I'm REALLY not sure about this one. I have no idea where it's going, but I just had to get it out. (If you guys have ideas, pleeeasums tell me, 'cause I'm broke over here.) On a final note, if this seems melodramatic or offensive, I apologize. ALSO. IT ENDS HAPPILY, I SWEAR 8D! -shot'd- I mean, a bucketload of angst this close to the holidays? Feeling pretty guilty, guys.
OH AND ON THAT THOUGHT: HAVE A STUPENDOUS AND ABSOLUTELY SPIFFING HAPPY HOLIDAYYYYS! Man, I love this time of the year. I LOVE YOU.
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Her legs peek out from the edge of the woolen comforter. She curls them back in with her eyes shut and brings the comforter over her head, turning around with stiff, shivering movements before going back to sleep. It is Saturday morning—or noon— and she just knows the icicles dripping from outside the windows are still there.
She does not know about the letter sitting in the winter sun out on the steps, set neatly in black type and a red seal.
Aoko wakes up around two in the afternoon. She ignores the flashing dot on her answering machine and fixes herself some oatmeal with seaweed and shrimp before pushing open the door, shoving another spoonful in her mouth after stretching in the light. A string of bicyclers speed past. It is a good day, she thinks, before stepping on the letter. She picks it up. Opens it. Reads it. Goes back inside.
Aoko sets her breakfast very carefully on the kitchen table and heads to bed.
---
POLICE CHIEF FOUND DEAD AT KID HEIST IN JAPAN
Ginzo Nakamori, member of the Japanese National Police Department and chief of the International Phantom Thief KID Task Force, was found dead at the scene of Monday's KID heist in Tokyo, Japan. The body had fallen twenty stories from the Pearl Tower, the sole casualty during the event. As of currently no other information about the death has been released, with Saguru Hakuba, secondary chief of the task force, unavailable for comment.
The much-touted heist was one in a string of recent heists, all situated in various museums throughout Japan. Ginzo Nakamori had a history of…
The switch in his name is okay. This is an American newspaper in an American city in an American country. She wants to leave it.
She books plane tickets eight times and cancels them after every time. Aoko drives to JFK International Airport in the morning, in the afternoon, at night. Looks at it while breathing mist in her car. Drives away.
She isn't scared. The button on the answering machine still flashes.
---
Dear Miss Aoko Nakamori:
We regret to inform you that your father, Ginzo Nakamori, passed away on December 7, 2009 while on duty under the Japanese National Police Department. We offer our sincere condolences and wish you and your family relief during this difficult time.
The Whitman Brothers Association is a branch under the Tsuyama Banking Corporation and handles all portmortem financial proceedings overseas from its headquarters in Japan. As Mr. Nakamori entrusted us with the handling of his will and possessions, we would like to invite you to a will reading on January 10, 2009 at 10:00 AM in our office situated in—
She crumples the paper for the hundredth time since that morning. Aoko has not replied to it yet. They have no idea, she thinks. They send you tree pulp, cold and pale, and act like they care and that this was nothing, nothing at all—just like taking a piss in the bathroom down the hall or something absolutely retarded like that. She wasn't retarded.
It isn't their fault, Aoko reminds herself. Well. Fuck that.
---
Her face is sallow when the little antique shop where she works (worked?) calls her. The old man says 'hello, are you okay?' and she goes 'hello, I am fine, I am sorry, I am a little sick' and the old man doesn't say anything but hands the phone over to his wife—she can hear the voices and clicking over the static of the phone—who replies 'you are still working here, you know' and Aoko goes 'thank you' and the old woman replies again 'but you can take a break for however long you want' and she says 'thank you' and they both say 'happy holidays' and Aoko breathes a little when she hangs up the phone.
The moment she leaves, she thinks. The moment she leaves something happens. Aoko has only been in New York City since November, and only graduated college since June. It was going to be a year of nothing but freedom—November to November.
Well. There you go. She had nothing.
(POLICE CHIEF FOUND DEAD AT KID HEIST IN TOKYO, JAPAN)
It takes another week before Kaito finally calls.
"Aoko?"
She stares at the phone like it's a foreign animal.
"Aoko, I'm sorry."
What the hell.
"I've been trying to reach you. I swear."
Silence.
"God, Aoko, say something."
The hand holding the phone is white.
"I—Aoko?"
"I'm listening," she said.
"Oh god, Aoko," he breathes, and she thinks that he should stop saying her name over and over again, because it doesn't sound like anything coming from him anymore. "Aoko-- I'm sorry." His voice breaks.
It sounds sort of far away. Like he's underwater. Or she is.
"I-- yeah, god. I know the last person you probably want to talk to is me, but I was hoping that maybe-- I don't know. I don't know-- look, it all happened so fast, I don't even-- god, Aoko."
She imagines his eyes wide and hair flying, desperate.
"I know you aren't talking to anyone. And that you hate me and never want to see me again-- but I want to see you, I mean-- I don't know what's wrong with me."
Swallowing.
"Aoko, don't be like this, I mean, it doesn't matter what I want at all but say something, please--"
He keeps talking and talking and talking and she stands there, waiting and waiting until it all stops, suddenly. There is a final 'I'm sorry' before a bloated silence, and it is so unexpected that she looks at the phone, blinking.
She hears something on the other end. They sound a bit like sobs, but Aoko isn't sure.
She hangs up.
Since when did everything start getting so cold?
---
"He's…this is hard for him too," Saguru says tentatively. She holds the phone and looks at the shadows across the bed. "I'm not taking sides—everything is about you right now, Aoko. You—everyone's so worried."
He sounds like he's about to say something else, but doesn't.
"I know."
"The funeral still has to go on," he says quietly.
"I know."
"And…you need to be there."
"I know." A pause. "I will be."
"Are you sure?" It isn't an accusing question. In fact, it's one of the most gentle she's ever heard.
"Yeah. I'll be there."
She isn't sure why she finally picked up the phone in the first place if she knew this was the sort of conversation to happen.
---
Kaito picks her up at the airport. When she spots him looking for her, Aoko watches him for long time before approaching him. She misses the tree lights in the avenues. Japan is covered in slush and bruises, and her father, around this time, would be buying her ice cream.
"Oh," says Kaito. His eyes are sunken and bloodshot. They do not touch each other on the way to the car.