(fic) ManEater Chapter Nine
Dec. 24th, 2006 05:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yellowhordeDisclaimer: I don't own Petshop of Horrors and I make no money from this or any other fanfic I write.
Pairings: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Drama
Rating: R
Warning: Shonen Ai/Yaoi.
Title: Man-Eater
Notes: Sequel to 'Denial' and Story Two in the Arc, which is set before Volume 9's fourth chapter, Dynasty
D awoke into a world of darkness, confusion and pain. A headache, like someone was driving an ice pick between his eyes, almost completely shattered his ability to think clearly. Bright flashes of pain exploded behind his closed lids, like a thousand stars going supernova. At the same time, vague bits of recollection, as if from a nightmare, swirled through his mind, a kaleidoscope of distorted images and memory fragments that sent his heart racing. The last thing he could clearly remember was lying in Leon’s bed kissing him, being kissed in return…
Color splashed across D’s face in a scalding wash. One hand went to his throat. His breath stilled and his eyes snapped open as he encountered strips of cotton gauze. Less pleasant memories began to surface. Slowly, his fingers traced down his throat and lower still until he encountered even more cotton gauze strapped to his bare chest with some sort of tape.
“You need to learn exactly who’s in charge around here.”
The words whispered through his mind and D shuddered as, in his mind’s eye, he recalled the twisted smile and blood-streaked face of a madman. He remembered how the Italian stiletto had almost seemed to shimmer as it caught what little light had found its way into the trash-strewn ally, how the blade had rippled and flashed as it plunged down, again and again, its sharp tip ripping through fabric and flesh. The night reeking of garbage and obsession, hatred and fear… The color blanched from his face and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, shaking his head, denying these memories. The things that horrible man had said… had done… Nausea threatened, but D desperately willed it away.
Getting himself under control, D lay still, struggling to keep his breath slow and steady as he gathered his scattered wits about him. Unfortunately, the pounding in his head made the task difficult. From deep inside, a small voice cautioned that he should be on his guard. He might not be out of the woods yet. Summoning calm and cool rationality, he tried to get a sense of his surroundings.
The air was warm, dry and he could just detect the lingering sweetness of incense. It was not, however, the incense he used at his pet shop. It was lightly sweet and calming. Though familiar, the name of the fragrance danced elusively through his mind, but it slipped away before he could grasp it. He frowned. It was not like him to be so forgetful. He tried to focus his mind, but his thoughts remained chaotic and lacked any real focus and clarity, as if he had been given a shot of Novocain for the mind
‘Where am I?’ He thought but was unable to come up with an answer. All he did know for certain was that he was on a bed, but whose bed remained a mystery. Groaning, he opened his eyes and tried to raise his head, but nausea swept through him, and the pain in his head spiked to an unbearable intensity. Every time he tried to rise, the pain and nausea forced him back down. Finally he gave up and collapsed against the pillow.
When the pain and nausea had finally subsided somewhat, he opened his eyes. He saw only darkness. He shivered and as he did, his fingers clenched the sheets. He hesitated and ran his thumb over the somewhat coarse material. These weren’t his sheets. The covers were thick, heavy and scratchy against his bare chest, feeling as if they had been overly starched.
As D squinted against his pain into the darkness, he vision adjusted enough to make out shapes. He was indeed lying in the center of what appeared to be a king sized bed. He could make out the dim shapes of what could only be nightstands to both the right and left of the bed. There was some sort of faint reddish light on the table to his right and he quickly surmised that it must be the readout from a digital alarm clock, its face turned away from him.
How long have I been out? D mused as he reached for the clock, his fingers brushing against its smooth plastic surface. From his position in the center of the bed, he couldn’t quite reach enough to turn the clock toward him, so he carefully scooted over toward the end of the mattress, flung off the covers and swung his legs over the edge, grinding his teeth together as his headache sent another bolt of agony through his head.
Once the pain quieted back down to a dull thud, he listened intently to the silence of the surrounding darkness. From somewhere in the room he could detect the heavy, rhythmic sound of breathing, slow and even with the smallest hint of a snore.
“Detective Orcot?”
There was no response.
He tried again, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. “Leon?”
Again he was only answered by silence.
After a moment, the breathing changed slightly and the snoring ceased, as if the sleeper had been awoken by his voice. He heard the sounds of cloth shifting then suddenly a lamp was clicked on, cutting through the darkness. D threw up his hand to block the sudden glare. Once his eyes adjusted, he lowered his hand and stared.
A man sat in a padded chair by a small desk. Obviously Oriental, he wore black slacks and a white button down dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. The tie he wore was at half mast and the first few buttons of the shirt undone giving a peek of a crisp white undershirt. There was a black band around his upper arm.
D blinked twice, but was unable to force his eyes to focus clearly enough to make out the young man’s face. It remained a blur despite his best efforts. He opened his mouth to speak, but the young man beat him to the punch.
“So you’re finally awake.”
The voice was not Leon’s obviously, but neither was it completely unfamiliar. A memory tried to assert itself, but it was fuzzy at best. Confused, D lurched to his feet to face his strange visitor, but his legs buckled under him and he collapsed to the carpeted floor with a gasp of dismayed surprise.
“You should stay in bed,” the man said, “You won’t be ready to walk just yet. It’s too soon for your body to have shrugged off the effects of the tranquilizing dart.” As he spoke, he eased himself out of the chair and started to cross over to where D lay on the carpet, stunned. “They must have used a very strong dose to put you out for so long,” He murmured, then almost under his breath, added, “They would have to, in order to bring down a god.”
D watched warily as the man approached. He struggled to push himself to his feet, but his body felt heavy and uncoordinated and would not obey. Then the man was kneeling beside him, his strong arms wrapping around him, helping him to his feet, and then easing him back onto the bed as easily as a parent helps a tired child.
