Invisible: Part One

**This story is written so the writing style reflects the state of mind of my characters and because of how extremely different my main character’s mindset is from the norm, it’s … difficult reading at first.  Things improve quickly, though.  I’m going to ask for a favor.  Please don't judge this story on the first blip and first chapter alone!  Read more before judging and please continue to read!  It gets much more interesting and really funny.  Also, I’ve just recently changed this story from past tense to present tense, so if you notice anything that sounds funny, please let me know!  Thanks and I hope you enjoy my story!!**



Invisible

         I disappeared.  I was invisible.  I no longer existed in this world.  All record of me was erased, even from memory.  Six months later, they found me.  I reappeared as if from thin air and they didn’t know who I was or where I could have possibly come from.  Now I exist again, my existence has been noted in records and people remember me as the girl who appeared, impossibly, in a room with no windows or doors, no means of entering or leaving.  Using heat sensors, the space had been searched just hours before for a missing child, but when they checked again … a splotch of fading heat.  They broke into the closed-off room and found me, dirty, stained, and, miraculously enough, not invisible.  They saw me for the first time and I thought … ah, now I can be seen, now I am no longer invisible … now I truly exist.

         But I wasn’t visible for long.  Their fear, curiosity, disgust, pity … everything faded after a couple years and though I live among them, they no longer see me.  I walk with them, but they don’t notice me.  I am invisible again.

         They never found who took me.  An abduction, they call it, though they can’t be sure since they have no idea who I really am or where I came from.  The only evidence they have that someone was with me are the scars, many of them in places I can’t reach, therefore couldn’t have inflicted on myself.

         I don’t remember what happened, not really.  All I remember is the darkness, the pain, the stench of blood, and HIS face.  So I know there was someone, someone who knew me before I existed, but I never told anyone.  They won’t believe me.  Half of them hardly believe I’m real at all and not some kind of spirit or demon, like in the old days.

         So I keep my nightmares to myself, locking them away in the darkness that consumes me.  If I had a heart, perhaps that’s where I keep them … I don’t really know.  Do I have a heart?  This thing beating in my chest is a heart, right?  I’ve been around people long enough to know a heart does more than just pump blood through your veins.  It holds all your secrets, your desires, and your deepest emotions, most especially love.  But I don’t have any love.  Either I lost it somewhere … or I never had it to begin with.  All I have is my darkness, my pain, and HIS face.

Chapter One

First Thaw

         My alarm beeps once and I open my eyes.  The dim ceiling greets me, lit by the light filtering in through the curtains covering the window above my head and the three nightlights spread around the room.  I stare up at it, my expression blank as I carefully put everything back in its place.  I hide the memory of my nightmare in my darkness, still my trembling, and concentrate on stopping the tears that fall unhindered from my eyes.  The old pain fades somewhat, but not completely.  It never disappears completely.

         Five minutes have passed.  It’s 6:00 A.M.

         I get up, letting my covers slide carelessly to the floor.  My body is covered in sweat.  It’s summer and the temperature averages eighty-six degrees Fahrenheit at night and over a hundred during the day.  I have no air-conditioning, only a small window fan.  It’s sweltering under my blanket, but I can’t sleep without it.  My therapist told me it’s an insecurity issue.

         I shower in ice cold water, not caring the warm water is turned off.  I come out shivering.

         It’s 7:00 A.M.

         I dry myself and dress.  I have only a week’s worth of clothes to choose from.  I pick out my black pants and long-sleeved, dark green shirt, my Monday outfit.  Combing through my hair with my fingers, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.  I’m thin, but not gaunt—not anymore—with natural olive skin.  I have a few freckles, but not too many since I spend little time in the sunlight.  My eyes are dark forest green, pure and simple with no highlights or streaks of other colors or shades.  They’re too thin, too, giving me a permanent glare.  I have black hair.  It looks straight, but has a bit of a wave to it, especially on the underside.  It was cut in the hospital, but I haven’t cut it since and now it falls in natural layers past my elbows, almost to my hips.  All my other features are average, though my lips are too thick, my neck too long.  I am more gangly than anything and too short despite that.  All-in-all, I am not pretty.  I’m not even cute.  I am less than average.

