The sky was dark by the time (S/b) spoke their last direction: "Turn right here" and the gun gestured towards a small dirt road that went off the highway into the unclaimed forestry. Kisaku turned the vehicle slowly, each uneven divot, rocking the gun nearer. As they slowly traversed down this unnamed road, the pine trees became taller and blacker. There was no moon out. Not tonight.
Thin, low hanging branches came out like the frail arms of children, clawing the sides of the vehicle. As they dragged across the car's roof, Kisaku tried to not think about what lied ahead for him.
However, the end of the road came too soon. It was punctuated by a foul, decrepit house. Its paint was stained with age and pine nettles. The second step on its front porch had its board snapped in half. Aboveground, it appeared to be two stories of nothing but a neglected, backwater dwelling.
But Kisaku's distaste didn't matter.
"Park," (S/b) gestured the gun.
So, he parked.
"Get out of the car. Don't turn around. Walk to the porch and up the steps; back to me."
Kisaku hesitated, setting a lingering look on the bag he had dumped in the passenger seat. He didn't want to leave the safety of this vehicle — he didn't want to leave things where he had with Y/n — He was scared for his life — the all-consuming thought of Y/n being forced to acquire a new psychiatrist after Kisaku failed to show up — He knew the second he left his car, it was over.
(S/b) would kill him out here and his body was unlikely to be recovered. Still, he had gone this far. He pulled the key out of the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt. The seat buckle clanging against the wall of the car echoed in the silence between the two.
"You'll tell me the truth — the whole truth?" the doctor asked, raising his eyes to meet (S/b)'s.
The (man/woman) merely scoffed derisively, "Get the fuck out of the car."
Sensing the other's unforgiving impatience, Kisaku slowly exited the vehicle. With his back firmly to (S/b), he walked forward. The board of the first step bowed and groaned as Kisaku's foot landed on it. He passed over the second step altogether. As he stood firmly on the porch, he noted the deplorable amount of dirt and debris.
"What is this place?" Kisaku asked, his natural curiosity getting the better of his common sense.
"My uncle's place," (S/b) surprisingly offered up the information. "He's dead too."
"Who killed him?" Kisaku didn't know if his own question was joking or not.
"Heart disease," (S/b) muttered. "Now, get in."
The doctor swallowed down the lump in his throat and let his hand fall on the rusted handle before him. The front door squeaked loudly as he pushed it open. The screen door that used to cover it had been completely torn off its hinges, left to lean against the wall beside the doorway.
He took a single step inside. There was a thick, dark red carpet whose designs had long since faded. A leather couch that surprisingly held up against the test of time. An armchair with a floral design — a kitchen behind the living room, sickeningly yellow. Stairs were on Kisaku's right.
"We're going down," (S/b) said nastily, pointing the gun to the door right across the room from the front entranceway.
Dread and trepidation in equal measures pooled inside the doctor's gut. He stepped forward anyway, reaching a hand out to the handle of the nondescript, stained white door.
Then he inhaled too sharply, coughing on the dust that coated the very air in this place. For there — right there — on a low table by the basement door was a picture frame.
And in it was a very young Y/n.
Bright (e/c) eyes stared at him from a much too young face. The boy in the photo was holding a dead animal, looking quite befuddled at it. In his other hand... a .22 rifle.
"My uncle used to take us hunting," (S/b)'s voice slashed through Kisaku's trance. The doctor glanced over his shoulder at the other. (S/b)'s eyes met his after a moment of studying the photo. "I'm a decent shot." They then waved the gun pointedly, "Now, walk down the basement steps."
Kisaku complied, turning away, hazel eyes lingering on Y/n's young face. It was so much rounder — so much healthier looking... of course, he was a child in the photo. Nevertheless...
A heavy feeling accompanied Kisaku as he opened the basement door and began his descent. It was all darkness, heavy air, and the knowledge of a gun at his back until a thump and a click sounded. Yellow light popped and flicked on, buzzing with age as it did so. It revealed the concrete steps and taxidermy basement, filled to the brim with dead animals.
