Chapter 26 - 2.1

Chapter 26: Chapter 2.1

And thus the dead rise again

"Jack the Ripper is back from the dead. I want you to help us bring him in."

London, England.

In the office where Siesta and I had taken up residence, Ms. Fuubi sat on the sofa opposite us, smoking.

"...Ms. Fuubi, what are you doing in England?"

"Well, I hadn't told you two, but they sent me here on loan. That contract ended yesterday, though; I'll be heading back to Japan on the next flight."

"I never heard they were reshuffling personnel that way..."

Fuubi Kase was an acquaintance from Japan, a redheaded police officer. However, I hadn't seen her in person for a bit under three years, not since I left Japan with Siesta.

She'd shown up without an appointment just a few minutes ago, skipped the part where she said hello after so many years apart, and thrown a request at us about Jack the Ripper.

"There's no smoking here." "Shut up."

So unfair.

"So, I'm handing this case off to you two. Catch him, all right?" "You mean the, um..."

Jack the Ripper, otherwise known as the Whitechapel Murderer, was the name of the culprit behind a series of murders that had taken place in England in 1888. The culprit had never been identified, and even now, a hundred years later, the singularity of the incident still drew considerable interest.

"Yeah, that's the guy. There've been a lot of incidents using his M.O. lately, here in London. A corpse turned up today, even."

The same M.O., huh? If I remembered right, Jack the Ripper had been famous for his grotesque methods, cutting his victims' bodies apart and

extracting their organs. That said—

"But the incident's over a hundred years old, right? The guy's dead." "Yeah, that's why I said he's come back to life."

"That's just crazy."

Dead people never come back to life. Even grade school kids know that.

...In which case...

"It's a modern-day Jack the Ripper? A copycat?" I asked Ms. Fuubi, who was still blowing smoke through rouged lips.

"You're taking this so damn seriously. But yeah, that's probably it." "Then just start with that, would you?"

"The young lady over there wouldn't take an interest in it unless I put it the other way." Ms. Fuubi narrowed her eyes at the ace detective, who was conked out on her desk.

"Hey, Siesta. She's talking smack about you."

Siesta was resting her forehead on the desk. I shook her a few times...but she didn't even flinch. Now that she'd gotten started on a nap, I guessed that it would take more than this to wake her up. In that case—

"Dodge or die, Siesta." I got up, grabbed a carving knife from the kitchen behind us, and threw it at her.

"...That's not safe."

Still with her face on the desk, Siesta caught the tip of the blade between her fingers. Then she stretched melodramatically and sat up.

"Are you wired to not wake up unless you're in mortal danger?" I asked, plopping down on the sofa with exasperation.

"It's your fault for giving me the opportunity to nap."

"This isn't about opportunity. Sometimes you fall asleep when you're eating. Are you an infant?"

"Huh? You're the baby, aren't you, Kimi? That game you play, sometimes..."

"We have a guest. Shut your mouth, right this second." Listen. Forget what we just said immediately. I mean it.

"So, what was it again? Jack the Ripper has revived in the present?" Siesta gave a small, cat-like yawn, directing her question at me.

"How did you manage to listen to that conversation in your sleep? Also, you've got marks on your forehead."

"My acoustic cells are always working, even when I'm asleep... You're

kidding, where? Are they red?"

"Ugh, you sound like Bat. Here, use your hand mirror and look."

"At least I haven't sprouted a creepy tentacle. Wow, it looks like a pattern."

"Ha-ha! You look like a little kid when you push your hair up. Your forehead's wider than I figured."

"Oh, shut up. You're one of those people who's going to end up bald. Your hair is incredibly fine, too."

"Hey! Don't start touching it. Get off me... Take that!"

"Ow! Well, you've certainly got guts. Flick my forehead, will you?" With a belligerent smile, Siesta lunged at me, and—

"So when did this kind of relationship start?"

Rolling her eyes, Ms. Fuubi blew cigarette smoke. She was watching me and Siesta, who was sitting on my lap.

"I don't know what you mean by 'relationship.'"

