By Katelyn

Takeru called an hour or so later to confirm his date with Hikari. He was suspicious of her still, but he couldn't say no to her for a date. He'd loved her for a long, long time. It was like a dream come true.

His love for her overrode all his reason and knowledge and blinded him with affection. It left him helpless and babbling. He wished he didn't have to love her; she was such a tease sometimes. But she was, nonetheless, his best friend. Even though he suspected her of triple murder.

He didn't tell Hikari that he suspected she had killed her brother. He knew that she was already angry with him for thinking she may have played a roll in Yamato's death, and possibly Mimi's as well.

He put on a nice suit and a tie and tried to do his unruly hair into a fairly decent style. He wet it and combed it back against his head, but it wouldn't stay; in the end he settled for a toned-down version of his normal mane. He sprayed on some cologne and swallowed a breathmint. He had just turned sixteen and gotten his driver's license, so he was picking her up.

*

Hikari checked the clock. 6:51. Takeru was picking her up at seven. She put on a nice dress and combed her hair, spritzing some perfume on. As she replaced the perfume on the bathroom shelf, a small bottle marked "Rubbing Alcohol" caught her eye.

It wasn’t really rubbing alcohol, of course – it was liquid cyanide.

Cyanide is a deadly poison that kills painfully and slowly when ingested in even small amounts. It is nearly odorless, tastes like nothing when dissolved in another drink, and completely invisible as well. Cyanide poisoning takes place instantly, is irreversible and incurable.

She put the bottle in her purse and sat down by the front door.

After a short time, Takeru pulled up in his late brother's red coupe, the one Hikari had stolen (but had later returned anonymously, because it was much to suspicious to keep parked in her yard). That car brought back a lot of bad memories, but she kept a perfectly straight face as she got into the passenger's seat. The murderer, riding shotgun...she chuckled.

"What?" Takeru asked.

"Nothing, Takeru-sama," she assured him.

He smiled mysteriously. "I brought you something."

Her eyes lit up. She asked eagerly, "What? Oh, Takeru, you didn't have to -"

He pulled out a single red rose, fragrant and fresh and beautiful. "Red roses for love," he said romantically. She took the rose and inhaled its sweet scent.

"Arigatou Takeru-sempai! That's so sweet of you..."

He smiled as they pulled in their parking space at Odaiba Inn. Hikari tucked the rose into her breastpocket.

Hikari and Takeru picked out a nice table in the corner of the restaurant and ordered two wineglasses of water - neither was old enough to drink alcohol. On the bottom of Takeru’s Hikari had scratched the single word:

KAISER

They spent precious minutes talking and joking, but all the while Hikari was aware of the time, waiting for the perfect moment to slip the poison into Takeru's drink.

He was turned away, looking out the window and explaining something about the stars to Hikari when she reached into her purse and extracted the bottle of cyanide. She murmured a sound of agreement as Takeru talked, opening the bottle and pouring out a small amount of the clear liquid into Takeru's glass.

He turned back and grasped the wineglass in his hand. Hikari's heart quickened. She almost wished he wouldn't drink it...she loved Takeru. But at least this way there was no blood, and the guilt of his death would not rest entirely on her.

He lifted the glass to his lips, but set it down again without taking a drink. Hikari was sure he could hear her heart beating.

"Do you like chocolate strawberries?" he asked.

"Do I!" she cried, clasping her hands. "Mm... chocolate strawberries..."

"Me too," he said. "We should order some for dessert."

Hikari looked at the floor uncomfortably. "Yes," she mumbled. There would be no dessert for Takeru, she knew.

This time the glass touched his lips and he took a long, refreshing sip. Hikari stared. She didn't speak.

Takeru drained the liquid entirely, and the word Kaiser stared at him from behind his glass. His eyes widened, his hand began to shake, and he dropped the glass; it shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor, causing several people to turn and look. Realizing that she was under the scrutinizing eyes of tons of people, Hikari began to feign concern.

