Soul of the Night

by Barbara Sheridan

  Kiyoshi reached out to caress Ryuhei’s cheek. “I never meant to lie to you.”

  “You didn’t. You never lied, you simply never told me what I didn’t press to learn.”

  Ryuhei leaned more into Kiyoshi’s touch, drawing as much comfort from the simple contact as he could. “I’m afraid,” Ryuhei said after the silence became too much to bear.

  Kiyoshi tried to pull away but Ryuhei gripped his wrist. “I’m not afraid of you. I was on the train, but not now. That demon’s blood isn’t twisting you any longer, I can tell.”

  “Then why are you afraid?” Kiyoshi asked, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Ryuhei’s cheek.

  “I’m afraid that you’ll leave me for good. I’m afraid that you’ll become disgusted by the way I continue to age.”

  “No—”

  Ryuhei pressed his fingertips to Kiyoshi’s lips to silence him, then stood, coaxing Kiyoshi up with him. He moved until they were facing the mirror atop the walnut bureau.

  “Look at me. I’m so much older than when we met and you’re still so young, so beautiful. You could have any lover in the world, any attractive young thing who caught your fancy—man or woman. Why would you continue to want me as I age even more, then die?”

  Kiyoshi slid his arm around Ryuhei’s waist and rested his head upon the actor’s shoulder. “I will always want you, Ryu.”

  “Then let me be like you.” Ryuhei regretted the words the moment Kiyoshi jerked away, a look of abject horror upon his beautiful face. “I knew it. I’m not worthy in your eyes. I’m too old, too much a dithering, foolish bitch to make you happy for much longer.”

  “I can’t do it.” Kiyoshi was now the one showing fear.

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “It’s too dangerous. I’m not really sure how it happens, I only know how it happened to me. I could kill you just by trying and if I didn’t, you’d still be like I was. It’s horrible at first. It’s as if all the power in the world is at your fingertips and you have to use it. It’s just like the way I’ve been. The Poisoned Dragon brought it all out in me again. I can’t do that to you. I won’t.”

  What was left of Ryuhei’s heart finished breaking into a dozen fractured little pieces. “Fine,” Ryuhei said numbly, returning to the bed. He plopped down as he had when Akira had come, face turned into the pillow. A few moments later, he heard Kiyoshi leave and quietly close the door behind him.

  It was true then. Kiyoshi didn’t want him.

  Soon the pillow was soaked with his tears.

  * * *

  Kiyoshi returned three days later to find Ryuhei much as he’d left him—alone in the darkened room, an untouched food tray on a small table near the door. The bowl of soup was still full and had long gone cold. But the sight of the food gave Kiyoshi a terrible pang of hunger deep in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t fed once during these past few evenings. For Ryuhei, he didn’t want to be this monster anymore.

  He faced the bed. The open window allowed an early evening breeze to drift in, ruffling the a few strands of Ryuhei’s hair where they brushed the pillow top.

  “Leave me alone, Akira,” Ryuhei said without looking. “Isn’t it time for the troupe to move to Philadelphia?”

  “I believe they’re on their way to the train depot now. You should join them.”

  Ryu turned just enough to glare at him with red-rimmed eyes almost devoid of the passionate life that had first attracted Kiyoshi.

  “Have you come to gloat?”

  “Why would I?” Kiyoshi asked, closing the door behind him. Ryu sat up.

  “Why wouldn’t you? Surely you find it all amusing—a wretched old fool trying to cling to his pathetic human life before he withers and grows old.”

  “You’ll never be a wretched old fool, Ryu-san, and if you were I couldn’t love you any less,” Kiyoshi said as he approached the side of the bed. He brushed wayward strands of black and silver hair behind Ryu’s ear. “I love you more than you can know—I can’t bear you not knowing that. You’ve given me so much, you’ve made me feel so normal again. I don’t want to lose that, but I’m afraid.”

  Lowering his head, Kiyoshi fell silent. He looked up at the feel of Ryuhei’s fingers brushing over his.

  “I don’t want any great powers.” Ryuhei’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I don’t want to be a harbinger of death. All I want is to be with you. For as long as I can.”