"We're just regular, um..." I looked at the girl on my lap, and she looked back at me.

""Business partners,"" we said in unison. The facts were obvious.

I mean, it's me and Siesta, okay? We couldn't possibly be anything else.

Before long, Ms. Fuubi stood up, as if she'd lost interest in her own question. "Well, it's not like I care," she said, stubbing out her cigarette. "Hurry up and go meet the victim."

Mysteries really should be littered with corpses

"This is the work of Cerberus."

Siesta had crouched down and was gazing at a man's bloodied corpse.

We were inside a baroque church building—that was where the present- day Jack the Ripper had committed his murder. Ms. Fuubi hadn't come with us, but the police had made an exception for us, let us across the tape, and allowed us to examine the scene of the murder. However—

"Cerberus?" I asked, puzzled. That didn't seem to fit with the situation. "Your voice sounds weird."

"I'm not great with the smell of blood."

"Why don't you at least pick one? Either tilt your head or hold your nose," Siesta said. "Look." She held up one of the Seven Tools—a small hand mirror—which she wore at her waist.

I see. Yes, the guy in the reflection was striking a very bizarre pose.

Following Siesta's advice, I switched to just holding my nose, then crouched down beside her.

In the back of the chapel, beneath a large cross, lay the body of a dead man who seemed to have been a member of the clergy.

"Don't touch it."

"I know that. I won't leave fingerprints." "Spoken like a criminal."

"Then this case will be closed real quick." Even as I swapped jokes with her, I put my hands together.

After a few seconds of silent prayer, I opened my eyes. No matter how many times you see corpses, you never get used to them. Over the past seventeen years of random trouble, I'd seen my fair share of death. Still, the stink of blood in the air and the clouded eyes of the dead always really messed with my head.

"And? You're saying this Cerberus is the real identity of the new Jack the Ripper?" I asked, squinting at the ghastly scene.

Once again, I saw the corpse of a priest with a gaping hole in the left side of his chest.

"Yes. That's his code name. He's the guard dog of Hades, and they say he

devours human hearts." Siesta brushed her hair behind her ear, her expression as cool as always.

"So you're saying it's them?"

"I can't be absolutely sure yet, but..." Siesta put a fingertip to her jaw. "I'll admit, it might have been different a century ago— When they've committed this many murders in a row, but the police still don't have even a hint of a lead..."

"Well, yeah, I can guess."

As I'd thought, the enemy was SPES— And if our suspect had a code name, he had to be a pseudohuman.

"What's the enemy's objective? Why is Cerberus going around stealing hearts?"

"Hang on. You mean I'm really, genuinely alone? You're sure I'm not actually going to die today?"

"It's fine. I have technically taken steps, so there's a minuscule chance you'll be saved."

"Just minuscule?"

"I'm kidding. Geez."

The trouble is, with you, it never sounds like a joke. "Haaah, I wish you were in the room with me..."

Imagining the worst-case scenario, I sighed in spite of myself. At that—

"...Hmm?" The voice from the telephone took on a teasing quality. "So you wanted to spend the night with me."

"—! That's not what I meant. Just in terms of physical safety."

"You wanted to share a bed with me."

"I told you, that's not it. Besides, you sleep rough; just how many times do you think you've hit me with a back-fist?"

"Then you wanted to take a bath together?"

"Your baths last forever. I can't hang out with you that long." "You never say what you mean when it comes to these things." Unfortunately, that is what I mean.

"I kinda just don't care anymore... Okay, I should go."

The inane exchange had drained any motivation I had to care about this. I'd

just gamble on those steps Siesta had said she'd taken. I started to hang up, but just then...

"Siesta, are you outside?"

From the receiver, I thought I'd heard a distant car horn.

"Huh? Well, yes, but..."

"Go back to the apartment before it gets too late. Cerberus isn't the only dangerous type around."

"..."

For some reason, there was silence on the line. "Siesta?"

"...Ah, sorry. It was just novel to have you treating me like a girl, so—"

"You were startled?"

"I laughed."

"Oh, you did, huh?"

Well, don't. Jerk.

