CAN'T LET GO
(A Ranma 1/2 fic by Cass and GSL)

Comments, criticisms and MSTs are welcome. You can reach us at
chiaty@singnet.com.sg
You can view this at http://web.singnet.com.sg/~chiaty/fanfics.htm

We also would like to thank our pre-readers, Justin Baugh,
Jed Bidwell, Arthur Edwards and Maurice Phillip.

Disclaimer can be found in earlier parts.

[ ] = dream sequence
< > = character's thoughts
{ } = conversations in chinese


Part 6B
-------

(Night. Nekohanten)

	Ukyou was right. Shampoo would never forgive him for what he did, he knew 
her all too well. And yet his heart burned with the desire to do what he 
knew would be suicide.

	He slapped himself across the face, hard. Shouting to himself, he forbade 
the thoughts of seeking Shampoo's forgiveness to cross his mind. He tried to 
think of how happy he would be when everything was over. Hawaii would be 
nice, with the beaches and not to mention the many beautiful girls there. He 
could fall in love again, get married, have children...

	The thoughts died as soon as they arose. Strangely, agitation came forth. 
He was taking deep breaths now, struggling to fill his lungs with the 
essential element. Something disturbed him and he knew it was not of an 
external nature.

	Quiet, everything was so damn quiet. In the darkness, he could barely see 
beyond his hands. But he didn't need his sight to know what surrounded him. 
Loneliness. And it was suffocating him.

	<"Mu Tsu, come try this new recipe."> He remembered that in this kitchen 
his love was feeding him morsels of food. He hardly remembered the taste, 
other than it was very good.

	Touching the table surface, he remembered the days when the tabletop wasn't 
so cold, so bare. It used to be placed with dishes that they have whipped up 
for each other. A game they often played to see who cooked better. She would 
always claim to be the winner and he'd let her.

	He remembered her melodious laughter as they made small talk over dinner. 
How her voice never ceased to set his heart soaring into the heavens, he 
never knew. After the dinner, she would always make him do the dishes. He 
would protest so that she would bribe him with one of her kisses.

	He could still feel the lingering of her lips on his. How sweet it was, how 
the act was more than physical. And for the first time that evening, his 
mouth curled up to a smile.

	The clock chimed twelve times, breaking him out of his reverie. Back to the 
cold hard world, he realized that all was lost to him forever. A lone tear 
trickled down his cheeks, breaking the dams that he had built around his 
heart. He couldn't live like this anymore.

	Mousse stood up, swallowed a huge lump of air and headed towards the 
basement.

--------------------------------------------------
(Few hours later, Nekohanten)

	Cold. Her mind told her that a cold metallic object was at her hands. It 
was a dead weight to her palm and was disrupting the circulation in her 
hands. Another message invaded her brain: wet. Her clothes were dampened, 
clinging onto her body, adding to her discomfort.

	Groggily, her other senses began returning to her. The scent in the air 
made her want to puke. She rose swiftly to a sitting position, using the 
ground to support her weight. Her hands were met with a liquid substance 
much to her disgust. Pulling them away immediately, she brushed her stained 
hands on her shorts.

	Her heart was beating at an incredible speed and she didn't know why. She 
tried to recall what had happened... <There was a person down here.> Her 
instincts took over and she jumped to her feet, looking around frantically. 
Gasping loudly, she scrambled away when she found a body lying face down, 
behind her.

	The outline of his figure, the clothes he wore and the probability of a man 
coming down here have alerted her as to the identity of the body. And that 
was alarming. Inch by inch, she approached the motionless figure, clenching 
the metal object tighter, unaware that it was still in her hands. Only that 
the pain of clenching it tight was comforting her. There was more wetness on 
the ground as she neared him, sending shivers down her spine, guessing what 
the liquid was. Holding her breath she turned the body over, choking a 
scream in her throat.

	"{Mu Tsu,}" voicing his name softly, she proceeded to shake him. Both her 
hands reached his chest. She now knew for certain what the liquid was, for 
his white robe was soaked with it. She called out for him repeatedly, each 
time her cries got louder. Even when shaking the unmoving body, she never 
released the metallic object in her hand for she revelled in the pain it 
brought. The constant of pain pacified her raging heart. Dreading what she 
had to do next, she slowly brought a finger to his neck, hoping for a pulse. 
But there was none. She didn't know whether to feel happy or sad and ended 
up feeling both emotions, laughing and crying at the same time.

