I could hear the drizzle of rain, and the ripple of puddles that splashed beneath my footsteps, scattered across the foggy streets like a cracked mirror. The soft glow of a occasional lit streetlamp filtered through the reflective surface, drifting within it like liquid gold, muddied only by my disheveled figure, drenched from the idiocy of wandering in a storm. I trudged forwards, the soles of my shoes clicking against the wet cobblestone as my eyes flitted across the street, from the dark windows of peddler stores to market signs left in the rain. I kept to the side, ducking under any roof cover I could find as I wandered the narrow streets, which seemed to weave every which way like a cobweb. The buildings were cluttered together as if competing for space, but the infrastructure was neat enough for it to pass as an intentional choice.
The architecture was quaint, and was seemingly built with the simplicity and homeliness of a village. The paint was chipped, and the wood was rotting in some places, but the intricate molding carved into the the plaster and the decorative shoji paneling of some storefronts suggested a delicate touch. Despite the fog and rain, the sight was almost picturesque, not one store light was lit, and aside from the occasional light sleeper or concerningly early riser, no person was present.
Luckily for me, no one else bothered to be nosy about the drenched stranger, wandering like some stray dog.
I stopped under the riveted tile roof of what seemed like an antique store, stocked in intricate vases and cheap porcelain, as far as my hesitant peek inside could discern. Rain spilled from the slanted roofing like flowing ribbons, miniature waterfalls that seeped through the fabric on my coat. I ran a hand through my hair, ruffling the rain out of it to no avail as I looked towards the faint outline of a structure peeking through the fog. I squinted at the clock face, a round shape of metal. It was decorated with a relief of flowers and vines, carved into the silver. While the ornate design stood out, the time was what caught my attention.
The black masses of crows roosted on the clock hands, around three or four on the hour hand alone. The slight ridge of the tower sheltered them from the rain, which they repaid with stone like stillness, guarding the space like living gargoyles.
I tilted my head, straining to see the thin roman numerals that represented the hours through the rain and foggy darkness.
Four...forty..? No forty five? Its almost five in the morning...
I let out a sigh, leaning against the damp wooden storefront as I averted my gaze to the crow beside me, perched on the roofing and peering at me with shiny beady eyes.
"...Couldn't find a bus stop, and now you're drenched. You damn useless fu-...ugh.. " I muttered, raising a hand to the back of my neck, my fingers gracing the fabric of the coat. I narrowed my eyes at the crow that craned its neck at me, letting out a coo of what seemed like frustration. It had been following me for over two hours, occasionally wandering off on its own and cawing at me, as if it telling me to follow its lead. I had not followed, and in fact avoided all streets it lead me to.
I sighed, pushing my hands into my coat pockets. I already knew there was nothing to be found in them, no wallet, no phone, transit pass, nothing. Instead, there was a crumpled piece of paper, a key I didn't recognize, and some sort of identification that was clearly not mine. In fact, none of the contents were mine. My fingers grazed the revolver that weighed me down like an anchor, stalling my steps occasionally as paranoia built up over the hours I had spent putting distance between me and the inn.
I got far enough away, but at the same time...it feels like I've been walking in circles. Where in the bleeding hells is this? Was I actually kidnapped? Or...some kind of schizophrenia..? Killing another in an schizophrenic episode, without intent...the lack of memories after the act...Its possible. There was one thriller like that...the hero was the killer, a surgeon with undiagnosed schizophrenia.
Is it possible?
....Clinically undiagnosed schizophrenia..? Can it exhibit in an otherwise healthy person? With no prior signs? Is it stress induced..? Can that explain my claw...hands? The gold eyes?
The slumped image of the dead man flashed through my mind, contorted like a ragdoll, dark blood seeping through the ground, like the puddles at my feet. The two images overlapped, for only a moment, my foot flinching away from the puddles of crimson, before the image dissipated.
"..." I began to tap my finger on the wooden beam which I had retreated against. A nervous tick.
I didn't. I didn't kill him...I didn't kill anyone...
I didn't. I can't have...
My fingers traced the outline of the revolver, trembling against the damp fabric. I could feel my mind going blank, drifting into a haze as my ears became a vacuum, where sounds muted and shifted as they pleased.
...I didn't...
The grating, raucous sound shot through my ears, snapping me out of delirium. I flinched, looking up at the source. The dark eyes of a crow stared back at me.
