Around the corner and up the stairs. The bastard’s forgotten something. I can tell. He puts his hands inside his coat and jams his fists into the pockets as if he could bear holes through if he pushes long enough. I smile. He’s forgotten something.I skip across the sliding ceiling, my fingers gripping the tiles that cover the front of the ceiling, where it bends downwards. They don’t build ceilings with mysterious night people in mind. I’d rather not think about the dirt in the floor under my body. It’s less painful that way. You know, I’ve taken this suit I’m wearing to the cleaners only twice and every time it comes back like new, but cleaning a suit more than once tends to ruin the fabric. I don’t want to have to do that, if I have to. This is making me hate this fellow even more. I love this suit. But, I waste time with this nonsense talk. But, all I've been able to do these past weeks is talk like that, talk nonsense, and feel my soul die, and die. It makes no difference. I hate the bastard enough already.
He’s moving faster now. I grit my teeth, biting my lower lip. Some people say I look cute this way, but it hurts a bit. The glass windows of his apartment room shake as he closes the door. The building where he lives is a tall one, the kind that reach way into the sky and sport long, twisting staircases hanging from the windows. It’s a fancy place, and has a long row of windows to the left side, and ample space for furniture. Figures the guy would like Art Deco. It helps that his apartment has a crystal door that allows me to see inside. From this roof on the adjacent building, I have a great view.
Insane people tend to talk a lot. Like me.
A swift movement of his body jerks him around. He touches the door. I wonder if he can tell I’m here. I think he does. He is looking at the left side of the room, paranoia taking over. He rushes to close the window curtains over the entire left side. I lift my head and frown. I know I must look funny, but who wouldn’t? What was the bastard doing? I grip the edge of the ceiling harder. What is the bastard doing?
I didn’t have much time to think. I gasped as the windows of his apartment suddenly blew, the glass flying like sharp bullets themselves and sending him smash into the right side of his living room. Letting out a muttered groan, I rose from my hiding place and, with hands placed before me, I lifted my entire body over my head, making one swift back flip. I hear my loud scream as I tossed my body from the ceiling, my jacket flapping majestically in the night wind. It occurred to me then, in my back flip, that I had no clear idea where I was going to land. But, I don’t panic. My scream is half laughter.
He yelled as I landed on the balcony of his apartment, my back to him. He raised his hand, his revolver now finding its way out of his jacket. He aimed at my back.
“You little fuck!”
The heat of another explosion thundered into the side of my body as the back of his apartment, the one with the fancy crystal door, bursts. I’m going to keep a burn scar from that one. It got my right cheek. His body hit the balcony, the strength of the explosion flinging him like a sack. It tore the rug. Pieces of floor smashed into my back, but I gritted my teeth. The breath of my body froze in my chest. His body slammed into the balcony bars, a thousand tiny pieces of glass encrusted in his skin. He’s all fucked up and I ain’t even touched him once. He coughed and lifted his gun, his eyes full of hatred, and aimed at me again.
“Punk!”
I lifted my left eyebrow, an irritated smile on my lips. He’s about to shoot me, I can tell. There isn’t much sanity left in his eyes. The poor bastard gritted his teeth, the collar of his shirt messed up and red from the blood running down his neck. Blood flowed from his skull and over his lips. He’s useless, totally useless. He cocked his gun, pulling back on the trigger.
I lit a cigarette.
“Who wants you dead, Sakisaya? Other than me.”
He shot. I leapt sideways. He jumped to his feet like a sly cat and shot again. The balcony tittered like an old lady, the foundations barely solid after the explosions. I staggered to regain my footing. I’m really getting tired of this guy, and I hoped he could tell that. But, he hasn't got a clue. No idea what I'm doing here. No idea.
“How’d you follow me? Who told you I was here? Why did you go of an’ fucking blow my apartment!”
I flicked my cigarette down into the bottomless darkness beneath the balcony, and narrow my eyes. We’re plenty high up where we are.
Fuck!
I was about to speak when, groaning like a person stabbed to death in a mess of jerking, the balcony collapsed, a thundering of another explosion catching it from the lower right. I hear myself scream as the cement crumbles under my feet and the heat of the blow hits my face and legs. Frantically, my arms reached out to grab on to something, anything, but there was nothing to grip. The balcony bars tore open, snapping like twigs. A wretched scream burst from my body. I don’t know where it came from, but I feel it burst like fire from inside me as pain surged through my body. My right arm smashed into an iron bar. One of those metal, fire-escape stairs.
I can't see anything. All I hear is the bastard screaming. Screaming.
Screaming.
“Bastard!”
A hand held his chest down as his eyes flung open, his arms slashing out at the air. With force, the young man that stood beside his bed, pinned his body down into the mattress.
“Yoji!”
“What the…?”
Blinking, the curly hair young man looked at the person who held him down. Ken, breathless and worried, was looking at him with wide eyes.
“K-Ken…”
“You scare me, man. Don’t do that.”
Yoji closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as pain surged through his back. Harsh burns crawled over his legs and arms. His back felt like a thousand tiny needles encrusted into his skin, and a huge, sown gash ran over his right shoulder. Ken released his chest and drew away.
“What? What happened to him?”
Ken looked away, his eyes crawling over the walls and across to the figure that stood, hands folded over his chest, by the corner, almost melting into the shadows.
