Durarara!!, Vol. 5

by Ryohgo Narita

  Well, Shizuo just showed up out of the blue with this bloody kid in tow.

  Seems like he had a fight.

  Honestly, it’s been ages since he’d actually brought me someone he hit himself.

  Probably not since high school. At the time, emergency first aid was about the best I could do. You were out working at the time, I think.

  Back then, I hardly ever told you about school, but it was actually pretty rough.

  Shizuo and Izaya fought like dogs and cats from the moment I met them. Or more like…vampires and werewolves.

  Speaking of which, have you ever met a real vampire or werewolf, Celty?

  Oh, I see.

  So there are all kinds, even when it comes to vampires and werewolves.

  But you’ve hardly seen any vampires since coming to Japan. Well, that makes sense.

  If anything, you’re the most visible spooky thing around here.

  …But you’re still afraid of the Grays?

  Uh, Celty? Celty?

  Do you still believe the theory that the Grays were what wiped out the dinosaurs?

  …

  No, listen, Celty, the photon belt isn’t some gigantic life-form. You realize that, right? I’ve never heard anyone before say, “We might get eaten by the photon belt.”

  …

  No, no, no! We’re not going to be overrun by beings from the fourth dimension!

  Look! No matter how hard Yumasaki tries, a three-dimensional person cannot simply become two-dimensional! So it’d be similarly hard for a fourth-dimensional person to get here! It’ll be fine! What? You’re scared of tesseracts? Have you been reading that sci-fi manga again? That’s not the same as reality!

  It’s funny how you don’t mind ghosts or goblins in the least, but you cannot handle anything like aliens. You know, they always have those debate specials on TV, but you never see people who believe in ghosts but not in Venusians. I wish they would jump around more between pro and anti with that stuff.

  …What did that TV show just remind you of?

  …

  It’s fine! Nothing to be scared of with that prophecy!

  Remember how nothing happened in 1999? So 2012 will be perfectly safe, too!

  That reminds me, back in June of 1999, you were terrified by the thought that your missing head was the great king of terror prophesied by Nostradamus.

  What? The Mayan calendar ends in 2012?

  Then how far ahead should the Mayans have constructed their calendar?

  The year 3000? The year 500,000,000?

  How much work do you demand those poor Mayans do?! You have no idea how much work it took for them to create a year’s worth of calendar! For that matter, neither do I.

  On that note, the calendar in my pocket organizer only covers up to 2009. Are you going to start saying you’re afraid of 2009 now, Celty?

  Plus, you’re not even considering the possibility that humanity could be wiped out by nuclear war or a meteorite before 2012 arrives.

  If you’d spread that story around about the year 1800, people would probably have said, “That means we’re totally safe until the year 2012! Yahoo!” And the rest would ignore you.

  But most “prophets” are really just people who are skilled at taking very loose evidence and twisting it to suit their story. Not that I’m saying they can’t be real.

  Let’s take…Izaya, for instance.

  He has qualities that make him close to a prophet.

  You know how he talks as though he can see through everything that’s happening?

  Whenever trouble arises, he wafts in afterward and acts like he caused it all—and then reaps the benefits after the fact. Even though he did nothing up to that point.

  It’s like when false prophets claim they foresaw actual events of the past, long before they happened. It’s Izaya Orihara’s style to get people to believe him when he says that.

  In fact, if you treat him very calmly and rationally, the things he says aren’t ordinarily believable… What he does is tell you the worst possible thing at the worst possible moment to rattle you and make you vulnerable.

  If Izaya got on TV calling himself a prophet, he’d be quite a hit, I bet.

  Though knowing him, once he found himself with a following of believers, he’d get bored, proclaim something about Japan sinking into the ocean, then disappear and leave chaos in his wake.

  Ever since school, he was always good at leading people on.

  That’s what he was good at—leading people on, not out and out fooling them. He had a pointless knack for it.

  And that’s why my high school time was so miserable. Shizuo was ferocious, Izaya was fishy, and not a single girl wanted anything to do with me. Of course, I was living with you, so I didn’t need any girls.

  At any rate, you cannot let Izaya lead you astray. Unlike the false prophets, he doesn’t have a shred of goodwill. Not that I would want to be told fake prophecies for a good cause.

  Huh? What would I do if I were a true prophet who saw a future vision of the world destroyed?

  …You do realize I was just talking very fervently about how Izaya in real life is more dangerous than any prophecy, right? Shall I assume you were just ignoring that whole part?

  That makes me kind of sad, but I find that aspect of you endearing as well, so I’ll let it slide.

  If I could predict the future, and I knew that humanity could escape calamity through its actions as a whole, then I’d make, like, ten billion yen gambling, blow it up to a few trillion through the stock market, use the money to prove and publicize my powers of foresight, then tell everyone about the future. If that takes until there’s only three days left until oblivion, I’ll just give up and hold you tight instead!

  …Weird. I figured that would be the point where you get overcome with emotion and leap into my arms.

  You know, a proven prophet is something like a time machine when you think about it. It’s like a time machine that can only send information from the future into the past.