"...What kind of crow are you..?" I let out a stiff laugh, shifting my attention back to the creature, whose feathers were glossy with rain. The rhythmic patter of rain return like a burst sound bubble, my hand falling back to my side. "Is it that hard for you to piss off and be done with it?"
The crow tilting its head and blinking back at me, its small form seeming to puff up, a feathery display of pride, likely trying to say that it was better than me.
"...The rain...smells like fish." I mused, ignoring the crows apparent ego trip as I returned to sanity, deciding not to converse with a bird.
" When will it stop...?"
The crow let out a frustrated caw, flapping its damp wings as if it understood me.
"Hey. What the hell do you want?" I muttered, raising an eyebrow as the bird fluttered its wings, taking flight and landing a building away, cooing at me expectantly. "Why are you following me? Gonna eat my carcass once I fall from fatigue? Is that it?"
"Or...Leading me somewhere..?" I let out a sigh, turning away and glancing down the street, the crow cawing again behind me, more frantically.
It doesn't matter where I go...I don't have my wallet, meaning I can't use any public transit. I still...haven't figured out where this is. There's no map, no landmark. Its like I've been kicked into some tear in time.
Is it stupid to suspect time travel just because my sense of direction is dogshit? Maybe.
I ran a hand through my rain drenched hair, pulling out a strand as I stared at the pale color that fell back into place. It was thin, and pure white, and no matter how I looked at it, it wasn't just some trick of the light.
My appearance was foreign, like a strangers reflection in the rain, warped and distorted, if not unfamiliar. I couldn't remember dyeing my hair, or buying some trench coat. Looking like some discount Holmes. I glanced down at the ribbon tied around the collar, letting out a stiff chuckle as the crow cooed again, fluttering its damp wings as if becoming frantic.
"Shut it" I snapped at the crow, pushing the drenched and overgrown hair out of my face. My fingers fiddled with the black ribbon around my collar, before tugging it off and using it to tie my hair back.
The crow let out a louder caw, hopping off of the building and taking flight, its small form fluttering in my direction. I dodged the approaching mass of wet feathers, snorting as it whizzed by, cawing indignantly.
"..Stubborn little guy.." I stared after the crow as it turned a corner, disappearing into the fog before its caws were audible. I hesitated, but let out a sigh, trailing after it as I ducked under roof cover as the rain picked up.
The fog grew denser, prompting me to squint through it as my shoes clicked against the wet cobblestone, the light reflected off of the puddles becoming my only guide as I followed the sound of flapping wings. The narrow, winding streets became empty alley ways, with no stores and no lights, just wood and metal structures, which seemed to be erected within the alleys themselves. I glanced at the piping that lined the walls, and the water heaters and wiring that were strewn about like spiderwebs.
Where is this thing leading me..? They don't train crows in organ trafficking do they?
I could see the crow up ahead, perched on a railing as it peered down an alley. It was narrow, and the cobblestone was replaced by concrete, giving off an industrial feel, along with the emergence of western architecture. I approached the crow, which promptly hopped off of the railings, flying towards me and circling me as if celebrating its success.
A nervous laugh escaped me as I looked down the alleyway.
"...I'm no better than those dumbass jocks in every horror movie..." I muttered, leaning on the rusting railing as I peered into the fog, and the shadowed shapes within it. Wooden crates stacked into precarious towers, scrap metal, construction material, strewn against the brick alley walls, snug against the occasional door.
"Walking into an obvious death flag..."
I glanced downwards, noticing the stairs that lead into the alley. The crow perched itself on the metal rod of the railing, cooing at me with apparent expectation. I glanced at the foggy alley, and then at the street, which was equally as barren, and wet.
"...Oh I'm going to loose a kidney..." I snickered, running a hand through my damp hair as the crow cawed, as if offended. I ignored it, my eyes narrowing they scanned the scarce numbers and words that adorned the backdoors.
133. 247. Oliver's Garden. Asaki. Sake.
The wooden door labeled 'Oliver's Garden' was adorned with the symbol of a rose, etched into a metal plaque next to the noticeably English words.
From the shuttered window of the same establishment, a dark, stocky silhouette came into view, red eyes locking with mine.
I turned on my heel, walking away with some speed to my steps. Keeping the panic to a down low before I broke into a jog.