The man carefully pulled the covers back over D then turned and returned to the desk. He removed the pot from a small coffee maker and poured its contents into first one Styrofoam cup, then another. He set the pot back on the burner, then, taking the cups into his hand, returned to the bed where D lay watching him with no small amount of suspicion. Setting one cup onto the nightstand, he sat on the bed next to him. The mattress shifted under his weight.
“Drink this,” the man said, his voice low. The rim of cup pressed against D’s lips and before he could turn his head or even voice a protest, his mouth was flooded with a warm liquid, thick and harsh to his tongue.
Sputtering, he managed to push the cup away.
“It’s bitter,” He complained, but his objection seemed to fall upon deaf ears. The cup was once more pressed insistently to his lips. He almost gagged at the intense bitterness of it, but he forced himself to swallow the vile brew.
“Yes, it is bitter.” His visitor murmured in sympathetic agreement, “but it is a potent herbal tea and it will help dull the pain, dilute the poison in your body, and help with mental clarity.”
Pulling a face, D pushed the cup away once more. “I don’t suppose you would have any sugar to help make this particular ‘medicine’ go down?” He demanded indignantly. “The taste is horrific!”
“Well, yes, actually, I do,” He offered an apologetic smile then went to the desk where he picked up a few condiment packets. Tearing one open, he shifted through its contents. “No real sugar, mind you, but there seems to be a few sugar substitutes.” He gathered a few and brought them over to D for quick inspection. “We have packets of pink, blue and yellow. Pick your poison.”
Selecting a yellow packet and a stirring stick, D settled back and doctored his drink. Three sugar packets later he was able to mask the hideous bitterness and pronounced the beverage, if not good, at least drinkable. The man returned to the small desk a few feet away and dragged its chair until it was positioned next to where D lay on the bed. Then he picked up his own cup on the nightstand and took a healthy swig.
For several minutes the two drank their tea in what could only be described as an awkward silence. The tea, despite its underlining bitterness, or perhaps because of it, worked wonders on D’s headache and mental state. Memory started to clarify a bit and a full accounting of recent events burned to the surface of his mind, perhaps a bit clearer than he would have liked.
D turned the now empty cup around in his hands, noting the hotel logo embedded on its side. An inexpensive, moderately comfortable hotel brand by all accounts, though not one he would chose to stay at if he should feel the urge to travel. He had standards, after all, and they went beyond a clean room, one premium cable channel and a complimentary hot continental breakfast. His tastes were more in line with four star restaurants, luxury accommodations and twenty-four hour room service.
The rest of the room, he noted, could easily be described as your typical hotel room. The king bed was indeed flanked by two nightstands with a brass imitation lamp adorning each. A credenza lay against the far wall, complete with bolted down television set. A small desk with a coffee pot was nestled in the corner. A small incense burner rested near the corner, the last remnants of smoke trailing thinly into the air. All of the wood was cheaply stained oak trying to desperately pass itself off as cherry wood and the room’s drapery and linen was a low toned display of dusty greens, mauves, and purples. All in all, it was nothing special, but definitely a step or three above seedy. And, most importantly, it was clean.
Unconsciously, D touched the cotton gauze that wrapped his narrow chest. He knew that the wounds inflicted by that monster, Kuan Yin, would have healed by now, but how would he explain their lack to the man sitting across from him? Add to that the fact that he felt rather disconcerted at finding himself half naked and practically defenseless in an unknown room, with an unknown man, lying in a bed that was not his own.
“Where are my clothes?” D demanded suddenly, his long fingers biting into the sides of the Styrofoam cup. “And where exactly am I?”
“Calm down, Count,” The man said, soothingly. He set his own cup down and ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. “You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you here, I promise.” As he spoke, he leaned forward, his arm reaching out until he rested a hand on D’s bare shoulder. No doubt he had meant it as a reassuring gesture, but it had the opposite effect. D cast a scathing glare at first him, then the offending hand. Looking almost embarrassed, the man pulled his hand away as if had been burned, mumbling his apologies.
Without another word, the man reached across the nightstand and flicked on the light. D twisted his head away from the sudden glare. He then turned his face back towards the man, and studied his features now that he was able to focus properly. Slowly he came to the realization that this man, although a complete stranger, was of no immediate threat to him.
“I remember you,” D muttered almost to himself. “You’re the man from before…” He groped for a name, faltered for a moment, but then found it within the still somewhat foggy recesses of his mind. The memory of Kuan Yin’s torn face, his deadly smile, the sickening sweet reek of blood jolted to the surface along with it and he shuddered. “Jin Li… you’re name is Jin Li.”
“Yes, that is correct. My name is Jin Li Sung. And it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Count D.”
“But where am I?” D repeated, confused and apprehensive that this man knew who he was without even so much as a proper introduction. “And why am I not in a hospital?”
Jin Li lowered his eyes, and answered in a low, calm voice. “You are in my hotel room, Count. I carried you here after your little altercation with that beast, Kuan Yin Zhang.” He noted a look of aghast horror on the Count’s face, and quickly added, “Don’t worry, no one saw me, I parked in the back and carried you up one of the stairwells. No one knows you’re here… and I want to keep it that way.”
“And my clothes,” D asked, his voice a touch sharp, “where are they?”
“They are hanging in the closet or least what’s left of them. Sadly, I am not a seamstress and even if I were, I would not be able to salvage your clothes after the damage that was inflicted upon them. Also, there was a great deal of blood soaked into the fabric.” Jin Li sighed in an almost dramatic fashion. “It’s a pity, really. They really were magnificent and very costly by the look of them.”
D had actually been more concerned about his current lack of clothing than the condition of one of his favorite chiao-fu. But he kept that bit to himself.
“And as to why you aren’t in a hospital?” Jin Li continued, his expression becoming blank, almost unreadable. “I’m sure you know the answer to that question even better than I do.”
“I – I don’t know what you are talking about,” D huffed, his hands folding tightly in his lap. “I was viciously attacked by two men and have sustained several injuries. I should have been taken to a hospital instead of some second rate hotel room.”