“You were caught on the fire and gas explosion of the whole apartment,” Ken said. “You've been out for a week. You fell twenty stories –twenty stories- I thought…”
“What happened to H I M?”
Ken drew away as Yoji’s hand gripped his own. The young man’s eyes were wide open, a crazed look burning in them. Ken didn’t know what to say. Yoji’s hand seemed to be burning his skin.
“He’s dead.”
Ken closed his eyes as the young man in the shadows spoke, his voice a leveled bass. Yoji’s lips trembled, his body becoming still, cold. Aya lowered his head, closing his eyes. The sound of the machine hooked to Yoji’s hands droned its steady beep into the silence… the silence…the silence…
I was merely taking a brief nap the afternoon I met him, resting from the day’s busy schedule. It was a fancy part of town I had been visiting, part of Persia’s new underground plan to cover the city in what he put as “like a hawk”, or something like that. I was tired of being a hawk and had pulled into one of the preppy looking buildings that lined the avenue, one of those shops where you can buy books and drink coffee at the same time. The air inside the store was cool, the sweet aroma of new books floating with a blissful mixture of coffee. Some people hung about in the aisles, reading through poetry. I’m not much the poet, so I didn’t even bother to search through the shelves. I simply sat on the table, next to the window, and looked outside into the streets. Tall buildings lined the sky, the street busy as always with walking people and cars. I was lost in the black and white patterns of the doors on the yellow cab when he knocked into the window glass, startling the shit out of me.
“Buy a butterfly?”
I blinked, realizing there was a child staring at me through the window. It looked like a girl, for all I could tell. Short, bouncy hair, slender body, and large eyes full of blue and grey. I blinked again, and the features came into my vision clearer.
“Would you like to buy a butterfly?”
I must have mouthed my response, no. I didn’t have time for a -, what ever that was. It looked like a pen for I could tell, and I already had a lot of pens. Those I didn’t have I took from Ken. But, the little seller put her hands to her hips and, determined to get me to succumb to the laws of supply and demand, marched into the store. I didn’t see it happen. I had looked away as I thought the child had left me, and concentrated on the smoke coming of one of the manholes in the street.
“Didn’t you hear me?” I startled again and looked at the face of the child, who now held the object she was selling out to me. “Do you want one?”
I couldn’t help but grin then, even if I was a bit annoyed.
“Didn’t you hear me?” I said. “I said no.”
“Oh, but you’ve gotta have one of these,” she said, almost pressing the damned pencil like thing into my face. Looking at it that close I saw that it had some sort of decorations on it, lacquered engraved daisies lined with gold and silver. It was then that I also noticed that the top of the pencil was a head, that of a grinning butterfly, its eyes half closed. It boinged out of place and shot at me, then boinged back. “You just gotta!”
“I really don’t have any u-”
“Are you being bothered sir?” It was an irritated voice, coming from behind the child. I lifted my eyes and saw the prim shape of a tiny Japanese woman, her eyebrows knitted in anger. She looked at me with concern, then at the child. “Leave our customer alone. He already told you he doesn’t want one of those, and there is no soliciting inside this bookstore.”
“I wanted to show him closer so-”
“It’s OK,” I said. I got up from my seat, ignoring the look the woman gave me. “I’m leaving.” I looked down at the child, who still held the bouncing pencil in her hand. “She’s with me.”
The woman knew it was a lie, but she didn’t press the issue further. Taking my long body from her seat, and smelling the intoxicating air of coffee one last time, I exited into the sunlit street. The child walked behind me. The minute we got into the street, she bounced before me and held the pencil, which now seemed to look like her for all her bouncing, up to my face.
“You will buy it, no?”
Why am I always stuck in these things? Kids like Ken, not me. Kids follow him around and he bounces and boings with them in the soccer field. Not me. They sell pencils and squishy balls to him and he buys them gladly, even humours them to a free ice cream. Not me. Omi stays away from children. Aya doesn’t speak much to anyone, much less to children. Children stay away from me.
“Look, kid,” I said, flipping my shades down my nose. “What you selling those for anyway?”
It took a while, for a moment I thought we were frozen in the pavement, keenly aware that I was melting in the sun. The child seemed to lower the pencil, and slowly looked up at me.
“So I can eat,” she said.
I could not help but look at the clothes she wore, staring incredulously at the sleeves of the sun skirt, the bright colours of the fabric and the neatness of her hair. I wasn’t buying that crap. The child looked like the very vision of a model magazine, one of those that bring coloured pictures of pretty dresses. Reddish, golden hair shone in the light, small rosy lips pressed together. But, the eyes that stared up at me kept me from turning right then and there and walking away. Misty blue, they stared straight into mine with a sad fear, unable to lie.
I groaned, flipping my glasses up to my eyes with my hand in one quick movement.
“Jesus, child,” I said, jamming my hand into my pant pocket to bring out my wallet. “How much is that thing?”
An instant smile came to that face, a very beautiful genuine smile. I stopped parting the many compartments of my wallet and looked at her silently when I saw that face become so happy. I look away embarrassed.
“200 ¥,” she said and brought out one of the pens from inside the bag she had on her hands. It looked even nicer inside the transparent case it had, the blue bouncing butterfly resting. She raised it up almost under my nose, and smiled again. Jesus, that smile hurt.
