(section one--splitting because of size)
The old professor could hear the monotonous buzz of his own voice, and one glance over the lecture hall proved that he wasn’t the only one growing weary of it. Those who weren’t asleep were nodding off or reading ahead or texting under the desk. Even his best student, a half-Japanese super-kid (as he called those students who worked, played on an athletic team, kept up a house, and still managed to make excellent grades), was staring into nothingness with his eyes glazed over.
The 20-year-old blond really didn’t belong in this European History class--not only was it almost entirely irrelevant to his major, it was so far below his abilities that he was bored to tears. The professor felt truly sorry for the lad, and had contacted the other professors on his schedule, plus the head of the department of his major. They all agreed that he shouldn’t be in there, and they planed to move him to a different class. But, being the instigator, they left the task (pleasure, really) of telling the boy about it to him.
And getting the proper spelling of his first name, as none of them could get it right on their own. Wouldn’t want to give the class change to the wrong student, after all.
The watch alarm of the boy in the third seat of the first row went off, signaling the end of the lecture. The other students quickly packed and vacated--he supposed that they were trying to leave before he could stop them. As usual, the super-kid did not join in the hustle and bustle. There was no point in trying to fight the crowd at the door, and it was better to just wait.
The boy reminded the professor of himself so much that he smiled.
“Koichi?” he called.
The boy looked up at the mention of his last name, and the professor beckoned to him. Dutifully, the blond slid out of his seat and came to the old man’s desk.
“You look bored out of your mind,” the professor observed.
He looked caught off-guard. “Um…Well…”
The old man laughed. “No need to be ashamed about it; I don’t blame you at all. Your majoring in business, correct?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“So this European History class is just about the most useless thing you could imagine to take, and you question why you were even put in here.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Of course the 20-year-old nodded.
“How would you feel if I were to recommend you be placed in a more difficult, more relevant class…Say, Advanced Business Law?”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “That would…I would be grateful, sir.”
“It’s already been done. I just need to put your name on the recommendation so the head of the business department will sign it. You see, none of us can spell it, and there is a student with a similar name, so we didn't want to move the wrong student.”
“Oh, here, I’ll write it.” The professor handed his the recommendation, and the blond wrote his name in the blank slot: ‘Cypher Koichi’.
“No middle name?”
“I don’t have one.” A simple answer, but not a rude one.
“Well, now that that’s settled…Go on, I’ve held you long enough; get outta here.”
The blond gladly obliged. The professor stared after him and sighed.
I’m gonna miss him…He’s a good kid.
* * *
Panting. Sweating. Sore as hell. Felt like his right arm was about to fall off, and like left ankle was about to explode. And the still had to go to work in a little more than an hour.
Why he put himself through such pain and torture, other than it looked fabulous on a resume, he didn’t understand.
Across the tennis court, the girls’ team was as sweaty and tried as the boys’ team. The girls’ captain, a brunette whose locks normally cascaded around her shoulders and were currently struggling against the hair tie that bound them, was pouring a bottle of water on herself to cool off, soaking the front of her tee-shirt.
Then again, maybe I DO understand…
Penni was her name. Pehoni (pronounced like the flower, peony) Hemera Geistweld. Good student, but not a genius--A’s and B’s, maybe a C in the subjects she found boring, with high test scores in most cases. Just a sophomore, but already captain of the girls’ tennis team (because she’d been playing since she was six). 5’7’’, 140 pounds, and most of that HAD to be muscle. She had fat in all the right places--just enough to give her that perfect figure. Lived with her father, a machinist, and her sister, a freshman in high school; no mother to speak of. Worked 25 hours a week at the bookstore halfway between her home and the campus, making $11.00 an hour because she’d not only been there for almost four years, she was good at what she did. Her favorite color was purple, which explained why most of her lingerie was--
Cypher shook his head. Not here, not now. This is not the time or place. She might notice he was staring. She might see the hungry, wolf-like look in his eyes.
She might see you for what you are.
He simultaneously felt his stomach ice over and his blood catch fire. But that’s not me…That’s an illness. And I’ve got that illness under control.
Just like you had Amy Johnson under control?
“…pher? Cypher. HEY, Cypher!”
The voice broke him out of his argument with himself. “Huh? What’s up, Jeremy?”
His captain, one of those students that was not quite yet a senior but had all the authority and respect of one, took a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow, then said, “You were starin’ off inta space like you were gonna pass out or sumthin’. You okay?”
“…Yeah. Just…It’s hot as hell out here.”
