Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 5 - Part 5
One hour later, a man and a bat
stood at the entrance of Rose Funeral, ringing the doorbell. Of all the places
where they could potentially find someone willing to share the current
situation while keeping some distance from Richard and the others — and where
strangers coming and going wouldn’t seem suspicious — this was their only real
option.
[Hello, may I help you?]
The one who appeared was Gary, dressed
in a suit as usual. Standing beside Al was Kyiv, now transformed into a
strikingly beautiful woman — plain one-piece dress, wide-brimmed hat, subtle
makeup that somehow made her radiant. When their eyes met, she gave Gary a
charming smile.
Claiming to be a friend from Pat’s
high school days, Kyiv spoke in a high-pitched, feminine voice, insisting she
had something she just had to tell Pat. In response, Gary said, [Would
you mind waiting here for a moment?] and led them into the living room.
[Sorry for the mess,] he said,
clearing a space on the sofa.
[We’ve got another guest in the
parlor room from the facility right now. Could you wait just a bit? I’ll call
my sister as soon as she’s done,] he added before stepping out.
The table was cluttered with pizza
boxes, bottled water, magazines, newspapers, towels, and camisoles, all
carelessly stacked.
[People actually live like this?
Still a garbage heap, I see.]
It was no wonder Kyiv looked
exasperated. Pat had delicate hands and masterful technique—but only when it
came to embalming. Once she stepped out of the prep room, she made messes even
a sloth would be shocked by. Not just Gary, but even Al had found himself
tidying up now and then. But during their absence, the place had descended into
utter chaos.
After about fifteen minutes of
waiting, the door burst open with a bang.
Wearing nothing but a tank top and
short shorts—basically underwear—Pat appeared, face contorted like a lion right
before it kills an impala.
She probably just woke up, having
worked through the night. Narrowing her already irritated eyes, she growled
lowly:
[You're Al's roommate, aren't you?]
[You figured it out quick.]
Pat scratched her smooth scalp
roughly.
[It's my job. I study people’s bone
structure all the time. So, where the hell have you been? Everyone’s been
worried sick. And where’s Al?]
From between the dirty mugs on the
table, Al poked his face out and let out a “Gyaa!” (Sorry for making you worry).
Pat stared at him, then sighed and
placed a hand on her forehead.
[Right... you’re a bat at this hour,
huh. Well, you seem fine, at least.]
She plopped down heavily on the sofa
across from them—on top of a pile of her own shed clothing.
[I don’t speak Bat. So, Kyiv, you
explain why you two vanished without saying a word after the fire.]
Kyiv glanced around the room, then
gave a pleasant smile.
[Before I explain—can I clean the
table first?]
[Why?]
Pat tilted her head, genuinely
puzzled.
[I’m scared a cockroach is gonna
crawl out any second.]
[Oh, just smash it if it does.]
Pat didn’t back down. No—she
probably genuinely believed that.
And Kyiv was, at heart, a pacifist.
[Fair point.]
Knowing it was a losing battle, Kyiv
gave up quickly and decided to pretend he hadn’t seen the devastation of the
table in front of him.
Kyiv gave a brief summary: the actor
living in Richard’s house, Stan, was most likely the one who attacked Al and
set the fire. To escape Stan’s eye, they had hidden out in the ruins of an
abandoned hospital.
Pat, listening with one leg propped
up on the sofa, suddenly interrupted:
[Hey—this Stan who attacked Al...
you don’t mean Stanley Griffith, do you?]
Kyiv fluttered his heavily mascaraed
lashes. [You know him?]
[Only in passing. He came by here
after the fire. I was asleep, so Gary talked to him, but he was asking if Al
had gotten in touch.]
So Stan was looking for them.
[He was a client once. I embalmed
his lover.]
His deceased lover… the image of the
actress Ashley—whose footage Stan obsessively rewatched—flashed through Al’s
mind.
[I didn’t know at the time, but
apparently she was an actress. Gorgeous woman. When Stan came to see me, the
first thing he said was, ‘I heard you’re the best in L.A.—I want you to take
care of her.’ He said he wanted to send her off looking more beautiful than
anyone in the world. She’d shot herself in the temple with a gun, so I had to
be really meticulous with repairing the wound.]
