RRRIINNNGGG!
A blinding yellow flash. The bar around Kazuto just melted away, swallowed by light. He couldn't even see his own hands. Something weird crawled over his skin, every muscle twitching and pulsing like he'd stuck his finger in a socket. He'd never felt anything like this before—
Wait…
Full dive? This was just like firing up the Nerve Gear. Weird. It was almost identical. The world started loading in, piece by piece. First the walls, then the floor, ceiling, furniture, and finally—
ZZZZAP!
Suddenly, Kazuto was standing in front of a phone. No clue where he was. Beige walls, carpeted floor, dark brown furniture...some random hallway.
A large crowd's sound came from below, near a descending set of stairs. He saw it then, the table where a black landline telephone sat next to a family portrait. The picture had been taken in front of the house, with two girls smiling at their parents. They were about Kazuto's age, and damn, they were hot. Even the mother was quite the looker, but their dad looked…
He was a police officer.
A slash. The sound of a blade tearing through flesh and bone. Chunks of human meat hitting the asphalt. But what really made Kazuto want to puke was remembering himself grabbing the guy's wallet.
This was the cop's house. Kazuto jerked back, slamming into the wall. Why the hell would Morrison send him here?
The credit card.
He still had the credit card in his hand. Miles Porter. The guy who was killed by a Devil two nights ago. Morrison must've thought Kazuto was him and dumped him at this address.
And of course, it had to be the day of the funeral.
Kazuto crouched. First thing: get the hell out. He peeked past the stair railing. The front door was right at the bottom, but a crowd was jammed near the stairs. If he ran, he'd have to be fast. But then what? Would they chase him? Call the cops?
Should he waste time plotting, or just bolt and hope for the best?
Creak, Creak, Creak
Shit. Someone was coming up the stairs. All the doors in the hallway were closed. No clue which one was the bathroom, or if there even was one.
Screw it. He had to pick one and hope for the best. He crawled as fast as he could to the door at the end of the hall. If any of these doors was a bathroom, it had to be this one.
It was a girl's bedroom. He shut the door behind him. At least there was a window. Kazuto rushed over and yanked on it. Nothing. No latch on top, either. A window that didn't even open.
Just my luck, he thought.
Kazuto heard footsteps moving through the hallway outside. They were headed straight for the bedroom door. Because obviously, this day couldn't get any worse. What was the least creepy place for him to hide? Under the bed? The closet? Just stand there and greet them when they enter?
Oh hey! Don't mind me, I just got mixed up in the hallway. By the way, sorry about totally getting your dad killed. You see, he wouldn't have even been in that alleyway if it weren't for me. He was chasing me because I was gonna miss a store opening to buy a game on release. Hahahaha.
Kazuto's chest tightened again. He was such a fucking loser. Getting this poor family's dad killed over a video game, then pissing himself. He should just—
The doorknob turned
Fuck it!, he thought as he ran to the closet. Tucking himself away behind the grated door, he got a better look at the room as a girl walked in.
She was...wow. Kazuto had never seen hair so blonde. It went far past her waist, framing her soft face and blue eyes. Maybe he wasn't at a funeral after all. She was wearing a white dress.
"Cat?" she asked the room. It didn't seem to be hers, then. The posters on the wall, featuring boy bands and female artists, didn't seem to match this girl's vibe. Even the color was too dark, and the bedding was simpler than this girl would have.
She looked under the bed. "Catherine, I heard you come in here." She groaned, "Please don't make me look for you." Her voice was light and warm. You wouldn't guess that she was grieving. Was it possible that Kazuto was wrong? Maybe the officer's death hadn't even been reported.
"You're in the closet again, then?" she spoke.
Shit.
Shitshitshitshit. He would go to jail for perversion. Kazuto's stomach sank. A horrible but familiar sensation lathered his body. Fear itself strangled every inch of his skin. He started crying. It hadn't been long since he logged out of SAO, but god, these last few hours had been the worst of his life.
The closet door creaked open. It took a moment for her to notice, but Kazuto heard her gasp. His whimpers were louder than he meant for them to be. It was the kind of cry that made it hard to breathe. Kazuto tried as hard as he could to compose himself. The least he could do was face the music with some dignity.
He looked up at her. She was beautiful. There wasn't a trace of fear or disgust on her face. Kazuto was scared to breathe in her direction, let alone shatter the few moments of grace they began to share. They spent the next minute or so staring at each other. She didn't even seem worried, just...present.
The silence broke when she adjusted her dress to sit on the carpet in front of him.
"I hate funerals, too," she said.
Kazuto stifled his cry for a moment as he looked down. His clothes...the ones that Morrison lent him. They were all black. A button-up shirt with matching slacks. It was all that was left at the bars Lost and Found. What an idiot. He looked completely dressed for a funeral.
"I..." Kazuto choked out. "It's my first one," he said.
"Goodness," she chuckled. "You picked an interesting one, at least." She paused, studying him for a moment, then added, "You're not hiding from someone, are you?"
Kazuto went rigid. Was she joking, or did she really suspect something? His mind scrambled for a believable answer.
Still, she didn't seem worried. "So, I don't recognize you. How did you know him?"
"Oh," Kazuto's eyes widened a bit, "I...uh."
Her hand found its way to Kazuto's leg. "Unless!" she said, "you're from my dad's side. I'm just not really familiar with them."
Kazuto sat straighter, "No, I'm not family." He looked at her again. "I doubt there would be anyone Japanese on his side."
"Well, you never know, I suppose."
The feeling was gone. His skin relaxed. Kazutos breathing settled back to a normal rhythm. "You said you've been to a few of these? That stinks. I'd hate to remember that."
"Yes, my grandparents all passed within the last year. So it was another one every few months." She said that dimmer than her other words. Her face seemed flatter, too.
"Oh, shit," she furrowed her brow at him. "Oh, sorry. I just meant..."
"No, it's fine. I'm just not around language like that." She inched a bit closer, reducing the distance between them. His skin tingled at that. "My name is Alice. Officer Porter was my father."
Alice. A pretty name. It suits her well. Kazuto caught himself staring a little too long. What the hell was wrong with him? He shouldn't be thinking about that right now, not here. But what's with calling her dad "officer"?
"I know," he stuttered, "n-not your name, but that he was your dad. I'm sorry for your loss."
"And your name is?" she said.
"Oh," a strange deflection. "Uh"
A silence settled between them, thick and uncertain. Kazuto glanced at his shoes, then at the carpet. He could feel Alice watching him, but he didn't know what to say. Should he apologize again? Ask about her dad? Every possible topic felt like a landmine.
Alice spoke first, voice soft. "You look like you want to disappear."
Kazuto blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. I guess I do."
She tilted her head, a small smirk on her lips. "Me too. But my sister is the disappearing one. So people would notice if I did it."
He tried to laugh, but it came out choked. "I'm good at vanishing. Usually. Today's just… not my day."
Another silence, but this time less awkward, almost comfortable.
She looked at him, really looked. "You're not what I expected to meet here. The funeral and my sister's room. Most people just say the right things and leave."
Kazuto shrugged. "I'm not good at the right things."
She grinned. "Maybe that's better."
"Kazuto. My name"
"Hi, Kazuto." She smiled.
"Hi...Alice," he smiled back.
...
Was it wrong to try to pick up girls at their dad's funeral?