“Just askin’. It’s my job, ya know. Do I need to getcha some water or anythin’?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Just hot.” He also wiped the sweat from his bow as if the accentuate this point.”
Jeremy looked at him skeptically. “If ya say so…Blondie.”
Cypher scowled. He hated that nickname with a fiery passion that burned with the intensity of a thousand suns…Well, maybe not that much. But it had to be pretty close to that much.
* * *
He turned the key in the lock and entered the moderately-sized house. Between classes, tennis practice, and his job working the cash register at the burger joint down the road, he was ready to collapse. Thank God it’s Reno’s turn to fool with dinner tonight…
As if hearing his name being thought, the older man shouted up from the basement, “Pizza’s on the table when you want it.”
Cypher sighed gratefully. It was just like his older brother to know what was on his mind.
It had been just the two of them for most of his life--Father killed in an ‘accident’ before his birth, Mother taken by illness when he was seven. Sure, Reno was often ‘busy’ or ‘out’, but he was a good brother and godparent nonetheless. After all, being stuck with a brother 12 years younger when you had an important job couldn’t be easy.
He made his way to the kitchen to grab a slice of the pepperoni deliciousness that was dinner. The basement door was ajar, but he didn’t have to look to know that Reno was sharpening his swords, as he always did on Thursdays. He also knew better than to ask why they needed to be sharpened every Thursday--Cypher had his life, and Reno his. They both worked hard to make sure they never intertwined outside this building.
The older man came upstairs, apparently to get some more food for himself. He was getting the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes. The fact that Cypher could even notice these circles on his brother’s darker skin made him worry.
“You okay, Reno?”
Reno’s nearly black eyes met his greenish-blue ones. “Just tired. Haven’t had a day off for three weeks now. Bit of a rebellion going on.”
“I see…But don’t strain yourself, alright?”
Reno smiled a little. “You even got her caring attitude.”
“Huh?”
“Mother’s.”
“Oh.”
Cypher knew he looked like their mother, an American: Platinum blond hair, green-blue eyes, pale skin, tall. He guessed that Reno had to be a carbon-copy of their Japanese father--Dark hair and eyes, tan skin, short. They both had the almond-shaped eyes of their father and the slender features of their mother. Basically, they made a game out of guessing who got who’s personality traits.
Considering the type of ‘accident’ that killed him, Cypher supposed that Reno got nearly all of their father’s.
“You going out tonight?” the elder asked between bites of pizza.
“Don’t I always?” But first, a nap; twice-a-week tennis practices were killing him.
“Just be back before midnight--”
“But not before ten,” Cypher finished for him.
Reno smirked, then said, “Just make sure you are not followed this time.”
He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Reno, that was one time…”
“Once is more than enough. If you hadn’t eluded them, they would’ve killed you just to spite me. You need to remember that I have enemies, and that they’ll hurt you to get to me.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Reno. You don’t have to keep reminding me.”
“I know…” The smirk changed into a nostalgic grin. “I guess…Maybe this is what parents feel when their children grow up.”
Cypher’s eyes softened at his brother‘s statement. He couldn’t stay annoyed at him when he talked like that. “…I’ll be careful.”
“Good.” He turned to go back into the basement, but stopped. “If it’s any comfort to you…the ones that followed you a few weeks ago? They won’t bother you any more.”
A finger of cold traced his spine. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or not. Sure, having strangers follow you everywhere was a tad uncomfortable (he should know), but…He wasn’t sure they deserved the fate that must’ve been meted out to them. “Thanks…I think…”
Reno laughed, and that laugh echoed as Cypher left the kitchen. He turned to say something else, maybe about how this wasn’t a laughing matter, but the older man had already gone back down the stairs into the basement. The bear back to his cave, he thought wryly.
He gobbled down one last slice, then made his way to the living room. He was dog tired, and needed sleep. He would need all the strength he could get for tonight.
The blond clicked the television on--he always slept best with some kind of background noise--and plopped down on the couch. It wasn’t long before he was nodding off.
On the T.V. was a news report.
“The Paradise Law Enforcement Department is still baffled by the string of brutal slayings that has been plaguing our beautiful city for the last two years,” the female anchor droned. “Last Monday’s discovery of the body of Julie Toolhouse brings the body count to a staggering 50 women. Will the killer, dubbed the Paradise Ripper by the PLED, ever be caught? What woman is safe from this menace? Here’s Robert Rockston, live at the PLED Headquarters, with the story…”
A smile curved on his lips as he slipped into something like sleep.
* * *