“Screw it kid,” I said, almost muttering my words. “I’m gonna need more than that, at least two. Omi’s gonna want one too, and I bet Ken will get the fever for it even though he has tons of pens.” I knew I was lying. There was no reason for twenty sets of pencils, as Aya would no doubt point out.
She laughed and dug into the bag and produced two other boxes each with its own butterfly, one red, the other yellow.
“Heck,” I said. “I’ll even buy you ice cream.”Not being able to contain herself with joy, she leapt out and hugged me. I froze with the money still in my hands halfway out of my wallet. Her hands found their way around my waist and she pressed her delicate little body against mine. Blushing, I could not help but smile.
It was then I noticed she was a boy.
Sitting by a street table a few miles away from the flower shop, I watched in silence. It didn't cost much, to buy that ice cream. He chose orange, mango, and strawberry with sprinkles. I chose vanilla. I didn't speak much, just watched as the kid skipped ahead of me, looking for a table. It seemed forever before he finally chose one that satisfied him. It was then, just as we were about to take our seats, that he stretched his hand out to me and told me his name. Sherry. The kid swallowed the ice cream I got him while mine sort of sat there, melting into its cup. After a few spoonfuls, he responded the question I felt jumping in my head.
“My father takes the money,” he said. “He takes all the money.”
I crossed by legs. The child didn’t have to tell me how long he had gone without a nice meal, even though he wore really pretty clothes. The way he was eating was enough to let me know that he never enjoyed any ice cream at all. I knew I must have been frowning, the eyes under my glasses full of hatred, but he didn't notice.
"That any good?" I asked, eyeing my own ice cream as it melted into further depths of slush.
"Hmm!"
"Does your father need money? Does he need the money?"
The child did not answer, just went on eating the ice cream, down to his last flavour. I looked away. No I couldn't believe the crap coming out of my mouth. Did it really look like he needed money? The kid licked a sprinkle from his finger.
"No," he said. "He lives in a big house, a very big house." He spooned the last of his ice cream into his mouth. "He takes it cause he wants it."
I knew my glasses did not hide the anger in my eyes this time. My knuckles were becoming white from so the hurt I was causing my fist.
"He wanted a girl when I was born," he said. He was looking at me, the smile gone from his face.
"That sort of thing happens when you make a loop in the bank account and then re-loop it."
Ok, I was lost. Totally lost. Watching Omi hit the keyboard for the thirty-six time and bring down yet another table with numbers and accounts, I knew I had never really even begun to understand. I knew I deserved it for not being too clear or honest with the reasons why I wanted him to help me out. Dressed in blue pyjamas, his hair recently wet and combed, he looked at me with pure innocence, which made it harder for me to grasp what he was saying.
"In Japanese, Omi, please?"
"Sorry," he said, blushing. "The person's account has been altered to loop into itself several times, only when seen by accountants. The loop causes a distracting illusion that the money sources really arrive from conventional things, such as a job or tips, but that such things fluctuate around each other. But, in reality there is no such loop, but different via-passes in which the money sources seem to be multiple things, such as many different jobs."
"So, this person could have more than two jobs?"
Omi ran a hand over his face, his clear eyes becoming grey. He stared at the table on the computer screen. "More than five jobs," he said, his tone of voice growing deep.
Fuck. I stared at the screen as well, even though I had no idea what in all the numbers, letters, and graphs were the loops Omi was talking about.
"That's an impossibility in itself," I said, running a hand through my curly hair. "More than five?"
Omi narrowed his eyes, his lips pressed against each other. He was staring at the monitor, almost as if the words that were inside were threatening him. I stared at him silently, not comprehending what he was thinking about, but aware that he didn't like it any better than I did.
"Unless…" He hit a key and the tables disappeared, only to reappear in the shape of yet another graphic, this time larger and more convoluted. It looked like a spider web, more than a graph, with various branches jerking off from its body. Omi stared at it, his features becoming cold. "Unless you were into a multifaceted business."
"Drugs."
Omi clicked the graph away, making the screen become tiny at the bottom of the monitor. He rubbed his face, willing himself to come out of the feelings he was facing. A sad smile came to his face as he wheeled around to face me and stood up.
"Yoji, whoever that person is, he's making a lot of illegal money."
Tell me about it. I think I slapped my knee then, hard. So hard it hurt a lot worse than the iron bar that tore my legs when I fell those twenty stories. I couldn't help it. The face of the child came to my head, almost as if he were right before me still offering the butterflies. I remember staring at the wall, not even being aware that Omi was still beside me, as if the wall could give me something. Answers. How the devil do people exist when they are allowed to live a rich life out of other people's deaths, keeping children like beggars, and hurting their souls? The wall didn't have any answers; they're that way, quiet. They only hold the house up, bearing the strength on their shoulders.
"Yoji san?"
I blinked and looked at Omi. I was worrying the kid, making him anxious and he had enough to deal with already. Enough shit and he needed mine, or some strange kid's, to mess him up. Why the hell did I need some strange kid's shit myself anyway? As I stared at his face, gripping the armrests of the chair, I wondered why the blazes had I ever become involved with this. The kid hadn't asked me to help him. He seemed quite happy to just go on the way he was, complacent to live with the pain and sell pencils in the street. Fuck it. I closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing. The kid was just glad to be alive, to be a wall to his own house.