         Why did HE take me?

         I brush my teeth while slipping on my socks and sneakers.  I put on the only thing I had when they found me; it’s a plain silver chain with a small oval pendant about the size of my thumbprint.  The pendant is a gold oval with translucent glass set in it that changes color when looked at from different angles.  It seems to have some vague shapes etched in it, too; people or animals maybe, I can’t tell.  I hang the chain around my neck and put the pendant under my shirt.  No one will be able to tell I’m even wearing it.  It is invisible, like me.

         I rinse my mouth and grab my almost-empty backpack.

         It’s 7:30 A.M.

         I lock the door as I leave my apartment and tuck the lonely key into my right pants pocket.  I walk down the halls, past people who don’t see me.  Down the stairs and to the street, I travel unseen.  I go to the bus stop at the corner of the block and wait, standing apart from the small crowd already gathered there.  Most of them stand together, talking and laughing, high school students like me.  They all go to my school—I recognize their faces—but they never glance in my direction.

         I scan the street, searching the faces present for HIS.  HE’s never there, but it’s a habit to look.

         The bus arrives.  I board through the rear door and take my seat in the rear-most left corner.  I stare out the window.  The bus begins to move.

         It’s 7:45 A.M.

         The buzz of conversation fills the bus and grows louder with each stop.  I don’t join in.  I never do because no one talks to me, they don’t see me.  Even the people who sit right next to me pay me no mind.  If they would say something obviously directed at me I’ll probably answer, but I’ve been completely silent for a year now, since my therapy ended.  I can’t even remember what my voice sounds like.  Do I have a voice anymore … or have I lost that, too?

         We arrive at the stop outside the school at 8:05 A.M.  I get off the bus last, having to hurry so the bus door doesn’t catch my backpack again.  I scan the milling crowd for HIM, but HE isn’t there.

         Taking a slow, steadying breath, I walk through the entrance onto school grounds.  I weave through the crowd of students and school staff, accustomed to being the one who always has to move out of the way.  Someone bumps into me, but they don’t glance over to see who they hit or apologize.  I stumble a little, but manage not to fall, and continue toward the open school doors.

         Going straight to my locker, I drop off my backpack and head to my first period.

         It’s 8:10 A.M.

         I sit in the back, by the window.  The light of the sun shines directly on me, but I hardly feel it.  I know it’s hot despite being so early, but I’m cold.  Even when I’m so hot I’m dizzy, I feel cold.  The darkness that consumes me eats all sensation of warmth, leaving me cold to my bones.  I can’t remember ever actually feeling warm.  I know I’m warm, but it’s a detached feeling—more an awareness than anything else—like it’s from someone else entirely.

         I stare out the window as the classroom fills.  They talk and laugh and ignore me.  Actually, they don’t even ignore me, they simply don’t notice me.

         I stare out the window, but I don’t see anything.

         It’s 8:15 A.M.

         The teacher arrives and the room grows quiet.  The lesson starts after the morning announcements and I stare out the window, only half-listening.

         The bell rings and I get up.  I wait as everyone leaves, not wanting to try and shove through the throng of students massing at the door.  If I do I’ll touch them—or, even worse, they’ll touch me—and I don’t want that to happen ever again.

         When the room is empty, I leave.  I go to my next period, not bothering to visit my locker.  I sit in the corner and wait.

         It’s 9:30 A.M.

          “… Jane Doe …”

         I tense, my eyes going wide.

         Someone said my name.  Someone saw me.

         My heart pounds, a sensation so unfamiliar it hurts.

         Why, after all this time?  No one’s said my name for a year, not since my therapist.  Why now?  Why do they see me now?