Actually, the last thing D needed or wanted was to be taken to a hospital. The very idea of being poked and prodded by any medical personnel filled him with absolute horror. A certain bit of anonymity was necessary if he was to remain here in Los Angeles for any length of time, and he did not wish for anyone, especially some nosey physician, to find out about his… condition. Any normal human being in his current situation would no doubt be demanding to be taken to a hospital, thus his demands. The fact that he had not already been taken to the emergency room disturbed him. Tiny warning bells, small but insistent, began clanging. Something was not right here…he could feel it.
“Come now,” Jin Li exclaimed, spreading his arms, “Don’t be stubborn. You know the truth of the matter even better than I do, so just stop pretending. I’ve come a long way to find you and frankly, I’m not in the mood to play this silly game of yours.” He jabbed one accusing finger towards an unhappy looking D. “You are no more human than a dragon or unicorn, or any other mystical creature.”
D opened his mouth to protest but Jin Li cut him off with one raised hand. He reached out and snatched hold of D’s arm and held him fast despite the other man’s half-hearted attempt to pull away. “Just a few hours ago, your arm was broken. I felt the bones shift when I accidentally grabbed your arm before you fainted.”
Jin Li’s free hand stroked up along the pale flesh of D’s arm until he came into contact with the spot where the fracture had been, carefully watching the other man’s reaction as he did so. He squeezed firmly at the spot of the break, but the only reaction he got from D was a small intake of breath and a decidedly angry narrowing of eyes.
“Now, your bones are almost completely healed.” He continued conversationally, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes. He gestured toward the white cotton wrapped around D’s throat. D touched the cloth gently, remembering. “That nasty cut on your throat and those gouges on your chest? They’re gone. They didn’t even leave marks.”
Puffing out his breath in aggravation, Jin Li leaned back and regarded D over the rims of his glasses. “I know all about you, Count,” he murmured tiredly, “probably more so than any other human being alive today. So let’s not play these little games. Okay?”
Shaken, D folded his hands in his lap, the knuckles white, his hands trembling. He had never been in a situation quite like this and he wasn’t sure what his next step should be. He needed time to think, to formulate some sort of plan.
“How is it that you know Kuan Yin?” D blurted, blatantly changing the subject. His mind reeled at the information he had just received. This man knew who… what… he was. His father had as well. No doubt this Kuan Yin did too since he had attacked him, prepared to, in Jin Li’s words, take down a god. That would explain how he had known about his father and his grandfather…
Jin Li made no comment on this obvious attempt to change subjects. So D pressed on, his eyes searching Jin Li’s face, searching for a lie.
A smile that was grim and unpleasant twisted the young man’s lips and his dark eyes were fierce and hard as they met D’s. “A rather nasty piece of work, wouldn’t you agree?”
D nodded imperceptibly, his hand unconsciously touching his neck, just below his chin, remembering the little ‘chat’ he had had with that unreasonable madman
Jin Li gave a two shoulder shrug. “By name only, I assure you. I do not hang out with such riffraff… at least I haven’t since my father took me in off the streets.” A look of pain flashed across the young man’s face and D’s memory stirred. “But I knew plenty of guys just like him growing up on the streets of Shanghai, arrogant sons of bitches that would shot you just as soon as look at you.”
“But I knew your father very well. I was, after all, with him when he died.” Kuan Yin’s words hissed through D’s mind. Then it clicked, the black band, the hatred in Jin Li’s tone whenever he spoke of Kuan Yin.
“You’re in mourning for your father,” D said softly, nodding toward the black band on Jin Li’s upper arm.
Taken aback, Jin Li simply nodded his head solemnly. “He was killed-” his voice broke momentarily, but he was able to catch it. Clearing his throat, he started again, “He was killed shortly after I left to come to America… by that bastard Kuan Yin Zhang!”
“And you know for fact that this Kuan Yin killed your father?”
“Of course I do!” Jin Li snarled, his face turning an angry red. “That bastard admitted to it, didn’t he?”
D patted the air in front of him in a ‘stay calm’ gesture. “And what reason would he have to kill your father?”
“My father was a very important man in his own right, and had many enemies, Count.”
“And what was your father’s name again?” D inquired gently, not entirely sure if he had heard it before or not. But it seemed important…somehow.
“Sung,” Jin Li replied immediately and with great pride. “Master Dishi Sung.”
The name resonated along D’s very nerve endings, echoing through his mind until it found the deepest, darkest recesses where his ancestral memories lay. As if struck by a tuning fork, the name vibrated along these ancient mental passages, and his conscious mind followed, searching for an answering vibration, knowing that it existed, he just had to find where.
“Sung,” D murmured slowly, as if in a trance. “That name… it is so familiar to me. Where have I heard it before?”
“My father was the last of a dying brotherhood whose sole purpose was to protect the world from those who would sacrifice all in the name of greed, power and Evil.” Jin Li contributed helpfully. “He could trace his lineage back over one thousand years to his distant ancestor, Emperor Ming Ti of the Sung Dynasty, a powerful dynasty that ruled China long, long ago.”
“Ming Ti…?” D echoed faintly, “The Emperor of the Sung Dynasty?”
“Yeah, I’m sure you have heard of him.” Jin Li replied casually, spreading his hands. “You look like the type to have extensive knowledge of our country’s illustriously past. Anyway, Emperor Ming Ti was killed by General Hsiao Tao Ch’eng, who then placed the Emperor’s oldest son, Chouen Ti on the thrown as a puppet emperor. However, Chouen Ti, a renowned warrior, was also a viscous, womanizing man, you know?”
D nodded his head for he did know… or thought he did. This narrative was beginning to sound eerily familiar. Fascinated and a little horrified, he continued listening to Jin Li’s story in silence, his colorful lips pressed into a thing, anxious line for he already knew how at least part of the story would end.
