Chapter Text
The life after death was hardly a life. In life there were many different emotions associated with just about everything. With happiness came pain, with tears there was laughter, but tears didn’t exist here. Without a body there is nothing there to produce tears. There isn’t a heartbeat, there is no comfort in confiding in others. Physical emotion couldn’t be possible once you were dead. One thing I do remember is anger, the rage I had being born into this world with no memories of my past life. I see no reflection of my face. Everything pertaining to myself is forgotten. I have no end goal I am in constant motion like I am searching for something.
Colors and people move around me. You might never knew if we passed each other by. The streets are always busy here and I get a sense of familiarity walking amongst the crowd. My feet never tire even as the day carries on. They carry me too and fro, I have no thought as to where I am going, because there is no place I really should be. I find that the places I end up going disrupt what ever feeling I as a ghost might have. It’s almost as if I live a repeated moment constantly.
I can not tell time here. Night and day don’t exist. The sun doesn't rise, and night never falls. I only assume that when I walk with the crowds it's time for work. I walk through work buildings, everything looks like a wet canvas of moving water colored paintings. Blurry, unrecognizable figures of the living that the dead coexist with go about their time. They can't see me, I can't touch them. I assume that in my life I must have associated myself with the people here. Perhaps I did the same paperwork they did, we could have been acquaintances. Maybe that is why I return. Maybe that's why my soul is still wanders here.
The workplace isn't the only place I go. Sometimes I find myself in a store filled with shelves and food, a bakery, I presume. My time there feels quick, I don't seem to linger about and find myself walking another path with trees and a wide open sky. It must have been nice to see such things, although those thoughts don’t dwell for long as I continue on my way. The route I seem to be accustomed with is nothing out of the ordinary. What did I do in my previous life? Was I successful? I try to think of my life, but my mind draws a blank. I continue to walk down streets, I pass stores and houses. Always the same path, and always ending in the same place.
The place I am referring to is what might have been my home. There is a woman and a child. A sadness dwells over the household. The woman cries and I can hear her sobs. They irritate me, but something keeps me here. I do not try to interact with them, I stay for as long as I am compelled, and then I leave and return to the streets where the people are buzzing to get to work. I do not like that house. Something feels odd there, and I feel like I don’t belong, and yet I return.
I can’t hear any clearness in her voice, imagine being submerged under water while someone is talking to you, and that is all I hear. The mumbles of voices, music, any sound. Nothing is clear. When the woman cries, when she says the same sound over and over. I sit on the edge of her bed as she sleeps. It's the only time I stop my movement. I wonder often if she was my wife, if the child is mine, but it doesn’t feel right. Maybe I was someone who was never capable of loving someone else. My thoughts are negative around her. I am overwhelmed with a sensation I can't describe.
When she wakes up, I follow her routine. She hardly does her hair. I stand in front of the mirror unable to see my reflection and little of hers. Her red hair stands out among all other colors. Her hands attempt to comb out the mess but it’s not of much use. I can't help but stare at her hands as she does so. I want to grab them, I want to feel the warmth of her hands, the way her nails are, if they are soft and sleek or rough from work. I follow her around the house. The child leaves for school after giving his mother a kiss goodbye. It irks me. And then I leave.
I can’t say how long I have been dead, or if I was ever alive. If I did live and this was my life I seemed to be an average man, with an average job and an average life. I probably didn't stand out was my conclusion. I am content with that idea. To have lived a normal life. Standing out would be bothersome. And if I felt this way now I had to have felt the same way when I was alive.
Yes. Yes this realization made my head spin. I had wanted a normal life. A quiet life to be exact. Doing things that brought attention to myself was something I hated more than anything. Something about who I was returned to me. All this terrible thinking and pondering was paying off. I would know soon enough who I was. I needed to know why I wanted to live quietly. I also needed to know why that woman was involved in any of this. Trying to figure out myself would need to come first. I couldn’t believe I had thought of her in the first place.