"Takeru?" she asked. "Takeru, are you okay?"

His eyes went unfocused, as though he were staring at something a great distance away. His mouth hung open, and he choked, "Hikari...I think..." but he couldn't finish. He clutched his stomach in agony and toppled out of the chair. Hikari leapt up from her seat. This time her concern was at least partially real. She hadn't expected it to take so long for him to die.

She cradled his head in her arms. "Hikari," he breathed, his hand still pressed over his navel as though trying to extract the poison from it. "Hikari, I love you. Aishiteru..."

She could feel him quaking. She didn't say anything. After a minute, she bent down and kissed his lips, and he returned the kiss; for a moment they were locked. She pulled back and felt him go limp in her arms, almost dead.

She leaned down until her lips were nearly touching his ear and whispered, "I hope the irony's not lost on you, Takeru."

His eyes narrowed, but he couldn't say anything, for he was dead. Hikari reached over to the shattered glass and slit her finger deeply with one piece of it, causing tears to come to her eyes. "Someone poisoned him!" she yelled, so the whole restaurant could hear it. "I'll find whoever did this and kill them!"

She gathered her dress around her knees and ran out of Odaiba Inn. She took the red coupe and drove to the Takaishi's and give Takeru's mother the news. Then she went home and buried the bottle of cyanide with her fingerprints all over it in her backyard.

There was no evidence to convict her.

*

One problem with Hikari's plan was that now she had all night to think about what she was doing. She had heard that snipers sometimes go mad thinking about what they do to people, because they have so much time to contemplate it.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't believe Takeru was gone. At her hand. She twirled the rose he had given her around in her hand, and then replaced it in the vase next to her bed. She felt so horrible about Takeru's death. She just couldn't take it.

Eventually, she phoned Ken. He picked up the phone. "Ichijouji residence."

"Ken?" she asked.

"Kari," he said in recognition. "Did you take care of Takeru?"

"It is all over the news," she said. "This brings the total of the deaths in the Twenty-Nine Degree Murders to four."

"I already have a plan to take out Miyako," he informed her. "She and I are going for a walk down at the beach in a couple days."

Hikari murmured in agreement. She coughed nervously. "Listen, Ken-kun...I'm just not sure I can go on like this. All this killing - I'm starting to have doubts."

He voice grew cold and angry. "You don't have to. Fine. I'll do it myself."

"Ken -" she began, but her protests fell on the dialtone. He had hung up.

She replaced the phone on the hook and stared stolidly at Takeru's rose. A single red petal floated from the flower to her desk and rested there.

The rose was beginning to whither.

*

*

Bleed Just To Know You're Alive

-

About two hours outside of Odaiba there is a visitor beach, mainly used for marine biology studies due to its rich wildlife. A little way off from this beach there is a port, where other countries ship supplies to Japan. Miyako's parents, who own a ninety-nine cent store, go to the dock often to restock.

This particular time, Ken had wormed his way into coming along. Miyako was happy enough to except; she found Ken to be quite attractive in an elusive way. Her parents were less excepting of the strange boy, but Ken was a master of deception. He promised that he and Miyako would simply walk along the beach and the docks while her parents picked up their supplies. It seemed fair enough.

Ken beguiled and charmed Miyako into giving him her absolute trust during the two hour car ride by being uncharacteristically kind, generous, and flirtatious. Miyako was such as sucker for a good-looking guy that it hadn't taken much to get her head over heels in love with him.

The beach was relatively normal, not particularly romantic or beautiful in any way. The currents in the water were strong and sometimes riptides would appear; swimming was forbidden. Out off the edge of the dock, the water was nearly twenty-nine feet deep -- a fact that Ken found not only amusing but also rather ironic: Miyako was another victim of the Twenty-Nine Degree Murders.

The temperature of the water was also extremely cold and could not sustain life for more than a couple hours. Anyone lost in that ocean was good as dead.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Miyako whispered.