         The feel of eyes on me makes my skin crawl.  They’re looking at me and I can hear them whispering.  It’s only a few people, but still … why now?  Why is my existence no longer invisible?

         Something begins to well in my chest, something I don’t understand.  It makes my heart beat faster and my hands tremble.  It feels somehow familiar and that scares me.  Vaguely I’m aware I’m breathing too quickly.

         I get out of my seat and run.  I can feel their eyes on my back as I flee the classroom.  The hall is empty, but I keep running until my legs begin to shake from the effort.  I make it to my locker.  Skipping gym is taking its toll.

         I lean against the lockers, panting heavily, making my throat hurt.  My heart still throbs from pounding so much.  My head is reeling, too.  All these new things at once …I feel overwhelmed.  It’s been a whole year, after all, since I heard someone say my name and even longer since I last exerted myself physically.  It’s too much; I feel dizzy.  Sliding down the locker, I wrap my arms around my legs and bury my face between my knees.

         Why did I run away? I was scared, something I only feel in nightmares, but why was I scared?  I’ve never been frightened before when people notice me, as seldom as it happened.  It elated me, just a little, to exist in someone’s mind, even for only a moment or two.

         I guess it’s just been too long, I conclude, unhappiness making the thought heavy and dark, two things I’m more accustomed to.  I’m used to being invisible again.

          “Hey … are you alright?”

         I don’t look up to see who he’s talking to.  When I calm down, I’ll move.  I’ll go back to class, like I know I should.  If I don’t, Mr. Rawson will ask why I have an absence when he receives the report from the school at the end of the quarter.

          “Are you feeling sick?  Hey …!”

         Someone touches my shoulder.  Gasping, I scramble away from the physical contact, my heart threatening to beat itself out of my chest.  I look over at the boy who touched me and meet wide chocolate eyes.  I stare, unable to look away from a gaze so direct, and my racing mind studies him even as it contemplates fleeing.

         He seems tall, though he’s keeling at the moment, with an average build that belies neither great strength nor great weakness.  He has lightly sun-tanned skin and shockingly bright spiked blonde hair with dark roots that seem almost black.  His eyebrows are blonde, but his eyelashes are black.  He’s wearing a stylish sleeveless green hoodie and blue jeans.  He has a silver loop earring in his right ear and a leather band on his left wrist.  There’s a pink sweatband on his right forearm.

         It’s not HIM.  The thought is unbidden and I shiver.  Was I expecting the first person to look straight at me to be HIM?

          “I’m sorry,” the boy apologizes, talking softly, “I didn’t mean to scare you ….”

         His gaze finally leaves mine and I involuntarily relax, but he’s studying me, his eyes intent as they slowly make their way down my body.  He’s frowning and it only deepens the longer he looks.

         I start to shake.

          “What …” he breathes, his eyes widening as his brows drawn together with horror and another emotion I know but can’t name.  It’s bright and harsh.  Terror unlike anything I’ve known for over a year washes through me.  “What happen—”

         I scramble to my feet and make a run for it.  He shouts something and I run faster, confident he’s chasing me.  I race through the halls to the staircase and frantically climb to the second and then third floor.  I don’t dare look back as I run down the hall to the janitor’s closet.  Throwing the door open, I rush in, slamming the door behind me.  Climbing the shelves built into the back wall, I lift the hatch in the ceiling and pull myself up and out onto the roof.

         I collapse, trembling uncontrollably.  My heart’s beating so fast and hard it burns and I feel myself crying.  Tears fall, but they aren’t the usual cold, detached tears.  These are hot, so hot they burn my eyes, and they fall faster than ever before.  I’m gasping for breath, sobbing, crying out with a barely audible voice that cracks with disuse.

         I squeeze my eyes shut, but HIS face greets me and my mouth opens in a silent scream.

         I know that emotion I saw on the boy’s face.  It’s anger, fury, and whenever HE was angry HE hurt me more, made me bleed, made me scream, more so even than when HE was happy.  Anger is terrifying.  Anger means pain.