I ducked into an adjacent alley, taking a turn every chance I got as I wandered back onto the cobblestone streets, glancing at the foggy outline of the clocktower in the distance, trying to use it as a location marker. I picked up the pace, walking briskly as I glanced over my shoulder, the crow nowhere to be seen. I ducked under roof cover, preferring a dryer option of path in the downpour as I continued on, my shoes clicking against the cobblestone and sending ripples through the puddles underfoot.
I let out a breath I had been holding, crouching down when I got to a lit area, a store, although I didn't check what.
"What am I doing..." I felt exhausted, drenched to the bone, my legs aching from hours of wandering.
Before this idiocy, I had managed to find some sort of town central, where the clocktower was situated, and the trail of rail tracks dug into the cobblestone. Following it had led me in circles. Nothing but a few nonfunctioning trams, parked in a side street. The design was ancient, with gears, copper, with no conductor in sight.
I should have waited there. Damn it.
"Following crows...you idiot. Stupid. Fu--What if they followed me back...?"
I leaned my head back, resting it against the wood column behind me, and closed my eyes.
What's the worst that can happen? Loosing my kidney? Or being outright murdered? Not a single person I've seen was normal. What kind of freak show is this?
Did I get cast for a prank show? Period drama themed?
Should I be looking for a hidden camera?
"I'm tired..."
My eyelids felt heavy, the drizzle of rain, white noise that pulled my consciousness away, until a coo snapped my eyes open. I flinched, staring at the crow, perched on the store display a few meters from me. It tilted its head, hopping off of the display and fluttering over to me, its small form halting a few inches away from my crouched figure.
I kept silent, willing it to leave, willing all of this to be a dream, hallucinated up as I slammed my head into textbooks to cram bio chemistry into my already at capacity brain. The endless studying, only to scrape by in the minimum percentile to keep the scholarship going.
I was taping my life together, barely managing my relationships with friends, my parents who I hadn't called in weeks, and the part time job I could barely cram into the schedule.
That was my life, the one I struggled for. If all that goes down the drain...
"I'd loose my mind." I laughed weakly, rubbing my eyes.
The crow cooed, perching itself on my knee and staring at me with its beady eyes, which caught the gleam of street lamps like glass.
"...I'm not a post box" I stared at the crow, my laugh bubbling up again at the oddity of a crow perching on my leg.
"..Ack.." I grunted, feeling something metallic bump into my leg as the crow got comfy. It was a sort of cylindrical tube, clamped to the crows leg.
The crow tilted its head, cooing as its wet feathers ruffled. I let out a stifled laugh, raising a hand to my temple as my exhaustion caught up to me, not knowing what to think anymore. I just let the crow perch there, on my knee, for a bit, too tired to saying anything more, letting myself rest, even if only briefly as the rain continued to fall around me.
Seconds turns to minutes, as I sat there, my eyes fluttering open as my curiosity got the best of me. I reached out for the tube, a sort of message carrier, and the crow ruffled its feathers, content.
"How do you open this..." I muttered to myself as I fiddled with it, afraid to be scratched by the crows talons. "Ah." My fingertips found a groove and tugged, sliding a cap like cover off, revealing a small rolled paper inside.
I pinched the paper, pulling it out as the crow ruffled its feathers, unaffected.
"...Eh?" I unfurled the paper, holding it out in the dim light as I tried to make sense of the words scrawled onto it, in cursive.
'Return the damn revolver. Remember what we agreed to, Jun.'
My eyes widened, the paper slipping from my hands as my mind went blank, staring at the crow, and then the piece of paper, which was soaked by the puddle it landed in. The ink began to bleed, obscuring the message further as the I processed the contents, and my situation as a whole.
"Jun...?" I barked out a laugh. "Who the hell..?" Then I stopped, remembering the contents of the ID I had only glanced at. The ID that was resting in my coat pocket, along with the revolver that the message had demanded I return.
I fished the ID out of my pocket, staring at the small passport like booklet, my eyes widening. It showed a black and white headshot of a man, who looked startlingly like me. The only visual difference discernable from the small photograph was swept back white hair, and a slightly different eye and jaw shape. Beside it was a name and birthdate, printed in black, blocky typewritten letters.
'Watanabe Jun'
'06/20/1887'