Part 7
Amidst the sudden yells and scraping of chairs on the floor, Leonardo's mind calmly processed what he'd seen and what he needed to do.
If there was a ghost outside the circle, then either it could get in or it couldn't.
If it could get in, then they were dead since they didn't have their weaponry with them. In which case there was no point worrying.
If it couldn't get in, then Leonardo had time to make omamori, in which case he needed ink, a brush and paper. He had no brush, but he tore off the end of his mask and rolled it. Good enough.
He then stole Donatello's pen from the table and took it to the kitchen, ignoring his brother's indignant squawk and his younger siblings demanding to know what he'd seen and what he was doing. Michelangelo snapped up the scribbles and tried to sound out the messy kanji while Donatello looked over his shoulder, and Raphael followed his big brother inside.
"What the hell was that?" Raphael demanded, right at Leonardo's heels. "I hope you got what you needed 'cause ain't no way we're doing that again."
"I need a small bottle," Leonardo said. He leaned over the sink and began taking the pen apart until he had the ink well. "The smallest one we have."
With a disgusted look, Raphael slammed open a cupboard before he remembered that there might be something evil inside. But when he looked, there was nothing but the jumbled pile of plastic cups and plates tossed on top of each other. He took the smallest cup and offered it, then sighed and brought it over when he saw how Leonardo's hands were shaking.
"Is that fear?" he asked, standing flush beside him and putting the cup in the sink. "Or exhaustion?"
"I might have pushed a little too hard," Leonardo admitted, and his hands were steady enough to turn on the faucet. "But I got what we needed."
"You got all the symbols?"
"Didn't need to," Leonardo said. "I recognized them after a minute. Pretty common, actually. I just didn't think those would actually work."
He filled the cup only a third with water, then broke the ink well inside and pushed it under the surface, letting the ink soak out. Once the water was completely black, he took the pen pieces out and tossed them on the top of the sink.
"So you're the one who keeps leaving crap there," Raphael muttered, taking the pieces and throwing them away. "Is it so hard to put things in the trashcan?"
"You moved it to the other corner," Leonardo said. "It's a pain."
"You went five miles across town once to pick up a bag you dropped," Raphael said with some incredulity. "You can't take two steps to the other side of the room?"
"It's four steps," Leonardo said. "And if the top was open, we could just toss things from here."
"I swear, you're as bad as Mikey sometimes." Raphael grimaced and looked at what Leonardo was doing. "Homemade calligraphy?"
"Something like that. Could you tear out the back pages from some of the books?" Leonardo took the ink and turned around, then grabbed Raphael's shoulder to steady himself as the floor spun.
"Sure," Raphael said, taking the makeshift inkwell from him. "I'll even get you all the way to the table again. Wouldn't want you exerting yourself. It's more than five steps, I think."
"Seven," Leonardo mumbled before he could help himself.
Raphael gave him a look. "Are you serious?"
"I measured the floor plan out once," Leonardo said, trying to defend himself.
"So did Don." Raphael shook his head with a sigh. "He's got a map, for God's sake..."
Leonardo didn't respond, resting against Raphael until he could sit down again. Donatello was still standing, watching the darkness as if he expected something to crawl out.
To his surprise, Michelangelo had already set several books on the table and was carefully tugging out the blank pages. As Leonardo eased back into his chair, he watched his brother fold the pages in half to make long strips. His little brother's hands worked smoothly, tearing the old paper with a light touch and making a neat pile. He looked down at his own hands and frowned, and pushed his palms flat to steady the shaking.
"Damn..." he murmured.
Michelangelo looked up with wide eyes. "What?"
"You're gonna have to do the kanji," Leonardo said. "I can tell you what to draw, but..."
"I get it," Michelangelo said, spotting his brother's hands. "You've done enough for while. Uh, you can show me how to do some of the kanji, right?"
"Sure," Leonardo nodded. "But you probably already know them. Rin pyo to sha kai jin-"
"Retsu zai zen," Michelangelo completed with a growing smile. Then he frowned. "Wait, seriously?"
"What?" Donatello asked, turning around. "What's so special about those?"