"I'm fine, Omi," I said. I stared back at the computer screen. "Could you trace the sources of those branches, eh… the outside sources, whatever you called them?"
"The via-passes?"
"Right," I sighed. He nodded, and I knew he could do it. He was a child genius. Then, to my surprise, just as I was about to get up from the chair, he reached out and hugged me. Staring down at all I could see, his hair, I felt him hold me tighter. I closed my eyes.
And kissed the top of his head.
Ken had jumped out of his seat when he heard the doctor push through the door, her shoes making the noise of speed and rush. He knew that noise anywhere, and he hated it. People died whenever he heard it, or some other equally horrible thing happened. Aya lifted his head, his frown deepening.
"Something's wrong," Ken said, not waiting for him to react and walking out into the hallway. He knew Aya would follow.
"You can't go in there! Not without Dr. White's permission!" But, Ken ignored the nurse and her whinny voice. He pushed Yoji's door with a force he could not understand, but came to a sudden stop. In the bed, covered in blood, lay Yoji's prone body, his eyes staring at the ceiling.
"Yoji!" It was Aya who spoke, allowing himself into the room. The doctor looked up at him, her eyes scared of the anger and grief she found in his voice.
"He is causing himself internal trauma," Dr. White said. Her voice was tight, as if she were wrestling with her own emotions. The beeping of the cardiac machine next to her was almost swallowing her words. "You can't go near him, sir. Do not place any more stress on his body."
"Why is he bleeding like this?" Ken said, joining Aya's side. "What the hell's happening to him?"
"He has an internal wound," the doctor said. "For some reason it has resurfaced after we closed it. Such cases only occur when the patient has undergone, or still undergoes, severe trauma. Your friend has caused his wound to bleed by mental trauma."
"Mental trauma?" Ken ignored the doctor's visual warning and crossed to the other side of Yoji's bed.
"He's thinking about something," Dr. White answered, "going into something he can't get out of his head; before the accident. He keeps mentioning someone's name, keeps mumbling out to someone."
"Who?"
"I do not understand, but if he does not come out of such things, he might cause himself cerebral trauma."
"He has no head wounds," Ken said, staring at Yoji's open eyes, feeling his own hands begin to tremble. The doctor lifted her eyes and stared at him seriously.
"If your friend continues to cause himself this pain," she said. "He will."
"Those could kill him."
The room had become such a blurred white space that he had forgotten that Aya stood on the other side of the bed. It was even hard to hear his voice, but he had heard what Aya said. He didn't have to hear it, he was aware. Dr. White reached down and pulled Yoji's hospital gown from his chest, revealing the bleeding wound on his right shoulder. His face was pale, dark lines under his eyes.
"I've already introduced artificial vessels into his chest," Dr. White said "to keep him from heart attack conditions. Internal bleeding may cause blood deficiency to the heart and to the brain. Artificial blood flow is being supplied by this machine. The nurse will stay in here with him full time, and I will be ready to come should I be needed."
Ken stared at Yoji's face, her words a distant echo. Suddenly, without a warning, Aya's hands reached out and took hold of Yoji's shoulders. With a hard grip, almost like an animal, he half rose his body from the bed, his teeth bared.
"Yoji! You snap out of it, asshole!"
"Aya!" Ken reached out to stop his maddened friend.
"Sir! You can't do that sir! You'll hurt the patient, please-stop that, sir!"
"Yoji!" Aya screamed louder, daring to shake his friend's body as if it were nothing more than a sack.
"Aya, stop!"
"Not you too, asshole! Not you too!"
"Aya!" Ken felt tears run down his cheeks.
"Yoji! Yoji!"
"Aya!"
"YOJI!"
"Did you finally get to use the pencil?"
I had smiled down at him as I ran a hand over my hair. It was in place, but it was a habit. Can I help it if, like my clothes, it's perfect? Somehow, Sherry didn't quite understand that, or he never cared. He laughed as I nodded and seemed oblivious to the rest of the world. We soon walked away to the park, ignoring the rest of the people. Sherry was wearing a sky blue shirt with violet flowers and some shorts, his thin legs looking longer than usual. He had a flowered bow on his hair and the smile over his lips, and looked very pretty. I felt my face blush horribly as I found myself staring at him too long, watching from my place in the park bench as he chased some ducks.
"Would you like a duck?"
I didn't look at him, but stared at the couple of boys that played a few feet away. Smashing themselves with the shovels they had been using to build castles, they laughed at each other. Sherry looked that way but soon returned to the ducks, ignoring the world again.
"Would you like to live somewhere else?"
I think he understood my question. Really. For an instant, he simply stared at me, his hands rubbing the neck of the duck he held in his hand. But then he looked away, staring into the distance.
I didn't press the issue further, knowing that it hurt him too much to even think about such a possibility. I got him another ice cream and we took the swans that people rent to paddle to the middle of the lake. Splashing and laughing, I almost forgot the things that bothered him, almost fell into the fantasy he lived. Sherry splashed into the water and watched as we drew closer to the fountain straight in the middle of the lake, and then drew away. I couldn't help but look out across the lake at the buildings surrounding the park, the large corporations and business that lined the lake. Omi found the sources of the branching in the money accounts and targeted the offices and underground movements. Lousy bastards are bigger than I thought. He drew out a graph of the damned different branches, but it's beyond me. All I knew was that at least five of the buildings around the lake dealt with Sakisaya. Sitting in that swan and paddling in the lake, I gritted my teeth, cursing every one of them.