         I cry, curled up in a defenseless ball, my eyes wide open so I won’t see HIS face.  I cry until my voice stops working altogether, but the broken sobbing doesn’t stop, it’s just silent.  My tears dry up after a couple hours, but I continue to cry regardless and I can’t stop shaking.  Every inch of my skin pours cold sweat and the heat I finally felt fades almost completely.  I am cold again.

         The sun is touching the edge of the roof before I move.  I sit up, my movements slow due to my stiff, cold muscles.  I glance at the hatch next to me.  It’s still open.

         I sit there for several long minutes, observing my surroundings with the same detached feeling that’s been my constant companion since they stopped seeing me.  The world hasn’t changed; everything is still the same.  The city and the sky are as dull as ever, holding no life, nothing like what I’ve heard described by others.  It might as well be black and white, for all I can tell.

         Everything inside is the same as well.  I have my darkness, my pain, and HIS face.  And a lingering warmth in my chest … like my terror thawed a corner of my heart.  I guess something has changed.  It’s small, barely noticeable, and I realize I don’t feel quite the same.  I feel … closer to everything, like instead of observing someone else from a distance, I’m actually here, observing from right behind someone else’s eyes.  I’m still cold, but I can feel the hot breeze, though it does nothing to warm me.  The only warmth I can feel is the speck in my chest and it’s so small I expect it to disappear at any moment.  It doesn’t.

         After several seconds of waiting for this tiny warmth and my nearness with the world to disappear in vain, I scoot over to the hatch and lower myself into the little room.  I glance at the clock on the wall.

         It’s 7:50 P.M.

         I missed the rest of school.  Everyone already went home and that means all the doors are probably locked.

         Going to the closet door, I turn the doorknob experimentally and it opens.  I suppose there's no real reason to lock a janitorial closet after all, not when it’s inside a locked building.

         I walk down the hall to the staircase.  I descend the stairs, my steps near-silent so I can listen.  There are some sounds, but they’re just the odd creaking and moaning of any empty, lonely building.  Other than that, it’s dead silent.  It seems I really am the only one here.

         Once on the first floor, I head for the front doors.  They’re locked.  I try all the side doors I know of.  They’re locked, too.  I stare at the last door, my hand still on the knob, wondering if it’s really worth it.  Obviously no one knows I’m here.  True, some people noticed me for the first time today after a whole year of invisibility, but that doesn’t mean they thought about me once I was out of their sight.  Besides, there is no reason to try so hard to leave when all that’s waiting for me is an empty apartment.

         Will the windows be unlocked? I wonder.  But … why does it matter?  I glance around at the windows within my sight.  I could just try a few ….

         I shake my head.  I feel confused, another sensation I haven’t felt for a long time.  Before, I didn’t have anything to be confused about.  I had become accustomed to being invisible all day, day-to-day, week-to-week, month-to-month, and I had fallen into a daily routine that only varied slightly on the weekend.  But my routine has changed and it has my mind confused.  I know it’s a simple decision to try and open a few windows or not, but the confusion has set in and it makes any decision difficult.

         I realize I’m still holding the door handle.  Sighing, I make my way back to the third floor.  Back into the janitor’s closet and out onto the roof, I go in utter silence, my head buzzing with perpetual confusion.  I don’t know what I have to be confused about—I made a decision, after all—I just am.  Sleep will help.  Probably.  I hope it does.

         Hope?  I blink in surprise at the thought.  When was the last time I hoped for anything?  Probably the day I realized people were noticing me less and less … like I was slowly fading from existence.  It frightened me and I’d hoped when I woke the next morning, everyone would still see me.  It was a vain hope.

         Until now.

         I lay next to the open hatch and stare up at the darkening sky.  If I stay awake long enough … will I see the stars?  I’ve never seen them before.

