"Shiki, are you awake?"
My nonsensical mumbling is drowned out by the soft stuffing of the pillow, where I decided hide my face from the merciless glare of the morning sun. My sluggish body slumps forward as I attempt to get up and I end up where I started. I was never the morning person, especially if I stayed up past midnight. Despite knowing that, Mikiya was always insensitive towards it and phoned at the worst times possible.
"You know that Chinese restaurant we were going to go last month? I got us reservations for 8 o'clock."
I curse the dry heat of the never ending July and reach into the refrigerator, taking out a bottle of spring water I stocked up on last week. I choke on the first gulp as my unprepared throat tries to swallow the freezing water and a couple drops land on the floor next to the phone.
"I heard you finally passed your first year. Took you long enough, I suppose…"
"I don't want to hear that from a drop out."
"...anyway make sure you come on time, it'll be my treat. And also, there's something we need to talk about. I…"
I press the stop button with toes before the recorder can finish playing Mikiya's call. The early summer heat wave and hearing his voice in the morning leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. The bottle makes cluttering noises as it lands in the pile of trash that accumulated over time. Another day, another bottle. Nothing has changed. Not a damn thing.
***
I decided to skip the second half of the lessons to visit Touko's old work place. The place is barren now that its master has disappeared. Mikiya was pretty pissed when she left without saying good-bye; or maybe it was because she didn't leave his long over due pay cheque.
"I can't believe this," he said as he placed the note Touko left behind into his pocket, "I'm gonna keep this, and make sure she pays me in full the next time I see her."
I don't know the exact values, but as he was putting it away I swear I saw an "I O U"with a six digit number.
Spiders and other pests have begun to nest and a blanket of dust covers the furniture with an unfamiliar grey hue. Mikiya used to take care of the place for a few months: fixing it up, cleaning every once in a while, saying that Touko will show up one day and scold him for not taking care of the place during her absence.
Amused, I descend to the basement. The dripping sounds of water from the leaking pipes sends a shiver down my spine as the stench of burnt fabric mixed with humidity burn the inside of my nose. The room brightens up instantly as I flick the light switch, revealing burnt remains; all victims of Azaka's rage. The room is model after an indoor shooting range, fully equipped with moving targets and other various training items. The walls have a dull bluish paint, probably one of Touko's distasteful "work of art," with black chars that Azaka created when she couldn't control her powers.
The stench of the room begins to irritate me, and I decide that I have wasted enough time reminiscing. Just as I'm about to turn off the light and head back upstairs, I notice something hanging from the corner of my eyes. I quickly reach for it and yank it off the hook, tearing the back of it ever slightly. It is a doll, more specifically a burnt remain of what used to be a doll. The chestnut brown tint of the hair and the ever so familiar red jumper it had on; from head to toe, it is hand sown and carefully crafted. The material is durable and fire retardant – there is no doubt it was built to take as much punishment as its master bestowed upon it. The burns on it were rather new, no more than few days old. As disturbing as it might sound, it pleased me a little to know that she still feels the same way after that happened.
Shiki, are you awake?
No, so let me sleep a little longer…
With the sun so high up, no one would have suspected that 8 o'clock was only ten minutes away. The downtown air is filled with the smog from public buses and drab haze from lit cigarette butts. Sounds of beggars asking for change, the frustrated cries of car horns, the mindless chattering of barely adolescent girls begins to drive me insane. That's just the noise of life, he said once, A dead person can't make any sound. Even your complaining is a sign saying you're alive, congratulations Shiki. I remember punching him in the arm afterwards.
There's something we need to talk about.
Yeah? What is it?
It's already thirty minutes past midnight, and no sign of Mikiya. The stupid key kept getting jammed, making it impossible to unlock the door to my apartment. I shake it a little, hoping that it will make a difference, and miraculously enough, it does. I kick off my boots and loosely hang my jumper and my kimono on to the wooden hanger without locking my door. I take my second bottle from the fridge and start chugging as much as I can and pour the rest over my head as I bend my head over the sink.
Roughly drying my hair with a towel, I stare at the phone that lies silently on the floor. No glowing green light, no new messages. I throw the towel with onto the floor, and playback the last message. I leave the door open, so that when he arrives, he can just enter. I face the wall and sleep on my half of the bed, so that he can just slip in once he is done cleaning up.
There is no point.
I know that all too well. It's been months, but I still can't go to sleep if I don't perform this daily ritual.
"Shiki, are you awake?"
"No, just about to go to sleep"
"You know that Chinese restaurant we were going to go last month? I got us reservations for 8 o'clock."
"Yeah? That's great, I always wanted to try their dumplings."
"I heard you finally passed your first year. Took you long enough, I suppose…"
"I don't want to hear that from you, you damn drop out."
"...anyway make sure you come on time, it'll be my treat. And also, there's something we need to talk about…"
"What did you want to talk about Kokuto?"
"I…Never mind, I'll tell you in person. 8 o'clock, got it?"
"You better not say something stupid," and I begin to doze off. The bright sun is no longer present, and the cicadas sing their requiem. The night breeze is mild, but my body is filled with solitary chill.
"Message end," the pre-programmed voice of a monotone female declares.
The cold envelopes me, and my mind goes blank. That is when I know I have fallen asleep.
"This message was recorded on Tuesday March 18th."
A dead person can't make any sounds.
You're wrong about that Kokuto. Very wrong.