Taking a step back I realized that the colors and the figures around me seemed to take better shape. Faces and noises were more recognizable. I could see the differences between two men or women other than the blurriness of hair color and clothing. And as I moved on with what was my past daily life, more characteristics about myself came to light, brief memories of buying sandwiches at that bakery, I remember a hand. Whose hand? Was it that woman? She was jealous. I promised that we would be spending time together. The girls at work had asked me to join them but I refused so we could be together. What a beautiful hand.
I couldn't help but sense a smile on my face. I may not have had a physical body but I still knew what a smile was. Not from happiness but from pride. Yes, I was figuring out this cursed afterlife. It was only a matter of time.
Continuing what I recalled to be a normal day for myself, I stopped to look out at what I could now see to be a lake. The more I was remembering, the clearer I could see. The trees that grew tall, the fresh growing grass, the hills, and houses. It was a peaceful scene. What a beautiful town. Nothing could compare. I loved this wonderful town, I never wanted to leave Morioh.
Morioh.
Nothing could compare to Morioh! How could I forget such a place? Yes it was all coming back now. I lived thirty three years here and I never wanted to leave. It had to be here. My mind was racing with questions. What was so important about living here that I had to stay? Is that why I couldn’t pass on? Is it because I loved this place that I was unable to leave? It must be! My smile grew and I laughed for the first time. My humanity was returning with every memory. I put my hand on the tree as I took in an even better scenery. I took notice that I had no feeling to sense the bumps and rigids, but for once I wasn't passing through objects like I had before. I hadn’t been able to touch the doors to open them, I was passing through. No one had bumped into me because they would go right through me. But now this meant I could interact with the living. Now I could interact with that woman!
No. Not that woman. I still don't remember who she is. Her face wasn't in any of my returned memories. I wondered if I had brought her here to look out at the city. Who had I brought? I remember being alone, but then whose hand was I remembering? Never mind all of this. I had to be patient. But I felt luck was on my side. And I knew that that house was the next destination.
I turned and to go on my way, pondering over all that which I had recovered. I would be free from this Hell soon enough.
“Did you guys hear about Rohan Sensei!? I heard that his favorite book store refuses to let him come by anymore because he punched some kid in the face.” I felt a shift in my sentiments. Anger and anxiety came over me. This voice was too familiar. I brought my hands to my mouth, with the attempt to bite my nails.
“Where did you hear that, Okuyasu?” another irritating voice said.
It couldn't be, no...
Okuyasu Nijimura.
A name I knew well. But.. Rohan?
“I read it in a newspaper!” Okuyasu had said proudly. I tried to continue walking. I needed to get home, the answers were home. Not my home of course, but that home.
“You actually read the newspaper?” I froze in my place.
“Hey now, Josuke, you don’t gotta be a dick!” Okuyasu may have said it allowed, but I had remembered his name as soon as he had spoke. Josuke Higashikata. I turned to look at the despicable children who brought back such undesirable feelings.
I saw nothing but the back of their heads as they laughed and talked. Three. The side of my temple ticked with what I remembered to be pain, but it faded fast. How long had I been passing them everyday. When I was alive, didn’t I avoid them like my life depended on it? It was no use now. I had no recollection of the last of their names. I didn’t see his face either but I watched as they continued to walk forward. Josuke leading, his menacingly stupid friend Okuyasu following, and lastly the short spiky haired boy. I knew them. They knew me. They were somehow connected to my death, and all of my unlucky encounters. I had no interest in following Josuke and his friends, I had an urge to continue on my way. It was no matter, I would know soon enough.
The overwhelming emotions I had pulsating through me continued to linger. It’s hard to enjoy a refreshing walk home when all you feel is unbearable hatred. If a soul like mine passed on any emotion, it might be noticeable that my wrath feel an already broken home. Such a thought made me smile. How twisted. To take an already suffering woman and make her pain even worse was just a little.. Exciting. I composed myself. No, no, I don't want to be noticed. But if her cries of sorrow where intertwined with the sound of pain, it would be music to my ears.