Ken nodded. "Come on," he said. "I'll take you to the edge of the dock. We can have a better view."

He took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. Wow, déjà vu, he thought. It's just like Hikari...

Together they walked to the edge of the pier, flirting dangerously. Ken almost felt sorry for Miyako; she really was making a fool out of herself. Ken didn't love her at all; in fact, he wasn't even attracted to her -- well, he -- NO! That was a moot point anyway.

The reached the edge of the pier, still holding hands. Ken smiled to himself. It was going well enough. Not perfectly though. One thing Ken had definitely not factored in was falling in love with Miyako, even through the denial. That wasn't supposed to happen, but it could be overlooked.

"Close your eyes," he said. Miyako, of course, obeyed, squeezing her eyes shut.

"It's just so romantic, Ken-kun," she breathed.

His breathing was laboured and quick. It felt like it was a million degrees out. In fact, it was only around forty-five, it was December, after all. He turned Miyako around so that her back was facing the ocean. She was about three feet away from the unblocked edge of the dock, which dropped off about six feet into the freezing and tide-ripped ocean below.

He took both her hands in his and moved closer to her, forcing her to take another step or two backward. She was nearly teetering on the edge of the dock now. Ken couldn't stop his heart from pounding. His body was tingling. Without even thinking about it, he leaned in closer to Miyako and kissed her deeply.

He was just as surprised as she was. This wasn't supposed to happen! She fell into the kiss, of course, and he arched himself against her. He could fix this. Ken Ichijouji could fix this.

With the pressure of his body he forced her back another step, until she was on the very edge of the pier. Slowly, never breaking the kiss, he whispered into her mouth a solitary word:

"Kaiser."

With the last of his energy shoved her back, releasing her hands as she plummeted backward into the ocean.

"KEN!" she screamed.

"MIYAKO!" he screamed as well, genuinely amazed at his own callous. He understood what Hikari meant now, about killing Takeru. It was the same kind of feeling. But he refused to give into it. He was Ken Ichijouji, God damn it, and he didn't care about any life.

There was a splash as she connected with the water, and a last heart-wrenching scream. Miyako, he knew, could not swim well, and there was a large current that ran directly through this part of the water. She flailed around in the sea, submerged to her chest.

The water was cold, and after a minute her body began to fall numb and her protests became more and more feeble. Ken stared over the edge of the pier, pretending to be concerned, but made no move to help her. The only thing above the water was her head...

...mouth...

...nose...

...eyes...

...forehead...

...arms...

...fingertips...

...and she was gone, only a stream a bubbles to remind him of where she had been.

He got up and walked nonchalantly back to her parents. He rubbed water all over his body to make it look as though he had been swimming; he scooped up a handful of saltwater and splashed it into his eyes to make himself cry. He then told her parents that she had fallen off the dock, and he had done all he could to save her but it was too late.

*

News of Miyako's death was all over the television. The total number of casualties related to the Twenty-Nine Degree Murders had reached five, and no one had any idea who the murderer was. The fact that the murders had even gone through Christmas - which had been just a day ago - caused even more hatred to arise.

Ken and Hikari maintained normal daily lives and pretended to be interested in the case in order to avoid suspicion. Both knew that what they were doing was wrong, but it had become unreal, a sick game that they played.

The one who was the most affected by Miyako's sudden and painful death was Daisuke. The boy had grown very close to the other Digidestined, close enough even to love her, to some degree. Her death, coupled with those of his friend "T.G.", his mentor Taichi, Mimi, and of course his sister's love interest Yamato, had driven him nearly to the brink of insanity.

Seeking release from all the hurt, Daisuke had foolishly turned to drugs. Only almost sixteen years old, and the boy was already addicted to crack. His grades had dropped so low that he had dropped out of tenth grade, and he was dirty and careless. His entire life revolved around his next fix.