The evening found us walking around the neighbourhood, just the two of us, the sunset behind us. The houses were quiet and the sky turned a colourful red and pink, painting the road with its rays. The flower shop had closed already, Ken would be home from practice no doubt. Omi might just be out in the yard or watching TV. Aya might be working on a huge Chinese Art project he needed to finish. It was the perfect time, with the sun going down the way it was and the wind playing with out hair and our hands holding on to each other, for me to take Sherry to my home.
"Is that it?" he asked when we came to the walkway.
"Hmm," I said. Without a warning, he dashed out from my side and rushed to the front gate. I didn't know what to say; he was too fast.
"Oi!" She cried out to the house. "Hello! Yoji's friends! Hello! Come out!"
It was Ken who first drew his head out of the window, his hand holding on to a cooking spoon. He stared down at my sheepish grin and then at the tiny girl he saw, looking up at the house.
"Mo, Yoji?" I grinned my best grin up at him. He was joined by Omi, who smiled as he saw that I had brought company. For a moment, I feared he might link the graphics with the child, or tell Ken about it if he already had. He simply dashed out, coming down the stairs to open the door. Ken sighed and frowned at me. Aya would be furious over the unannounced visitor.
To my surprise as soon as Omi brought Sherry up to our living room, he swung around from his computer and stared at him silently. Then, without me even guessing what he was doing, he reached down to pull the tray that held the Nintendo system and, turning off his program, started a game."Do you play Delirium and Shadows?"
I exchanged looks with Ken, but Omi didn't let us think about that strange turn of events. The young genius took Sherry, who looked a bit scared of every one, by the hand and sat before the TV as Aya's game flickered on. Aya, looking at me silently, handed the joysticks to them and drew up from the seat.
"I'll be the son of a flea," I whispered, my shades sliding down from my nose. Ken looked at me and nudged me hard, too hard, so I wouldn't jinx Aya's mood.
"It's a good thing I was making plenty of food," Ken announced and headed back to the kitchen.
I knew it must have felt stupid and annoying to suddenly find themselves with the company of a child, but none of them told me. It seemed natural that Sherry would be in the living room, a young boy dressed up like a girl, immersed in Aya's virtual fighting game. It seemed normal that I had never mentioned him and yet brought him to our home. I don't know what kind of people Ken and Aya are, but they sure are a strange lot. Jesus, it's enough to make me want to buy them a car, not that I will.
But, I knew they knew who the kid was and why I brought him over.
The light of a lamp shone across the kitchen and lighted Ken's features. It fell over the floor and crawled over Aya and me, painting us slight shades of white. It was a nice feeling, though. It seemed quiet, like the touch of a gossamer web. The house was quiet, the soft hum of the air system circulation in the silence, and the sound of Omi and Sherry coming through the walls. Aya was having an acerola juice and stared at me silently.
"His father dresses him up as a girl?"
I nodded at Ken's question.
"Drug dealer, a bit of a Mafia man," I mumbled. Aya made a low grunt in his throat, but didn't say anything. "I just couldn't think of letting it go."
Both of them looked at me silently, their eyes searching my face, but reading my soul. Jesus, it was like I was under that light they place prisoners under, when they interrogate them, you know? But, they weren't frowning. They knew what I meant, even if I wasn't so sure myself. I think those two knew twice as much about the things I was doing. I cleared my throat, wishing the silence would end.
"Who would think," I said, taking a sip from my coke "that such things could be happening in Tokyo? Every day it amazes me, how such things go on in this city, all over the islands."
Ken closed his eyes, breathing in the air coming in from the window.
"It's like a song that never ends," Aya said. But, he was not frowning. He was looking out of the window, over Ken's head, into the streets were a million lights shone and each one of them was a universe.
"A million voices," I said barely a whisper.
Ken looked at us, almost as if he didn't believe what he heard. I think our philosophical mombo jumbo finally cracked him. He rose from his seat and nudged our heads roughly.
"Mo, you two!" he said with a grin. "What a couple of crack heads."
Ken's grin stayed with me until I drew myself up to my room, tired of sitting by the lamp light, and I found myself pulled by Sherry's tiny hand. I had not planed on him staying in the house, something Ken jumped up and suggested, so I wondered where he would sleep. The couch downstairs seemed fine to me. I swung about to go get the covers Omi kept as extra just in case he needed to stay up late working in the computer. They made him look comical when he draped them over himself, especially since they had blue flowers. But, I didn't get a chance to voice my opinion. Without my consent, Sherry climbed up to my bed, smiling as he rested on my fluffy pillow.
"I like your pillows," he said, and sighed.
I have no idea why I sat down next to him, why I reached out to pull him closer and put my arms around him. Closing my eyes, it seemed the whole world had become dark and that it felt so much better, so much nicer. It hurt to open them again and look down at Sherry, knowing that was not his name, that he was nothing more than the toy of some bastard who lived in an incredible home, surrounded by glass. Slowly, holding my breath, I brought him close unto my lap. His head rested on my chest, his breathing coming softly from somewhere where a heart kept him alive.
I don't know where I found the strength to talk.