  Kiyoshi squeezed his eyes shut. “What Kuro did was so long ago I don’t think I remember it all. It seemed so simple, yet how could it be? I know he told Liu about it in great detail, but I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t want anyone to be the way we were. I still don’t. It’s an existence, but not a real life at all some times…”

  “I don’t care,” Ryuhei insisted. “Without you, I have nothing. That’s all I want—to be at your side always.”

  Clasping Ryuhei’s hand, Kiyoshi brought it to his lips to caress it with a feather-light kiss. “I want that too, but you don’t understand what it’s like. You have to be at the brink of death. You might die before you can drink enough to make the change—if it happens at all. I could kill you by trying to make you immortal.”

  “But I’m going to die anyway, if not now then a week from now, a year from now. No life is certain in this world. If I can die in your arms, that will be enough.”

  Kiyoshi welcomed the kiss when he was coaxed forward. He drank in Ryuhei’s love like the potent elixir it was and had always been to him.

  “That would be enough for you,” Kiyoshi murmured when they parted. His eyes filled with tears and he pulled away, wrapping his arms around his waist. “But I can’t see you go through the things I have.”

  The look of dismay on Ryuhei’s face couldn’t be put into words, his feeling of utter abandonment slamming into Kiyoshi like a hard blow to his midsection. “It doesn’t matter as long as I’m with you, Kiyo-kun. If I must die, then let it be in your arms.”

  Kiyoshi shook his head. “I—I can’t.”

  Ryuhei brought a hand to his throat, then let it drop limply to his lap. “Then stay with me, at least. For a little while longer.”

  Only a dry, half-formed croak escaped Kiyoshi’s lips. If he stayed, something wrong was bound to happen again. “Mortals and demons don’t belong together in this world,” Kiyoshi breathed.

  “I see.” Ryuhei looked down at his hand, still resting limply on his knee. “Goodbye, Kiyo-kun.”

  Kiyoshi ran before Ryu could see the tears start to spill.

  Ryuhei woke a few hours later, not even realizing when he’d drifted off. He sat up on the bed, the back of his neck sore from being unaccustomed to these thick pillows under his head. The window was wide open, letting in gusts of cold air and droplets of rainwater that soaked through the light silk of his robe.

  Shivering, he pulled the glass pane down into place. Night had just fallen over the city; all that was left of the sunlight a dusky glow on the horizon as a drizzle fell from the thick clouds hanging low in the sky.

  Somewhere out there Kiyoshi must be wandering the maze of twisting streets and alleyways. How many would he kill tonight?

  His stomach twisting in anguish, Ryuhei turned away from the window. He reached for the wine bottle, only to find it drained completely dry.

  “Fuck…” Ryuhei dropped the bottle back onto the nightstand. It wobbled a second before rolling off and hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Feeling utterly without hope, Ryuhei cradled his face in his hands and let the dry sobs build up in his chest though no more tears could be forced from his eyes.

  Taking the last of his money from the top drawer in the stand, he threw a rumpled jacket over his yukata and left the room. He’d buy as many bottles of liquor as he could afford and guzzle them down until he felt nothing at all. Better that than this loneliness, this emptiness.

  “It’s him, damn you.”

  That voice—the pain in it rivaled Ryuhei’s own. He’d heard it before as well. Ryuhei froze at the top of the s
tairs and listened closely to the men talking in the lobby below.

  “These stories in the papers, it has to be him,” the man insisted, his Chinese accent thickening as he grew more agitated. “And what of these latest rumors that another man was killed tonight?”

  It was the young man whose father… Ryuhei tried to swallow but his mouth was so dry. The man back at the train station—Fahlong had been his name.

  “Keep your voice down and come upstairs to rest, you’ve had too much drink,” another fellow tried to assuage him. “Tomorrow you have to speak to your mother about what happened, you can’t be this distraught when you see her.”

  “I can’t meet her knowing that killer is free,” Fahlong roared. “The police are saying another body has been found on the streets near here, his throat ripped into as my father’s was. And before that, another woman and her fiancé as well. It’s not coincidence—we brought this monster with us from San Francisco, Uncle.”

