I've been playing with an idea storage locker for a while, where I can stick all the little pieces of stories I've half-way written and never finished and finally decided to stick them here. They're the ideas I like, but have lost the steam or nerve to complete for one reason or another. So instead I present these drabbles as they are for your viewing pleasure. Hope you enjoy!
This is an idea that jun-chan and I have been playing around with for a while. It revolves around the idea of Kaito as an evil, serial killer Phantom of the Opera sending notes to his love interest Aoko written by his victims in their own blood, and of course our Detective Boys are on the case. The drabble below came about in our messaging when she asked me if she could kill Ran. I had to reply no and explain my theory that if she killed Ran, Shinichi would go AWOL. I tried to convince her to kill Hakuba instead - no one mourns the British anyways, but I don't think she fell for it. Anyways, here's the little drabble her question inspired.
He staggers into the room, listing to one side. A half-empty bottle of brandy swings from one hand as the other gropes for a matchstick. Striking the piece of wood against the desk, a flicker of flame briefly illuminates the haunting eyes of a drowning soul. Shakily, an oil lantern is lit, and light hesitantly spreads across the shelves, leather bound tomes waiting for eager hands.
Those hands that grasp eagerly no more.
Brandy is chugged in great heaving gulps, a stream of fire desperate to consume all. If only he could be so lucky. He collapses into a chair, mindless of the grime staining his greatcoat. It's not like she's around anymore to criticize. He swigs another drink to erase the traitorous thought.
It's been two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks searching, scrambling, digging for clues, only to smack against a brick wall of silence. No one knows anything. No one's saying anything. No one's doing anything. Well, that's not entirely correct. The damn bastard's still killing others, and he's stuck running around in circles. He needs a clue, he needs a break. He needs his wife back.
He remembers the telegram. "Lord Kudo, you are needed down at police headquarters. He's struck again. We're sorry." The lump of terror settling in his soul with those last two words. We're sorry. We're sorry. We're sorry.
Aren't we all sorry?
He finally understands what drives men to murder. Looking down at Ran's face, the tears that still glistened upon her cheeks, the fading warmth of her body, her chestnut locks hacked off here and there in some macabre mange - oh, he understands. And when he meets up with that bastard, he'll make sure he knows as well. Kudo fingers the dagger at his hip with his free hand, lost in his haze, the empty hole where his heart should be.
Guess that makes him the same as all the other victims. He had to bury Ran without her heart - he'll bury this bastard without his too. Kudo drains the bottle and shatters it against the walls. He'll kill this bastard if it's the last thing he'll do.
Jun-chan makes for a great living muse. Just saying.