The Siacatmesecat does not own Yu Yu Hakusho. She apologizes for the wait.

Diary Twelve

Ah, the new-found joy of sandwich making. The smell of freshly baked bread, the cool texture of the mayonnaise, the spicy aroma of the mustard and vinegar! The thick, wet sound of knife on high-quality lunch meat, the beauty of the finished creation, stacked high with dairy, meat, and condiments, crowned by an olive on a toothpick! Okay, so our sandwich was probably too big for Hiei’s mouth, and we didn’t know whether or not he liked sandwiches, or ate at all.

Nevertheless, Elly and I gazed lovingly at our creation. It was a work of art. But we could not afford such delay, and with one last adoring smile for our masterpiece, we prepared for Hiei’s arrival. The place we picked was perfect; a sandy strip of beach dotted with stone formations. We left the sandwich (surrounded by a lavish garnish) on a tablecloth on the smoothest and lowest of the formations. Elly used the wire she’d been given by our Mentor to set up a tripline-style alarm around the sandwich area. The wire was laid around the stone with the food on it, and anchored in a small hollow hidden within one of the other stones. If Hiei crossed it, it would fall from its place. The finishing touch was the hardest. Using our fast-food skills, we mixed mustard and sand together to create a sticky substance. Arranged directly around the sandwich, it was hardly discernable from the rest of the beach and hopefully would slow down any escape attempts from Hiei.

Then we waited. Elly tucked the pepper-grinder into the pocket of her Lenny’s apron. I gripped the handle of my meat cleaver with determined resolve. The empty mayonnaise jar we stored in an easy-to-reach spot in the hollow. Waiting was the hardest part. The air was full of suspense, suspense so thick that you could have cut it with a butcher knife, though a serrated seven-grain bread knife would have done the trick better.

Wait! What was that sound?! Could it be…Hiei?

The string fell from its perch. Elly trembled next to me. It was him. The plushie had come. Silently we stared at each other as the soft, squishy sounds of Hiei softly squishing across the sand resounded in our ears. Then there was a very wet squish. A squish that could only have been caused by an artful, plushie-catching combination of sand and mustard.

“You’re gonna pay!” I screamed, and threw myself out from the hollow. Hiei hissed and lunged for me, but couldn’t get his feet out of the mustard sand. I swung the meat cleaver and slammed it into the ground. It was off by an inch, and he dodged. Elly catapulted out from behind me. The pepper-grinder whirred as she spun the dial. Fresh pepper sprayed out into the air, momentarily confusing him.

But then...Hiei was free! He pulled his feet from the mustard sand and hurtled through the air straight for my face. I swept the meat cleaver up in self-defense. The blade caught the front of Hiei’s felt hair and he fell, still hissing, to the ground. Elly worked her pepper-grinder. I raised the cleaver for the death strike. This was for Hunter and Bunky, but most importantly, for Joy and Luna. Our friends were dead. Now it was his turn to die. I slammed the cleaver down.

“Nooooo!” Elly threw herself onto the plushie. “Shea, don’t!” she sobbed. I threw all of my weight heavily to one side, landing on the ground. The cleaver soared beautifully threw the air. It fell in a graceful arc, perfectly halving the sandwich behind us.

“Elly! What are you doing?!”

“You can’t, Shea! Don’t do it!”

“Why not? He killed Joy and Luna—he would have killed Hunter and Bunky! Why are you defending him?”

“I can’t bear to see Hiei hurt! Please, put him in the mayonnaise jar, but don’t kill him!”

I stared at her. For one crazy moment, I wanted to throttle her. Then I started to cry. Hunter and Bunky and Luna and Joy. And Elly. They were all hurt from this terrible ordeal. I knew then, reader, that I was scarred, too. When something so horrible touches someone, it spreads like a cancer.

“Shea,” Elly whispered to me, her hands clamped around the now-defenseless plushie. “I just couldn’t accept that it was him. Then, when I finally realized it? I felt so guilty! Please, if we destroy him, that will make it official. All this is my fault!”