“This guy once put the moves on a young priestess from the Kunlun Mountains. She must have been some looker to catch the eye of royalty. But then again, all those royal types were used to getting what they wanted, whenever they wanted it. A pretty girl like that wouldn’t have had a chance. But this time, things turned out a bit differently. As beautiful and graceful as she was, she also knew what kind of man the Emperor’s son really was. She resisted his advances and refused his ‘marriage’ proposal.
Jin Li paused and took a long drink of tea. Storytelling was thirsty work and his throat must have been very dry. It was obvious that this was a story he had heard many times before. He set the drink aside and continued. His black eyes were bright and his gestures animated as he continued the story.
“Chouen Ti was not the guy who got rejection often and her resistance enraged him. He immediately ordered not only her death, but the death of her entire tribe as well.”
D’s hand flew to his mouth, his eyes large with shocked surprise. The Sung dynasty… it all came clicking into place. This was connected to the story his Grandfather had told him many times while he was growing up. Before him stood an actual descendant of the man responsible for the slaughter of his people.
Jin Li, caught up in the story telling process seemed oblivious to D’s reaction.
“General Hsiao Tao Ch’eng decided to take advantage of Chouen Ti’s ruthlessness. He formed a secret alliance with him and they plotted to destroy his father, the Emperor. The General murdered Emperor Ming Ti and had all of his wives and children executed. Once they were all dead and Chouen Ti sat firmly on the throne, the General, a royal snake in the grass, if you know what I mean, made his move. He denounced Chouen Ti as a traitor to China, claiming that he had been forced to go along with the new Emperor’s evil schemes. Chouen Ti was executed as a traitor to the crown, and General Ch’eng proclaimed himself first Emperor of the Southern Ch’i dynasty.”
“But not all of Emperor Ming Ti’s descendents had been killed.” D muttered. “Am I right?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Jin Li confirmed, “Ming Ti had had an affair with a beautiful, young noble woman by the name of Li Juan. She was with child when the Emperor was killed. Fearing for her live and that of her unborn child’s, she fled the city and returned to her ancestral home near Shanghai. There she lived in seclusion for the rest of her days, ever fearful that the traitor General would come to destroy her and her child.”
“Are you the final descendant of the Sung line?” D demanded.
Jin Li laughed, but it was bitter and self-depreciating. “No, I am not a descendant of that line. Master Dishi Sung had three sons that would have carried on the family name, but none of them lived to adulthood. I am just an orphan he took of the streets.”
“But I loved him like a father,” Jin Li declared forcefully. “He took me in, loved me as only a real father could. He saw to me education and set me on the straight and narrow. I owe everything to him. Everything!”
“Before I left, he gave me a package and told me to deliver it to you here in America,” Jin Li eyes and voice tight with anger. “He made it very clear that it was important that it not fall into the hands of Evil. And now I’ve found you, and I can fulfill my father’s last wish.”
“You have the sacred blade and ring?” D asked, his voice the barest whisper.
Jin Li reeled back, stunned. “How… how do you know about them?” he stammered.
“By name only,” D muttered sourly. “When Kuan Yin first approached me, he asked for them. But I didn’t have them and had no idea what they were or anything about them. But when I told him that, he became very angry and resorted to violence.” D’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I still don’t know exactly what they are for, but they obviously must be very important to that man otherwise he would not have attacked me.”
“Yes,” Jin Li said, nodding his head, “they are very important to Kuan Yin. To him, it’s a matter of life or death.”
“His life, my death?” D snapped, not liking being in the middle of something he didn’t understand and had not asked to be a part of.
Jin Li offered a meaningless shrug. “More or less.”
D was slightly taken aback by the blunt honesty. “And you have what he is searching for?”
“Yes, I do,” Jin Li rose and crossed over to the closet. Reached inside, he withdrew a medium sized rosewood case which he placed on the bed next to D.
With a flourish, he removed a small gold plated key, which he inserted into the lock. Once unlocked, he pocketed the key and opened the case. While the outside of the case was highly glossy rosewood, the interior was lined with soft leather around foam inserts to hold the items inside securely in place.
The sacred blade was a wicked looking thing that appeared to be made from mixture of steel, cooper and brass. Fascinated despite himself, D gingerly picked up the weapon, testing its heft and balance. The sheath and handle were highly polished brass covered with ornately carved protective charms. The blade was heavy in his hand and wickedly sharp. A dull sort of throbbing seemed to emanate from it, slow and steady like a heartbeat of some terrible creature.
Sacred or not, it was obvious to D that this was no simple ceremonial dagger used to make the wearer look impressive or intimidating. This was a deadly weapon that was used for one purpose and one purpose only – blood sacrifices.
As if in a dream, D set the blade back into the case. His hand hovered over the ring, fingers twitching in the desire to pick it up, slip it onto his finger. The ring, also of copper and brass, glowed with a mysterious inner light. The light danced along its glossy surface like molten lava. Again, D felt the almost uncontrollable desire to take it up and slip it onto his finger, but he sucked in his breath and forced his hands behind his back.
“Put them away,” D rasped, beads of sweat dotting his pale forehead. “Lock the case and put them back… quickly.”
Jin Li hastened to do as he was bid. Once the case was back in the closet, he returned, concern written on his young face. “Are you okay, Count?”
D sucked in a shaky breath, held it then released it slowly. “I will be shortly.”
After a few more moments, D turned his mismatched eyes to Jin Li. His expression was unreadable. “Just what exactly did your father want me to do with those… artifacts?” D demanded in a not quite steady voice.
Jin Li reached into his pant pocket and withdrew a carefully folded piece of parchment with an ornate red wax seal. He held it out to D, who took it carefully.
“He wants you to save the world, of course.”
TO BE CONTINUED
A/N: I don’t know anything about Chinese history. There was a Sung dynasty, of course, but the real history was very different than the ‘history’ I recounted in this chapter. Basically, I’m just making stuff up as I go along, creative license and all that. No offense is intended.