  …

  Celty, please don’t start talking about how scary an out-of-control AI would be.

  It’s so strange how you can be confident and brave, but as soon as the topic of aliens and the like comes up, you switch into scaredy-cat mode. It’s super-cute, though!

  …

  …You’re not going to pinch me or poke me with your shadow?

  Look, I’m not a masochist or anything, but when you don’t do your usual thing, it’s a bit worrying for me…

  “I’m calm now, thanks”?

  You must have really been terrified.

  It’s fine; you can cry in my arms. Then, we’ll go to bed. We can engage in some pillow tal— Ah-ah-ah-aah! That’s a bit more like your usual sel-el-el-el-elf! Ouch! Ow…owww!

  Ooh, that hurt. But I’m glad you’re feeling better.

  And just so you know, I’m not a skeptic of supernatural phenomena. I’m a proponent, if anything.

  I mean, I have the miracle of your presence, Celty.

  I called you spooky earlier, but I take that back now.

  You’re not a fairy or a goblin or a ghost.

  You’re a miracle of love.

  It doesn’t matter if you’re a fairy, or a demon, or an angel to me.

  As the saying goes, “You can find a fruitful tree by its flowers,” but in your case, it would be more like “You can find the sweetness of honey by its dapple shade.” From the moment I met you, I understood what an enchanting person you were! All on my own!

  …Hmm?

  Oh no, not now!

  Sorry, Celty. The kid Shizuo brought here is awake.

  I need to go explain the situation. Don’t want him to go all berserk in here.

  Whew, thanks for waiting.

  He’s up and walking now, so I sent him back home. Since Shizuo hit him, I told him about another unlicensed doctor working at a place that can actually do a brain scan. He’ll need that kind of help.

  It really is inconvenient n
ot having, for example, an MRI machine. So I got this doctor’s info from some people at Dad’s company last month.

  Speaking of Shizuo, he shouldn’t be relying on me so heavily, just because I cut him a good deal.

  He seems to think that our little love nest is a Red Cross tent.

  It’s an insult to all upstanding legitimate doctors to associate a black market doc like me with their work.

  Speaking of which, have you ever had any war experience, Celty?

  …

  So your memory of that time is still vague.

  You think it’s in your head…? Come on, Celty. You can’t start with the head search thing again.

  As long as you’re here in this city, you won’t have any connection to war, I’d say.

  As they say, Japan has gone soft from its peace, but I’m grateful for the conditions that created that softness. It just means things are quiet for you and me.

  But you never know when that peace might come to an end, so we ought to foster as much love together while we still can!

  So let’s continue what we were— Er-er-er-er-ow-ow-ow-ow, ouch, ouch! That hurts! It hurts when you use your shadow to lock both my arms to-to-to-to-to— Give! Give, give! I give…!

  Chapter 2: The Adults Squirm

  May 3, Ikebukuro

  Right around the time that Shizuo Heiwajima was being hit with a stun gun by an unidentified little girl, Celty Sturluson was herself thrust into the midst of the abnormal.

  But in her case, it was part of her job.

  Gone soft from peace, huh?

  She leaned back into the pleasantly textured sofa, thinking about what her partner had said the night before.

  That seems like the kind of thing that would never describe a black market doctor and a courier.

  She was sitting in what might seem at first glance like a neatly arranged office.

  But the interior of the office was exceedingly minimalistic, with just the barest necessities when it came to furniture. She understood that this was so the office could be closed up and removed at a moment’s notice or to allow it to be morphed into a different tenant altogether.

  And such an occurrence would only happen when the police started to move in.

  “We appreciate you taking the time to come visit today. Would you like a hot towel to clean off?”

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” Celty typed into her PDA, turning her attention to the man sitting across from her. He was around thirty years of age, and his name was Shiki.

  This man brought Shinra a number of clients and had hired Celty to ferry around things on several occasions.

  To outward appearances, he was the representative of a small art dealership—but as a matter of fact, he was only a member of a much larger group. In truth, he was an officer of a group of professional gentlemen known as the Awakusu-kai, working for the Medei-gumi Syndicate.

  The art dealership’s office was merely a front for the group. In fact, there wasn’t even a single painting hanging up in the waiting room.

  “I understand the desire to have some art on display just for appearances, but I can’t seem to acquire anything that suits my aesthetic,” Celty recalled the man saying once, but it meant nothing to her.

  More concerning was the fact that whenever a new person entered the office, he would invariably tense up when he saw Celty.

  “Um…I can’t help noticing some tension from the group.”

  “Hmm? Oh, pardon them. There was someone dressed similarly to you in the office of our syndicate’s money-lending business the other day. They had some rather…rough words of complaint, shall we say.”

  At the moment, Celty was wearing her black riding suit with the full helmet. She understood his meaning, was fed up with it, and typed, “Shall I change outfits?”

  Fortunately, at times like these there was no way for them to see how weary she felt.

  “No, you don’t need to feel so weary.”

  Is he psychic?!

  “Can you read my mind?”