Could it be...? A few small truths
stacked up inside Al, slowly forming a single, ominous conclusion. He had never
understood why Stan held such a grudge against Richard—why he was trying to
destroy not just the man but his reputation, too. But maybe… just maybe…
Was the lover who committed suicide
really Ashley? He wanted to ask, to confirm, but he couldn’t speak like this. He’d
have to wait until he turned human again… and as if in sync with that thought,
heat began spreading through his body. He glanced at the clock. 2:57 p.m.—just
about time. Three minutes before 3 o’clock. His time to turn human again.
"Gyaa, gyaa, gyaa!"
The loud screech made both Pat and Kyiv
stop their conversation.
Kyiv leaned over to peer at Al,
asking, [What’s wrong?]
When Mitani had been around, they’d
been careful about his transformations—but Pat knew everything, so maybe they’d
relaxed too much and forgotten. Al flew up to the wall clock and pointed a claw
at the long hand.
[What kind of message is that
supposed to be?]
Pat looked puzzled.
[Ah, that’s right—it’s almost time
for him to turn back. You see, Al drank my blood and became almost a complete
vampire, but for two hours in the afternoon, he's forced to turn into a bat.]
Kyiv explained the situation to Pat
and then turned to Al with a glance toward the back of the living room.
[Over there, maybe?] he said,
nodding toward the kitchen.
No, not "over there"!
If he changed back into a human here,
he’d be completely naked. Even if Pat was used to seeing people of all ages and
genders nude, that didn’t mean Al wanted to add to the collection. He was not,
by any means, an exhibitionist.
"Gyaa gyaa gyaa!" (Bring
clothes, please!)
No matter how much he cried, Kyiv
just gave the kitchen a brief glance and said nothing. It was clear—he didn’t
want to step into that place. The kitchen was messier than the living room,
more chaotic, and likely crawling with things.
There was no helping it. Al decided Kyiv
could bring his clothes later. He flew into the U-shaped kitchen that opened
off the living room and landed beside the dining table, lying face-down. Fire
rushed through his veins. His fur sank back into his skin, his claws retracted,
and his limbs returned to their human form. In seconds, he was human again. Since
becoming nearly a complete vampire, the transformation had gotten faster.
So, yeah—he really was a bat
for exactly two hours. As Al rubbed his hands and feet, a thought struck him. The
involuntary bat-form only lasted two hours now. Kyiv could stay human 24/7 and
turn into a bat whenever he needed. Maybe Al could do that too.
He’d just turned human, and since he
was still naked, this was the perfect time to test it out. “Turn into bat!” he
willed.
…Nothing happened.
He tried again, harder this time:
“Bat, bat, bat!” Still nothing. He slumped. Maybe it really wasn’t
possible. Then he remembered the memory manipulation.
Back then, what worked was
visualizing it clearly in his mind. Maybe if he imagined the bat transformation
in detail, he could make it happen. He closed his eyes and pictured his
bat-self: a tiny, fur-covered body, claws, wings stretched thin with
membranes—His body began to heat up.
But it wasn’t the full, erupting,
lava-like heat he felt during a complete transformation. The heat faded,
cooling off instead.
No good.
Al opened his mouth to call for Kyiv
to bring clothes—And was shocked when all that came out was a "Gyaa!"
Like a bat’s cry. Panicking, he
looked at his hands. Human. Fingers, palms, arms—still normal. The kitchen
looked the right size too—nothing warped or oversized like when he was a bat.
But something was wrong. There was
no color. Everything around him was in grayscale. That was only supposed to
happen in bat form—he should’ve regained full color vision as a human. He
reached up and touched his head, then froze.
Panicking now, he checked his neck,
his body. From the neck down, he was fully human. It looked and felt normal. But
above the neck—The shape wasn’t right. Fuzzy hair, a protruding nose and mouth…
A horrible suspicion crept over him.
There was no mirror in the kitchen. But he remembered: in the hallway, just
outside the kitchen door, there was one on the wall.
That was in the residential area,
where Gary didn’t usually pass during work hours. He cracked the door, made
sure no one was there, and stepped into the hall. From inside the room, Kyiv
called out, [Al, you okay?] But right now, Al could only answer with a single,
high-pitched "Gyaa."
The mirror that had been in the
hallway was gone. Had Pat, drunk as usual, stumbled into it and broken it? Come
to think of it, there was another mirror in the office just diagonally across
the hall. Al peeked through the hallway window to check outside. Gary’s car
wasn’t in the parking lot. He was definitely out. That meant it should be safe.
Al quietly opened the office door.
[And so, the government has...]
A voice made his whole body freeze,
but he quickly realized it was just coming from the television.
Was Gary here? But his car wasn’t
outside... maybe he lent it to someone, or sent it in for repairs. Still, no
reaction came from within the room. Al peered through the narrow opening.
