Hanakotoba

What would you do if you could change the past?  Would you try to change your upbringing?  Would you take your life into a completely different direction?  Would you right your wrongs?  Would changing you past change anything at all?  Maybe, just maybe, the past has to stay the way is it.  

    My name is Asher Wolfe and I’m a Private Investigator.  I work out of the bustling city of Los Flos.  Making it work out in the big city definitely isn’t for everyone, but I like to think that I was able to figure things out.  I knew my way around the city; after all, I was raised there and that’s where I spent most of my adult life as well.  From the time I was a small kid to right when I retired from the Los Flos Police Department.  

    I’m not here to talk about my past though.  Well not all of it.  This is about my last case.  My unresolved case.  The case of The Black Rose Killer.  Man if I had a cigarette I’d definitely take a drag right now.

    Anyways, it all started about a week ago.  I was contacted by an old friend of mine from the LFPD.  He said they were running into a bit of a snag from a recent case of theirs.  Apparently over the last several months a string of unusual murders happened.  On the last Friday of every month, a dead body had been found in their respective homes.  Each body had a few similarities in common.  They were all men in their twenties.  They were all missing their left hands.  They all had a stake driven straight into their heart, and they all had a black rose head in their closed right hand.  And I mean black.  We all know black roses aren’t real and that when people usually say that it’s a dark maroon or something, but these were pitch black.

    They called them The Black Rose Killer and were all out of any leads.  The month was nearing its end and of course they were all on edge that another murder was about to be committed.  That’s when my friend swallowed his pride and contacted me.  He came into my office that day and laid everything out for me.  The days and the details; everything the LFPD cumulatively knew about this maniac.  It was quite a case to take on such short notice, but I took it anyways.  As a kindness to my friend and as a concerned, retired law official.

    I’ll be honest here: there wasn’t many leads to go on.  The only clue was honestly their calling card.  The black rose.  As far as I knew, it wasn’t supposed to exist.  The LFPD already examined it and guaranteed me that it was the real deal.  Now I’m not botanist; I can barely even keep a house plant alive for more than a few days, but I knew that somebody had to be pretty well versed in the botanical field to make a real black rose.  That’s where I started my search.  

    You’d think that for a city named after flowers that’d there would be more famous botanist.  There isn’t.  I went downtown to the local greenhouses and found the owner.  I told them I was a local reporter and that I was trying to find the newest up and coming groundbreaking botanist in town.  I also let it slip that I heard that somebody was able to breed black roses and that person of such skill would surely go down in the history books, but they didn’t know anything.  Nothing pertaining to the case at least.  Lots of flower facts that they wouldn’t stop going on about.  They did point out where I could go next though.  Blodau University.  They had an excellent botanical course and had a pretty renowned professor.  I thanked them and decided to pay Blodau University a visit.

    I was able to make my way over there without much fuss, after all Los Flos is famous for Blodau.  After finding a map online, I was able to locate the Professor’s office.  Professor Sprut was his name and he was happy to answer my questions.  Introducing myself as a private investigator that time was going to be my best bet at getting a firm lead.  Despite all their knowledge, they had no idea where a black rose may have come from.  I had to check all my bases so I asked if there was anyone they knew of that might be able to point me in the right direction.  Or if there was anybody talented enough to maybe make such a flower.  He didn’t seem to think so, but he did mention one student of his in particular.  She was a very promising young student but had stopped attending classes about a month ago.  Misaki Haruno.  Something about that name gave me quite a knot in my stomach, and you don’t get far in this business without trusting your gut.  Professor Sprut was then able to give me information on where she might be.  

    She was staying in one of the local dormitories and he was able to get in touch with her roommate.  It took a little convincing but I was able to let her agree to me searching her room.  I may have fudged the truth a little and made it seem like I was looking for Misaki out of her wellbeing instead of suspecting her of murder.  She told me that she had just stopped showing up a month ago.  One night she packed her bag and she never came back.  Besides that, she was generally pretty peppy and seemed to get good grades on her schooling.

    Her room was pretty ordinary; at least as ordinary as I imagine a college girl’s room to look like.  It seemed as though she took all of her notes and her electronics with her because of course she did.  She only left a few of her textbooks behind; the only book that I could tell was missing was her botany book.  Honestly the only thing to note of in her room was a large poster board hanging above her bed.  There was a few dead flowers stuck to the board with a some words written beside them.  The word hanakotoba was sprawled across the top of the board.  