         Time passes and the sky continues to get darker.  When it’s too dark, when I begin to tremble, I move to the edge of the roof so I can see the lights of the city if I turn my head.

         The stars come out.  In a sea of dark blue, they’re pinpricks of light, like little spots of hope.  But I don’t feel anything, even realizing that.  I am empty … numb.  Just like always.  I am detached—from a closer distance, now, but still detached—like I don’t truly belong in this world at all.  Maybe that’s why I can’t stay visible.  I don’t know.

         Will they see me in the morning?  If they do … maybe that will answer my question.  If they see me, maybe I belong here after all.

**Here's the second chapter!  You get to officially meet the other main character, Ryo!  Also, there are some Japanese words in this story.  The translations are at the end of each chapter.**

Chapter Two

Interest and Disinterest

         Ryo is still standing by the lockers, staring after the strange green-eyed girl, when his friend comes to find him five minutes later.  Tommy touches his shoulder and he jumps.  He didn’t hear him coming up behind him.

          “What are you staring into space for?” Tommy asks, laughing.

         Shaking his head to clear it of his angry thoughts, Ryo smiles.  “Nothing really, I was just thinking.”

         “Well, Mr. Hannes sent me to find you,” Tommy says.  “Besides, if you have to think you might as well do it in a classroom.”

         Ryo laughs half-heartedly, his mind still on what he’d seen … and what he hadn’t.  They walk together back to Mr. Hannes’ class and Tommy chatters away the whole time, but Ryo can hardly pay attention.  He keeps seeing the terror on that girl’s face.  It was so strong it’s like she’s about to break.

         The rest of the morning passes and Ryo remains in a contemplative silence.  He hardly notices when someone tries to talk to him and, despite receiving invitations to eat lunch with several people, he immediately goes in search of Tommy, the only person he considers an almost-friend.  As soon as he enters the cafeteria, he scans the tables in search of the tall redhead, but at the same time he finds himself looking for the girl.  He scans the room twice even after finding Tommy, but he doesn’t see her.  Sighing, he makes his way to where Tommy is sitting with a large group of friends.

          “Can I sit with you?” Ryo asks, glancing at the open spot on the bench across the table from the senior.

          “Sure, man, but aren’t you eating?”  He looks at Ryo’s empty hands with one raised brow.

          “Nah, I’m not hungry,” Ryo shrugs.  He takes a seat, ignoring Tommy’s disbelieving expression.  “Hey, Tommy,” he calls, drawing the senior’s attention back to him from where it wandered to the joke being told down the table, “what do you know about a girl with black hair and green eyes?”

          “You’re actually asking about a girl?” Tommy chuckles, his eyes wide with exaggerated shock.  “I thought they’d all introduced themselves to you by now.”

          “She’s got olive-colored skin,” Ryo persists stubbornly, “and she has a couple faints scars on her neck and hands.”

         Tommy frowns, having finally caught onto Ryo’s dark mood.  “Well … the description sounds kind of familiar ….”  He takes a large bite of his hamburger and chews slowly as he mulls over the information.

         Ryo feels a twinge of unease.  Despite the school having more than two thousand students, Tommy can tell you anyone’s name, or at least a year and class, with nothing more than “she was short with blue glasses.”  It’s weird he has to think so hard.  Ryo’s never seen this girl before, which led him to believe she’s new, but if she is Tommy would have known her description even before she set foot in the school and she’d be the first he’d think of.

          “Aren’t you talking about Jane Doe?”

         Ryo frowns.  “Jane Doe?” he asks.  A nickname? he wonders.  A weird nickname?

          “Yeah, she’s … a junior, I think.”

         Ryo’s eyebrows furrow.  He thinks?

          “Don’t look at me like that, man, cut me some slack!” Tommy protests.  “She’s like a ghost, that one.  I was sure I hadn’t even seen her around for the last year until you brought her up.  Why do you want to know about her?”