They were all... screaming. Jaws agape, fake marble eyes wide with no lid to cover them. From elk, to raccoon, to bear: they were either stuffed or mounted. Screaming in silence.
The number of animals decreased, though, as Kisaku reached the bottom step. The main room of the basement had been left eerily empty as if it had been cleared out recently. There was nothing but an old red tool box, a chair, and a hanging bulb.
"Take a seat," (S/b) ordered harshly.
Kisaku walked over to the somewhat inconspicuous dining room chair. The only question it posed was where the rest of the dining set was. He didn't think he should ask, however. Kisaku sat down in it, the old wood hard and grating.
(S/b) smiled, walking around to face him. The gun was now obnoxiously in his face. From behind their back, (S/b) revealed a few lengths of rope.
"I wanted to do something terribly dramatic, you know. I thought I might have a flair for the dramatics —" (S/b) stopped short, glancing around. "I hate that mirror," they muttered underneath their breath. Their eyes were fixed at a point over the doctor's left shoulder.
Kisaku followed their gaze and found his eyes staring at himself. There was quite a large rectangular mirror behind the doctor. It displayed everything from Kisaku's back in the chair, to (S/b) aiming the gun, to the basement stairs leading all the way back up to — safety.
"But I think the genes for dramatics skipped me." Kisaku snapped his eyes back to (S/b) as they abruptly continued from where they had left off before. (S/b) had a nearly manic light in their eyes. "Y/n certainly has it, hasn't he? He's dramatic. I wanted to make you dig your own grave, but I think I'll make this your grave. So, tie yourself up real tight. I'll get your hands when you're done. Once you're nice and restrained we can have that talk about the truth and then I'll blow your pretty little brains out and set this whole place alight. Sound good?"
Two lengths of rope were tossed to Kisaku's feet. The man glanced downward at them before looking back up — right into the barrel of (S/b)'s pistol.
"Let's be quick," they snapped.
With trembling fingers, Kisaku complied, tying his ankles — not tightly. He had a modicum of hope. That he'd be able to escape — to talk his way out of this.
In order to do that, though, he needed (S/b) talking.
After he was finished, (S/b) came around and tied his hands behind his back. He flinched as their cold fingers touched him. It was nothing like the fiery touch of Y/n's hands.
When (S/b) rounded to the front once more, they lowered their gun finally.
"Now, the truth — do you want to hear the truth?" (S/b) babbled with purposely wide eyes. "So, what if I'm a murderer? Confessing is supposed to help people like me, isn't it doctor?"
"P — People like... who?" Kisaku tried to summon his professional persona. Playing patient and doctor would likely keep (S/b) talking.
(S/b) leaned forward on their toes, "The innocent people. The normal people. So, I killed a few people — it was Y/n's fault. I wouldn't have done it — I'm-I'm a good person. Not like Y/n... I'm normal."
"Who did you kill, (S/b)?" Kisaku watched them twitch.
"Y/n told me to do it — THE BULLIES!" (S/b) suddenly exploded. "I was being bullied in school and no one would help me! The only one who knew about it was Y/n!"
"So, so," Kisaku shifted his weight, testing how tightly the other had tied his wrists, "back then you were being bullied in school — by Sato and Koichi and, um, Fumo."
"Yes," (S/b) hiccupped, calming down slightly. "Yes, I was being bullied by them. Every day. All the time. I never had any peace! I tried to tell my mom and my dad but they didn't listen! They didn't do anything about it. No one did! It's not my fault, its theirs."
Kisaku began rubbing his wrists together in an attempt to loosen the knot. There was barely any slack. (S/b) had gone pale in front of him.
"No," they raised a shaking hand to their face. "No, that's something Y/n would say..."
Kisaku glanced up at the mention of Y/n.
(S/b) was solemn as they said, "It was Y/n's fault. That any of that happened. That they died."
"How is it Y/n's fault?" the doctor asked.