    I was just about to call it quits with the intel I had gathered, but my gut was talking to me again.  Her name wouldn’t be enough to get me anywhere else, so I carefully removed the poster board from the wall in hopes of a tangible clue.  There wasn’t one.  With cases like this, it’s never that easy, but there was something there.  A smaller sized poster with a mountainous background and an oriental looking women with flowers surrounding her.  I had absolutely no idea what I was looking at but there was a name below the poster: Konohana Sakuya-Hima.  I quickly jotted the name down and replaced the flower board.  I thanked her roommate for her time and decided that it was time for me to head out.  

    I had two names now: Misaki and Konohana.  These tidbits didn’t do much for me in the moment, and I even contemplated returning to the LFPD to inform them of what I now knew.  I chose not to however.  If Misaki really was the murderer, we had no evidence to do anything about it.  The only thing that the department could do for me is maybe get me in touch with her parents, but I didn’t want her to think that we might finally be on her trail.  I decided that was enough for one day and turned in for the night.

    I didn’t have any leads to go on besides a couple of names, so I thought to myself where could these tidbits of information take me.  I know I had been there already, but now with names, I decided to pay a visit to that greenhouse I had been to before.  I asked if anyone by the name of Misaki Haruno had been paid any visits to there, and they said that name didn’t ring any bells.  I then inquired if a Konohana Sakuya-Hima had frequented, and they were able to tell me that a Sakuya actually had been there before and that they had actually rented out an entire greenhouse to themselves.  The fourth greenhouse is where I headed next, intent on wrapping this case up.

    It looked like a normal greenhouse to me.  Flowers of all types grew all about and were arranged in beautiful patterns.  I searched the place for a good while but I wasn’t able to find anything remotely resembling the black roses found at the crime scenes.  Just as I was about to give up hope, I was met by a chipper hello.  I wizzed around and was met with a petite Japanese girl.  That’s when I knew.  It didn’t matter how she said hello or what she would say afterwards; I could see it in her eyes and feel it in my gut.  She was the killer.  

    Introducing myself as a reporter once more, I told her that her professor remarked her as being an excellent up-and-coming botanist.  She agreed to do an interview with me despite having no fondness for her professor.  Before she would though, she insisted on giving me a flower to mark the occasion and mentioned how flowers all had different meaning.  Hanakotoba she called it, or the language of the flowers.  Even if two flowers were the same type, the color of them would denote something else.  Prompting me to follow her, she walked into the very back corner and set her bag down as she knelt down to examine the flowers.  I was forced to turn around momentarily as she wanted the flower she picked to be a surprise.  Thinking about her request, I decided to honor it knowing full well I could take her if it came to blows.  

    Not long afterwards I was asked to turn around as she delicately handed me her choice flower.  My eyes widened as I gazed upon it.  The black rose.  It was gorgeous despite what I’ve seen of it, and I hurriedly reached out for it.  I know now I shouldn’t have acted in such haste.  I felt a sharp pain in my hand where I accidentally grabbed the thorned stem, causing myself to drop it.  When you’ve been through what I’ve been through, you don’t think much of a little prick like that, at least not until you start feeling unwell.  I started to become dizzy and lightheaded.  Death.  That’s what she muttered as she picked up the fallen rose.  I didn’t have any time to process what was happening before I passed out on the floor.

    I awoke the next day in a daze, unsure of what just transpired.  Taking in my surroundings, I was able to deduce that I was somehow back in my office.  A small setback, but I should be able to jump right back into the case.  That brings us back to now, the present, and for me to solve my unsolved case.  To catch The Black Rose Killer.  

    What would you do if you could change the past?  Would you try to change your upbringing?  Would you take your life into a completely different direction?  Would you right your wrongs?  Would changing you past change anything at all?  Maybe, just maybe, the past has to stay the way is it.  

    I can’t change the past, but I can help shape the future.  It’s not too late to stop the killer; to bring her to justice.  It’s too late for me however.  I actually ended up being her latest victim, but I won’t let that stop me.  My will clung to this mortal plane and shaped my being into something else entirely.  I awoke as a specter of sorts, and I can guarantee you that she won’t see me coming with my newfound freedom.  The Black Rose Killer will remember the name Asher Wolfe.