          “I’ve never seen her before,” Ryo mutters, trying to comprehend what Tommy said.  This girl’s been in his school since before he transferred in three months ago and she didn’t even look vaguely familiar.  How could he have not noticed her?

          “Like I said, she’s like a ghost or somethin’.  You hardly even realize she’s there when you’re standing right next to her!”  Tommy leans across the table and lowers his voice like he doesn’t want his friends to overhear.  “She’s creepy, she is.  I don’t know anyone who’s ever seen any kind of expression on her face.”

         She was terrified. Ryo remembers her wide eyes, stark fear trembling in their depths with such strength there was no room for any other emotion.

          “She’s bad news, dude, even without the whole Ghoul’s Hollow thing.  If you want my advice … just steer clear.”

          “Ghoul’s Hollow?” Ryo inquires sharply, a bad feeling making his gut clench.

          “I guess you haven’t heard of it, huh?” Tommy muses.  “You being a foreign exchange student and all.  You’ve got stuff just like it in Japan, right?  Places so badly haunted no one wants to get close?”

          “What, like haunted houses?”

          “Kinda,” Tommy replies, his expression somewhere between excitement and fear, “but Ghoul’s Hollow is just one room.  It’s in the abandoned part of town in this huge empty warehouse by the river.  In the center of the warehouse there’s this brick room about as tall as a story and as wide as a bus is long.  No one knows who built it, but it’s been there for as long as anyone can remember.  People say they built the warehouse around it to hide it.  And to muffle the screaming.”

          “So it’s a building inside a building,” Ryo shrugs, unimpressed by Tommy’s horror story.  Tommy’s a lover of exaggeration, so Ryo doesn’t feel guilty about doubting his word.  Besides, he doesn’t believe ghost stories.  Unless there’s proof.  “What’s it got to do with this girl?”

          “That’s where they found her!  The police,” Tommy whispers.  “Inside Ghoul’s Hollow!”

          “So?”

          “So?!” Tommy hisses, leaning closer.  “Dude, that place is seriously haunted!  People who get close always hear voices … and screaming.”

          “You don’t think it was just some kind of practical joke?” Ryo asks uneasily, not at all liking where this is going.  If those stories are true … he knows why people would hear screaming and it has nothing to do with ghosts.

          “There’s no way in or out of Ghoul’s Hollow, Ryo,” Tommy says, his eyes wide and his voice hard, like he was trying to make Ryo understand.  “It was built without any windows or doors.  And it’s sitting on solid bedrock that’s at least fifty feet thick.  She appeared inside that place!  They had to break a hole in one of the walls—which are like two feet thick, by the way—just to get her out!  Everyone assumed it was some kind of hoax, right?  Pros were called in the next day and they examined the place, but even they couldn’t find any way for her to have gotten in there.”

         Tommy pauses as if expecting a question or comment, but Ryo can’t say anything.  What could he say?  He thinks he knows what probably happened to her, but now ….  Appearing in a place with no way in or out … is she human?  He thought so when he saw her, but now he isn’t so sure.

          “Pretty much anybody you talk to will tell you she isn’t human,” Tommy continues, making Ryo start at the similarity to his own thoughts, “although people’s opinions go between her being a demon or possessed by a spirit.  Or both,” he chuckles uncertainly, trying to lighten the mood.

         Ryo doesn’t feel like smiling.  “Those are some pretty harsh rumors,” he comments, keeping his voice even with some effort.  Ryo would admit this girl doesn’t seem human, but the way Tommy said it makes it sound like a bad thing, a very bad thing.

          “I don’t blame them,” Tommy says.  “I mean, she attacked the doctor who tried to examine her after she woke up in the hospital.  Like literally attacked.  She was so violent she broke a nurse’s arm!”