Pairings: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Drama
Rating: R
Warning: Shonen Ai/Yaoi.
Title: Man-Eater
Notes: Sequel to 'Denial' and Story Two in the Arc, which is set before Volume 9's fourth chapter, Dynasty
D awoke into a world of darkness, confusion and pain. A headache, like someone was driving an ice pick between his eyes, almost completely shattered his ability to think clearly. Bright flashes of pain exploded behind his closed lids, like a thousand stars going supernova. At the same time, vague bits of recollection, as if from a nightmare, swirled through his mind, a kaleidoscope of distorted images and memory fragments that sent his heart racing. The last thing he could clearly remember was lying in Leon’s bed kissing him, being kissed in return…
Color splashed across D’s face in a scalding wash. One hand went to his throat. His breath stilled and his eyes snapped open as he encountered strips of cotton gauze. Less pleasant memories began to surface. Slowly, his fingers traced down his throat and lower still until he encountered even more cotton gauze strapped to his bare chest with some sort of tape.
“You need to learn exactly who’s in charge around here.”
The words whispered through his mind and D shuddered as, in his mind’s eye, he recalled the twisted smile and blood-streaked face of a madman. He remembered how the Italian stiletto had almost seemed to shimmer as it caught what little light had found its way into the trash-strewn ally, how the blade had rippled and flashed as it plunged down, again and again, its sharp tip ripping through fabric and flesh. The night reeking of garbage and obsession, hatred and fear… The color blanched from his face and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, shaking his head, denying these memories. The things that horrible man had said… had done… Nausea threatened, but D desperately willed it away.
Getting himself under control, D lay still, struggling to keep his breath slow and steady as he gathered his scattered wits about him. Unfortunately, the pounding in his head made the task difficult. From deep inside, a small voice cautioned that he should be on his guard. He might not be out of the woods yet. Summoning calm and cool rationality, he tried to get a sense of his surroundings.
The air was warm, dry and he could just detect the lingering sweetness of incense. It was not, however, the incense he used at his pet shop. It was lightly sweet and calming. Though familiar, the name of the fragrance danced elusively through his mind, but it slipped away before he could grasp it. He frowned. It was not like him to be so forgetful. He tried to focus his mind, but his thoughts remained chaotic and lacked any real focus and clarity, as if he had been given a shot of Novocain for the mind
‘Where am I?’ He thought but was unable to come up with an answer. All he did know for certain was that he was on a bed, but whose bed remained a mystery. Groaning, he opened his eyes and tried to raise his head, but nausea swept through him, and the pain in his head spiked to an unbearable intensity. Every time he tried to rise, the pain and nausea forced him back down. Finally he gave up and collapsed against the pillow.
When the pain and nausea had finally subsided somewhat, he opened his eyes. He saw only darkness. He shivered and as he did, his fingers clenched the sheets. He hesitated and ran his thumb over the somewhat coarse material. These weren’t his sheets. The covers were thick, heavy and scratchy against his bare chest, feeling as if they had been overly starched.
As D squinted against his pain into the darkness, he vision adjusted enough to make out shapes. He was indeed lying in the center of what appeared to be a king sized bed. He could make out the dim shapes of what could only be nightstands to both the right and left of the bed. There was some sort of faint reddish light on the table to his right and he quickly surmised that it must be the readout from a digital alarm clock, its face turned away from him.
How long have I been out? D mused as he reached for the clock, his fingers brushing against its smooth plastic surface. From his position in the center of the bed, he couldn’t quite reach enough to turn the clock toward him, so he carefully scooted over toward the end of the mattress, flung off the covers and swung his legs over the edge, grinding his teeth together as his headache sent another bolt of agony through his head.
Once the pain quieted back down to a dull thud, he listened intently to the silence of the surrounding darkness. From somewhere in the room he could detect the heavy, rhythmic sound of breathing, slow and even with the smallest hint of a snore.
“Detective Orcot?”
There was no response.
He tried again, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. “Leon?”
Again he was only answered by silence.
After a moment, the breathing changed slightly and the snoring ceased, as if the sleeper had been awoken by his voice. He heard the sounds of cloth shifting then suddenly a lamp was clicked on, cutting through the darkness. D threw up his hand to block the sudden glare. Once his eyes adjusted, he lowered his hand and stared.
A man sat in a padded chair by a small desk. Obviously Oriental, he wore black slacks and a white button down dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. The tie he wore was at half mast and the first few buttons of the shirt undone giving a peek of a crisp white undershirt. There was a black band around his upper arm.
D blinked twice, but was unable to force his eyes to focus clearly enough to make out the young man’s face. It remained a blur despite his best efforts. He opened his mouth to speak, but the young man beat him to the punch.
“So you’re finally awake.”
The voice was not Leon’s obviously, but neither was it completely unfamiliar. A memory tried to assert itself, but it was fuzzy at best. Confused, D lurched to his feet to face his strange visitor, but his legs buckled under him and he collapsed to the carpeted floor with a gasp of dismayed surprise.
“You should stay in bed,” the man said, “You won’t be ready to walk just yet. It’s too soon for your body to have shrugged off the effects of the tranquilizing dart.” As he spoke, he eased himself out of the chair and started to cross over to where D lay on the carpet, stunned. “They must have used a very strong dose to put you out for so long,” He murmured, then almost under his breath, added, “They would have to, in order to bring down a god.”
D watched warily as the man approached. He struggled to push himself to his feet, but his body felt heavy and uncoordinated and would not obey. Then the man was kneeling beside him, his strong arms wrapping around him, helping him to his feet, and then easing him back onto the bed as easily as a parent helps a tired child.
