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The car rolled to a stop, scraping the gritty asphalt. Above, the sun shone through a thin fog’s drizzle.
“We’re here!” called Kogoro. Her father, she reminded herself, no matter how much the word refused to stick to him. He eagerly turned back, perhaps expecting a spark of recognition. Whatever he had hoped for, his crestfallen expression told Ran he hadn’t found it in her eyes.
Before her, a completely foreign building stood, unassuming. It was indiscernible from the rest of the facades propped up along the street.
“Mouri Detective Agency,” she mumbled, reading the white letters painted upon the glass. Mouri was supposed to be her last name. It stood to reason that this must have been where she lived.
Home. Hooray.
The woman—Her mother Eri, apparently—stepped out first, unfurling an umbrella over her head. In her hand, she gripped a hot pink umbrella, standing out like a sore thumb in the drab grays and steely blues around them. Ran could see the silhouettes of raindrops splattering its upper surface, splitting and spilling down the side in watery trails.
An uncomfortable tightness she couldn’t place gently coiled around her throat.
Her mother swung the door open. The rain was close, now, grazing at bare sections of her skin as they sliced coolly through the air. Shivering, she fought the instinct to recoil.
The woman tilted the umbrella, shielding her from the rain, smiling.
All eyes were on her now. She had to do this.
Ran extended her hand out of the car, shuddering as raindrops hit her skin. Cautiously, she glanced down.
There was a puddle underfoot.
The dam burst. The tightening feeling in her throat snapped closed, forcing out a scream before she scrambled back into the car, uselessly covering her head with her hands.
Endless endless pouring the water came down from all sides in jets and slicked the whole floor her body lay flat in the stream face down the blood seeping from her wounds spilling spiraling staining the water red why won’t it stop pouring why why why why why—
Ran cowered under the lashing torrent of words. Her mind refused to make sense of their meaning, but still writhed in their presence, as if some terrible eldritch spell had been inscribed there. She had to keep breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
The boy they called her little brother was paralyzed, staring with wide-eyed horror at the display she was making of herself. One hand was lifted through the air, uncertain of its direction or intent.
She turned, trying to sit normally, but normalcy refused to come. Her hands slid down to wrap tightly around her shoulders, holding in the warmth against the encroaching cold of the water.
Her father had gotten out of the car at some point and was now speaking to the other man, Takagi, the apparent acquaintance no less familiar than her immediate family currently was. After a short conversation, the car rolled forward.
Delayed realization struck her. Ah. Because she was afraid of the water. They had moved, just for her.
Ran felt a pinch of gratitude, and a gallon of deep shame. It carried her all the way through the tour of her house, through dinner, and through another panic attack when she had to take a shower.
She laid in unfamiliar clothes upon an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, staring blurry-eyed at an unfamiliar ceiling. Tears pooled and spilled down her cheeks, dampening the unfamiliar sheets.
Out in the storm, raindrops drummed a tuneless song upon her windowpane. Even with the curtains drawn, she trembled at just the thought of the pouring storm outside.
Her throat begged for a name to call out for. Anyone would do. A single, solitary figure to anchor her down.
But her tongue met only the cavernous silence of her heart. She had no-one. She had nothing.
She sat up, shakily swaddling herself in the sheets. Gravity pulled at the stagnant puddles of tears resting over her eyes, sending a second wave down her face.
This was a stranger's room. The karate gi, the photos, the piano. All of these belonged to the old Ran, the phantom who dwelled here. Headstrong, bold, confident, and capable.
The new Ran was terrified of puddles.
Pathetic.
She was absolutely pathetic.
From behind the curtain, there was a bright, flickering glow from the sky. Her eyes widened. That could only mean—
Thunder trampled over the house, rocking the foundation with a shrieking assault that slammed her ears. Her heart hammered against her rib cage, screaming to be let out. Her lungs fluttered and shredded until she couldn’t breathe. The world buzzed and spun, whirling faster and faster until she couldn’t see anything but streaks of light.
Her fault her fault her fault the woman’s body rested in Ran’s arms her life spilled over and faded away losing heat in the cold water burst the light beam turned and rotated and she saw more than she should have the bullet shrieked like lightning near her ear another few inches and she’d be dead the umbrella the flashlight the gun the umbrella the umbrella the umbrella—
Time lost its meaning.
When Ran next slipped back into reality, she wasn’t on the bed, but kneeling on the floor. A pair of arms, warm and muscular, rested firmly around her, and she heard a terrified voice murmuring a name into her ear. Her name. Grasping at her slowly returning faculties, she recognized the stranger.
“Dad?” she whispered the word, foreign and unwieldy on her tongue.
