Durarara Always Running Part 3

You were silent while walking through the corridor, down the elevator, and through the lobby. Would your Mom worry? Steve would be pissed. He was always a little too controlling and became angry if you were seconds past curfew. The woman stepped through the glass doors and threw a leg over a waiting pitch-black motorcycle. She (Well, if you could see her face) looked at you expectantly. You slide onto the bike behind her; it is hot beneath your legs; much warmer than your body temperature. She hands back a helmet, nothing as nice as hers, just a simple black thing with a chin strap.

Chik.

It sounds through the air, eerily ominous. Like in a movie when a heroine seals her fate.
The bike rumbled to life beneath you, totally silent. It surprised you; how could it even be on? It began moving, faster, faster, well above the speed limit. The woman you held onto didn't seem to breathe. Her chest stayed immobile with no steady expanding and contracting to help you figure the passage of time. She turned corners with deadly accuracy, driving the bike almost parallel to the ground. These were the only times her torso moved as she shook with silent laughter.

"It's not funny," you mumbled to her, pressing your face into her back. She smelled like cigarette smoke, chemicals, and gasoline. It swirled around you as if it were visible in the air.

This made her laugh harder. She seemed to be deliberate now in turning her corners and speeding down alleys, breezing through red lights.

Even though it was the middle of the night the streets were still crowded with people, all gawking at you. Was the bike rider famous?

She pulled to a stop in front of a decrepit apartment, a sad building that looked out of place among the background of high-rises and bright lights.

You practically fell off the bike with stiff joints. How could she ride like that for so long? The rider seemed to have no problem in pulling out her PDA and tapping a message, "Room 2B."

"Sure."

She sped into the night and, well, it had to be your imagination, but it sounded like her bike whinnied as she rode away.

You looked up at the building; did you really want to go in here? It was the sort of place that crack addicts of teens experimenting with arson would hang out. You gathered your courage and climbed the narrow creaking steps.

Was this creak really a smart creak thing creak to do?

The occupants of the first room seemed to be in a heated game of mah-jong.

Room 2B seemed empty.

The room next door? It's occupants seemed to be having a very good time.

You knocked on the door with three quick taps and frowned. That was how Steve always knocked on your door to make sure you were awake in the morning. The unconscious action bothered you. Were you becoming like him?

The door swung open to reveal a heavy-lidded girl with extremely long hair, "Hidezaya-san!" She grasped one of your hands and rubbed it against your cheek, "I told them that you would be back!" She seemed like a child who had woken up on Christmas morning to find a pony under the tree. Who was she? Why did she think it was okay to rub her oily skin against your palm?

You jerked your hand back.

"Hidezaya-san?"

"Who are you?"

"It's me, Hidezaya-san! Koyo Tochiru!"

"I don't know you."

"Do you have amnesia, Hidezaya-san?" Her eyes opened slightly wider, "I should get you
home!" Koyo stepped out and pulled the door shut behind her, "It doesn't lock, the piece of shit." She looked at your hand again, "May I, Hidezaya-san?"

"No." You didn't know who this strange girl was and you didn't want her touching you any more than necessary.

"Oh," She said in a small voice, "Come on. Do you remember your apartment?"

"I have an apartment?"

"Of course, Hidezaya-san! You and your older brother live there."

"I have an older brother?"

"Shizuo Heiwajima-san. You've never let me meet him though."

Maybe it was this girl who had amnesia; you were an only child and the odds that you had an older brother in Japan? It was the same odds of being the victim of a shark attack, lighting strike, rape, abducted by aliens, and murder on the same day, separate occasions.

"Oh," Maybe it was best to play along. At least if this Shizuo guy let you stay with him you wouldn't have to room with Koyo or sleep on a park bench.

You followed her through the city, backtracking where the rider had sped by with you only minutes before.

Eventually, Koyo took you to another apartment building. This one wasn't as nice at the first but it was a lot better than Koyo's.

"He lives on the fourth floor. I don't know which room." Koyo pulled out her phone, "Should I tell the others you're back?"

"The others?" This girl had to be delusional.

"The other…" She whispered the last part, "Red Tails."

"Uhm, wait on that."

"You really must've banged your head hard or something to forget the Red Tails."

"Yeah."

You left her standing there and went up the elevator. You felt out of place in your grungy clothes. A dark tank top over a short denim skirt and white leggings underneath and brown boots along with your tangled hair, you probably looked like an amateur streetwalker or a recovering meth addict.

The doors opened with a soft ping and you stepped out and rounded the corner and into what felt like a brick wall.

"I'm so sorry!" You bowed. Where did that come from?

"Tch." It was a tall, bleached blond bartender with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He adjusted his blue sunglasses and looked down at you. That's when it clicked; he looked just like the guy from that TV show that came on at one in the morning! The one your friend was obsessed with! And that rider! She had no head! You were in the TV show, somehow. Or maybe you had finally gone crazy.

"Hidezaya?"

"Y-yes?" Shizuo, he was like Superman right? My "older brother?"

"Don't you remember me?"

"N-not really?"

"What?"

"I," Quick, think of a lie! You fumbled through your head. What would be a good reason for
memory loss? "I was kidnapped? And- and they threw me on the ground! I knocked my head really hard and I don't remember anything!"

"You were what? Was it the blue scarves or the yellow squares!?" He growled, "I'll kill 'em! I'll kill them!"

"W-what! I don't know who did it! You can't just go killing people!"

"Yes, I can!"

"Calm down!"

He puffed on his cigarette, "Do you have Stockholm Syndrome or something?"

"Why would I protect the kidnappers?"

"Because you have Stockholm Syndrome."

"I don't." You needed to figure out a way to stop him from going and murdering bystanders,
"I just really want to go home…" You sniffled. It was a flimsy excuse, but-

"Oh, yeah, you don't have your keys anymore do you?" You followed him down the hall and into the last door on the right, "Do you remember where your room is?"

"I can figure it out." He stubbed out the cigarette in a tray by the door. The apartment was in an open loft pattern with three doors to the right. Obviously one was a bathroom and the other two were probably bedrooms.

"You have to go file a police report."

"And tell them what? That I was kidnapped but I don't remember anything about it? They'll laugh at me."