Chapter Text
♫ Happy birthday to you! ♫
Your mind’s all askew.
So I’ll help you remember.
My way is tried and true. ♡
A voice was singing, and with a bleary flutter of eyelashes, you awoke.
…Cats and rabbits would reside in fancy little houses…
You lay collapsed on your side, cheek pressed into a pillow, and a downy duvet was tucked around your shoulders. Disorientation lapped like ocean waves over your materializing consciousness. The recorded tune behind you caroled amidst violin strokes and bells.
…They would sit and talk to me for hours, when I’m lonely in a world of my own…
You inhaled the trace scent of citrus and raised your head, blinking at the dim wallpaper. You froze. You were not in your own bed, nor was this any room you recognized. It was windowless, furnished with the stark elegance of a nice hotel, and a heavy iron chain banded taut across the shut door.
…Everyone would have a dozen bluebirds, within that world of my own…
With a panicked hitch of air, you wracked your mind to recall how you’d arrived in this place. The last events of your memory were unremarkable; you’d eaten a simple oven-heated dinner, curled up in bed with your cat, exchanged some casual messages with friends, played a relaxing game, and drifted off early in your own apartment. A quick check confirmed that you were even still dressed in the same onesie you fell asleep in. There was no rhyme or reason to your current situation. A tendril of disbelief coiled in your stomach.
…I keep wishing it could be that way…
Pulse pounding, you turned to the source of the music. A sleek radio alarm clock sat upon the bedside table, illuminated by a porcelain lamp. The time was 12:00AM on the dot, and the day was October 29th… your birthday. You stared as the rightmost LED zero flicked to the number one.
…Because my world would be a— BEEP.
You reached to press off the noise, wincing at the harsh electronic chirp. The chilly room fell quiet as a crypt. You held your breath instinctively, ears straining to listen; unsettlingly, there were no clues to your broader whereabouts, and not even a distant hum of motor traffic or chorus of crickets penetrated the dead hush. Whoever was responsible for abducting you here would doubtlessly return, but for the time being, it seemed you were alone.
You slid carefully out of the bed and padded to a stand. Beside the bedside lamp, someone had arranged a bouquet of marigolds. You brushed your fingers against a flower in confusion. They were freshly cut, and a frilled petal dropped to the tabletop, right beside a manila folder. Your name was penned on the cover. After a hesitant glance toward the chained door, you opened the folder to discover a handwritten note.
A while has passed
Since we spoke last.
But memory serves like a journal,
And contracts bind eternal.
I’ll always be in your forecast. ♡
Dread swelled when you lifted the note to reveal plastic-sleeved copies of a business document. There was no need to read every prolix sentence in fine print to recognize what this was; after all, you were the undersigned, and you’d seen these words lorded over you before.
…Mr. Hiyori will not be liable if for any reason all or any part of the Agreement is misunderstood at any time or for any period…
Knots were twisting in your stomach. This wasn’t a legal document that any sane court would uphold—instead, it served as paper evidence of the executor’s terrifying insistence that you were his human chattel. You’d certainly not “consented” under anything resembling fair terms, but there wasn’t much room for productive debate with a deranged black-hat who lived well beyond the law. He made a mockery of being civilized, like a bloodstained wolf toting a briefcase and business card.
It had been many months since you’d last heard from Sou Hiyori. He’d slipped his presence into your life earlier that year, ingratiating and then coercing you into letting him be your bizarre, increasingly transgressive friend. More than a mere friend, in fact, according to him… You had never understood his fixation with you, but one day without warning, he’d simply vanished. On all counts, this was a stroke of fortune, a merciful escape from his sinister purview… and yet, in spite of yourself, you had wondered.
Even the proverbial cat only had nine lives, and it crossed your mind that maybe he finally got himself killed. You’d suppressed your stir of concern and reminded yourself that he was not the sort of man to be missed in this world. More likely, in your estimation, he’d just gotten bored.
I have a surprise, so you’ll need to be swift!
Look in the bath to find a gift.
You stared at the final note written on the back of the folder. Cautiously, you placed it back down and surveyed your surroundings. Aside from the inaccessible exit, only two areas remained—the ajar entrance to a bathroom, and a slatted closet. Incredulous, you attempted a futile tug at the chain bound across the main door. The hefty iron clanked, fit for a dungeon; anachronistic as it appeared here, it wasn’t just for theatrics, and there would be no escaping without a key.
Your heart lurched as it occurred to you that such a chain could only be secured from one side. Wherever your captor was now, he hadn’t left through this door. You swallowed, hands quivering, and turned around.
“Sou…?” you called tentatively. Upon the stifling silence, you cleared your throat and raised your voice. “Sou! Why are you doing this? I know you can hear me! Answer me!”