The man—Kogoro Mouri, her father—peeled himself out of the hug, carefully looking her over. He smelled of cigarette ash and alcohol, vaguely like hospital disinfectant, but far from clean.
Despite his angular features, his expression had a soft, gooey quality to it. He sniffled. “Are you okay, honey?”
She really wasn’t, not even by the minimal standards of the tiny frame of reference she had assembled from a few days of memory. On the other hand, her father looked dangerously close to bursting into tears, and she’d rather have another round with the thunderclaps than deal with that one.
Ran nodded. “Yeah.” Her voice was damp, bent out of shape. “I’m fine, Dad.”
Wordlessly, he gripped her back into a hug. There was warmth, but purely physical. In the doorway, a small boy clung to the edges of the doorframe.
She turned her head to get a better look. “Conan?”
The boy inched backwards, guilt lining his face.
With a clinical affect, she smiled. It was an act of pure mimicry, the big sister comforting the little brother with a comforting expression. Conan smiled, but it was equally as forced.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. Weakly, she wormed her way from her father’s arms. “I just…I’m not sure what came over me.”
Kogoro helped her stagger to her feet, making sure she stood steady. “It’s alright, sweetheart.” Ran pretended not to hear the glassy crunch of his heart breaking under his voice. “You know I’m here for you if you need anything.”
“Mmm.”
He twiddled his thumbs nervously. “Do you, uh…” he started, “do you need anything?”
Ran smiled vacantly, slowly shaking her head. “Mm-mm. I’m okay now.”
Her father clearly wasn’t convinced, but didn’t press the point. Perhaps he was afraid that she’d shatter if he pushed too hard, collapsing into a pile of broken glass. She really couldn’t blame him.
“Well…if you say so.” Reluctantly, he stepped towards the exit, giving her one last stare. “If you change your mind, I’m always here, okay? A-and if you forget where my room is, just shout, I’ll come running!”
She nodded robotically. “Uh-huh. Thanks, Dad.”
After a pause that lingered for what felt like years, the man finally ducked out. The boy was still perched halfway through the door, indecisively wobbling between directions.
How old was he, again? Six, maybe seven? She wondered how much of the situation he comprehended.
“Hello, Conan.” She placed all the warmth she could into the utterance, which ended up being none at all. Ran was empty, a void of not just memory, but personality. She had nobody to turn to, no hobby to distract herself with, not a goal or dream or desire left in her head.
She was hollow.
The boy stared at her for so long she wondered if she had been heard, but finally, he took an uncertain step in. When she didn’t force him out, he pattered further in, pulling himself up upon her bed.
Biting his lip, he traced circles on the sheets. “Are…” He hesitated. “Are you sad?”
Laughing, she plopped down on the bed next to him, briefly launching him an inch into the air. “I’m not really sure how I feel,” she said airily as he adjusted the glasses knocked askew on his face. “I don’t know if I can feel anything at all.”
Conan didn’t reply at first, inching closer. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Of course you can. It’s just…” He stumbled again, frowning as he clenched his fists. “I don’t know how to say what I’m thinking right now.”
Ran drew in her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her feet languidly dangled over the edge of the bed. “That’s okay. I don’t know how to say it either.”
The boy peered at her quizzically before the subtle flash of an idea lit up his eyes. He nudged closer, leaning against her.
“Sometimes,” he started, more world-weary than any first-grader had any right to, “it feels like…like no matter what I do or say, people just get the wrong idea, y’know?”
She didn’t know, in truth, but she was happy to simply let the words wash over her. Listening was easier than speaking. It gave her something to latch onto, to fill herself with.
“That sounds frustrating.” She wrapped one arm around Conan, gently squeezing him. He made a small—and frankly adorable—noise of surprise, and a genuine smile spread across her face.
“Yeah. It sucks,” Conan continued, muffled by the embrace. “I wish I could be good at talking.” He huffed, kicking his legs out and gently striking the side of her bed in a rhythmic pattern.
Ran mussed his hair. “I don’t know if it helps, but I think you’re good at talking.”
The child tucked under her arm heated up, silently vibrating. She decided not to comment on his embarrassment.
“Conan?” she softly began. “If I never get my memories back, would you still care about me?”
His mouth opened and closed a few times in shock. “Of course! We all would, Ran!” He clenched his tiny fists.
She stared at the ceiling. “Would you miss the old Ran?”
A yawning silence enveloped the room in its vacuum. It was as if the void at the pit of her stomach had escaped, growing to consume everything around her.
Conan nudged closer. “…there’s only one Ran,” he quietly replied. “It’s you.”
A new feeling bubbled up within her, quickly overpowering the emptiness. There it was, an emotion.
Anger.