“It’s his fault, Elly! Not yours! He’s the murderer!”

“But he’s my plushie…my responsibility!”

“Oh, Elly.”

For every anime, there is a moral. Love one another, search for Paradise in your own backyard, don’t fall down wells, and don’t get yourself hit by a car. It’s human nature for us to look for a lesson in something, whether that means learning to love the fast food and sandwich arts or trying to find meaning in an episode of Ranma ½. Like destiny, it’s inescapable. Like love, or a force of gravity. The moral of this story was simple. In the end, I could not descend to the plushie’s brutal level. In the end, I was a human being, and I had to respect Elly’s feelings.

We sealed Hiei up in the mayo jar and tossed it into the ocean. Together my twin and I buried the two halves of sandwich and carried our tools back to Lenny’s, but K-neesama would not take them.

“They’re yours, now,” she told us. “You are the victors—you have proved yourselves worthy. Now go home. Your dad and brother will be worried.”

We followed K-neesama’s advice. There was no talking on the way back to our house. It was empty, and we realized that Dad and Jared must still be at the police station with the officers. The officers…

“Hey Elly, what about Officer Ruiz? Wasn’t there something kind of fishy about him?”

“Well, he did seem a little strange. But I don’t think he could have been involved. After all, we got Hiei. K-neesama said so.”

“I guess you’re right…”

Elly hid our warrior weapons in the closet, one of the uncharted wilds of the house. Although it wasn’t nearly as dirty as Luna’s room, our closet was definitely up there. Once we were satisfied that no-one but us would be able to find them again we took some time to change out of our old, messy clothes. Quick showers fixed most of the dirt smears on our hands and knees, and took care of gross hair. For once, I didn’t take ages to obsess over my clothes and makeup. It was then that we realized we’d forgotten something.

“Shea, did I take my necklace off?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“It’s missing.” Elly pointed to the empty space between her V-neck and chin. Sure enough, the necklace, the one from Alixes, was gone. I touched my throat. Mine was still there.

“Maybe it fell off in the fight. We’ll go look for it, okay?” But Elly shook her head. “Not now. Let’s go to the police office first.”

Our father was furious, but that was only to be expected. After all, we had escaped from custody in the station while there was a murderer on the loose. Finally Officer Hestor calmed everyone down.

“It looks like the girls just went home to change,” she said with a slight frown. It was obvious that she wanted more out of us. Elly nodded dumbly while I franticly tried to figure out just how much time sandwich training, plushie-defeating, and primping had taken us. But in the end, it wouldn’t matter. We’d defeated the plushie. That was what really counted.

“Officer Hestor!” It was Officer Runde. “Ruiz just returned!” There was suddenly a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach as Officer Ruiz entered the room. His hair was slightly damp, and he was dangling the keys to the police boat in one hand. He smelled like the ocean. Elly’s eyes met mine, and both pairs widened in horror as he held out a very familiar mayonnaise jar.

“This was the only thing I found,” he explained. Then, to us, “We thought that the criminal might have been coming to Liberty by boat, so I did a quick search of the coast.” I could have sworn that he was smiling at us.

While the rest of the adults discussed the prospect of catching the criminal, Elly moved closer to me and grabbed my hand. A look of fear so intense that I could have screamed just from looking at her painted her face. We stared at the jar, the jar we’d put Hiei in. Reader, I’ve told you everything, honestly and without hiding the truth. Thank-you for believing in my story. Now, it’s time for a confession. There’s a reason I’ve told you about the horrific events surrounding Elly’s plushie, and it isn’t just to confess or gain sympathy. If only I’d ignored Elly! If only I’d gone with my instincts, I might have prevented this. Hand in hand, Elly and I stared at the jar. It was empty except for a few turquoise moral of this story is simple.

Be careful around your plushies.

A/N

Thank-you for reading. The Siacatmesecat declines to be held legally responsible for any unfortunate “accidents” involving plushies that may in any way harm her readers. She suggests that you start taking sandwich-making classes at your local deli. Immediately. Shea K. Maddox thanks you for your time.