The window directly ahead was wide
open, and a thin curtain swayed gently in the breeze. Gary was there, lying on
the couch beneath it, eyes closed. Earlier, he’d said someone was visiting, but
it seemed they’d left. His breathing was calm and steady, and mixed into it was
the sound of grinding teeth. Probably fell asleep watching TV again.
Going in was a risk.
Just as Al started to close the
door, he caught sight of his own reflection in a small mirror on the right—and
froze in shock.
He’d expected it, but seeing it for
himself still hit hard.
He glanced once more at the sleeping
man. Gary, who could sleep with the TV blaring, probably wouldn’t wake if he
moved carefully. Al slipped silently into the room and approached the mirror.
What he saw was a fusion that defied
all laws of life—his head was that of a bat, while the rest of his body was
human. It was awful. Even worse than his full bat form. He couldn’t walk around
outside like this… well, maybe during Halloween. He could probably manage at a
holiday event, but under normal circumstances? Not a chance.
Unless... maybe if he wore a paper
bag over his head so no one could see. Didn’t an old movie have a character
like that?
While sinking into despair at the
hideousness of his hybrid form, he suddenly remembered—Akira had once said he
liked Al’s bat face. If that were true, then this form, with a human body and
bat head, might actually be Akira’s exact type.
If someone could love him like this,
maybe choosing this form wasn’t such a bad idea. But he couldn’t go on a date
like this, and his voice was still just that bat-like”Gyaa”, so he couldn’t
even have a conversation. Folding his arms, Al sank into serious contemplation.
No—he didn’t need to decide for himself. He could just show Akira and let him
choose.
[I was brainwashed by the Peaceful
House leadership!]
The familiar voice drew his
attention back to the television. On the screen was the hijacker Giraffe. The
name written beneath him read “Edward Ings.”
In the video, Giraffe—no,
Edward—stood proudly in his prison uniform, chest puffed out.
[Even if they say I committed
murder, I don’t remember it at all. I came back to my senses during the
hijacking—it was divine guidance.]
He was claiming brainwashing and
pleading not guilty. After his statement, the newscaster said in a flat tone, [The
defendant will undergo a third psychiatric evaluation...]
Edward Ings. Giraffe. The memory
came rushing back. Under Angel’s command, Edward had killed Ashley. And then—
Clatter. A noise startled Al into turning around.
[Hiiiiiiie!]
At some point, Gary had woken up.
Still on the sofa, he stared at Al with a twisted mouth and wide, trembling
eyes.
[G-g-god... p-p-please save me!!]
Al tried to say [S-sorry]—but what
came out of his mouth was a sharp “Gyaa gyaa”. That only made Gary more
terrified, and tears started pouring from both his eyes.
If he couldn’t explain, then the
only option was to run. Al dashed out of the office and back to the living
room.
The moment Kyiv and Pat saw
him—naked, and in this half-human, half-bat state—they nearly launched
themselves out of their chairs in shock.
[What the hell are you!? A burglar!?]
Pat dropped into a full fighting
stance, completely on guard, while Kyiv, hands raised in a non-threatening
pose, just stared at Al and murmured, [Could it be...]
[Al, is that you?]
Al nodded vigorously. Pat flung her
arms wide and shouted in disbelief, [You’re telling me this is Al!?]
[Why the hell does he look like a
monster... Well, now that I really look at him, I guess I can kind of see the
bat face in there.]
[This is a first for me too,] Kyiv
said calmly.
Wanting them to understand the
situation, Al tried opening his arms wide in an exaggerated gesture and
screeched, “Gyaa gyaa!”—but no amount of bat-speak was going to get the point
across.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway.
Al quickly dove behind the sofa where Kyiv was sitting.
[Sis!]
Sure enough, it was Gary who burst
into the room.
[What now? You’re so noisy.]
Pat responded with absolute peak
irritation.
[I-it was there. I saw it!]
[What did you see?]
[A werewolf!!]
“Gyaa” (Huh?), Al let out a small
screech and peeked out from behind the sofa.
[It was a werewolf. Covered in hair,
huge mouth, staring me down. I swear it!]
Hair only covered his head, his
mouth wasn’t that big, and he hadn’t been glaring. Not to mention, he
was a bat, not a wolf. The story was getting seriously exaggerated. Pat crossed
her arms slowly and tilted her head.
[How old are you?]
[You know how old I am, don’t you?]
[I said, how old are you!?]
