Akayuki (Red Snow)--Chapter 6

Warning: The following contains strong language and character death. Reader discretion is advised.

Author's Note: Foley is the doctor from "Cult of Chucky". Frank is the priest from "Curse of Chucky". Mixter is Chucky's psychiatrist from season two of the Chucky TV series. 

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction. It is intended for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to actual persons living or deceased is purely coincidental.

~o~

Chapter 6

“Jake, how much did you overhear? Tell the truth, please,” I ask on the ride home.

Jake sighs.

“All of it, Nica-sama,” he answers.

“I thought so.” I brood for a moment then: “Enough ‘Nica-sama’. We’re family.”

“All right.”

I scowl at the back of his head.

“What?” I demand. “If this is about Chucky, I didn’t ask to be his host body, Jake. You know that.”

“I know, but it’s not that,” Jake explains. “It’s Michael.”

“Jake,” I tell him. “You know nothing.”

“Huh?” He glances back at me, offended.

I hold up a hand.

“What Loomis told us, you didn’t hear. Got it?”

“And if Michael is the Masked Ronin and tries to kill you?” Jake asks, his jaw clenched tight with held back anger.

I shrug.

“He will actually be doing me a favor.”

Before Jake can argue with me, we’re back home. Mixter is waiting for us at the entrance to the main house, her arms tucked into the sleeves of her white-and-red kimono. Two of her personal guards flank her. 

“Five seconds,” she informs me, once the rickshaw reaches her. “I was about to send for you, Nica-sama.”

I roll my eyes and ignore her for now. 

Jake sets the rickshaw’s handles on the ground and comes around to help me out when he’s intercepted by a six-foot tall blue blur.

Michael lifts me out of the rickshaw and calmly carries me into the main house. Mixter follows us inside. 

“Nica-sama, your bodyguard was very agitated while you were gone. Next time, take your trained dog with you.”

“I told you to behave yourself,” I fake-scold Michael. 

He ignores me.

He carries me to my room and sets me on my futon. Mixter has the decency to stay outside the doorway.

“Nica-sama, I want your bodyguard to join the hunt for the Masked Ronin. Tonight.”

“Who is supposed to guard me while he’s gone?” I ask, trying to convince myself Michael didn’t pause at the mention of the Masked Ronin as he pulled the covers over my legs.

“Jake and Devon do nothing around here,” Mixter sneers. “Use them.” 

Chuckling behind her fan, she walks off, missing the glare I throw over my shoulder at her.

Ren appears in the doorway then and sees me.

“You’re back. And you’re pissed.”

“The pissed is for Mixter,” I assure her, relaxing my facial expression. “Close the door, would you, Ren? I don’t want Mixter to see the still open door as an invitation to drop in for another visit.”

Ren slides the door closed and I turn to face Michael at last.

He’s finished covering my legs and is seated on his knees by my bedside watching me.

I take a deep breath before I speak to him.

“Michael, you don’t have to go on the hunt if you don’t want to. You’re under my employ, not Mixter’s.”

His right hand tightens around the hilt of his katana. 

“Michael, the reason I didn’t take you with me to Freddy’s…”

Michael scowls and looks away from me.

“Hey!” I reach out and touch his chin, meaning to force him to look at me. I don’t get the opportunity, though. He senses my intentions and glares at me. For a split second, I think he is going to draw his weapon. I begin to see the dangerous mental patient Loomis claims he is. 

I drop my hand and, remembering who is actually in charge here, I scowl at him. 

“It wasn’t what you think. He had a guest. A doctor from some village I had never heard of. Havonfield or something.”

Michael's glare transforms into an expression of weariness.

He reaches into the inner lining of his yutaka and removes a piece of parchment that he hands to me. I take the familiar parchment, unfold it, and he taps the word: Haddonfield written at the end of the note.

“Haddonfield is where you were born?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

Michael nods.

“Do you know a man named Loomis?” I ask.

Michael nods a second time then he does something unexpected. He opens his yutaka and shows me his bare chest. On it are deep scars from old sword wounds. I count six before Michael closes his yukata.

I gulp.

“Loomis did that to you?” 

Michael nods. 

“Why?” I don't want to know, but it's too late. I can't take back my question.

Michael doesn't answer. 

I return the parchment to him then yawn.

“I think I’ll take a nap before dinner,” I tell him. “A little help, please?”

As though our conversation hadn't happened, Michael helps me lie down and pulls the covers up to my chin. He begins to rise once I’m tucked in, but I reach out a hand and stop him. 

“Stay, please,” I beg. 

He resettles in his former position by my bedside and I take his hand. He lets me hold it.

“I don't care who the Masked Ronin is,” I tell him. “As long as you don't leave me.”

Michael doesn't say anything and I wonder if his silence is also part of his alleged act, but he does gently squeeze my hand before I drift off to sleep.

Maybe I can trust him, I think.

Then I’m asleep and dreaming of him speaking to me over a cup of tea and a plate of dango.

“Loomis told you I killed my sister.” Michael speaks as though he knows it's fact and I don't need to reply, but I do anyway.

“When you were six years old.” I sip my tea. It's green tea, warm. I look up at Michael. “Why? I would like to know.”

He looks at me blankly.

“Because I wanted to.” 

“That's all?” I ask.

He nods.

“Why did you escape from the hospital?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Because I wanted to,” he repeats in his deadpan voice. He picks up a skewer of dango from the plate and offers it to me. I pull off a single dango with my teeth and eat it, studying him the entire time.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” I ask after I swallow the dango.

“You already have,” he points out and eats one of the dango from the skewer he offered me earlier. He chews it off the skewer like a rodent, and I smile at him.