It was time, I had finally arrived to that place. As I approached the red door of the house, a cat followed my stride. Since when did a cat live here? It ran ahead, scratching at the door then looking at me. I stared back. Was I visible to the cat? That would be no good if the woman saw me, but it was too late as the door creaked open and a soft sweet voice sighed in relief. If it were a familiar voice, it was still unidentifiable to me.
“Oh my kitty! You came home,” she said, opening the door and snatching the cat up in her arms. My eyes were fixated on her, I couldn't move, her needy hands petting the cat, scratching its head and kissing its face. It was disgusting, who knew where that feline could have been.
I continued to examine her. As I expected, her hair was messy, red auburn bangs swooped to the side and her hair falling out of a ponytail. She wore no makeup and dark circles weighed under her brown eyes. I am sure if she cleaned up she might be slightly to look at. Her clothing consisted of a pink sweater and black skirt with white polka dots. That kept her appearance to look like the young housewife she must have been, despite being worn down by recent or old trauma. Crying herself to sleep every night had to have become unhealthy. Was she able to sleep soundly and receive all eight hours of sleep? I always had an exact eight hours of sleep and I made sure I did no matter what.
The woman gazed out in my direction. I was sure she had seen me as our eyes met. I clenched my hand into a fist, how could I give away my cover, I hide for years without being discovered! Then again, what was I hiding from? I lived a normal life, there was nothing to hide from. I found my feet take a step forward but stop as the woman sighed and brought the cat inside shutting the door. Of course I hadn’t been seen! I let out a breath of satisfaction. Being dead was a nice way to not give oneself any attention, I could do what I pleased. I smiled and entered into the house.
If I had skin, it would be crawling at how unsettling such a nice house was. Every part of me lit up and I desperately wished to clean every inch of this mess of a home. The sink was filled with plates, unfinished food, and dishes. The garbage overflowed, and the stair railings were covered in unfolded laundry. Could it have been clean, or dirty, who knows, but the very sight disgusted me to the core. How could you live like this? Does it not bother her?
From upstairs I heard a door open, and my legs moved abruptly. The stairs made no sound as a I proceeded up into the hallway to the second story of the house. I passed the woman's room and down the hall where I could hear her talking to her son. I watched her from behind, setting the cat down on his bed and opening the curtains to bring more sun into the room. Her son didn't say anything but stared off much as she had. He resembled his mother, brown eyes and auburn hair, even the dead look on his face.
“I didn’t think he would come back after what happened in the basement.” a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “That poor cat, but your father was a good man and made sure to bury him outside somewhere in the garden.”
“Hm.” Was all her son mumbled, hanging his head at the mention of his father. She had said was, meaning past tense. This left a few options open. If he was dead, I could very well be the late father, and this could be my family. Maybe he left them for another woman. Another thought came to my mind, perhaps, maybe he could have been murdered?
I shivered. Murder. That sounded just about right. It felt right. Was I murdered?
The woman reached out and put a hand to her son's face. They were beautiful hands with sleek fingers and small wrists. Now that I could see them I felt like I was going mad. She caressed his cheek, I grit my teeth, she brushes some of his hair out of his face, I clench my hand into a tight fist.
Something is off. Something feels different.
I look down at my hands. My fingernails seem to be longer. I have no marks on my hands where the longer nails were clasped, a body that is no longer tangible can not have marks left on their skin. A body that is no longer made of flesh and bone can’t grow fingernails either could it? Or feel so many different things? I am dead, and yet I feel alive. It’s almost scary to think about, that one would be able to escape life being trapped in a mortal body with conflicting feelings and thoughts, to feel both physical and mental pain, and then just when you think you are passed all of that, you are a soul, stuck with the same fleeting emotions, things that made you angry still make you angry, the things you used to love still make you long for one more moment to obtain it. It was torture, and I found pleasure in that.