"What's your name, kid?" I said, a whisper.
He looked away, but nuzzled closer into my chest, gripping my shirt. I dared to touch his head. My hand looked so big and white. When he looked at me again, I knew he didn't know; that he had never had any other name.
"Would you like a duck?" he said, but this time his smile was too weak.
"Would you like to live somewhere else?"
There were tears in the rims of his eyes, but he looked up at me. Searching my face, wondering why did I bother to say that, what could I change, what could I do?
"I would like a duck," he said, his voice barely audible.
"Sherry?" I whispered. "Are you a boy or a girl?"
Silence.
"A girl."
Without a sound, two diminutive tears ran down his cheeks, running into his mouth. I ran my finger through his cheek, taking the tear away, and ran a hand through my hair. He let me. He let me remove the bow from his hair, pulling from the tangled mess of golden strands. He let me undo his shoes and pull his socks. He let me remove his shirt and his shorts, let me hold him naked against my body. I closed my eyes, drawing the covers over his skin, and felt him press himself against me, crying. He didn't make a sound, only pressed his face against my T-shirt, and I put my hand over his head and lay back on the bed. Sleep taking over.
“Omi’s already created a graphed map for me to look into this.” “Look into this? Since when does this operation move that way?”
Yoji blinked and drew his head back against the chair. From behind his desk, Persia stared at him with quiet civility, waiting for him to answer. Persia didn’t move, his eyes fixed into him as if they could bore a whole into his skin. Waiting for an answer.
“You’re not thinking, Kudo,” Persia said. He ran a finger over the edge of the pencil holder on top of his desk. Yoji couldn’t help but feel silly in his presence, like he was merely a twelve year old, but he forced himself to look at the person who was his boss.
“I don’t understand, Persia sama.”
“You want me to allow you to rush out and work on this Sakisaya person, this unknown drug dealer just because you discovered him and Omi made fancy computer files on him?"
“Sakisaya is bad news, sir,” Yoji said, his voice sounding a bit weak. “I suggest we move in on him while we got the chance and while he’s on our turf.”
“We have no work against him, Kudo.” Persia turned away, running his hands over the edges of his seat and taking a quick moment to light a cigarette. “He’s simply appeared out of the blue.”
“Isn’t Omi’s file report enough? Sir, this man is the link in a chain of underground illegal networks. I can’t understand why we can’t move in on him. Isn’t that what we usually do, to people whom we have even less file work against?”
“Those people are targets I’ve selected.”
Yoji’s eyes were revealing too much of his growing anger. He reached up and ran a finger over his glasses. Persia blew the smoke of his cigarette out into the back of his chair. It didn’t seem right somehow and the disturbing feeling was growing sharper.
“I want to bring this man down, sir.” It was almost a low growl. Yoji knew his voice would rise into disrespect, but he tried to hold on to civility. “I’m sorry if this request seems too bizarre for your kind of operation.”
It was like that of a cat, the smile on Persia’s lips. “Why don’t you cut the crap, kid, and spell out what this Sakisaya person is to you. When my people bring target reports to me, they usually reveal all the motives and hold back no secrets.” Yoji felt the man’s eyes on him again. Persia didn’t really mean to look so angry and cold. Not really. Yoji couldn’t tell anymore, he could never much tell.
The silence moved like the hands of the clock, falling into the rhythm of the ashes that landed on the ash tray. Yoji looked down at his hands, feeling the rosy rush he felt on his face.
“I met his son, sir,” Yoji said. “I didn’t mean to meet him, not really. I simply did, at a bookstore up in the parts of the city you wanted me to look into.” He looked down at his hands again. There was something wrong with his voice. Something he didn’t like. It felt like what he read about when someone had a frog on their throats and couldn’t talk, only it didn’t really feel like a frog. Not really, but it hurt to talk just the same. “Sold me a pen, a butterfly pen and I bought him an ice cream.” Persia listened in silence, his head slightly bowed to the left as if he were hearing some private music in his head and not really listening. But, he was. He stared right into Yoji’s eyes as the young man lifted his head and looked at him, those eyes glazed with a film of wetness.
“You should see the kid, sir,” Yoji said, his lips thin and the words flowing like a passion. “The kid’s a damned beggar selling pens on the street while his father lords it up like a tycoon. He’s a boy, Persia sama, but his father dresses him up as a girl. I’ve found marks on his body of physical and sexual abuse, sir.” He had not moved, but it seemed that Yoji was ever so close to Persia now, so close. “Fuck it, sir. That’s no way for a child to live, not even knowing what his name is because he’s never been him, never been nothing but a fucking commodity.”
The ticking of the clock marked away the silence, cutting it without mercy, but ever so gently.
“Is that all, Yoji?”
“Sir…”
It seemed like he was mocking him. Yoji’s fingers tightened around each other, making his fists become white.
“You’ve seen the disk, sir,” Yoji breathed out. “The chains- loops-whatever Omi called them, are evidence of more than fifty underground movements most of which are tied to Schartz and mafia operations. I would guess these are enough reasons to-”
“Social services can take care of the boy’s problem, Yoji,” Persia said. He rose from his chair, his movements deliberately slow. Yoji could feel the man loom above him, a pillar of stoic silence. Like a freak. The young man tightened his fists, a sudden impulse to rise and hit the old man savagely gripping him. “But, you know, Kudo…?”
