Disclaimer: I do not own Meitantei Conan, no matter how much I wish I did. At the moment, I can't even lay claim to myself, as it seems to be a high school trend to choose someone and decide you supposedly 'own' them. Anyone willing to help me save up to buy myself back from the five who 'own' me?
Dictionary:
Mouri Ran- Rachel to those who favor the English version.
Kudou Shinichi- Jimmy to those who favor the English version.
Meitantei- Great detective.
Mou- Gosh. (In the way that I'm using it, anyway)
Takku- Geez.
Kikimashita- To have heard. In the way that I'm using it here, it's almost like, "You have heard me."
Okashii- Crazy, weird, odd.
Kimi- You.
Dake- Only.
Baka- Stupid or idiot.
Baaro- Stupid or idiot. Shinichi really seems to like this word.
Oujochan- A more affectionate way to say 'girl.'
Author's Note: Because of major writer's block on my other story, I've decided to temporarily take it down and work on this one first. Don't worry; by no means am I abandoning it. Anyway, enjoy!
Chapter One:
Of Dust and Blue-eyed Boys
The martial artist brushed her fingers against the cold metal of the doorknob that hadn't been touched in years, a shiver running down her spine as the autumn wind spurred her on. The rest of the world seemed insignificant compared to the deep scratches that were carved into the beautiful wood of the door, scarring it and telling the story of a deadly struggle. Clouds gathered overhead as her hand tightened against the doorknob, perhaps mourning the occurrence of five years previous--but she couldn't back down now. "There are no such things as ghosts," the blue-eyed girl murmured, cringing as she pushed the door open with a loud squeak. Her breath caught in her throat as she prepared herself for the worst and found--
It was a world covered in dust. All of the poltergeists she had been preparing herself to find were absent; all of the angry spirits she was expecting to jump out at her and claim her soul were nowhere in sight. "Mou.." Instead, an odd sense of contentness--of peace--filled her. "See? No such thing as ghosts." Books, toys, papers, clothes, a pair of glasses--everything was as she sure it must have been before the Kudou family's lives had been taken. No one had dared to touch any of their possessions and after the waves of whispers and rumors had died, almost all memories of them had dissipated. Though famous, they'd never had the chance to draw close enough to any personal contacts to leave a lasting impression.
Mouri Ran's eyes fluttered closed as she allowed herself to slip six years into the past. When Beika's police force had first learned of the deaths of the three Kudous, they'd done their best to smother the rumors before they began--and failed horribly. Little time passed before the story of the brutal murder of Beika's most loved family was all over my face, radio, and then television. Twelve year old Shinichi, a rising detective, had been found bathing in his own blood alone; world renowned actress Yukiko had been found with her husband. The case had never been solved, and the memory of the Kudou family had been tainted in their absence. Countless had decided that like other famous families who had met tragic ends in the past, they had been involved in illegal practices, and their deaths a consequence of that.
She wasn't one of the countless.
Forcing herself back into a world of reality, the young woman released a heavyhearted sigh. While she would have loved to continue musings through the history of this shunned home, she was supposed to be cleaning it so that one last picture could be taken of it before its demise. Beika was an ever-growing city, meaning there was a constant demand for homes. Since none sought to live in the Kudou home, it was it now.Demolition was set to commence in a month's time and all traces of the Kudou family having lived in Beika would finally be gone. It was for that reason that she'd taken this job--so that perhaps she might say goodbye to the one that she'd never met before but had always felt a connection to.
Kudou Shinichi.
Ran stepped further into the house she should already have begun cleaning, instantly drawn to a broken picture frame that rested upon a dust-covered table. She drew her fingers over the remnants of the glass in order to dispel the particles that remained, obscuring her vision of the picture that awaited her scrutinizing gaze--and gasped quietly. The warm smile and dancing eyes that met her own belonged to the one she'd been seeking, and caused her stomach to tumble uneasily. Even at twelve, he looked so mature, so responsible--but the cockiness he was so well known for glimmered across his young features as well. "Kawaii," the young woman breathed, finding it easy to predict how his presence must have blended with his parents' and created an abundance of energy that must have once filled this house with so much life.
Suddenly it struck her--the date was May fourth. She had come across countless bits of information when the Kudou family had been murdered, as t was impossible to escape considering her father had been one of the detectives on the case. She had found his favorite food was lemon pie, he was remarkably skilled at soccer, and that the great Kudou Shinichi's birthday was the fourth of May. Irony had laid claim to another aspect of the famous family's being, as their chapter in Beika was finally to be closed on the most unexpected of days. "At least your house will be clean again," she breathed, brushing her fingers over the faded photo once more. A melancholy smile had found Ran's lips. "Happy birthday, Shinichi. This would make you seventeen like me, right?"
"Takku. Some happy birthday this is."
The martial artist whirled around immediately, heart thundering in the confines of her chest. It was silly to think that she'd heard anyone else speak, for she was the only one there--she'd specifically requested to be left alone so that she might have the chance to be lost in the memories that lingered. "Hello?" All the same, she was sure that the male's voice that had carried through the large house was not simply a figment of her imagination, but instead a true voice that sent shivers down her spine. It was deep, and the tone itself dripped with grudge, and perhaps a bit of boredom. Drawing her arms unconsciously about her own form--but never releasing the photo--the young woman tried again to catch the attention of the unknown voice. "If you're hiding, this is funny." The silence that had once held a melancholy feel was now charged with something else, something thicker—and she was sure she'd choke on it soon. "Please?"