	The door cracked open loudly, groups of people rushed into the basement. 
She took no notice of the invaders until they shone their torchlights at 
her, blinding her.

	One of the uniformed men started to talk loudly to her, but she didn't 
understand what he was saying although he was speaking Japanese. Another man 
knocked the metallic object from her hand and it clanked loudly when it hit 
the floor. Her eyes widened at the sight of the dagger, standing 
motionlessly staring disbelieving at it. The police moved in on her, spoke 
of the rights she had and handcuffed her roughly. Still in a shocked state, 
she didn't resist. But when they try to take her away from the dead body, 
she shrieked and kicked, launching herself at the bloodied body. But being 
handcuffed, she was easily overpowered and that was the last time Shampoo 
saw Mousse.

---------------------------------------------------

	"You killed Mousse, didn't you?"

	"No! How many times you want Shampoo say? Shampoo no kill husb..," she 
stopped midway in her sentence, her mouth still open but no words came out. 
Did she still consider him as her husband? She wasn't sure, the relentless 
questions were giving her headaches already.

	<How many times have you plotted to kill him?> Her mind asked 
reproachfully. Numerous, it replied. <How many times you wished he were 
dead?> She told her mind to shut up before it conjured up an answer.

	"Then, how do you explain the dagger you were holding, bearing your 
fingerprints?"

	<How many times have you wished for a knife to kill him? Too many. Maybe 
you thought so hard about it that it materialized in your hands.> Her brain 
wasn't letting her off today. She slapped her temples repeatedly to will 
away the thoughts. "I don't know. Knife there when I woke up."

	The chanting began again, <Would you kill him if you really do have a 
knife? You would, wouldn't you?> It was as if there was another person 
living inside her, its main existence was to torture her. She wanted to 
shout at it, to strangle it if it was tangible. It came again. <The answer 
is yes because he killed your great grandmother, played with your feelings, 
tortured you, locked you up, humiliated...> The list would have gone on if 
she didn't stop it with her admission, <Yes, I would!>

	The officer was scrutinizing Shampoo. He had been in the police force for 
too many years. After hearing so many suspects giving their side of stories, 
he was experienced enough to tell, with a high accuracy rate, who was 
speaking the truth or a lie. But this girl was a mystery. The words she 
spoke were forceful but most important was the eyes. The way her pupils had 
not dilated was indicating that she was telling the truth. But why was she 
fidgeting as if she was not that innocent?

	"Don't you think this is too convenient? What? The dagger appeared from 
nowhere and whoosh there it is, on your hands."

	"Someone frame Shampoo.	I in cage then heard noises, so pretend to sleep. 
Stranger fast, touched my shiatsu point, Shampoo fall sleep." That was what 
happened unless her mind was imagining things. Even so, she had grown tired 
of repeating this over and over again. If this was a lie, the words would 
have flown out smoothly to qualify as the truth after numerable repetitions.

	"Your husband, Mousse had been abusing you. He locked you up in a cage, 
battered you. Don't tell me you didn't hate him?" Officer Muyo didn't wait 
for her answer and he roared on, "You wanted to kill him. Somehow you got a 
dagger, maybe he was carrying one and you managed to steal it. You caught 
him unawares and drove the dagger into him, knowing that it would end his 
horrible existence."

	Shaking her head furiously, she shouted her answer, "No!" Why wouldn't he 
believe her? Why wouldn't anyone believe her? <Maybe because if you had the 
chance you would jolly well kill him with your bare hands. Or maybe you 
already did...> Standing up abruptly, she knocked the chair onto the floor 
and gave a scream of frustration, "SHUT UP!"

	He eyed her for a moment, deciding his next move. She was still breathing 
heavily and he kept his silence. Waiting until she regained her normal 
breathing patterns, he continued, "I understand. He was a bastard for doing 
such things to you. You have my sympathy. I want to help you. If you plead 
guilty, I'll get my superiors to plead leniency for you."

	"But Shampoo no..." She felt like she was a broken record. And the desire 
to give up was very great. With her closest kin dead, what other reasons was 
there to live for? Her inner mind wasn't letting her live peacefully also. 
It kept reminding her of how she killed the na�ve young Mousse in the river 
incident, how she caused the change in him, bringing his downfall and 
indirectly his death. In whatever, however, a remote way, her mind would 
point the blame at her.

	"We found no signs of other people in that basement, no footprints, no 
fingerprints, not even a strand of hair. Everything points to you. You have 
motive, the murder weapon carries your prints. I want to believe you but I�


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