AN: Apologies for the long delay in the new chapter. Finals, the flu, and a family vacation. You all can imagine.
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Forty-four.
The guide decided that was how many steps it would take for him to reach the pretty young girl at the bottom. Forty-four. He began to make his way down the slope, humming to himself.
Forty-three. Forty-two. Forty-one. Pretty lady, pretty lady; here I come.
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Mamori was standing in an empty landscape.
She looked around, her brow wrinkling. It was a blank, featureless place. Nothing above her, below her or around her. And the light…
It was as if the pale light was coming from everywhere, and made it even more blank. But something caught her eye. A red string was on the ground leading off into the horizon. Mamori picked up the string and realized it was tied around her pinky. Well.
She looked at the string around her hand closely. It looked ordinary, not even shining or anything. It was something she could have picked out of her sewing kit. But there was something about the string that niggled at her. Something important was supposed to be happening. For the life of her, though, she couldn't remember what that important thing was or what about the string was bothering her.
She shrugged. Maybe, if she followed the string, she would get some answers. It was better than staying in this place, anyway. She began to walk forward, winding the string around her pinky as she did so.
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Thirty-five. Thirty-four. Thirty-three.
As pebbles and rocks fell from his quick, light steps, the guide took out his carving knife from his sheathe.
In the dying light, the guide's smile had turned ghastly.
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Something was making Mamori pick up her pace. She didn't know why, but something inside her was saying, go faster. Faster.
But soon enough, Mamori didn't need the voice to make her run.
She had seen something in the distance. Something familiar. Or someone.
Mamori's breath started coming in faster. She took the steps, her chest constricting. She was running the last length and she gasped, stopping a few feet away. She was right. All this time. She knew she was right. She was right. He was alive.
Mamori knelt beside the cot, not noticing anything anymore. Not the featureless landscape, not the strange light, not the red string that covered almost all of the floor's space. She raised her hand and slowly, fearfully, placed it on his chest, rising faintly. She didn't notice anything because the most important thing in the world was here now. Right here where she could see and touch and hear him. Crying, Mamori lay down beside Hiruma. She didn't even notice that the end of the red string wasn't tied to Hiruma's pinky finger.
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Twenty-four. Twenty-three. Twenty-two.
Love is oh so true. And death is, too.
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Over the faint breathing of Hiruma, Mamori began to hear another sound. She sat up.
It was a baby crying.
And once more, something niggled at Mamori. There was something she should remember. Something important.
Mamori stood up and she saw that there was another cot just four feet away from Hiruma's cot.
How could she have not noticed that? Mamori went up to the cot and knelt beside the crying baby. "Hush," she said, picking him up and sweeping the swaddling clothes aside. It was a boy and he looked up tearfully at Mamori. With Hiruma's eyes.
Mamori felt her arms go weak, and she lay down the babe. And as she lay him down, she saw the red string on her pinky. She stood and walked two steps to Hiruma and stopped. Because she saw that he didn't have the string on his finger. The red string hadn't led her to Hiruma. It had led her to something else. .
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Sixteen. Fifteen and fourteen! The guide began to leap.
Shame on him, pretty girl was waiting at the bottom. He couldn't make her wait. He would have to just speed things up.
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An old nut brown man sitting among the roots of the tree in the distance. A lonely image in the horizon of this featureless plase. He was wagging a finger at Mamori. I especially like this manga called Full-Metal Alchemist. It's very well-made. And xxxHolic. Too cute, too cute. And both tell the truth about this universe. You can't lose something for nothing and you can't get something for nothing. Equivalent trade. Equivalent trade.
"Damn you, Hayashida-san. Damn you. Is this it? Is this the choice you were talking about? His life or the baby's?"
And the old man was shaking his head. You're a very nice girl; I would never wish you the unhappiness of choosing. I'm sorry.
"No, you can't make me choose who will live. You can't make me do this. You can't, damn you. You can't. You can't." Mamori could no longer see the mirage of Hayashida-san, as tears blurred and stung her eyes, but she heard his voice.
It's about to get dark soon. It's about to get dark soon. That guide should be—
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TEN! The guide grinned. Now, now. Maybe he could just look for a second. Wouldn't want the fun to be over.
He began to take mincing steps. NINE. EIGHT.
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—here about NOW.
And Mamori stood up, feeling Hayashida's urgency. She looked at Hiruma, sleeping. She looked at the baby, with Hiruma's eyes and her smile. And her breath hitched.
Mamori-chan. It's about to get dark soon. It's about to get dark soon. That guide—
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SEVEN.
Mamori shook her head. She began to spool the red thread. Memories began to flood her with each winding around her finger.
She remembered the time she had run after Hiruma, asking him why he hadn't picked Yukimitsu even though he had finished the Death March.
You already know so you don't need to ask, fucking manager.
I don't mean to be ironic, Hiruma, she had asked him, looking away, but doesn't anything else matter to you other than winning.
There's no such thing, fucking manager. You lose, that's it. Same for the fucking baldy.
Mamori laughed, tears still blurring her eyes, "I guess it's the same for us, huh, Hiruma?"
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SIX
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Mamori thought about the future. Thought about this strangely-conceived baby. With just a half-dreamt man who was alive but somewhere else. With a woman who was being swallowed up by grief. Bit by bit.
He would be exactly like her, Mamori realized, and exactly like Hiruma. And not at all like them. He would be sweet, but extremely persuasive. He would follow the rules, but make sure that those rules would suit him. And the only people he wouldn't be able to con or sweetly persuade would be herself and Hiruma because he would be puzzled by both of his parents.
She spooled the last length and taking the other end of the red string, sat by the baby, gently tying the string around his finger. He cooed at her. And it was disorienting, the cooing with Hiruma's eyes.
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FIVE. FOUR.
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Mamori stood up. And untied the string around her pinky.
That guide should be here about now.
She nodded. "I know, Hayashida-san. But I'm not afraid." And she could almost see the old man grin. I didn't think you would be.
She went to Hiruma and tied her end to him. She knelt and kissed him, his cheek and his ear. And she began to whisper. A last message that was nothing too complicated.
She loved him.
Take care of the baby.
Remember me.
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THREE
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She might die-no, she corrected herself, she would die-but what she had done here would ensure that the baby would live. One way or another, the baby and Hiruma was tied now. They would live.
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TWO. The guide began to laugh, a high-pitched laughter, a sudden sound that disturbed a nearby tree, full of birds. They took flight, squawking.
The guide held the gleaming carving knife, before him, point up with his other fist under the pommel. Oh, let the gods above see this, he thought, grinning.
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Mamori stood up. She turned around and faced the horizon of this featureless place. The light, she thought now, had changed. It was coming from the horizon.
She took a step forward and almost tripped.
She caught herself, and looked down and saw a long-fingered hand gripping her ankle.
She turned and saw Hiruma's eyes open and glaring at her.
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ONE.
The guide took a step forward and tripped.
If only he had lived, he would have thought about—been scared by—feeling a hand suddenly grabbing his ankle. Making him lose his balance and making him land on his knife.
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In America, in a hospital in Las Vegas, the curvaceous blonde nurse jumped back in fright.
Patient X, the one who had come here two years ago with so much money but with so many false identities that the FBI and CIA were still investigating him, had never moved. In all that time that he had lain here in the hospital, he had never moved.
She had taken care of him throughout the years and he hadn't even blinked.
But now, his eyes were wide open as his hand was gripping something invisible. He was glaring and it seemed that he was glaring at something beyond her.
But nonetheless, it scared her.
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End of Chapter 4: Fourty-four Steps