All of this wrecked havoc on Daisuke's body, of course. The amount of crack that Daisuke took each day was so abnormally high that he was literally killing himself - and very quickly. But he couldn't stand it. Too much death...he needed release.

It was reported that Motomiya Daisuke died of a crack overdose on December twenty-ninth (a fact with Ken and Hikari found very unnerving). His body was discovered in an alleyway not far from his home. His face was contorted into a look of pain and unhappiness, and the words "I LOVE YOU" had been written on a piece of paper clutched in his fist.

No one ever discovered whom the note was written for, but Mrs. Motomiya had it framed and placed in her hallway. The picture fell and shattered, destroying the note, only two days later.

*

*

 That night, Ken phoned Hikari.

"Hullo?"

"Hikari," he said, his voice hushed but bursting with excitement, "have you seen the news lately? We’re all over it! We’re famous! Things I’ve done are all over TV! It’s like…it’s like the old days, back when people used to interview me for being a genius after Sam died!"

Hikari smiled slightly in a sinister way. "Ken, your name was never mentioned."

"It doesn’t matter; I know it’s me! The entire world is watching the things I’ve done!" He laughed, almost like a madman.

Hikari’s brow furrowed. Ken was starting to scare her. She found it suddenly more difficult to hold the receiver.

"This is what we did this all for, isn’t it?" he said, not really asking her. "All the fame. Everything. Oh my God! We’re on the news. We’re on national television. Every news channel on the planet Earth! I’m fucking famous!"

Hikari hung up on him.

*

The gravity of what he had done never really hit Ken until the news programs reported the death of Motomiya Daisuke, due to his love for the other victims of the Twenty-Nine Degree Murders. He was lying in bed one Saturday evening, counting the stars in the sky out of his window when it fell on him like a brick.

But he, being Ichijouji Ken, famous for his heartlessness and his ability to go untouched by death, did not give into it.

It was a different story for Kamiya Hikari. Her late lover Takeru, who had died from the cyanide poisoning she had given him, haunted her nightly in her dreams. His brother Yamato made occasional visits as well, as did Taichi and Mimi and Daisuke and Miyako, and many people began to suspect that Hikari was going schizophrenic.

She would wake in a cold sweat, wishing for release from it all, but she would remember Ken and console herself back to sleep. Her guilt weighed her down constantly. She could barely take it. Sometimes it felt like the whole world was pressing on her and she just wanted to fade away into the background.

She and Ken had arranged for a rendezvous in the Digiworld that night, so Hikari held her D-Terminal to her computer with a trembling hand. She didn’t know what Ken might have in mind for her. "Digi-port open," she whispered.

She vanished. When she opened her eyes, she was surrounding by happy things: trees and flowers and little chirping birds, not death and blood and the stench of guilt and suspicion everywhere. She almost wished she could stay in this utopia forever…

*

There is a place in the Digiworld where bird Digimon go to nest. It is a little grove of trees surrounding a large lake, where the sun sets on the water and plays beautiful shadows across everything at twilight.

It was about this time of day when Ken came rushing through the underbrush, he clothing torn and savaged by the brambles. Hikari had her back to him, staring at her reflection in the water. This was the place where Ken had seduced her – the place where she had sold her soul to him in return for him undying love. Her moral sense of righteousness was under his complete control.

As she watched the reflection, she saw Ken come up behind her and stand over the water. She took a stone and dropped it directly onto Ken’s reflection, causing it to ripple away to nothing like so many dreams. "What do you want?" she asked.

"We have to take out Sora, Iori, Koushiro, and Jyou," he said.

She turned to him, her normally gentle and virgin brown eyes filled with seething hatred. "Don’t you think of anything except death?!" she demanded.

"To be honest…" he said with mock sadness, "no, not really."

She made a guttural sound deep in her throat and pushed herself to her feet. She didn’t meet his gaze, but instead walked a full circle around him and came to rest facing the now nearly-invisible sun. "I don’t want to be under your stupid minion anymore," she said.