“Hayato..” the woman broke the awkward silence in the room. It was clear that the relationship between the two was scarce. I, however, had my parents wrapped around my finger, doing as I pleased, and supported in all my endeavors. Ah, pieces of myself were coming together. I remembered vaguely what he looked like, but most of all I remembered a camera. A photograph that could have been important? The image of an arrow came to mind. What was it? My mouth twitched in irritation. Solving this puzzle was starting to get on my nerves, trying to unmask who I was, who I am when I should already know. And another thing. The woman spoke the name of her son, Hayato, and yet I regained no memory, unlike that Josuke and Okuyasu. Maybe this boy has nothing to do with me, much like that Rohan name.
Not long after, the mother seemed to give up with the lack of response. She wore a look of dejection as she shut the door behind her. For most of the night, I was reluctant to find any answers to who I was. No matter how hard I thought on all that I had recovered, I couldn’t seem to recall anything else. I followed my normal routine of shadowing around the woman until bedtime. She did her casual nothings, sitting and staring off into space. I allowed myself a short distance as I inspected her face, tracing every detail into my mind. There was something about her that made my chest feel as if it were racing. She was a missing link somewhere in past life, but what? The only attribute about myself that I acquired from her were pointless feeling that I was unable to name. They were intense, and every moment I am with her my body is shaken with this unbearable desire to wrap my hands around that pretty neck of hers. To see the look on her face as she struggles for her last breath, eyes rolling into her head as her face pales and her body goes limp. Lifless. She is quiet, and then, finally, I can take those beautiful hands of hers for my own.
The sound of a glass shattering in the kitchen dragged me back to reality. What strange thoughts to have, the detailed thought process of how to take a life. It felt so perfect and right, was this a characteristic of mine? I let other notions cloud over my disturbing imagery. The woman jumped in surprise to see the cat on the counter tops, scrounging the kitchen for leftover food. She rushed to stop the filthy animal from doing anymore damage, not that it really mattered in this mess of a house.
“Oh kitty, you must be more careful! The cat that snuck into our basement died from shattering glass.” she said with a whine. She had mentioned a similar scenario earlier in the boys room. Images flashed through my mind of a cat with a hole in its neck. There was blood, and plants. Not plants, but a plant, singular. A memory of the woman crying and a voice assuring her it wasn’t her fault. Was it my voice? The smell of rain and dirt in a garden. A shovel in hand as the cat is buried in the backyard of the house. I was worried. About her.. No, about the cat, something about this cat was dangerous, I couldn’t let them know. Them, Josuke, I couldn’t let Josuke and someone else.. Who? Okuyasu, yes, but not of whom I am thinking of. I tried to collect my thoughts. If I was the one who buried the stray cat outside, than that would mean I am the father of this household, would it not? There is no other explanation as to why I would have these memories. And that would mean the connection to this woman is that she was mine. I was still unsure of that thought, it didn't settle with me well but thanks to her stupid feline I was able to regain a small piece of a forgotten memory.
The cat sat on the table as the woman cleaned up the broken glass, picking up the bigger pieces and setting them aside so she could fetch the broom. I shifted uneasily, feeling as if someone was watching me, this being the first time since being a ghost, I never had to worry about anyone seeing me. Earlier, the cat had looked my way, so perhaps maybe.. I glanced over quickly, not wanting to waste my time on it, and there it was, staring at me with its big golden eyes. I furrowed my brow. It could possibly be a coincidence, so I relocated myself to a different spot to prove my theory. To my surprise, the cat watched as I went. So it was possible for animals to see me, not that it really mattered, it didn't seemed bothered by my presence.
Returning with a broom and dustpan, the woman finished cleaning up the mess. It was surprising she even remembered how to clean with the disaster zone going on around her. Afterwards, she picked the cat up to put him outside for the night, probably to avoid anything else from getting broken when she went to bed. When she opened the door, I noticed how much darker it had gotten. I could see the stars and the evening sky. It was nice to know, unlike before when everything had meshed together. Morioh, even beautiful in the night. Who would ever want to leave?