Yoji looked up at the face of his boss.
“It’s the kind of shit only we could really fuck up.”
Yoji watched in silence as the disk he had brought was smashed carefully on the table, a few instances before him. A grin came to his lips. He couldn’t help it. Before him, his boss regarded him in silence, a look of understanding in his eyes. Yoji couldn’t say much, but he rose from his chair. He had so many things to say so may times, even when people wanted him to be quiet, but he had nothing to say now. He just stood there before his boss, smiling at him, listening to the sound of the clock and the falling ashes break the silence.
Dead.
He’s dead.
Dead. He’s dead.
He’s dead.
Dead.
“You seen a kid come this way, ma’am?”
The old lady looked at me like I was some sort of freak from outer space, but she didn’t answer my question. When she did speak, her accent was so thick that I couldn’t understand. How the blazes do people in Nara understand each other? I tossed my impatience to the fire and took her by the shoulders.
“Listen obaba, I need you to think hard now. A girl, a little girl must have come this way this morning. She must have walked through this street because she always does. Sells pens. Now, where did she go?”
“Sonny, there isn’t anybody come this way. Not that I’ve seen.”
Fuck. Shards of crystal burst in my head. I left the old lady standing there and rushed away from her. My hands in my pockets, I leapt up over some boxes. Where on earth did he go? Sherry had not been to the park where we promised we’d meet. I know he wouldn’t have missed that, not when he loved those damned ducks so much. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, hoping the money I brought so I could buy the bird wouldn’t spill out of my pockets in the excitement, and walked faster down the street. Maybe he forgot and kept on selling those pens.
“Sherry!”
I know I must have looked like an idiot, calling out his name like that and almost running down the street as if he were lost. But, wasn’t that what he was? Lost?
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk almost smashing into the body of an old man who had moved a cart of Shiniyoma soapy flakes out from his store.
Home. He must have gone home to change. He knew today was a special day.
I turned around and sped down the street. I knew where he lived. I had to go see myself.
“Don’t fuck with me asshole. I’m only leaving for a few minutes.”
Aya could not help but blink as Ken’s words reached his ears. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He was talking to the door. It refused to open when he pushed against it, but even Aya found such obscenities unnecessary. Ken seemed to notice and turned around, bowing slightly to apologize to his friend, blushing.
“It’s the nerves, Aya,” he said, but he didn’t have to explain. Ken’s face looked chagrined and there were dark lines under his eyes from lack of sleep.
“Get out there and get some coffee,” Aya whispered, not looking at him. “You look like the dead.”
“I would but the door won’t let me,” Ken ran a hand over his hair. “I might take a bit longer. I want to take a walk around the lobby.”
“Take as long as you like.”
The silence in the room resumed shortly after the sound of the closing door stopped. The hum of the air conditioner grew louder stuck in some competition with the machine hooked up to the young man on the bed, but Aya did not hear any of them. He simply looked at the sleeping face of his friend, staring hard. Staring hard would make him wake.
They had give him sedatives after he had smashed Yoji’s body into the mattress. Too much of a lunatic, Dr. White had said, to be kept inside the patient’s room, but Aya had not been removed. Ken had allowed for him to be drugged for a while so he could spend a few hours in a room of his own, and then return to Yoji’s side. Aya had not said a word to any of the nurses since then, merely sat down next to Yoji’s bed and waited, staring at his face.
The red head blinked and looked away from the bed, his attention taken by the sound of people outside. The window had been left open ever since he stood and yanked it up a few minutes after he came back into the room after being sedated. The sky loomed over the earth of green and yellow. The voices of the patients outside mingled with the distant conversations and rolled into the room. Aya blinked again, the sound of the yell of a little girl becoming distinct in between all of the others. He watched as the shape of a ten-year old raced out into the green, her legs skinny and reflecting the sunlight. Her father walked slowly behind her, his hands behind his back.
“What did we call it, Yoji? A million voices in an undying song?”
He could feel his hand tremble as he reached out over the rail on the bed and touched Yoji’s arm. The young man felt cold, so cold. Aya’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the mattress and his sleeping friend with hatred, his eyes intense.
“You build the mystery,” he whispered, his head moving forward slowly and coming to rest by the rail. “Stand behind the wires and watch as the mystery grows and the insanity circles on itself, over and over. But, you never become part of it. No, that’s too dangerous. You never become part of it.”
He closed his eyes tight, his hand squeezing Yoji’s fingers, doing something he would’ve never had done if he were not alone. He could hear the beeping of the blood pump, feel the wheezing of the respiratory machines, and the touch of the air conditioner. He squeezed the hand harder. It sounded like a feverish dream, his voice, when he spoke. Barely a whisper, inaudible, like a chant that only he could hear and understand. And, the voices outside would not quiet.
“Had to rush out, didn’t you? Had to rush out. Break the ice and jump into the water, shiver in the night. But, you never close your eyes…You did it yourself, didn’t you?”
A silent sob escaped his body.
“He’s dead…”
He blinked as he felt Yoji’s fingers close around his hand. Aya’s eyes widened as he looked up, drawing away from the rail and bringing his shoulders up, at the face of his friend. Yoji, his eyes tired, stared at him silently.
“He’s dead.”