The man carefully pulled the covers back over D then turned and returned to the desk. He removed the pot from a small coffee maker and poured its contents into first one Styrofoam cup, then another. He set the pot back on the burner, then, taking the cups into his hand, returned to the bed where D lay watching him with no small amount of suspicion. Setting one cup onto the nightstand, he sat on the bed next to him. The mattress shifted under his weight.
“Drink this,” the man said, his voice low. The rim of cup pressed against D’s lips and before he could turn his head or even voice a protest, his mouth was flooded with a warm liquid, thick and harsh to his tongue.
Sputtering, he managed to push the cup away.
“It’s bitter,” He complained, but his objection seemed to fall upon deaf ears. The cup was once more pressed insistently to his lips. He almost gagged at the intense bitterness of it, but he forced himself to swallow the vile brew.
“Yes, it is bitter.” His visitor murmured in sympathetic agreement, “but it is a potent herbal tea and it will help dull the pain, dilute the poison in your body, and help with mental clarity.”
Pulling a face, D pushed the cup away once more. “I don’t suppose you would have any sugar to help make this particular ‘medicine’ go down?” He demanded indignantly. “The taste is horrific!”
“Well, yes, actually, I do,” He offered an apologetic smile then went to the desk where he picked up a few condiment packets. Tearing one open, he shifted through its contents. “No real sugar, mind you, but there seems to be a few sugar substitutes.” He gathered a few and brought them over to D for quick inspection. “We have packets of pink, blue and yellow. Pick your poison.”
Selecting a yellow packet and a stirring stick, D settled back and doctored his drink. Three sugar packets later he was able to mask the hideous bitterness and pronounced the beverage, if not good, at least drinkable. The man returned to the small desk a few feet away and dragged its chair until it was positioned next to where D lay on the bed. Then he picked up his own cup on the nightstand and took a healthy swig.
For several minutes the two drank their tea in what could only be described as an awkward silence. The tea, despite its underlining bitterness, or perhaps because of it, worked wonders on D’s headache and mental state. Memory started to clarify a bit and a full accounting of recent events burned to the surface of his mind, perhaps a bit clearer than he would have liked.
D turned the now empty cup around in his hands, noting the hotel logo embedded on its side. An inexpensive, moderately comfortable hotel brand by all accounts, though not one he would chose to stay at if he should feel the urge to travel. He had standards, after all, and they went beyond a clean room, one premium cable channel and a complimentary hot continental breakfast. His tastes were more in line with four star restaurants, luxury accommodations and twenty-four hour room service.
The rest of the room, he noted, could easily be described as your typical hotel room. The king bed was indeed flanked by two nightstands with a brass imitation lamp adorning each. A credenza lay against the far wall, complete with bolted down television set. A small desk with a coffee pot was nestled in the corner. A small incense burner rested near the corner, the last remnants of smoke trailing thinly into the air. All of the wood was cheaply stained oak trying to desperately pass itself off as cherry wood and the room’s drapery and linen was a low toned display of dusty greens, mauves, and purples. All in all, it was nothing special, but definitely a step or three above seedy. And, most importantly, it was clean.
Unconsciously, D touched the cotton gauze that wrapped his narrow chest. He knew that the wounds inflicted by that monster, Kuan Yin, would have healed by now, but how would he explain their lack to the man sitting across from him? Add to that the fact that he felt rather disconcerted at finding himself half naked and practically defenseless in an unknown room, with an unknown man, lying in a bed that was not his own.
“Where are my clothes?” D demanded suddenly, his long fingers biting into the sides of the Styrofoam cup. “And where exactly am I?”
“Calm down, Count,” The man said, soothingly. He set his own cup down and ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. “You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you here, I promise.” As he spoke, he leaned forward, his arm reaching out until he rested a hand on D’s bare shoulder. No doubt he had meant it as a reassuring gesture, but it had the opposite effect. D cast a scathing glare at first him, then the offending hand. Looking almost embarrassed, the man pulled his hand away as if had been burned, mumbling his apologies.
Without another word, the man reached across the nightstand and flicked on the light. D twisted his head away from the sudden glare. He then turned his face back towards the man, and studied his features now that he was able to focus properly. Slowly he came to the realization that this man, although a complete stranger, was of no immediate threat to him.
“I remember you,” D muttered almost to himself. “You’re the man from before…” He groped for a name, faltered for a moment, but then found it within the still somewhat foggy recesses of his mind. The memory of Kuan Yin’s torn face, his deadly smile, the sickening sweet reek of blood jolted to the surface along with it and he shuddered. “Jin Li… you’re name is Jin Li.”
“Yes, that is correct. My name is Jin Li Sung. And it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Count D.”
“But where am I?” D repeated, confused and apprehensive that this man knew who he was without even so much as a proper introduction. “And why am I not in a hospital?”
Jin Li lowered his eyes, and answered in a low, calm voice. “You are in my hotel room, Count. I carried you here after your little altercation with that beast, Kuan Yin Zhang.” He noted a look of aghast horror on the Count’s face, and quickly added, “Don’t worry, no one saw me, I parked in the back and carried you up one of the stairwells. No one knows you’re here… and I want to keep it that way.”
“And my clothes,” D asked, his voice a touch sharp, “where are they?”
“They are hanging in the closet or least what’s left of them. Sadly, I am not a seamstress and even if I were, I would not be able to salvage your clothes after the damage that was inflicted upon them. Also, there was a great deal of blood soaked into the fabric.” Jin Li sighed in an almost dramatic fashion. “It’s a pity, really. They really were magnificent and very costly by the look of them.”
D had actually been more concerned about his current lack of clothing than the condition of one of his favorite chiao-fu. But he kept that bit to himself.
“And as to why you aren’t in a hospital?” Jin Li continued, his expression becoming blank, almost unreadable. “I’m sure you know the answer to that question even better than I do.”
“I – I don’t know what you are talking about,” D huffed, his hands folding tightly in his lap. “I was viciously attacked by two men and have sustained several injuries. I should have been taken to a hospital instead of some second rate hotel room.”