Your glare panned the ceiling, searching for a security camera. Nothing was apparent, but knowing his propensities, odds were high that he was recording this. Moreover, he wasn’t likely to cooperate until you conceded to play his game. Frustrated resignation simmered in your chest as you paced to the bathroom.
The interior style was consistent with the bedroom, clean and classic; a landscape painting of a beach hung on the wall. The humid air smelled fragrant with soap, and water-spattered tiles dampened the soles of your feet. You switched on the light to see a hairdryer, comb, and safety razor lying on the sink counter. The shower curtain was ominously drawn.
“Sou?” you tried again. Expectedly, you received no response. Ignoring the Hitchcock movie atmosphere, you strode over and pushed aside the curtain with a rattling rustle.
No murderer lurked on the other side, green-haired or otherwise, but someone had evidently bathed there just earlier. The sudsy, un-drained water in the spacious tub still warmed your dipped fingertips. A jewelry box sat nestled in a floating bamboo sake dish, and you retrieved it to open the velvet clamshell. Another note was folded inside; you smoothed the paper and began to read.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who’s the cutest of them all?
You’re already taken
And I don’t want people mistaken.
You’re mine, so you’ll come when I call. 🙂
Your brow furrowed with indignation. Was this supposed to be charming? The smiley face looked more like a threat than any flirtatious jest. Removing the note had revealed the jewelry box’s intended contents—a delicate necklace glinted amidst the silk, its pendant a tiny locket. You pried the latch with a slide of your fingernail, and the interior sight caused you to exhale audibly through your nose.
It was the offender himself, smiling amidst embellished hearts and sparkles. Even confined to such a compact surface area, his eerie gaze seized you like an evil effigy. Presumably, this locket was the “gift” he’d referred to in his earlier message… You’d sooner wear a portrait of the Devil over your breast, although on second thought, perhaps this already qualified as such. In any event, you weren’t going to put this on, and you set his spurned adornment on the side of the tub.
“You’re the one,” a voice echoed from behind you.
You whirled, nearly flinching out of your skin. Nobody was there, but before you could process the implications, the cheery chatter resumed from the sink drain.
“You make bath time lots of fun!”
Adrenaline shattered your paralysis. with a surge of trepidation, you moved to peer into the basin. A small rubber penguin toy ogled back with acrylic eyes.
“Miss Kitten, I’m awfully fond of you,” came the micro-speaker in its body.
All you could utter in response was a noise of perturbed revulsion. You snatched the creepy thing and balled it into a towel, but not before peeling the note taped to its belly.
In the closet on the right,
Is a gift for you in white.
“I don’t want any gifts!” you cried out, fists curled. “Sou! J-just answer me… please!”
The only response was a muffled warble from the bundled towel. “You’re my very best friend, it’s true!”
Guilty regret puddled inside you. For a moment, you considered how all this could have been avoided if you’d never engaged with his advances, never treated him with any guileless affection, never tried so sincerely to understand his behavior… But no, you couldn’t blame yourself. By the time you’d attempted to extricate yourself from his possessive interest, the hole had already been dug, and both his absence and return were entirely on his terms.
The fogged sink mirror caught your attention, and you paused to smear away the condensation with your palm. Your anxious reflection blushed, cheeks and lips aglow with light rouge. If cosmetics had been applied to your face as you slept, or if an ingested substance was causing your skin to flush, you didn’t consider either notion for long—your horrified focus snapped to the polished metal pet collar encircling your neck. As frantically as you yanked and fumbled for a buckle, it refused to unfasten. You swept back your hair and leaned toward the mirror, reading backwards the text engraved beneath your name on the aluminum tag.
.iɿoyiH uoƧ .ɿM oƚ nɿuƚɘɿ ɘƨɒɘlq ,ƚƨol ʇI !bɘqqiʜɔoɿɔim m'I
“No,” you croaked out loud, stepping back from the sink. You drew a shaky breath and collected your wits. Knocking you off guard for his sick entertainment was precisely what he desired, and you couldn’t grant him the satisfaction. Disregarding the collar for now, you made a swift beeline out and over to the closet.
The wooden door clattered as you slid it open. Arrayed inside were men’s formal clothes—dark tailored slacks and blazers, cotton button-ups with crisp lapels, ironed neckties, and polished dress shoes. It wasn’t clear to you why a criminal lunatic who worked with computers needed to dress so professionally. You supposed he just enjoyed it.
Positioned on the floor to the right was an upscale pink shopping bag, bristling with a cloud of iridescent tissue wrap. A wedged card poked from the top, and you procured it to read your abductor’s next imposition.
Hey, guess what we’re doing tonight?