"It's..." Michelangelo tilted his head. "It's a real prayer, but they put it in movies. Well, I guess it's like where you have that same prayer over and over. What is it, the one that goes like 'valley of death and forgive us our sins'. They put it in tons of horror flicks, right? Same deal with this."
"It's the kuji-in," Leonardo said. "It's just a prayer."
"It calls up some protection," Michelangelo said. "Literally. Tells spirits to come fight for you and make a line. Kinda like the salt, I guess."
"But how'd you know it?" Donatello said. "Does that mean we didn't have to do that trick with the camera?"
"We had to do it," Leonardo said firmly. "I never would've thought those actually worked, not if we hadn't seen it. It's like...it's like using a nursery rhyme, almost."
"It's in a bunch of anime," Michelangelo explained as Donatello looked more confused. "It's like Hollywood getting something right."
"Huh." Donatello looked skeptical but didn't argue. "So you know how to write it?"
"Leo does," Michelangelo said. "He'll show me."
"Actually..." Leonardo took Donatello's other pen, giving his brother a quick assurance that he wouldn't disassemble this one, and began sketching out the kanji in the margin of a book. He had to put his left hand over his right to minimize the trembling.
"Does it hurt?" Donatello asked.
"No," Leonardo said, deliberately focused on writing. "Just like after training too long."
In rough outlines, the kanji began to take form. A few characters took several strokes, and twice he had to stop and glance back at the hastily scrawled notes from the video.
"Can't remember?" Michelangelo asked.
"Trying to tell which character," Leonardo said. "I didn't get much of the retsu, and sometimes I forget which one's Chinese and Japanese. Or which one's the right one."
"Lemme guess," Raphael said. "One of those damn puns. You know, those are half the reason I quit trying to speak Japanese. I get confused with all the double meanings."
"S'great for poetry," Leonardo murmured, pausing to examine his work. After a moment he sighed, tilted his head and kept drawing. "It's okay. I have a hard time with them, too."
Over his shoulder, Michelangelo watched the rudimentary charm begin to take form. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. He couldn't ask his brother for more, not when Leonardo was so clearly struggling to hold himself together, but he wasn't sure that he'd remember exactly how to form each kanji. But as much as he didn't want to make his brother work even harder, Michelangelo also couldn't take the risk that it wasn't important.
"Leo?" he asked.
"Yeah?"
"Do...do I have to do each one perfect?" he said, then rushed to explain when all of them looked at him like he was insane. "Not like that! Not like that! I swear, I'll draw 'em right. It's just, do I have to do all the lines in order?"
"Ugh," Raphael said in disgust. "There's another reason not to learn how to write it. Thirty six strokes for one symbol..."
"They're not all that many." Leonardo replied to Raphael with only half a mind. With an unsure tilt of his head, he met Michelangelo's look. "Try, but...I don't think so. It's calligraphy. It always looks a little different. Just make sure the lines are all there."
"No prob," Michelangelo said, eager to make sure they all knew he'd give it his best effort. Worse than a screw-up getting them hurt was a screw-up because he was the impatient baby of the family.
When Leonardo finished, he popped the pen apart and broke the plastic over the makeshift inkwell, giving Michelangelo more to use. Donatello sighed in irritation and sat down, then reached underneath Leonardo's chair, grabbing the edge and dragging him flush against his side.
"Go to sleep," Donatello muttered. "You know, you wouldn't be in this mess if you didn't run off on your own."
"And if I hadn't, me and Mike would've been in there with her," Leonardo said, putting his head down and leaning against him. "It would've been a real fight, and I don't think we would've won."
None of them replied. Donatello grumbled under his breath as he returned to his laptop, studying the layout of their home to figure out how it worked. As Michelangelo worked, Raphael picked up one of the blank pages and tore it in neat strips.
Time passed. Occasionally they asked Donatello what time it was, but the numbers meant little. The lair was always pitch black. Occasionally they heard the phone ring in the bedroom, but with no way to reach it, the sound echoed through the metal corridors and died away in the corners, leaving only the susurration of the water, the touch of Michelangelo's brush on paper and Leonardo's faint breathing.