  “All you have to do is watch the subtle mannerisms. Any man who can’t pick up that sort of information without a face to read isn’t cut out for this line of work. Oh, but feel free to change. You could even remove your helmet if you want.”

  …

  “Are you certain?”

  “Sure. Most people take theirs off when they go indoors.”

  “You do know…what I am, don’t you?”

  “Go ahead,” Shiki said, his gaze unflinching. Taken aback, Celty grabbed her helmet and lifted it straight off the base of her neck.

  The next instant, the other few men present in the room froze still, and a young “employee” who happened to be passing nearby flinched and yelped, “Wha—?! M-monst…”

  Instantly, Shiki leaped from the sofa and grabbed the young man by the collar. Without listening for an excuse, he rammed the man’s face into the corner of a nearby locker.

  “Gahk!” the young man grunted, blood flowing from his mouth.

  Shiki lifted the man by the collar, pressed his forehead against the man’s temple, and said flatly, “What kind of a man screams when he sees his guest’s face?”

  “Agh…blrgh…”

  “What did I just say? I just said that most people take their helmets off when they go indoors.”

  “Um, wait,” Celty hurriedly typed into her PDA, confused at what was going on, but naturally Shiki was not looking in her direction and did not see the message.

  “So why would my subordinate scream at her, after I just told my guest she could take her helmet off?”

  “…S…szorry…szir…,” the younger man gurgled.

  Shiki smiled coldly at him. “You’re apologizing to the wrong person. Why would you say sorry to me?”

  Shiki was about to deliver another devastating blow when a black shadow twisted around his arm.

  A literal shadow.

  A shadow with mass, occupying three-dimensional space, writhing through the air like a tentacle to grab Shiki’s hand and hold it in place.

  “…”

  He turned around to see a freshly typed message on the PDA screen.

  “Look, I’m not offended.”

  The PDA screen with its large message was propped up by a different shadow from the one holding Shiki’s arm still. In fact, countless shadows were extending from Celty’s hands, much to the shock of the other employees watching the scene. Given what Shiki had just done to their cohort, they wisely held their silence.

  Shiki slowly lowered himself into a chair, smiling as though nothing had happened, and said, “I see. I’m afraid we’ve presented a rather embarrassing spectacle.”

  “Not at all.”

  …These people really are scary. It’s just a different kind of scary from the motorcycle cops.

  “I apologize for the disrespect. I was the one who offered you the opportunity to take off your helmet, but it seems my man here did not understand the meaning of my statement,” Shiki said, bowing deeply.

  Celty felt a chilling pressure emanating from him. But…I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve ever taken it off around him, too.

  True, this was the first occasion that the man named Shiki had ever seen what was under Celty’s helmet. But there was no panic or change in his expression. He hadn’t even taken an extra breath. Celty found that to be quite eerie.

  Having that part of me totally ignored actually puts extra pressure on me…

  To Celty, the screaming reaction of the young man now holding his broken nose and bowing was the normal one for a human being.

  Because it wasn’t the physical shadows extending from her fingertips that was the eeriest part of the picture.

  It was the fact that underneath her helmet, there was no head atop her shoulders.

  Celty Sturluson was not human.

  She was a type of fairy commonly known as a dullahan, found from Scotland to Ireland—a being that visits the homes of those close to death to inform them of their impending m
ortality.

  The dullahan carried its own severed head under its arm, rode on a two-wheeled carriage called a Coiste Bodhar pulled by a headless horse, and approached the homes of the soon to die. Anyone foolish enough to open the door was drenched with a basin full of blood. Thus, the dullahan, like the banshee, made its name as a herald of ill fortune throughout European folklore.

  One theory claimed that the dullahan bore a strong resemblance to the Norse Valkyrie, but Celty had no way of knowing if this was true.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t know. More accurately, she just couldn’t remember.

  When someone back in her homeland stole her head, she lost her memories of what she was. It was the search for the faint trail of her head that had brought her here to Ikebukuro.

  Now with a motorcycle instead of a headless horse and a riding suit instead of armor, she had wandered the streets of this neighborhood for decades.

  But ultimately, she had not succeeded in retrieving her head, and her memories were still lost.

  Celty knew who stole her head.

  She knew who was preventing her from finding it.

  But ultimately, that meant she didn’t know where it was.

  And she was fine with that.

  As long as she could live with those human beings she loved and who accepted her, she could happily go on the way she was now.

  She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face and held this strong, secret desire within her heart.

  That was Celty Sturluson in a nutshell.

  Now this headless fairy rode all over Ikebukuro as a lowly courier, taking on odd jobs from a variety of people, paying no mind to whether the job was aboveboard or under the table.

  In this case, it was clear that the job she was being hired for was way, way under the table.

  “Sorry about him. He was working in debt collection for a financial agent of ours until recently, when he was reassigned to our wing for being a little too loud and a little too inefficient at his job.”

  “Debt collection? You mean like what Shizuo does?” Celty wrote on a whim and then froze, realizing her mistake.

  Shizuo would not take to a job of this sort. The thought of what might happen if Shiki’s organization honestly tried to recruit him sent a shiver down her back.