“Well, here's another personal question, smartass, who or what fucked up your left eye?” I'm speaking like Chucky. Michael doesn't seem to mind the change over.

“A woman,” he answers simply. He rabbit-chews the last dango off the skewer then holds up the empty wooden pick like it's a needle. He makes a jabbing motion with the skewer in the direction of his left eye. It's explanation enough.

Again, I ask him why.

He returns the empty skewer to the plate and looks me straight in the eye.

“Because I tried to kill her.”

My mouth is hanging open and my throat has gone dry. I force myself to look away from him and drink my tea before it turns cold. I'm too late, though. The tea is cold, but I drink it anyway.

When I lift my head again, Michael is watching me. And I realize he is always watching me, not because he's a bodyguard, because he's a killer, a killer looking for a new victim. He's waiting for me to take my guard completely down.

I have been incredibly stupid these past six months.

“Where's my katana?” I ask, feeling around for it. We're seated out on the back porch overlooking the yard of the summer home where Mixter usually exiles me.

“You don't need it,” Michael tells me. He rises from where he has been seated across from me and draws his blade. I only now realize the dark blue-wrapped hilt is familiar to me. The Masked Ronin's katana is Michael’s sword.

“Where's your mask?” I ask him, giving up my search for my katana. It's too late now.

“I don't need it,” he answers, pointing the tip of the sword at me. 

“Everyone will know it's you,” I say, unnecessarily. Everyone has suspected him since he took the bodyguard job. Everyone but me. And I had defended him like an idiot. “Go ahead, Michael. I deserve to die.”

“Nica-sama?”

“Not now, Ren,” I tell my maid. “I'm waiting for Michael to kill me.”

“Nica-sama, wake up!” 

I open my eyes and find Ren crouched over me, shaking my shoulder.

“Stop it,” I order as I struggle to sit up. “Michael.” In my stupidity, I still call out to him for help. Nica, when will you learn?

“He’s not here, Nica-sama,” Ren says, lifting me into a sitting position on the futon. 

“He didn’t go out hunting for the Masked Ronin, did he?” That’s right. Play dumb, Nica. Michael isn’t the Masked Ronin. And you aren’t possessed by the evil bastard who killed your entire family. Keep believing your pretty little lies.

Ren shakes her head.

“The Masked Ronin is Michael, Nica-sama.”

“Huh?” No, Michael. What did you do?

Ren nods.

“He put on the mask in front of everyone.”

I groan. No, Michael.

“Right after he…beheaded Mixter-sama.”

“What?!” My head spins. Michael cut off Mixter’s head. Why? 

Who fucking cares? Chucky asks, cackling in my head. 

“Well, well,” I say in Chucky’s voice. “The old bitch finally bit it.”

“Did you order it?” Ren asks, glaring at me.

“Don’t talk to him, Ren,” I order her. I manage to wrest control from Chucky for the moment. “Where did Michael go?”

“I don’t know, Nica-sama. He fled the compound, but the guards were after him, so…did you know he was…?” Ren studies me, suspicious, accusing.

I avert my head so she can’t see my face.

“I suspected. I confronted him about it before I fell asleep.”

“Did he admit it?”

I shake my head. 

“He didn’t say anything. Didn’t react at all.” 

Ren is silent for a moment then she sighs.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing.” I look at her. “Jake and Devon, too. We do nothing until we’re forced to.”

“By the surviving elders, you mean.”

I smile at her.

“You’re a smart girl, Ren.”

A sharp knock on my door interrupts our conversation. Before I can answer, the door slides back and my least favorite people walk in: Foley and Frank. 

“Nica, your bodyguard murdered Mixter,” Foley informs me, ignoring honorifics, Ren’s presence, and my privacy.

I glare at him.

“So I heard.”

“Your bodyguard is the Masked Ronin who has been murdering our soldiers and those who serve the Blue Moon family.”

“You have proof?”

“We have bodies, Nica,” Foley says. Translation: Bodies are all the proof we need.

“You want a reward?” I sneer. Chucky isn't slipping out. I just loathe Foley.

“I want the ronin's head, mask included. And I want to use you to lure him here.”

Of course. Foley wants me dead. At least Mixter pretended she didn't want me dead.

Frank averts his head when I look at him, seeking his opinion. Again, another expected reaction. Frank follows whatever Foley and Mixter say. 

Fucking sheep, Chucky sneers in my head, and I can't disagree.

“Fine,” I tell Foley. “Use me as bait. You only lose your heiress and Chucky when the Masked Ronin murders me.”

“If you do your job right, you should survive the encounter, Nica,” Foley says. He stares at my chest then returns to bossing me around. “Do not leave your room. I have assigned two guards to be stationed outside your bedroom.”

“Your personal guards?” I guess.

“Of course. Why?”

I don't respond. His guards mean one thing: Everyone will be turned away except for him, and they won't hear anything if I scream for help while I'm alone with him. 

I scowl at Foley.

“Are you done? I would like to have dinner.”

“Of course. I will have my maid…”

“I have my own maid, thanks,” I interrupt him. I send Ren to the kitchen for our dinner. I wouldn't trust any maid of Foley’s with my food. 

He hangs around with Frank to scold me for being “unpleasant” to him. And to Mixter in the past.

I ignore him.

“Nica,” he says, stepping over to my futon and grabbing my chin. He forces me to look at him. “If I find out you ordered the attack on Mixter, you and your bodyguard will be publicly executed.”

“We don't know anything yet,” Frank argues.

Foley ignores him. He holds my chin a moment longer before releasing me and leaving the room.

Frank remains until Ren returns. We don't speak–Frank and I. I have nothing to say to him.

He leaves without a word and Ren and I eat in peace.

As I chew a piece of fish, I wonder where Michael is.