Intimidated by his sister’s force,
Gary muttered, [Twenty-six.]
[You’re twenty-six years old. A
full-grown man. And you’re throwing a fit over seeing a werewolf? You sound
insane.]
[It’s not a lie! I’m telling the
truth!]
Gary’s expression was one of pure
desperation.
[I almost got eaten by a werewolf!]
The distortion of the facts was
incredible.
[Well, let it eat you. I’ll collect
the remains and embalm them perfectly. If it makes national news, it’ll be
great advertising for us.]
There was a short silence, then Gary
clenched his fists and yelled, [I’ve had enough!]
[This place is a haunted house!
Ghosts are normal, we’re always short on chairs for funerals. I’m sick of
setting out extra chairs for people who aren’t even alive! I wanted to get the
place exorcised, but you, Sis—you said “No need” and shut it down...]
[Of course I did. By your logic,
every single corpse I process could turn into a ghost. Besides, you know how
expensive it is to get an exorcist every time. A little ghost here and there,
an extra chair now and then—deal with it.]
[That’s easy for you to say! You
don’t see them! I’ve had women vanish right in front of the restroom
door. I’ve felt someone tapping my shoulder when no one’s there. I don’t want
to go through that anymore!]
[Oh, shut up! If you hate it that
much, go work outside. You haven’t seen anything in the garden, have you!?]
[You’re such a jerk, Sis!] Gary
screamed, flinging a grade-school level insult behind him as he stormed out of
the living room.
Kyiv, looking concerned, asked, [Is
he going to be okay?]
[He’s fine,] Pat replied without
hesitation. [He always throws a tantrum like that after he sees something.]
Now that Gary was gone, Al crawled
out from behind the sofa. First, he got dressed. Then he picked up a piece of
paper and scribbled down an explanation of how he’d ended up as a bat-man
hybrid.
Kyiv read it over and, rubbing his
chin, said, [So you tried to turn into a bat.]
[That might be a mistake beginners
often make.]
Pat, licking a candy bar she’d
excavated from the tabletop, pointed at the bat-man and said, [I don’t care
what you do, but fix that head. It’s not so bad when you’re bat-sized, but at
human size it’s just plain creepy.]
Under Kyiv’s guidance, Al focused
his mind. To return to his original human face, he had to go through a few
steps—reshaping his features, pulling the fur back in—but somehow, he managed
to return to the face of Albert Irving, and regain the ability to speak with a
human voice.
[I kinda feel bad for scaring Gary
like that.]
As Al reflected on it, Pat waved it
off with a casual [He’ll be fine.]
[He’s got a surprisingly thick skin,
actually.]
Well… Al wasn’t so sure. Gary seemed
pretty delicate to him, but it wasn’t worth arguing over, so he let it go.
[Hey, your hair and eyes turned
black. Looks like you’ve leveled up as a vampire. Honestly, I think I prefer
you this way.]
Black hair and eyes tended to make a
man look more rugged, and Pat had always liked the solid, sturdy type—her
preferences were consistent. But that aside, there was something more important
Al wanted to ask.
[Hey, wasn’t Stan’s actress
girlfriend named Ashley?]
[No,] Pat replied immediately.
[I can’t remember exactly, but it
wasn’t Ashley.]
Ashley had refused to join Peaceful
House. That alone might have been fine, but she went so far as to mock the
cult, which earned Angel’s wrath. Angel had ordered his subordinate, Giraffe,
to kill Ashley and stage it as a suicide. That much Al had seen
firsthand—memories he had picked up by accident during the hijacking, from
Giraffe... Edward Ings.
Ashley’s death had been ruled a
suicide, and at the funeral, Angel had started spreading the story that [Ashley
killed herself because Richard dropped her from the film.]
That had come from Director Frenz,
one of Richard’s acquaintances. Maybe Angel had spread the rumor just in case
suspicion ever came back to him.
And Stan believed that lie.
Stan, who had loved Ashley deeply.
He blamed Richard, and infiltrated
his household, waiting for the right chance to crush him—reputation and all.
Then Al and Akira happened to show
up at Richard’s house. Stan must have realized he could use them as part of his
plan...
But the whole theory hinged on
Ashley being Stan’s lover. Without proof, it all fell apart.
And right now, Pat had said clearly [The
name was different].
[Pat, can you check the name of
Stan’s girlfriend?]
[I told you, it wasn’t Ashley.]
[That’s her stage name, right? I
want to know her real name. Please.]