  Ryuhei stumbled down the stairs, clutching his haori shut and not even caring he’d dropped his coin purse on the steps. The silver pieces spilled around his feet as he reached the bottom, clinking loudly in the otherwise silent hotel.

  Fahlong and his uncle whipped around to see the source of the noise. “You,” the man gasped and jutted his finger through the air. He lunged forward and grasped the banister. His young face was hollow and drawn from the sleepless nights he must have spent dwelling on this tragedy. “I know you from the train.”

  “Has a body been found tonight?” Ryuhei whispered, his heart thudding wildly. “Where?”

  Fahlong’s eyes widened into two piercing orbs. “You know who the killer is, don’t you!”

  “Stop this, you’re mad with grief.” Fahlong’s uncle sighed. “Come upstairs and rest.”

  “No.” Fahlong grabbed the front of Ryuhei’s jacket and pushed him back against the wall. “Answer me, you bastard.”

  “Fahlong.” The man’s uncle pried him away from Ryuhei. “Please forgive him—his father’s life was taken and he knows nothing but grief. He even believes a chiang shih is responsible.”

  Ryuhei’s chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. “Th-that’s not possible,” he stammered. The need to defend Kiyo-kun was so strong, even now. Yes, Ryuhei ached for the other man’s loss, but only because Fahlong didn’t understand. Or maybe it was he himself who wouldn’t accept the truth.

  “That’s what I tell him.” The uncle shook his head. “Come to your senses, Fahlong.”

  “You’re both wrong.” Fahlong shoved away from the older man. “Grief isn’t the only thing I feel, Uncle,” he snarled, his face twisted with hate as he swiped the hair from his eyes. From the inside of his coat, he pulled out a nickel-plated revolver.

  The old man gasped and Ryuhei shrank back against the wall, a cry of alarm caught in his throat. Fahlong waved the weapon around wildly, whether from madness or drunkenness the threat was all the more clear.

  “I’ll hunt that fucking devil down myself if no one will help me,” Fahlong screamed. He rushed away from the stairs and bolted out through the front doors. Moaning his nephew’s name, the older man darted after him into the night.

  His heart pounding so badly the sound of his blood rushing through his ears was all he could hear, Ryuhei stared after the two men. Hunt the devil… Fahlong meant to slay Kiyoshi.

  Hotel guests peered out of their rooms, even the girl working the front desk frowned at him in curiosity. Ryuhei ignored them all, only one thought dominating his mind as well as his heart.

  “Kiyo-kun,” Ryuhei moaned.

  He stumbled away from the wall and shoved past the small gathering in the foyer to run into the street. Before that boy could find Kiyoshi, Ryuhei had to first.

  Praying to whatever Gods would listen for help, Ryuhei raced down one street and then another. His sandals slapped against the damp pavement and he blinked away the droplets of rainwater blurring his vision. There was no sign of Fahlong, or of Kiyoshi. Ryuhei choked back another dry sob and leaned in the doorway of a small church not too far from the hotel.

  Where were they? “Gods, help me,” Ryuhei pleaded.

  The sharp crash of glass on pavement sounded behind him. He pushed away from the cathedral’s door and noticed the glow of a lantern in the alleyway behind the old structure.

  Gulping down another steadying breath, Ryuhei charged towards the light. He slid to a stop, his sandals slipping on the wet surface. He grabbed onto the edge of the brick building opposite the church to catch himself from falling.

  The lantern rolled back and forth on the ground, the flame stubbornly clinging to life on the spilled oil among the shattered glass. The corpse of a man lay beside it, his skin a grotesque shade of gray in the dull lamplight, the blood pooling around the two, tooth-like puncture wounds, thick and black. Ryuhei covered his mouth with a hand and dropped to his knees beside the body.

  “Kiyoshi,” he cried out into the shadows flickering beyond the reach of the flame’s light.

  “Murderer.”

  Ryuhei spun around to face the open end of the alley.

  Fahlong stood panting a few feet away, his face still twisted in that same horrible expression. “It was you,” he choked out, his eyes bulging within their sockets. He pointed the revolver, aiming it straight at Ryuhei.

  “He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Ryuhei pleaded, too softly for the man to hear. “Leave Kiyoshi alone.”