I don’t need to say it outright…
There won’t be any evasion,
So please wear this for the occasion!
Teaching you will be my delight!
Your heart pattered like a trapped butterfly as you reached past the crinkled tissue to withdraw a matching set of lacy white lingerie. Its aesthetic was suggestively bridal, sheer and trimmed with sweet lace, but any virginal quality was destroyed by the deliberate open slit showcased at the crotch. You hooked your index finger through the obscenely designed hole, mouth agape.
When you imagined who was intended to play with these satin bows, it made you question who the garment was actually a “gift” for… you, or him and his debauched jollies? You chucked the undergarments back in the bag and scowled, trembling. “Excuse me!” you announced, eyes darting over your shoulder. “I-I’m not doing anything with you! You have a lot of nerve!”
Yes, you were very stern and that would tell him straight. And now was definitely not the appropriate time to remember the brief, bygone period when you’d been receptive to sexual avenues of conversation with him. Sou Hiyori was a weird man, but he was libidinous as any other, and scarcely coy about what he wanted to do with you. But you’d recanted—and if he thought he could drop out of the blue and slide his fingers beneath your clothes, you’d sooner kick his groin.
“Listen,” you began, stepping away from the closet and crossing your arms tight. “Um, there’s seriously no way I’m going to wear this. Are we done here? Can I go home?”
For a muted stretch you stood there in your onesie, grateful for its abundant fabric shrouding your flesh from any predatory nutcase leer. But not even the smothered penguin in the bathroom had a peep to offer.
“Sou, I don’t like this. Please take me home,” you pleaded, piteousness seeping into your tone. Never mind your pride; you were quickly growing desperate to escape here, or at least receive an explanation from a living person. He had to be somewhere nearby. After all, the water in the tub was still hot.
Upon contemplating the bath and hairdryer, foreboding crystallized in your chest like crackling frost. Your throat constricted as you reached for your onesie zipper and began to pull downward, dropping your chin to inspect your body underneath. Had he bathed you…?
A swore escaped your lips at the sight of lacy white lingerie. It was identical to the set in the shopping bag, and it had been cupping your unmentionables this entire time! Worse still, you'd been shaved. A folded note was sticking out of the brassiere. You plucked it out and yanked the zipper back up, ignoring the flaming heat in your face.
Beneath the foot of the bed,
There’s a present to slash and shred.
Perfect. You’d be slashing some seaweed if he showed up now. What the hell did he do with your original underwear? You’d strip off this crotchless travesty in an instant, if the alternative wasn’t going around in your literal birthday suit. With a shiver, you recalled a past exchange in which he referenced a desire to peel your clothes like a candy wrapper, and you tugged your onesie zipper higher.
You hastened to the end of the bed and dropped to your hands and knees, halfway anticipating the man to be idling under there horizontally like a Halloween yard scare. But there was nothing in the shadows, and you craned your neck further to look. Upon closer scrutiny, you discovered it—taped to the underside of the frame was a long, slender box, and you pried it free to open it in your lap.
A wicked hunting knife gleamed in the lamplight. It rested in a mold of velvet, and curled pastel ribbons spiraled from its carved antler handle. You didn’t need to test its edge to see that this blade was deadly sharp. Had Sou dismissed you as so harmless that arming you was merely an amusing joke to him? The weight of a weapon in your grasp barely bolstered your self-confidence, but even so, you’d wield it tonight for all the leverage it could grant you.
Also buried in the box was an iron key, and a thrill of hope coursed through you at the sight. Perhaps he really would just let you leave, fair and square for solving his degenerate treasure hunt. As wretched as he was, he’d always liked you, and he never seemed intent on relegating you to his history of mangled victims. Presumably you were more fun while hale of health, sound of mind, and feeding him entertainment on demand. Then again, you hadn’t ever comprehended why he fixated on you with such enthusiasm in the first place, and you probably never would.
Something else was written under the box lid, and you rotated it to read.
In the kitchen, I’ve prepared something nice!
To open your next gift, you’ll have to slice.
Nausea began to trickle behind your ribs, and you wavered to a stand, sweaty palms clenched around the hunting knife and key. Between celebrating your birthday via hedonistic sex or gratuitous violence—neither of which you signed up for, at least not with Greenie—you’d opt for the former over some horrid Saw-esque torturepalooza; unlike the man who brought you here, you couldn’t derive anything remotely recreational from hurting others. Of course, it was farfetched to expect that he’d allow you any choice in the matter.
You cast one last glance around the bedroom, wordless, before bracing your resolve and pushing the key into the leaden lock at the exit. It released with a click, and the suspended chain smacked the floor with a jangle. There was only forward to go. You twisted the doorknob, eased open the door, and stepped into a darkened corridor.