Pat sighed with a [Can’t be helped] and
grabbed the smartphone that had been sitting on top of a pizza box.
[Gary, where are you right now?
What? Outside?]
When Pat pulled back the curtain,
they saw Gary had brought a small table and chair into the shade of a tree in
the yard and was working on his laptop. Al was beginning to understand what Pat
had meant earlier by [surprisingly thick-skinned].
[The winter before last... no, maybe
it was spring? Doesn’t matter. Bring me the list of bodies I embalmed between
February and April.]
Outside the window, Gary shook his
head while still holding the phone.
[You’re saying you’re too scared to
come inside? Don’t give me that crap. Get in here right now!]
After Pat’s shout, they saw Gary
slowly shuffling his way back inside the house.
Ten minutes later, pale-faced and
clutching a file, he appeared in the living room. The moment he spotted Al
sitting on the sofa, he let out a startled, [Oh!]
[Al! Where on earth have you been
all this time?]
He rushed over and grabbed Al’s
shoulders tightly, as if to confirm he was real.
[I’m sorry for taking time off from
the job.]
[Don’t worry about that. Your house
burning down? That’s way more important.]
Gary gently rubbed Al’s shoulder
with genuine concern.
[I didn’t even notice you were here.
And hey, you dyed your hair? Your eyes are black, too. Did you change your look
or something?]
[…I wanted to look a little more
manly.]
Al deflected vaguely. Gary gave a
big nod.
[I get that. Wanting to be more
masculine, I mean.]
Still spooked by the whole werewolf
incident, Gary set the file on the table and quickly left the room.
Pat opened it and started checking
names. Between February and April, she had embalmed ninety-eight bodies.
Considering she was the only embalmer, that was quite the pace. Of those,
fifteen were in their twenties.
[Here it is.]
Pat held out a document. Written on
it was: [Monica Landy, 28 years old]. That name—Monica—sounded familiar
somehow.
Kyiv, who had been looking over the
document, audibly sucked in a breath.
[What is it?] Al asked.
Kyiv touched his chin and let out a
quiet hum. [It seems I might know this woman, Monica.]
When it came to people Kyiv “knew,”
Al could only think of romantic partners he’d shared meals with. Surely not…
[I never met her directly. But
remember the man who turned you into Swiss cheese in Chicago? When I was
probing his memories, I saw her—Monica Landy is his sister.]
[What!?]
Al remembered now. Back when he
failed to chase the man who’d attacked Richard and ended up tied inside a sack,
he’d overheard that man arguing with a woman—likely his wife. They'd said
Monica had been an actress, and her death had unhinged him. The details
matched. Monica had been the younger sister of the man who blamed Richard for
her death.
That situation mirrored Ashley’s
exactly.
[In that man’s memory, at Monica’s
funeral, Angel Sachs was shouting like mad. Saying things like, ‘Ashley died
because Richard took her out of the role.’ Huh? Ashley...? Oh, Ashley must’ve
been Monica’s stage name. Wanna see for yourself?] Kyiv asked.
[See what?]
[I think I can transfer that man’s
memory to you.]
Kyiv’s fingers touched Al’s
forehead. In an instant, a sultry image of a glamorous blonde bombshell burst
into his mind, and Al instinctively shut his eyes with a startled, [Whoa!]
[Oops—wrong memory.]
Like flipping a channel, the image
flicked away and was replaced by what looked to be Monica. A cute little girl,
then gradually growing into a beautiful young woman—her brother’s gaze watching
her was intense, more like how a lover would look than a sibling. After
graduating high school, Monica moved to Hollywood and began using the stage
name “Ashley.” Her brother recorded every scene where Monica appeared as a
background extra, watching them over and over again. Then came the parting. The
image cut off just as he was clinging to her coffin, wailing uncontrollably.
[I skipped over the unnecessary
parts, and also the scene where you got shot.]
It seemed Kyiv had been considerate.
And now, at last, the truth was clear.
Ashley and Monica Landy were the
same person. She had been killed by Giraffe, acting on Angel’s orders. At the
funeral, Angel lied and said [Ashley took her own life after being dropped from
the role by Richard], and that lie was taken at face value by Monica’s
brother—and her boyfriend, Stan. That’s how Richard ended up with a target on
his back.
[So, what does all this mean?
Transferring memories, reading minds—you two are speaking another language or
something, I swear.]
Pat, still sitting cross-legged on
the sofa, tilted her head.
[Ashley—Stan’s girlfriend—didn’t
commit suicide. She was murdered. By a follower of Angel Sachs, the cult leader
of Peaceful House.]