"Y/n was the only one who knew — who could see — I was being bullied," (S/b)'s voice was quiet. "And he..." their expression shifted into a snarl, "destroyed me. I killed the first one — and mom. I killed them. But that's it. I didn't kill anyone else — it was Y/n, he..."
"He manipulated me," (S/b) choked. "One day — one day at school he gave me a knife. I was in the bathroom... cutting myself with a — nothing but a pencil sharpener blade," (S/b) nearly appeared sheepish at this, "and Y/n came in — right into the stall — took one look at me and just asked, 'Are you cutting yourself with that?' like it didn't matter that I was, it just mattered I was using something like a pencil sharpener to do it. Then, he just — he just pulled out a pocket knife. He switched it open and nicked himself with it."
"'Look at that sharpness,' he said. 'Now that's effective' and then he said, 'If you want results...' and nothing more. Just threw the open blade at me — and then I... I tried to kill myself. See, I... See," (S/b) reached over and pulled his sleeve up. One long deep vertical scar was there amongst a sea of thin, horizonal ones. "But I, I didn't succeed. Y/n found me — stopped me from doing the other. Then he treated my wounds and said, 'What did you do that for?' and I told him, 'You gave me the knife' sort of 'what did you expect?' and he acted like he cared."
Delusional, (S/b), completely delusional, Kisaku inwardly shook his head.
"He hugged me, told me he was there for me," (S/b) sobbed at this. "But it was a lie! When the bullying got so bad, I wanted to die again, Y/n manipulated me! Over and over, he'd say it wasn't my fault, it was theirs. That if I wanted anything to change — if I wanted it to all stop — because no one would help me but me — then I'd use the knife he'd given me and solve the problem myself."
"So I... killed Sato... in the heat of the moment. I never meant to do it. It just happened. So fast. I was seeing red and then, I was seeing red. Because he was bleeding out and then Koichi and Fumo — they were screaming and then Y/n was there. He tsked at me like again, I had done something he had said not to do — like he was disappointed in me even though it was what he said to do — what he implied!"
"Then he said, 'Would you like some help, (S/b)?' and then I broke down and I said yes. Yes, Y/n, I want your goddamn help. He killed the other two... with none the wiser. No one knew. I hid the bloody knife in my bag and we went home... Like nothing happened — and then mom saw the knife in my bag — knew about the attack because... I killed her too and then Y/n asked me again, when dad came in — when the police were being phoned... 'Do you want my help?' and I..."
"And I said yes."
"I killed them because he tricked me. Messed with my head. Then he killed the rest because he manipulated me into asking him for his help. Like murder is —" (S/b) choked up. Then they glanced up, setting their furious eyes on the bound doctor before them, "That's the truth you wanted, doctor. Now say goodbye to it."
The gun was raised — Kisaku hadn't had enough time. The binds were loose — but not loose enough!
Sweat beaded up and rolled down the man's forehead. He didn't have time to digest (S/b)'s story. Not when the most important thing was making it out alive.
But it seemed futile now.
(S/b) with their trembling hand, fingered the trigger; a manic light in their eyes. Kisaku squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for what was doomed to come next.
There was a moment of pause, in it (S/b) inhaled too sharply, eyes widening too much, losing their manic quality — the hand moved, up and to the left, a single shot sounded.
Then Kisaku opened his eyes — because he still had the ability to open them. Confusion shimmered brightly in them — until he heard the sound of glass shattering against the concrete floor. Pieces of the mirror slid outward so much they touched the heel of Kisaku's shoe.
The mirror. (S/b) had missed and shot the mirror —
"Scared of a mere reflection, (S/b)?"
Both (S/b) and Kisaku looked up in time to register a body and a wicked flash of silver. Next thing the doctor knew was (S/b) on the ground, blood spilling out of a wound on the side of their head. The gun had fallen out of their fingers.
Standing above them, was Y/n... Dirtied, bloodied, Y/n who smacked the bloody, hairy end of a metallic baseball bat into their free hand.
The (h/c) boy easily stepped over their sibling, kicking the gun yards away from their clawing hand.
"Hello, Haitani," Y/n greeted, sharp smile adorning his face.