Actually, the last thing D needed or wanted was to be taken to a hospital. The very idea of being poked and prodded by any medical personnel filled him with absolute horror. A certain bit of anonymity was necessary if he was to remain here in Los Angeles for any length of time, and he did not wish for anyone, especially some nosey physician, to find out about his… condition. Any normal human being in his current situation would no doubt be demanding to be taken to a hospital, thus his demands. The fact that he had not already been taken to the emergency room disturbed him. Tiny warning bells, small but insistent, began clanging. Something was not right here…he could feel it.
“Come now,” Jin Li exclaimed, spreading his arms, “Don’t be stubborn. You know the truth of the matter even better than I do, so just stop pretending. I’ve come a long way to find you and frankly, I’m not in the mood to play this silly game of yours.” He jabbed one accusing finger towards an unhappy looking D. “You are no more human than a dragon or unicorn, or any other mystical creature.”
D opened his mouth to protest but Jin Li cut him off with one raised hand. He reached out and snatched hold of D’s arm and held him fast despite the other man’s half-hearted attempt to pull away. “Just a few hours ago, your arm was broken. I felt the bones shift when I accidentally grabbed your arm before you fainted.”
Jin Li’s free hand stroked up along the pale flesh of D’s arm until he came into contact with the spot where the fracture had been, carefully watching the other man’s reaction as he did so. He squeezed firmly at the spot of the break, but the only reaction he got from D was a small intake of breath and a decidedly angry narrowing of eyes.
“Now, your bones are almost completely healed.” He continued conversationally, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes. He gestured toward the white cotton wrapped around D’s throat. D touched the cloth gently, remembering. “That nasty cut on your throat and those gouges on your chest? They’re gone. They didn’t even leave marks.”
Puffing out his breath in aggravation, Jin Li leaned back and regarded D over the rims of his glasses. “I know all about you, Count,” he murmured tiredly, “probably more so than any other human being alive today. So let’s not play these little games. Okay?”
Shaken, D folded his hands in his lap, the knuckles white, his hands trembling. He had never been in a situation quite like this and he wasn’t sure what his next step should be. He needed time to think, to formulate some sort of plan.
“How is it that you know Kuan Yin?” D blurted, blatantly changing the subject. His mind reeled at the information he had just received. This man knew who… what… he was. His father had as well. No doubt this Kuan Yin did too since he had attacked him, prepared to, in Jin Li’s words, take down a god. That would explain how he had known about his father and his grandfather…
Jin Li made no comment on this obvious attempt to change subjects. So D pressed on, his eyes searching Jin Li’s face, searching for a lie.
A smile that was grim and unpleasant twisted the young man’s lips and his dark eyes were fierce and hard as they met D’s. “A rather nasty piece of work, wouldn’t you agree?”
D nodded imperceptibly, his hand unconsciously touching his neck, just below his chin, remembering the little ‘chat’ he had had with that unreasonable madman
Jin Li gave a two shoulder shrug. “By name only, I assure you. I do not hang out with such riffraff… at least I haven’t since my father took me in off the streets.” A look of pain flashed across the young man’s face and D’s memory stirred. “But I knew plenty of guys just like him growing up on the streets of Shanghai, arrogant sons of bitches that would shot you just as soon as look at you.”
“But I knew your father very well. I was, after all, with him when he died.” Kuan Yin’s words hissed through D’s mind. Then it clicked, the black band, the hatred in Jin Li’s tone whenever he spoke of Kuan Yin.
“You’re in mourning for your father,” D said softly, nodding toward the black band on Jin Li’s upper arm.
Taken aback, Jin Li simply nodded his head solemnly. “He was killed-” his voice broke momentarily, but he was able to catch it. Clearing his throat, he started again, “He was killed shortly after I left to come to America… by that bastard Kuan Yin Zhang!”
“And you know for fact that this Kuan Yin killed your father?”
“Of course I do!” Jin Li snarled, his face turning an angry red. “That bastard admitted to it, didn’t he?”
D patted the air in front of him in a ‘stay calm’ gesture. “And what reason would he have to kill your father?”
“My father was a very important man in his own right, and had many enemies, Count.”
“And what was your father’s name again?” D inquired gently, not entirely sure if he had heard it before or not. But it seemed important…somehow.
“Sung,” Jin Li replied immediately and with great pride. “Master Dishi Sung.”
The name resonated along D’s very nerve endings, echoing through his mind until it found the deepest, darkest recesses where his ancestral memories lay. As if struck by a tuning fork, the name vibrated along these ancient mental passages, and his conscious mind followed, searching for an answering vibration, knowing that it existed, he just had to find where.
“Sung,” D murmured slowly, as if in a trance. “That name… it is so familiar to me. Where have I heard it before?”
“My father was the last of a dying brotherhood whose sole purpose was to protect the world from those who would sacrifice all in the name of greed, power and Evil.” Jin Li contributed helpfully. “He could trace his lineage back over one thousand years to his distant ancestor, Emperor Ming Ti of the Sung Dynasty, a powerful dynasty that ruled China long, long ago.”
“Ming Ti…?” D echoed faintly, “The Emperor of the Sung Dynasty?”
“Yeah, I’m sure you have heard of him.” Jin Li replied casually, spreading his hands. “You look like the type to have extensive knowledge of our country’s illustriously past. Anyway, Emperor Ming Ti was killed by General Hsiao Tao Ch’eng, who then placed the Emperor’s oldest son, Chouen Ti on the thrown as a puppet emperor. However, Chouen Ti, a renowned warrior, was also a viscous, womanizing man, you know?”
D nodded his head for he did know… or thought he did. This narrative was beginning to sound eerily familiar. Fascinated and a little horrified, he continued listening to Jin Li’s story in silence, his colorful lips pressed into a thing, anxious line for he already knew how at least part of the story would end.