See what happens the moment I show her a little kindness? "All right, I'm hanging up."

"I can't go near you, but I'll at least leave the line open, so you don't get lonely."

"I'm not lonely or anything... But, I mean, if you really, really want to keep the line open, then I guess I could—"

"Yes, okay, okay. You don't have to say the rest; I get it."

A few hours passed. The more unwelcome a hunch or prediction is, the more likely it is to be right on target. What exactly was that prediction, you ask? That would be the time we'd predicted Cerberus would attack.

—I felt someone in the room with me.

According to my vague internal clock, it was a little past midnight.

I should have been alone. Just now, though, I was sure I'd sensed something moving nearby.

It had been several hours since that phone call. I'd been killing time by ordering room service and watching TV. Then I'd turned out the lights and gotten into bed, although I hadn't changed out of my clothes. Pretending to be asleep, I'd waited, bracing myself for that extremely unlikely possibility... and apparently, I'd lucked out.

The enemy was probably alone.

I'd turned off all the lights, so it was very dark and very quiet. I couldn't even hear the air conditioning. And then, just now, my ears had definitely caught the sound of a pistol's safety being released. Somebody was making an attempt on my life. However—

"Sorry. I'm used to almost getting killed."

To a certain extent, I could sense where my opponent was. Leaping up from the bed to catch them off guard, I trapped their gun arm between my legs in a cross lock.

"...—!"

It was my life, and I'd defend it myself.

Yes, I was counting on Siesta as a last resort, but I'd do what I could do on my own. Trouble had been finding me for as long as I could remember, so I'd acquired a certain level of proficiency in martial arts to deal with it. Lately, Siesta had trained me even more.

"You're gonna end up with a broken bone or two, all right?" Sorry, but I show no mercy to pseudohumans.

"—...!"

The gun fell from the enemy's hand, but I didn't release my hold. Siesta wasn't nearby, and I had to buy her enough time to get here.

"Don't move. You'll only hurt... Uh, wha—?"

Suddenly, I couldn't feel the upper arm in my hold anymore, and then— "Ghk, hah...!"

A sharp pain ran through my face. I bit my tongue, and the taste of iron immediately filled my mouth.

"...What, you dislocated your own shoulder?"

It was dark, so I couldn't actually see them, but I was pretty sure I was right. They'd pulled their right arm out of its socket, then flipped their whole body to land a solid kick on my face. Not a move for your average human.

"Ha-ha. I guess it wouldn't be, huh?"

No "average human" here. This was Cerberus, Hades' heart-devouring guard dog—and the revenant Jack the Ripper.

"Well, Siesta, I bought you thirty seconds."

Pinning my hopes on my partner, although I had no idea where she even was, I took a step, then swung my right leg. I was aiming for the gun the enemy had dropped. My leg cut through empty space; I'd come so close, too.

"Damn..."

He'd picked it up first. Then I heard a gunshot and felt the bullet whiz right past my cheek.

"So you don't care how you kill me, huh, as long as the job gets done?" Was he planning to slash through my chest and take my heart afterward?

I ducked down as low as I could, taking cover. I was at a disadvantage when it came to weapons, and without the ability to see, there was nothing else I could do. There had to be something I could do—

Oh. Guess I still had this.

"That's a police officer for you. It's like she saw this coming."

I still had the Zippo in the right-hand pocket of my trousers. I pulled it out, lit it, and flung it onto the bed.

"...!"

The fire blazed up, spreading in the blink of an eye...until the sprinklers in the ceiling came on.

"Gotcha."

"...!"

The enemy had recoiled, startled by the jets of water, and I shoved him down onto the bed.

"Game over."

Sorry, Siesta. It looks like I won't be needing you this time.

"All right, let's see who you really are."

I reached for the light switch beside the bed, flipped it...and saw a girl in camo, her dripping blond hair clinging to her cheek.

She'd been pinned by the prey she'd meant to hunt, and her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, or maybe fear. Her jewellike and very un- Japanese eyes were slightly damp and wavering.

"You're..."

Then the girl told me who she was.

"It's me—Charlotte Arisaka Anderson."