“Am I?” She dug her nails into her skin. “Am I really, Conan? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
The boy flinched, sidling back. She pierced him with a death glare. A million retorts stood at the ready, but all of them evaporated when the reality of the situation crashed over her.
Ran was taking out her anger on a seven-year-old child who had done nothing but try to help.
Slumping over, she curled up in bed, eyelids drooping as all of her heat left as quickly as it had come.
“I’m sorry. I…” She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. “I think I need to be alone right now.”
The boy’s tiny hands were flung awkwardly around her, squeezing her into the biggest hug he could manage. With a glance full of meaning she couldn’t discern, he scurried away.
Ran was alone.
Somehow, she didn’t feel as if anything had changed.
“You’ve got a call.”
Ran’s attention was drawn out of the photo album. “From who?”
Her father made a bitter expression. “That boy you like. Shinichi Kudo, or whatever.” He spat the words like they were poison.
Distantly, she observed the traces of the peculiar dynamic between this boy and her dad. There was clearly some tension, but it felt less like the peripheries of her lived relationship and more like the observations of an alien anthropologist. “Oh,” she said flatly, standing up. “Put me on.”
Kogoro immediately left the room, not interested in whatever exchange was about to transpire. Her finger twirled the cord, wound up by sourceless nerves. Artificial butterflies rang like cracked bells in her stomach.
“Hi, Ran.”
An emotion resonated within her, letting a solitary note hang through time and space. Familiarity? No, she could only hope. It was something less than familiar, but more than alien. A worn groove being slid across, the indentation subtly guiding the path things were taking.
“You’re Shinichi Kudo?” she asked.
A pained laugh. “I heard what happened to you. I’m…I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, Ran.”
“It’s okay.” Or maybe it wasn’t, she wouldn’t know. “At least I’m not in a coma like Miss…Miss…”
“Ms. Sato?”
“Yes, that’s her.”
Words flashed through her mind—her fault her fault her fault her fault flashlight—but were gone just as fast, dazing her with a drive-by phantom pain.
A short pause. “Geez, that’s…horrible. I’m really, really glad you’re safe, Ran,” he said, his words spilling over each other.
“Thank you,” Ran slowly replied, winding the cord until she was sure it would fray. She quirked her head, and slowly, a frown split her lips.
Something felt off about the way the boy—Shinichi—was acting. Not because she had a frame of reference for how he normally acted, at least not totally. The snippets of half-impressions she had gleaned from others painted an image of a person with an arrogant streak, but the voice on the other end of the line was bursting with care. Almost too much, actually, as if he was spilling his lifeblood to make the emotion come through.
A hollow shell of a person, the burden of her missing emotions resting parasitically on the shoulders of her friends and family. She cowered. “I’m sorry I can’t remember y—”
“D-don’t apologize!” She jumped at his sudden outburst. “You have nothing to apologize for!”
“I—” She stopped, taking a deep breath. “You’re right.”
“Good.” A moment hung suspended in the air, until Shinichi spoke again. “Wait, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. Did you get startled? …did I make you mad?”
Ran’s mind wandered back to her conversation from last night, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
The boy made a confused noise. “Ran?”
“I know you’re trying really hard to comfort me. I can also tell you aren’t very used to this.”
She imagined him with his mouth hanging open. “Is it really that obvious?” His voice was tinged with more than a trace of a whine.
Ran twirled the phone cord. “Just a little bit,” she replied, her smile widening. “But that’s okay. I have an idea.”
She pulled up a chair, sitting down by the phone. “Talk to me.” She leaned forward with the receiver, gripping it tighter.
“But I am talking to you.”
Ran giggled. “I mean, you know. Just…talk about anything. Read any good books lately? See any good shows?” she prodded.
The line transmitted nothing but static for a few seconds, but the sound of realization was audible over the wire.
“Well…” the boy started, sounding like he was about to give a speech. “There’s a series of Japanese movie adaptations of the Sherlock Holmes books that have been coming out recently.” A dramatic pause. “They’re awful!”
“Really?” she asked, genuinely shocked. “They can’t be that bad, can they?”
Wicked laughter erupted on the other end of the line.
“Oh man, you have no idea. Wait ‘till you hear how they cast Watson…”
Ran didn’t know much about Sherlock Holmes, and even less about the minutiae that Shinichi had begun laying out in astoundingly exhaustive detail, but she didn’t care. Or, rather, she did care, because for the first time since she had woken up in the hospital, she was able to simply…be. Shinichi was a fount of emotion, desperate to fill the nothingness pooled in her core. The sense of pressure to perform had been lifted from her shoulders, even if only temporarily, and, like sunlight after rain, sensations of joy flooded back into her previously empty heart.
For now, Ran could forget what she had forgotten.