Another scream shone through the moonlit sky.  Shirow's eyes flickered dimly in the darkness of his attic bedroom.  He rolled over, turning amongst his covers, hoping that sleep would return to him.  A cat leapt onto the ledge outside his window, then disappeared again into the turmoil of night.  Shirow lay, head in the pillows, and realised sadly that he might meet the owner of the scream in the morning.
            Downstairs, past the mounted stag's head on the landing, and the ominous cloak stand by the front door, past the sombre sitting room with velvet cushions, and the oak-panelled office where business was conducted in hushed tones, was the mortuary.  That was the career of Shirow's father, his father's father, and his father before him.  It was soon to be the career of Shirow himself as well.
            Shirow already assisted his father, tending to the bodies, preparing them for their funerals.  His father would preserve the bodies by replacing the blood in their veins with embalming fluid.  Then, Shirow would clothe them in a gloomy suit, or dress, and hide the harsh white of the corpse's skin with some make-up.  It never occurred to Shirow how depressing his job was, until he wasn't doing it.
             Aware now that he would not be graced by sleep again, and that dawn was fast approaching, Shirow brushed his dark hair out of his eyes and softly climbed out of the bedclothes. He opened his wardrobe and pulled on some clothes. Unlike his father - who always wore suits of various dismal look - Shirow was not often seen by the deceased's families. Gleaned in his clothes, he opened the door and descended down the stairs.
            When he reached the landing he pressed his ear against his father's bedroom door. The gentle snores which pursued his father's slumbers caught his ear. Shirow shot the stag's head a dirty look before descending to the ground floor.
            As his feet touched the carpet at the bottom of the stairs, the front door before him slammed open with an almighty crash. A chill wind gusted in, and blew hats from their hooks and papers from shelves. Shirow's heart leapt in shock at the sight before him.
            A man stood in the door. He worn a hat with a wide brim, from which long grey hair flew, caught in the gale. His chin jutted out, cutting a strong line against the rising sun behind him. Beyond that Shirow noticed nothing of the man's appearance, for he had spied what the man carried in his arms.
            A body.

The wind howled down the dankest of alleys in the city. Erika's fingers tightened, clenching the tattered blanket tighter around her. Her long black hair flew  around her face, and a black cat with slender yellow eyes was curled up against her.  Erika's own eyes were green, and steely.  Though she knew the hopelessness of her situation, she had not yet lost hope.
            She sighed inwardly. The sun was rising now, and there was no chance of catching sleep now. She shakily got up, and rolled the torn blanket up.  The cat looked up at her, and Erika could almost imagine it's words, could it but talk.
            "Why are you getting up?"  It's expression said this so clearly to her that for a laughable moment she heard his voice in her head.  It was a light voice, handsome. Feeling lonely, and with nobody else to talk to, Erika spoke to the cat.
            "Well cat, I'll tell you.  The sun is rising, and there's a chance that I may find some food out in the city. I certainly won't find any sitting in this alley."
            The cat looked at her again, then leapt onto a window ledge so that it was now at her eye level. It stared at her closely, as though judging her, trying to determine her thoughts.
            "You can stop that, you won't learn about me by staring.  You'll have to wait until I tell you." She turned away from the cat and pulled her hair into a ponytail.  She tied it with an old ribbon she found lying next to a trash can.
            "I was just wondering what happened to you," said the cat.
            Erika stopped tying her hair suddenly.  Frozen, her eyes frantically looked around.  She could understand herself interpreting the cat while it looked at her, those yellow eyes seemed so full of character...
            But she hadn't been looking at it.
            She spun round to accuse it, but it was gone! Looking around and ahead desperately she saw a black tail slip into a crowd of feet which walked past the alley entrance. She ran, full pelt, to catch the cat and dived onto her hands and knees.
            People tripped over her as she crawled after the animal.  Their newspapers got caught on the strong wind and the pages flew around madly. Erika spied the cat in front of her, trying to scale a drainpipe.
            "Why are you running cat?" She called after it. "Scared because I know your secret?"
            The cat leapt onto a ledge and glanced down at her. "You wish, little girl." It snapped back at her. "Blessed though I am with the power of speech," it turned around and licked a paw tartly, "there's nothing which I desire to say to you anymore."
            It was about to leave when Erika shouted up to it again. "You were staring into my eyes cat. What were you looking for? What do you need from me?" Her fists were clenched and her heart was pounding.
            The cat faced her again and gracefully leapt down. It landed on the paved ground and then looked up at her from the ground. It sighed and sat down.
            "I need help." It said.

            "Where shall I put him?" Asked the man, bluntly. His voice was harsh, he sounded as though he was loosing his voice. Shirow's mouth moved in response, but no noise seemed to escape his throat.
            The man regarded him, eyebrow raised, as Shirow's father appeared at the crest of the stairs. He announced himself with a delicate cough, and began to walk down. The man in the door gave Shirow a nod and stepped over the house's threshold.
            "Hayaka-San?" Asked the man. Shirow's father nodded in reply.
            "I'm sorry for your loss, sir," he replied, gesturing to the body in the man's hands.
            "Oh," the man glanced at the body as though realising it was there for the first time. "Thanking you squire, but he's not my loss. Not as such anyway. Perhaps I could lay him down somewhere, and explain..."
            "Of course, of course ... through here, please..." Shirow's father lead the man through to the sitting room, where they laid the body on a long table. The man removed his hat, and sat down, resting one leg on the other knee. Shirow was so intrigued by the man, that he hardly heard his father talking to him.
            "Shirow, would you prepare some drinks? I shall have coffee, as you know. Mister, ah..."
            "Call me Ghatou, please." Said the man, with a gracious bow of his head. "I'll take coffee as well thank you." Shirow was tempted to stay a little longer, and hear Ghatou's tale of how he found the body, but his father ushered him out of the room before he could sincerely consider it.
            Shirow's father bent down and spoke quietly but firmly to him. "I want you to take your time with the coffee Shirow. Make sure the tray is immaculate before you come through, and I want you to knock before you enter, is that understood?"
           Confused, Shirow nodded, before his father closed the door on him he burst out, finally finding his voice, "why, father?"
            His father stared at him with cold grey eyes. "Do as you're told please, Shirow. Remember to knock." The door closed with a definite click. Shirow pressed his ear against it, as he had at his father's bedroom before, but the carpet was thicker here, and the door was a cleaner fit to the frame. No intelligible sound escaped from the room ... at least, Shirow thought, not through the door...
            He suddenly decided that he was going to hear about this body, whether his father wanted him to or not. He glided up the stairs again, taking care not to let his feet land too quickly on the steps. Turning, he ran into the laundry closet. He dove into a pile of old clothes, and towels and found the floor. He got what he'd hoped for; the closet was right above the sitting room.
            Through the floor of the closet he could just make out the sounds from the room below. His father's voice floated up to him...