         Ryo refrains from commenting.  It would be unnatural for him to defend this girl he only met briefly and knows next to nothing about.  Nor does he want Tommy to become estranged toward him.  He likes Tommy despite his superstitions and prejudices.  Ryo is popular, but it’s more awe and intrigue than any desire to get to know him.  Thus he has no friends, not real friends anyway.  And Tommy is the closest anyone has gotten to becoming a friend since he was in third grade.  So he keeps his mouth shut so Tommy won’t notice his anger.  Tommy obviously sees this girl as someone to be avoided, even as someone who’s somehow less than human.  But, imagining the situation in the hospital, Ryo can’t help taking her side.  She was terrified when all he did was lightly touch her shoulder and, according to Tommy, she’s been out of the hospital for more than a year.  If she was that frightened when someone startles her now, how frightened must she have been right after going through whatever trauma caused her fear?

          “Don’t give me that look, Ryo, it’s true!  My dad works at that hospital you know, he heard the story directly.  And he saw the aftermath,” Tommy says, assuming incorrectly the half-hidden expression of disbelief on Ryo’s face is because of his tale instead of the insight into his character that lies behind it.  Ryo wants to be friends with Tommy, but he has to admit he’s disappointed in his lack of open-mindedness.  He sounds like everyone else; superstitious and afraid of anything different from the norm.  It’s understandable, but after two-hundred years with no need for youkai hunts, why does everyone still assume anything even slightly abnormal is due to youkai or spirits?

          “Is that even possible?” Ryo asks, referring to the nurse’s arm.  “I mean, if she was in the hospital she must have been pretty badly hurt, right?  How could she have had enough strength to break someone’s arm?”

          “Fight or flight reflex, dude,” Tommy shrugs.  “Adrenalin.  That or demon power.”

          “You keep saying she’s a demon, but she didn’t seem all that demonic to me,” Ryo says.  His voice wavers a little with his still-present anger, but Tommy doesn’t seem to notice.

          “Oh, don’t let looks deceive you,” Tommy whispers conspiratorially, “my grandpa told me demons look human most of the time.  Besides, isn’t it weird?  I mean, she just appeared out of thin air in a place everyone knows is haunted with nothing on her but a necklace.  The police thought she was a victim of abduction, but no matter how hard they looked they couldn’t find any record of her anywhere.  The newspaper reported that the search spread world-wide, but they still couldn’t find anything.  They tried asking her about what happened and she didn’t say anything.  She’s not mute.  I know she can talk, I’ve heard it myself, but she hardly talked at all when they tried to question her, like she had something to hide.  I mean, does that sound like normal behavior to you?  If you were kidnapped, wouldn’t you jump at the chance to help the police catch the sicko who took you?”

         Ryo doesn’t answer and, after a moment, Tommy turns back to his friends.  Ryo ignores the odd looks Tommy occasionally throws his direction; he’s busy analyzing what Tommy told him and there isn’t room for anything else.  The noise in the cafeteria fades into the background as his mind works to make sense of it all.

         Ryo can’t concentrate for the rest of the day.  He can’t stop thinking about what Tommy told him and the fear on the girl’s face.  He finds himself searching for her every chance he gets, but he never sees her.

         When the end-of-day bell rings, he makes his way to the front entrance and waits.  If he sees her again he’s sure he’ll feel better … not so angry, not so confused.  If he sees her again he can confirm whether she’s human or not and then proceed from there.  But human or not, he’s convinced she experienced something more traumatic than anything else he has experience with and that means she needs help.

         Half an hour passes and still he doesn’t see her.  Almost everyone is gone now, and the flood of students has turned into a trickle of school staff and the occasional student.  Pushing off the wall he was leaning against, he goes back into the school and finds himself wandering the halls, searching for her.  When she still fails to appear, he goes to the computer lab.  It’s almost empty with only a couple students in one corner and a teacher sitting at the front of the room reading the newspaper.  Sitting at a computer well away from anyone else, he logs in and enters a search in the internet browser.

         “Girl appears in Ghoul’s Hollow.”

         The first article to appear is a hit.  Opening several that look relevant, he begins to read.