At Al’s explanation, Pat frowned and
spread her hands wide.
[You mean that sketchy woman who got
arrested for murder? This is getting more and more confusing.]
With a sigh, Pat snapped her
fingers. [Oh right, speaking of Angel—one of her followers has been on the news
nonstop, claiming he’s innocent. The psychiatrists say he has legit memory
loss, and there’s a chance Angel manipulated his mind. Now human rights groups
are getting involved, and it’s a whole circus.]
Pat reached into the trash pile of a
table without hesitation, pulled out the TV remote, and hit the power button.
She started flipping channels to find a news broadcast.
[Angel Redeem World]
Just as she landed on one, a creepy
voice echoed through the room, making everyone flinch.
[Ah, there we go. It’s on.]
Angel’s face filled the screen,
followed immediately by footage of Giraffe.
[I’m innocent! I am a victim of this
evil cult!]
Giraffe’s bright red hair burned
like flame, and his clear brown eyes held not a trace of doubt as he cried out
his plea.
Click.
The screen went black—Pat had turned
off the TV.
[I don’t like this Edward Ings guy.
What’s this “I’m innocent” crap? Brainwashed or not, he still killed someone.
That’s a fact.]
Then, hugging a grimy cushion to her
chest, Pat continued, [So, what are you two planning to do now? Vampires can’t
exactly go report things to the police, so are you thinking of getting revenge
on your own or something?]
"Revenge"—that word didn’t
sit quite right.
[Richard’s still being targeted, so
we have to stop that... but we’re still figuring out how to handle it.]
Al’s answer earned a noncommittal [Hmm]
from Pat.
[If I were you, I’d fly straight
over to the bastard and tear him to pieces. …Oh, right, I need to tell Akira
that you’ve been found.]
[Akira knows I went missing!?]
[At first, I didn’t say anything.
Telling him would just make him worry for no reason. But then the fire got on
the news, made a big splash. I guess he heard about it from Richard or someone,
and ended up contacting me.]
Pat picked up her phone.
[Ever since you disappeared, Akira’s
been messaging me all the time like “Send me equipment,” “Send me books.” And
every time, at the end like a footnote, he’d add “Any word on Al?” And he keeps
asking for the same books I already sent. It’s obvious he just wants an excuse
to check in. …If he’s that worried, he should just say so from the start. That
man is so damn indirect.]
He was worried about me. Just knowing that made Al’s chest
twist so tightly it almost hurt.
[Pat, have you talked to Akira?]
[We mostly message on social media.
Sometimes we talk on the phone. Depends on the time difference.]
[That’s nice... I wish I could hear
his voice. …Akira doesn’t pick up when I call.]
[The time difference with Japan is
what, sixteen hours?] Pat glanced at the clock, then picked up her phone and
started dialing.
[Hi, Akira.]
The name alone hit Al like a shock
to the heart, nearly sending it flying out of his chest.
[Morning over there, huh? How’s the
weather? …Hey, come on, let me make a little small talk at least. …Busy? Well
excuse me. Just one quick update. We found Al.]
She paused there and held the phone
out to Al, mouthing [Hurry].
With trembling hands, Al took the
phone and pressed it to his ear.
[Hey, Pat. Pick up. Where did you
find Al? He is alive, right?]
It was really Akira’s voice… The
inside of Al’s eyes burned hot.
[Just “found him” doesn’t tell me a
damn thing. Is Kyiv with him?]
The voice of the one he loved, for
the first time in four months.
[Stop screwing around, Pat. Don’t go
quiet—tell me everything.]
Even though the voice was angry,
just hearing it made Al so happy it felt like his heart would burst. Akira…
Akira… he wanted to see him. He wanted to talk to him. He wanted to hear his
voice forever.
Al desperately pushed down those
feelings and handed the phone back to Pat. With her usual unfazed expression,
Pat chatted with Akira and then ended the call.
[Still as gruff as ever. His only
redeeming quality is his embalming skills... Wait, Al, what’s wrong?]
Tears were pouring down Al’s face in
heavy drops.
[I-I’m... fine.]
His whole body trembled.
[I’m fine... really...]
Apparently unable to bear it, Kyiv
gently said, [Al, you don’t have to hold it in.] That kindness broke through
the dam of Al’s emotions. He clung to Kyiv’s lap and cried.
“I’ll go back someday. I’ll
definitely return to his side…” Al repeated the words to himself again and again, trying to convince
his heart it only needed to endure a little longer.
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