"Oh, crap..." Michelangelo suddenly sighed, leaning forward and lightly thumping his head on the table.
"What?" Donatello asked, standing up at his seat. "Is something wrong?
"Don..." Michelangelo sheepishly held up one of the omamori to his brother. "Could you do me a favor and just look these up on a google, make sure I got it right?"
After a second, they all groaned.
"Why the hell didn't I think of that?" Donatello muttered, taking it.
Raphael took a handful of paper strips, blowing on each to make sure the characters were dry, and made a pile. Across from him, Michelangelo took a breath and leaned back, shaking his hand out as he took a break.
"Probably 'cause it's weird and spooky," Raphael said. "And who looks up spooky stuff online?"
"It's my own fault," Michelangelo said, his voice muffled by the table. "I was so focused on the stuff Leo was doing that I didn't even think about it."
"Well..." Raphael said, watching their brother sleep. "Can't really blame him for forgetting."
"I can," Donatello snapped. After a few seconds, he handed the paper back. "Yeah, they're right. I swear, it's the second damn image on the search. Could've saved him a ton of grief."
"We'll tease him about it later," Raphael said, snatching the omamori before his little brother and examining it. "Not bad. How many you gonna do?"
"Many as I can," Michelangelo said. "I dunno how much it'll take. Some shows have the whole wall covered in these. Sometimes it's just one per window. Just make 'em and stick 'em up 'till the ghosts go away, I guess."
Raphael frowned. "Stick 'em up?"
"Yeah, like..." Michelangelo paused. "Crap. How the hell do they stick on things?"
"Are they like post-it notes?" Raphael asked.
"I don't know," Michelangelo said. He looked at Leonardo, but he was sound asleep under Donatello's arm, and their brother gave them a look before glancing back at the screen.
"Well, we'll ask when he wakes up," Raphael said. "How's your hand holding up?"
"I'm good," Michelangelo said. "Keep making more strips for me, huh?"
"Yeah, no prob."
Taking up another book, Raphael opened the back cover and lay the book down, pulling the blank page at the end as quietly as he could. When it was finally out, he folded it over several times, set it on the table and pressed his fingertips on each side, gingerly tearing it in a straight line.
He winced. Without them talking, the noise sounded as loud as yelling. Even Donatello was typing softly, and Leonardo was breathing quietly-
Raphael lifted his head. His older brother rarely made any noise at all, not even in his sleep. He listened closely, going so far as to put his hand on Leonardo's, and his brother opened his eyes and looked vaguely toward him, his sigh so slight as to be silent.
They all tensed. With Leonardo awake, the breathing was obviously not one of them. Donatello didn't look away from the monitor.
"Don't acknowledge it," he whispered.
"That's not working," Raphael breathed back.
When none of them replied, it was impossible not to listen. Raphael stood and went to the edge of the salt line, waving away Donatello's hissed warning, and stared out into the darkness. Deep, slow, the breathing came from only inches beyond his face, close enough that he should have felt it on his skin.
"It's as tall as me," Raphael said softly.
"Raph..." Michelangelo said, rising out of his chair. "Don't-"
"It's like it's right there," Raphael continued, leaning forward and squinting. "Like it goes dark right in front of-"
The ends of his mask lifted. Surprised, he watched the cloth dangle in front of his face for a moment, realizing that leaning forward had put the ends over the edge just as the cloth tightened and jerked forward.
For one agonizing instant he kept his balance, his weight keeping him from stepping any farther, but the pull grew stronger and he had no leverage to pull himself back.
A firm hand at his waist yanked him awkwardly onto the floor. Raphael winced as his head smacked the steel, but it was his siblings' shouts that made him sit up on his elbows. As he struggled to focus, he saw the red blur of his mask floating through the air and the wide, startled eyes of his little brother as Michelangelo lay half in shadow, reaching toward him.
Raphael reached out, touching Michelangelo's hand just as his little brother's whole body was dragged impossibly fast into the darkness with little more than his sudden, sharp breath.
Tbc...
Author's note:
Minor edit at the end for clarity's sake.