“This guy once put the moves on a young priestess from the Kunlun Mountains. She must have been some looker to catch the eye of royalty. But then again, all those royal types were used to getting what they wanted, whenever they wanted it. A pretty girl like that wouldn’t have had a chance. But this time, things turned out a bit differently. As beautiful and graceful as she was, she also knew what kind of man the Emperor’s son really was. She resisted his advances and refused his ‘marriage’ proposal.
Jin Li paused and took a long drink of tea. Storytelling was thirsty work and his throat must have been very dry. It was obvious that this was a story he had heard many times before. He set the drink aside and continued. His black eyes were bright and his gestures animated as he continued the story.
“Chouen Ti was not the guy who got rejection often and her resistance enraged him. He immediately ordered not only her death, but the death of her entire tribe as well.”
D’s hand flew to his mouth, his eyes large with shocked surprise. The Sung dynasty… it all came clicking into place. This was connected to the story his Grandfather had told him many times while he was growing up. Before him stood an actual descendant of the man responsible for the slaughter of his people.
Jin Li, caught up in the story telling process seemed oblivious to D’s reaction.
“General Hsiao Tao Ch’eng decided to take advantage of Chouen Ti’s ruthlessness. He formed a secret alliance with him and they plotted to destroy his father, the Emperor. The General murdered Emperor Ming Ti and had all of his wives and children executed. Once they were all dead and Chouen Ti sat firmly on the throne, the General, a royal snake in the grass, if you know what I mean, made his move. He denounced Chouen Ti as a traitor to China, claiming that he had been forced to go along with the new Emperor’s evil schemes. Chouen Ti was executed as a traitor to the crown, and General Ch’eng proclaimed himself first Emperor of the Southern Ch’i dynasty.”
“But not all of Emperor Ming Ti’s descendents had been killed.” D muttered. “Am I right?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Jin Li confirmed, “Ming Ti had had an affair with a beautiful, young noble woman by the name of Li Juan. She was with child when the Emperor was killed. Fearing for her live and that of her unborn child’s, she fled the city and returned to her ancestral home near Shanghai. There she lived in seclusion for the rest of her days, ever fearful that the traitor General would come to destroy her and her child.”
“Are you the final descendant of the Sung line?” D demanded.
Jin Li laughed, but it was bitter and self-depreciating. “No, I am not a descendant of that line. Master Dishi Sung had three sons that would have carried on the family name, but none of them lived to adulthood. I am just an orphan he took of the streets.”
“But I loved him like a father,” Jin Li declared forcefully. “He took me in, loved me as only a real father could. He saw to me education and set me on the straight and narrow. I owe everything to him. Everything!”
“Before I left, he gave me a package and told me to deliver it to you here in America,” Jin Li eyes and voice tight with anger. “He made it very clear that it was important that it not fall into the hands of Evil. And now I’ve found you, and I can fulfill my father’s last wish.”
“You have the sacred blade and ring?” D asked, his voice the barest whisper.
Jin Li reeled back, stunned. “How… how do you know about them?” he stammered.
“By name only,” D muttered sourly. “When Kuan Yin first approached me, he asked for them. But I didn’t have them and had no idea what they were or anything about them. But when I told him that, he became very angry and resorted to violence.” D’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I still don’t know exactly what they are for, but they obviously must be very important to that man otherwise he would not have attacked me.”
“Yes,” Jin Li said, nodding his head, “they are very important to Kuan Yin. To him, it’s a matter of life or death.”
“His life, my death?” D snapped, not liking being in the middle of something he didn’t understand and had not asked to be a part of.
Jin Li offered a meaningless shrug. “More or less.”
D was slightly taken aback by the blunt honesty. “And you have what he is searching for?”
“Yes, I do,” Jin Li rose and crossed over to the closet. Reached inside, he withdrew a medium sized rosewood case which he placed on the bed next to D.
With a flourish, he removed a small gold plated key, which he inserted into the lock. Once unlocked, he pocketed the key and opened the case. While the outside of the case was highly glossy rosewood, the interior was lined with soft leather around foam inserts to hold the items inside securely in place.
The sacred blade was a wicked looking thing that appeared to be made from mixture of steel, cooper and brass. Fascinated despite himself, D gingerly picked up the weapon, testing its heft and balance. The sheath and handle were highly polished brass covered with ornately carved protective charms. The blade was heavy in his hand and wickedly sharp. A dull sort of throbbing seemed to emanate from it, slow and steady like a heartbeat of some terrible creature.
Sacred or not, it was obvious to D that this was no simple ceremonial dagger used to make the wearer look impressive or intimidating. This was a deadly weapon that was used for one purpose and one purpose only – blood sacrifices.
As if in a dream, D set the blade back into the case. His hand hovered over the ring, fingers twitching in the desire to pick it up, slip it onto his finger. The ring, also of copper and brass, glowed with a mysterious inner light. The light danced along its glossy surface like molten lava. Again, D felt the almost uncontrollable desire to take it up and slip it onto his finger, but he sucked in his breath and forced his hands behind his back.
“Put them away,” D rasped, beads of sweat dotting his pale forehead. “Lock the case and put them back… quickly.”
Jin Li hastened to do as he was bid. Once the case was back in the closet, he returned, concern written on his young face. “Are you okay, Count?”
D sucked in a shaky breath, held it then released it slowly. “I will be shortly.”
After a few more moments, D turned his mismatched eyes to Jin Li. His expression was unreadable. “Just what exactly did your father want me to do with those… artifacts?” D demanded in a not quite steady voice.
Jin Li reached into his pant pocket and withdrew a carefully folded piece of parchment with an ornate red wax seal. He held it out to D, who took it carefully.
“He wants you to save the world, of course.”
TO BE CONTINUED
A/N: I don’t know anything about Chinese history. There was a Sung dynasty, of course, but the real history was very different than the ‘history’ I recounted in this chapter. Basically, I’m just making stuff up as I go along, creative license and all that. No offense is intended.