  “How many have you killed this way?” Fahlong screamed. “How many lives have you stolen? Answer me.”

  Ryuhei rose to his feet, his arms dangling at his sides. He blinked away the rainwater that fell into his eyes, his body shivering from the cold and so much more besides.

  The man would never stop hunting Kiyoshi, would never see reason again. Madness flashed in his eyes; he could barely hold the gun steady.

  “Why did you kill my father?” Fahlong demanded. His voice cracked.

  “Because I’m a fucking monster!” Ryuhei yelled.

  “You devil,” Fahlong shrieked and the crack of the gunshot boomed inside the alley.

  The force of the blow slammed Ryuhei against the brick siding.

  He doubled over, gasping to take back the air that had been knocked out of him. Blood filled his mouth. A burning agony ripped through his stomach, making it all the harder to breathe or move.

  Ryuhei pressed his hands to his belly, the pain blinding him, and a choked cry escaped his throat. The rainwater soaking the front of his yukata felt so hot. He stared down at his wet fingertips and blinked away the tears stinging the corners of his eyes until some of his vision returned.

  The rain had turned red.

  “Fahlong, what have you done?” The older man grabbed his nephew and wrenched him around. “You’ve shot someone.”

  “This is the monster who stole my father’s life.” Fahlong struggled. His uncle knocked the gun away.

  “You fool—look at how he bleeds.” His uncle moaned. “He’s a human man.”

  Ryuhei slumped forward, one hand at his waist, the other on the ground for balance. The burning flared up inside his belly, a stabbing, searing agony that wracked his entire body. He tried to cry out again, but couldn’t catch his breath. His chest felt too heavy, each gulp of air brought such sharp, stabbing torture to his lungs.

  “That’s not true,” Fahlong screamed. “He’s a demon.”

  Ryuhei threw up. Blood and bile spilled past his lips.

  “Oh God,” Fahlong gasped.

  His uncle pulled him back. “Come away, hurry. Before the police come. Hurry.” They ran off, their footsteps echoing in Ryuhei’s ears after their blurred figures vanished.

  Ryuhei pulled himself up, slipped and lost his balance. He slammed back against the brick wall and moaned.

  “Kiyoshi,” he whimpered, stumbling forward. Find Kiyo-kun…

  The body understood it was dying before Ryuhei himself did. His legs gave out just shy of the alley’s entrance. He dropped to the pavement,
in too much pain to even cry out. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the utter blackness of the sky overhead. That crushing feeling in his chest worsened and when he coughed, more blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  And this damn rain getting in his eyes offered no comfort whatsoever.

  Squeezing his eyes shut and shivering, Ryuhei laughed at himself. The sound died in a wet gurgle within his throat. In a village outside of Edo, he and Kiyoshi had run through the rain once. “What a pleasant memory to have now,” Ryuhei mouthed the words, the sound lost to his own ears.

  “Ryu-san.”

  Kiyoshi’s voice called from within that memory. Or perhaps it was real after all. Warm droplets splattered on Ryuhei’s cheeks—so different from the coldness of the rain. Soft hands cradled his head.

  “Ryu-san.” Kiyoshi wept over him. “No.”

  Ryuhei forced his eyes open and touched a bloody hand to Kiyoshi’s cheek, leaving a crimson stain on the pale flesh. “It is you.”

  “No, no,” Kiyoshi repeated. He tried to lift Ryuhei off the ground, but the movement caused too much pain.

  “It…hurts too much,” Ryuhei gasped. “Please, don’t.”

  Kiyoshi trembled, moaning again when he saw the blood oozing through the fingers Ryuhei kept pressed against his belly. “The rain covered your scent until it was too late.” Kiyoshi’s voice trembled.

  “Would you have come?” Ryuhei dropped his hand away.

  Kiyoshi sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” He leaned forward, kissing Ryuhei’s brow and cheeks and lips. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re here now.” Ryuhei smiled. It didn’t hurt quite as much anymore, but he couldn’t feel those tender kisses either. How sad…

  “There’s not much left.” Ryuhei coughed, his eyes focusing on the crimson droplets that splattered on Kiyoshi’s chin. “Take what there is. Don’t let me linger to die this way.”