"You don’t have a choice," he protested.

She reached around and stuck her hand into his coat, extracting the long, bloodied pistol. She pressed it into his hand. "I am going to walk away," she said. "You can shoot me now, shoot me in the back as a leave, or you can let me go."

Well, Ken surely had not been expecting this. His eyes were wide with wonder and shock. "Wha-what do you mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean," she snarled.

It was true. He did. He wrapped his fingers around the gun; it fit perfectly into his hand, like he had been meant to wield it always. His hand shook violently as he raised the gun and pressed it against Hikari’s chest. Her eyes did not leave his – they showed a total absence of fear. They let nothing through. The only thing she let him see was the single tear that rolled down her cheek.

His hand was trembling incessantly, and he couldn’t steady it. He had to uphold his tao; he had to shoot her. If he didn’t, he’d be breaking every rule he’d ever set for himself. But kill her? Kill Hikari? The girl for whom he was starting to have strange new feelings, ones that could not even be matched by his feelings for Miyako? He couldn’t do it. He knew he couldn’t.

Hikari sensed his hesitation. She wrapped her own fingers around the barrel of the gun and held it against her chest. Ken gasped. She really would rather die than be with him! He felt weak and uncertain and lost and alone. He was sweating buckets. The gun was slipping from his sweating fingers. Beads of anguish and dilemma were strewn across his forehead. "H-hi-Hikari…" he stuttered.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?" she said to him, her eyes never leaving his. The single tear still remained, but her face was an unloving, hardened mask. "Isn’t this your plan? Don’t you want to kill me, Ken Ichijouji?"

He swallowed. Everything hurt. Everything was a blur. Not even fully aware of what he was doing, but blinded by rage that this small and innocent child could be right; angry and irrational, he narrowed his cold, soul-searching eyes and snarled the word that come to be so symbolic:

"KAISER!"

And he tightened his sweating finger on the trigger.

The gunshot resounded through the entire Digiworld. Hikari did not cry out nor say one word, she simply collapsed to the ground and lay unmoving, blood flowering from this new wound.

He staggered back, horrified at what he had done. His mouth hung open, his hair agee, aghast at this deed which he had performed. But then, he reminded himself, how was this any different from killing Yamato or Miyako or Mimi? It was just that he had truly loved Hikari, and now that the Light was gone…

Only Darkness remained.

The gun dropped from his sweaty fingers, but instead of clattering to the ground like a metallic object should, it landed with the gentle lulling sound of a bell ringing.

The prophetic voices of Hikari and Miyako and Mimi and Daisuke and everyone else who had died as a result of the Twenty-Nine Degree Murders rang through his head. He clapped his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. "No…no…NO!"

He fell back to the ground, tears – real tears, for Hikari, and everyone else – stung his eyes. He had sworn never to cry, but he found that they came by themselves. Everything ached. His heart hurt. He had never known pain so cutting or real. He reached behind him and retrieved the gun.

He slithered like the snake he was to Hikari’s side, and grasped her cold, lifeless hand in his, just like all the times before. With his free hand, he turned the gun around and pointed it down his throat.

There was no hesitation this time. No shaking. No sweat. He knew he deserved this. Still clutched his beloved’s hand, he wiped the tears from his eyes and whispered into the barrel, "My Hikari, I am coming to join you."

He paused for a long backward look. "I only did it for the fame. I just wanted to die remembered. I guess I chose the wrong path," he said. "But I got my fifteen minutes of fame." Out of respect, he listed everyone who had died at his hand. "Daisuke, Mimi, Mr. Tachikawa, Taichi, Yamato, Miyako…Hikari. I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry." He meant it. Meant it with all his heart and every fiber of his body.

And without a single breath of doubt, he pulled the trigger and swallowed the bullet and all his bitter tears once and for all.

In the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes. –Andy Warhol

*

*