing; then, deliberately and without haste, she crossed the room and went out, locking the door behind her. She set off down the street toward the Kudou house, walking quickly.
When she reached it, her walk had turned into a run. She skidded to a stop before the gates and leaned against them.
Behind the walls the house lay silent and still in the middle of a level white blanket of pure, unblemished snow. There was snow on the roof, on the windowsills, drifted against the walls, on the trees.
Ran looked at the house for almost a minute, so silent and still that she could have been part of the gates she leant against. Then she took a deep breath and looked behind her at the empty street.
"I don't think I should do this," she said aloud, stepping back and to the side, and measuring the walls with her eyes. Then she ran forward and jumped, and her gloved hands gripped the top of the wall. She pulled herself up, scrambled over, and dropped into the snow below with a muffled thump.
Her breath frosted the air in front of her and her cheeks were wet and cold. Rubbing at them with her hands, she began making a slow circuit of the house. When she had completed it and stood by the iron gates again, she paused for a moment, tapping her fingers together, then retraced her steps to the back of the house, where she stopped.
One of the windows at the back had a large, jagged hole in one of the bottom corners. Ran crunched through the snow to the window, avoiding the shards of glass at the bottom of the wall, reached in, fumbled for a moment, and then found the lock. Carefully she pushed the window open and scrambled through, pushing the heavy black curtains to one side as she did and then drawing them closed after her.
She stood by the window for a moment, then removed her shoes, set them to the side of the window, and then moved toward the door to her right.
The room she had come in by was the breakfast room, by the looks of the ungainly white-shrouded shape in the center of the room and the glimpse of the kitchen through the door to her left. The walls were bare of any ornament, and heavy black curtains hung before all the windows. Ran wondered briefly how anyone could see lights going on and off with the thick cloth blocking the light, and noted the thin layer of dust covering everything in the room. Someone had cleaned recently, it seemed.
The rest of the house was much the same. Bare walls, sheeted furniture, darkened windows, and dust everywhere. It rose in little grey puffs as the walks from room to room.
When she came to the fifth room she stopped, her breath catching in her throat. This room was a library – a huge library with a high ceiling. The curved walls were covered with bookshelves from top to bottom, and the shelves were covered in books; thousands and thousands of books, covered in a thick layer of dust. The floor was almost clean, though. And on the floor, near the center of the room and a white-cloaked desk, was a brown stain.
Ran drew her breath in sharply and then clamped her mouth shut. Turning her face away from the stain, she walked round the room, keeping close to the bookcases, until she was opposite the door, with the desk in-between her and the mark on the floor. The wood around it was worn and discolored: someone must have tried to scrub it off.
A tiny shudder shook her and she turned away again, and rubbed the spine of a book less dusty than others on the shelves. The Sign of Four, it read; by Arthur Conan Doyle. She pulled it out and flipped through it listlessly, then put it back and dusted the spine of another: The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey; and another: Edogawa Ranpo's Imomushi; her finger was halfway down the spine of another when she had to stop to wipe her face again, dusty fingers leaving black marks on her wet cheeks.
"I'm such an idiot," she whispered aloud; her quiet voice was swallowed up by the silence. "What am I doing here...?"
Behind her something clicked quietly and golden light flooded over her shoulders. Ran whirled to face the doorway just as the boy standing in it spoke.
"What are you doing here?"
To Be Continued
A/N: Well, here I am again, at last. And what is this? This, Gentle Reader, is what I'm doing for NaNoWriMo. I don't know if I'll be able to finish it within the month of November, but in the newsletter that the site sent out at the beginning of the month, we participants were recommended to tell as many people as possible about the project, in order to provide a reason for not quitting. (The reason would be being embarrassed in front of so many people by having to admit that I'd quit.)
So you can expect to see more of this at intervals. Even if I don't finish it in November, I promise to keep on writing it here, okay? You can throw eggs at me if I don't.
And on another note, I haven't edited this at all. I haven't even gone back over it since I wrote it, so I have no idea what glaring misspellings or grammar-mangling may or may not have occurred in this chapter. So if you're going to review and you happen to notice a mistake (or even if you just notice a mistake) please, please tell me where and what it is. This would be a tremendous help to me when I'm going back over it and editing. Okay? Okay! Thank you so much!
I'm also looking for suggestions on a better name. This house isn't very empty, is it?
Ja ne!
Japanese glossary from this chapter:
ahou: idiot.
-chan: a suffix attached to names, indicating friendship; usually used among girls, and occasionally used by a girl to a small boy.
neechan: big sister; a suffix or nickname.
omamori: a protective charm.