Yawning, the woman shut the door and locked it. She said nothing and made her way upstairs to her bedroom where she prepared herself for the night. The room felt more familiar than before. The desk by the window, now covered in letters and mail, the salmon pink colored curtains that were beginning to collect dust. I went to the window to look out at the town. The streets were quiet and empty, being lit with only a few street lamps and the lights of one or two of the neighboring houses. It was a nice place to live, nothing trashy about any of the yards or other parts of the neighborhood. Considering this, the woman probably depended on her husband as her provider. She never had to lift a finger to get where she was. That was why her hands were so nice, they didn't have to worry about hard work because she was always taken care of, but now look, wallowing away in self pity, waiting for some hero to come and save her, it’s such a sad tragedy. I scoffed to myself, this woman really was infuriating, yet she fit my tastes well. What tastes? Well that I couldn’t say. It was peculiar, that such a distasteful woman gave me such contrasting feelings. The bigger, twisted part of me wanted to rip her apart, to hear the pain and agony of her life being taken right before me, and then there was this beguiling knot in my being that confused me.
Unable to come up with an answer, I turned my attention back to the woman who was undressing and getting herself ready for bed. I felt a rush of nostalgia as she took her hair out, flipping it over her shoulder so it could lie on her back. The strong desire to take her life boiled inside of me. My fingers ached, I remembered a night, standing where I was now. Wanting this woman to know me, the real me, the me filled with murderous tendencies. She had brought me tea as I stared out the window after writing something over and over. I was writing a name, but it wasn’t my own. The writing was all wrong it didn’t match it’s intentional purpose. I was angry at the position I was put in by an associate of Josuke, the name that escaped my tongue. The woman had sat on the bed quietly watching me from behind. I pretended that I didn’t notice, I was suppressing myself from killing her then and there. She said something about going to sleep and that was where I lost control. She began to take of her clothes, taking out her hair as she did now, and tossing it out of her way to undo the buttons in the back of her pink dress, exposing her neck. Unable to contain myself I had silently made my way behind her, my chest burning, eyes darting down at her. She would be so small and breakable under my grip. She struggled to loosen the first little clasp while my hands reached for her. It wasn’t, in no way, a show of affection when my cold fingers had pressed against her warm skin, sending a shock through both of us as she had jumped in shock, causing me to seize the neck of her clothing, snapping off all the buttons down with brute force as I tore her dress. She fell to the floor, pressing herself against the wall, her brown eyes looking up at me in astonishment, her face beating red as if something intimate happened between us. No, I had made a mistake trying to open myself up to her. My cover would have been blown if this woman died. I would be unable to live a quiet lifestyle in this beautiful town that I never wanted to leave. Oh, how wonderful it was to feel so devious to this family. I was brilliant, no one would ever guess it was me! That’s right, who am I again? As quickly as I had began to drift off into another lost memory, I was snapped out of it by a loud scream.
My eyes came back into focus, I looked down to see my translucent arm out stretched. My body had moved itself from the window to the front of the bed, the same spot where I had tried to show her my sick, beautiful true self. I stood disoriented to what had happened moments ago, the woman was pressed against the wall, paralleling the memory, but this time, instead of a bewildered expression of excitement, a look of cold fear took its place, her lifeless eyes wide, brimming with tears. I grinned. Oh, how I loved to see that look, I had missed such terror on a pretty face. My grin grew into a smile and I laughed with pride! Me, an apparition, could once again touch a living human being. This could expand my views on this pointless afterlife. Unfortunately my joy was cut short as the woman's sobs tainted my ears. I frowned, glaring at her. It was no longer a frightened expression, but a sad one. How odd, that the feelings inside of myself turned to pity.
“K-kosaku..” she wept into her hands, mumbling the name over and over, and I then knew, of course.
Kosaku Kawajiri .
I had never met the man personally. He was just the unfortunate victim I had passed trying to escape from Josuke Higashikata and Jotaro Kujo. Kosaku was a useless man. He was pushed around at work, he languished in a loveless marriage, and his existence was meant only for me to survive in his place. I thrived as Kosaku Kawajiri, but now we were both dead, and yet here I still was in his home, with the family he had left behind, next to the wife which he had never loved. It was oddly delightful to imagine taking something from someone else and doing better than they had. What can I say, luck has always sided with me, Yoshikage Kira , evidently even in death as well.