"Happy birthday.. To me. Happy Birthday.. To me."
Again the martial artist whirled around, her breath catching in her throat as her arms tightened about her form. A second occurrence was something she couldn't ignore. "Happy.. Birthday?" As soon as the words dripped from her lips, her eyes widened and realization dawned upon the fumbling young woman. Swallowing the lump that had begun to grow in her throat--and pushing aside the thoughts that urged her to reconsider and reevaluate the situation--she took a few more steps into the home. "Birthday.. Mou.. Kudousan, if you can hear me, give me a sign." As if playing the part it was assigned in some horror movie, a lamp came crashing to the ground, and the light bulb that it had been formerly protecting shattered into thousands of pieces that glittered before resigning to their fate. Giving a cry of surprise, she released the photo of the small child that she'd been holding, wincing as it cut through her pale skin and crimson drops fell, pooling upon the layers of dust. "Shin.. Shinichisan?"
Run. Her mind told her to run.
"Kikimashita. Okashii.."
Run. Now it was time to run fast.
"Okashii..?"
But she was stuck. Frozen.
"Kimi dake." Without warning, a young man stepped out of the hallway he'd been sheltered in. His blue eyes delved deep into her soul, working too quickly and too efficiently for her to protest. Though pale--hardly for the same reason as she was--the moment he stepped into the sunlight that the broken window had decided to cast upon him, the young man seemed to come to life. The smirk that eagerly dominated his lips mirrored the same look he'd sported in the photograph, and the confidence he displayed as he moved towards her caused the young woman to unconsciously hold her breath. This was him; the one reaching out and taking her hand in his own to inspect it had been lost all those years ago, and yet here he was, as real as one could supposedly be. "Only you can hear me," he explained, drawing his gaze from her newest wound to her eyes, his shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant shrug. "So far, anyway."
"B-But you're.."
"Takku. You really managed to cut yourself deep, didn't you?"
She was sure that he could hear the thundering of her heart, for it was all too apparent for the young woman who could do nothing more than gawk at the boy who seemed to be drawing amusement from the situation. His eyes glimmered, taunting her--but for the first time in her life Ran couldn't find the words that would effectively put her opponent's smugness to rest. Instead she shook her head, withdrawing her hand from his grasp and casting her glaze elsewhere. "Baka." Though she could be commended for her efforts, the bout of feigned chuckles that fell from her dry lips lacked the ability to convince herself, let alone the son of a once well-known actress. "Baka baka baka. You're still asleep; you never woke up and now you're going to be late when you really do wake up." As the martial artist chided herself, willing the essence of her words to mix smoothly with reality so that things might be altered and she might have a real explanation for her experience, the blue-eyed boy enjoyed a true laugh--and was promptly tossed a glare.
"Is this funny to you?"
"Maybe."
"I'm trapped in a nightmare and you're laughing at me?"
The long deceased meitantei caught her by surprise again, snatching the young woman's wrist and locking his eyes with hers. The smugness that had thrived but moments ago had retreated hesitantly, giving way to a new emotion that mixed within the endless blue of his eyes--hurt? It mixed beautifully--subtly--so that anyone who glanced upon the meitantei might overlook it, but Ran didn't. "Is it really that bad?" His voice was nothing more than a whisper that echoed through the empty halls, attacked instantly and smothered by the particles of dust that hung in the air. "Being here, I mean." His grip upon her wrist loosened, perhaps to let her know that she was free to leave at any time; she was free to forget all that she had seen, and return home to argue that she had fallen ill and couldn't finish cleaning. The same action also reminded her of a flower as it withered and died; as it lost home in clinging to the short life it was promised and was forgotten. He would be forgotten.
"You must have been so lonely.."
"Baaro. I wasn't lonely."
Pause.
"I thought ghosts couldn't touch anyone or anything.."
"Well, it seems like I can touch you."
"I knew that, baka.."
".. Afraid of ghosts?"
"N-No!"
"Boo."
The last thing the young woman could witness was the smirk that once more played across the meitantei's lips as the corners of her vision became fuzzy. Silently she wondered if it had been a mistake to allow the smugness to sneak back to reign once more, pretending as if it had never fled; if it had been a mistake not to run when she'd had the chance. Deciding that the past was something she couldn't change, and thus wasn't worth dwelling on, she finally relinquished her control to the panic and the many butterflies that had been dancing through her stomach from the moment her fingers had brushed against the metal of the door. Another wave of calmness washed over Mouri Ran as unconsciousness cradled her, promising to shield her until she opened her eyes again. Kudou Shinichi was left to move hastily, gathering the young woman in his arms before she could fall to the ground. He sighed, brushing a few strands from his newest companion's face as her breathing evened. Had this been a mistake? There was no reasonable explanation as to why she could see him when no one else could, why he could touch her, why--
"Sweet dreams, oujochan."