Sherry! I trashed through the door the apartment, my hands gripping it savagely. It lay open, the glass of the window broken.
“Sherry!”
Instinctively, I reached for the gun in my jacket and leaned back against the wall. The apartment’s silence began to ring louder in my ears. The sound of a clock came from the kitchen. Annoying. I brought the gun over my head, sweat forming at the top of my head. I crossed the living room, marked my aim to the terrace. No sound. There came no answer from any of the rooms, but I knew the apartment was not empty. Someone was here. I could sense the shape and weight of a body.
I held my breath, cursing silently, as my feet stepped on something. Shit, all I needed. Pursing my lips, I removed my boot and stared down at what I had crushed. I could feel my chest heave harder, the breath in my lungs beating wilder. A mirror. A broken mirror.
Oh, God.
I smashed open the boy’s room. The gun over my head. The door smashed against the wall.
Oh, God.
I could hear my scream. Just hear my scream rise higher and higher, my throat tearing itself apart until it could bleed. My voice, my insane scream smashing against the walls of the room.
I didn’t feel myself move, but somehow I walked across the room. Walked and knelt by the side of his dead body, my hands dropping the gun and reaching out to comb the bloody yellow hair, running over his white face. My arms pressed the tiny mutilated body against my chest, feeling where the markings of the mirror glass had cut him, and yanked off the bloody metal tube from between his legs. My hands running over his white face and combing his bloody yellow hair. My voice not like my own, crying insane. My tears shocking me.
“Yes, he’s dead.”
Aya rose, his shoulders squared behind his back, his eyes looking down at him seriously, but the lines around them revealing his emotions.
Yoji closed his eyes. His hands gripped the covers around him. He opened his mouth wide, but no scream came. Aya looked away as he heard his friend’s breath burst and the sob that could not be voiced before, erupted from him.
“I couldn’t help him, Aya… I couldn’t help him…”
His fists became white, but Aya did not stop pressing his nails into his skin. Yoji’s body trembled, his eyes shut as tears rolled down his cheeks and into his mouth. The young man’s feverish eyes stared at Aya in anger, demanding an answer they knew he could not give. He just needed one. Just needed an answer.
“Aya…A-Aya…”
“Let it go, Yoji. Just let it go.”
Rolling on his side, Yoji felt his hot tears roll into the cold covers, his face wet and his mouth foaming with saliva. The pain. The pain never ended, no matter how much he’d let go. Why didn’t Aya understand? Why didn’t Aya understand?
Suddenly, his breath smashed into the roof of his mouth. His eyes grew wide as he felt his body being smashed from behind, and he lay immobile, feeling his heart beat wildly inside his chest. He couldn’t talk, but he heard himself moan as Aya smashed his back again.
Closing his eyes, he rolled upright into the bed and lay still. He had no more tears, no more voice to cry.
Aya closed his eyes, forcing his tears to disappear and looked away from the young man. He folded his trembling hands over his chest, wondering why they were shaking so much. He hated himself as he leaned against the open window and hated the tears he felt in his eyes.“Why, Aya?”
The red head did not turn around. Yoji’s voice was little else than a whisper.
“Why couldn’t I stop it? Why?”
Yoji had covered his face with his hands when Aya looked at him again. He wrung his face with the palm of his hands and drew them all the way back through his hair.
“That’s something we could never know.”
“Yoji kun!”
Aya looked away. The young man in the bed rose from the pillow, staring at the young boy at the door. Omi looked at him silently, his huge blue eyes filling with tears. Behind him, Ken stood with his hands crossed around his chest, a smile of relief on his pressed lips. Ken walked to Aya’s side as Omi came around Yoji’s bed.
Omi smiled sadly and ran a hand over Yoji’s hair, looking down at his face. For a moment their eyes met, blue and misty. Feeling his tears run down his cheeks again, Yoji reached out and caressed the boy’s head.
“They’re dead, Yoji…” Omi whispered, his blue eyes staring into his friend’s eyes. “They’re all dead.”
Yoji closed his eyes, pressing the young blond closer to him.
Aya looked outside the window as he heard Yoji’s broken whisper. Ken could feel his fingers crushing into his hands again. It hurt too much already.
“Who… who killed them…?”
Yoji rose in bed, his eyes searching the quiet faces of his friends, who looked away from him. He gripped the bed covers again.
“Wh-who did it…?”
“I did.”
Standing silent by the door, tall like a dark statue, his eyes narrow and serene, Persia crossed his hands over his chest.
“I did.”
Author's Note: This story was written over a long span of time and I know it needs a ton of editing. It's a weird sort of story, and I can only say that I wrote it because I wanted to write about the members of Weiß in a vivid way, well, I hope it was vivid. I also hope my good friend Aya liked it, since I wrote it practically for him. I hope he likes that I included Persia sama this time. I also like to say a big hello to Ken san, who kept on fussing about our page getting bigger. Big enough for ya, Ken? *_* Sherry was elaborated from Neil Diamond's song "Sherry", which was playing when I began to write it, and from my original character Daisy. Again, I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know. Good grief, why do I keep doing these things?
@ April 13, 1999 Team Bonet. Please do not copy without permission. Thank you! When I wrote this I was taking my last teaching class, and lording it. Aya was happy over some new Weiß CDs and reading an Aburatsubo story, while Dave was going to a pig engineer's house to work on a ride.