         “…today, Jane Doe opened her eyes for the first time since being found two weeks ago in Ghoul’s Hollow.  The police have yet to release a statement, but sources say she is being questioned ….”

         “During the search for the missing boy, Benton Thom, age 14, search parties discovered a heat signature in Ghoul’s Hollow….”

         “…according to popular belief, Jane Doe is the victim of The Tornett Reaper, an unidentified criminal thought to be responsible for six missing persons from cities along the Tornett River including Benton Thom, the boy who disappeared the night before Jane Doe was discovered in Ghoul’s Hollow.  Due to the fact that no records could be found of Jane Doe along the river or elsewhere, this has yet to be confirmed.”

         “…covered in fresh and dry blood, it was later reported that she had several life-threatening injuries that appear to have been caused by a long knife ….”

         “Despite the help of a renowned therapist, Jane Doe has refused to speak of what happened before Ghoul’s Hollow.  Tensions are running high as the police continue to search for little Benton ….”

         “…among fresh injuries, the doctor in charge of Jane Doe reported older signs of severe physical abuse, whether self-inflicted or otherwise.  Including several poorly healed broken fingers which had to be reset, there were signs of one of her arms having been broken in several places due to it being forced too far backward and old scars deduced to have been made by the same weapon that inflicted the wounds that nearly killed her before the paramedics arrived.”

         “…only a necklace of curious design which has been placed in the police’s custody for investigation ….”

         “Jane Doe is to be released from the hospital tomorrow and moved to an orphanage temporarily.  Concerns have arisen as to whether this is safe.  Having displayed violent tendencies several times already, the police and hospital staff are worried that she may cause harm to anyone who gets too close ….”

         “…signs of repeated rape ….”

         “…after three months she still refuses to speak of her life before Ghoul’s Hollow.  Although it has been widely accepted that it is too late to save poor Benton Thom, Jane Doe persists in withholding information that could be crucial in catching The Tornett Reaper ….”

         Ryo squeezes his eyes shut.  He can still see the articles, though, and their grotesque lack of compassion.

         Taking a deep breath, he searches for articles by date and frowns at what he finds.  Articles that mention the girl become smaller and less frequent as time passes, which is to be expected, but it happens much too fast.  Even just a week after being released from the hospital, there’s a strange lack of interest in her.  It’s unnatural.  He would expect something as strange as this to be prevalent in the city newspaper for several months after she was found, if not more than a year.  Unsolved mysteries are often looked at again, new opinions sought, new angles explored, but there’s none of that.  Just four months after being found and there’s not even the briefest mention of her or Ghoul’s Hollow.  And there hasn’t been anything since, either.

         Widening the search, he finds a few newspapers from nearby cities and even other states have mention of her up to six months after she was found, but there still seems to be an unusual lack of interest.  Why?  How can anyone not want to talk about something so mysterious?  Even reporters, who’re nosier than an anteater after its dinner, don’t want to know what’s become of the girl who appeared out of thin air in a room completely sealed from the outside?

         It doesn’t make any sense.  Even he didn’t notice her until today despite the youkai taint he sensed in her.  With such a deep, widespread taint, how could he have never noticed her?  Or even failed to sense the taint?

          “Five minutes.”

         Ryo jumps and looks up at the teacher lounging in his chair at the head of the room.  He’s staring at him with a look that says he wishes he could be anywhere else.  Ryo quickly closes the pages he opened and logs off.  Gathering his backpack, he gives the teacher a small, apologetic smile for keeping him here until closing time, and leaves, his gaze already turning inward as he contemplates what he read and what it means.

**I hope you enjoyed the second chapter!!  Ryo seems kind of stalker-ish in this chapter, but I promise he had a very good reason to be so nosy.

Here’s the Japanese translation:

Youkai: basically means demon, but if you want a more definite definition you can look it up on Wikipedia.  After researching different possibility, this one seemed the most accurate for what I wanted to portray in this story.  If you disagree, feel free to let me know!