"Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix." Christina Baldwin
The mentioned village, Toride, is entirely fictional. Toride is the Japanese word for Fortress. I also own Hinshu Hanransha, whose name means Kind Rebel in English. He is…necessary. You can probably guess why.
There is a slightly clichéd aftertaste in parts of this chapter, but it was a conscious decision. I wanted to save up my drama production for later chapters…namely, the next one. A teaser, of sorts.
I didn't really proof read this all that well, so there may be more mistakes than usual. Sorry about that, I knew I'd forget tomorrow if I didn't post it right now.
Please review. Like I said, I need a fix. Like, now and stuff.
Section II
She didn't know how to stop so she kept running for what felt like days, or maybe hours, her mind was too internal to tell at the moment. Shiori had never been a compulsive woman, she had always followed the rules and, right up until this exact second, after she had actually done it, the thought of leaving Hakatana hadn't so much as crossed her normally pure mind. She was well out of her own control at this point and she didn't know how to get herself back from the darkness in the back of her brain where her awareness had retreated too.
So she kept running and not once did it occur to her to look back.
She found her way into the forests that surrounded her little suburb of Tokyo and entered them without so much as a thought about what she was doing. She was operating on a primal instinct now, the same one that had screamed at her to get away from her husband, and she figured it hadn't let her astray so far, so she may as well follow it to where ever it wanted her to go. So she kept pounding the pavement, which morphed into a hard packed dirt trail covered by multiple stray leaves as she entered the trees, and fled from the civilization she so abhorred into the unknown wilderness.
It was only the violent stitch in her side that stopped her, and even that took fifteen minutes to take its toll and she collapsed against a tree beside the old path and finally, reluctantly, began to let the tears flow. Her knees gave out soon after and she curled against the rough bark and she prayed for something, anything to give her the strength to carry on.
It took a long time and Shiori sat and stared and cried and let numbness take her for the first time since the cancer was miraculously cured. She was so wrapped up in herself that it didn't register at first and, when it did, it confused her all the more because, as she sat there on that soft forest floor staring at nothing and half mourning, half celebrating the end of her marriage, there was undeniably muffled music playing somewhere very close by.
It took seeing the light through the pocket of her jeans and she almost decided to ignore it but then took it out of her pocket anyway just to see who was calling her. The phone flashed her husband's name and she grimaced and, without hesitation, threw the phone across the path, watching as it slammed fatally into the large tree growing opposite her. She then smiled grimly, stood up, dusted off the back of her pants and turned resolutely to face the direction that lead deeper into the darkening shadows of the tress.
She would keep walking because, really, what else was there to do?
--
It took a day and a half for the adrenaline of what she had done to wear off and it was replaced so quickly by hysteria she hadn't even had a descent into it. It was more like one second she was completely calm and the next second she was sitting on a park bench (she wasn't sure exactly when she left the forest, she only knew that she had felt it necessary and had blown out of the trees and back into civilization because she felt that if she hadn't, she would only prove herself to be a coward) sobbing into her clenched fingers and trying not to look too conspicuous in the broad and brilliant daylight. Although, maybe she didn't really care one way or the other about whether or not she was caught. It was just her freedom, after all, and while her son didn't have the blessing she wasn't sure she wanted it either. So she perched on the lonely seat beneath a tall and powerful oak tree's shadow, half wanting to be picked up by Trackers and half wishing she had had the gall to stand up to Hakatana before it had become too late.
She decided after an hour that sitting was doing no good, so she began to walk again. She entered the main street of a town she didn't know, found an ATM and withdrew money from an account she technically could no longer call hers, and stumbled to the nearest inn to check in with a name that wasn't hers.
Then she slept, because her consciousness was taking her to places she just didn't want to go; namely to what had happened to Shuuichi and how her husband had turned into such a monster.
--
Shiori stayed there for a week, dodging glances, eating in different restaurants every night, and purchasing clothes with what was left of the four hundred dollars she had taken so brashly from her husband's (ex, she really needed to get used to that idea) account. She had closed her own when they had married and fiercely regretted it now and wondered just where the feminist in her had gone when she had met Hakatana.
Since nobody came looking for her, she figured he must not have discovered her transaction yet and she hadn't been tracked to the tiny town just north of Osaka and she let herself, for a moment, relax. Then, she couldn't help it, she wondered if he had seen it, had decided not to call the authorities on her, was protecting her and maybe, just maybe, still loved her.
Then she laughed and threw her foot rather aggressively at a nearby stone, watching it fly off the pavement, bounce off the post of a street lamp, and land a few feet away from where it had begun with malice.
The idea of him still loving her was ludicrous; he had proved that when he condemned her son, the one he knew she loved more than anything in the world, to most certain death.
--
She left on a Sunday, taking a bus north, determined to get as far away from urban settings as she could and she didn't get out of her seat for hours and when she did, it was only because the quaint little classic Japanese village was as close as she was going to get to ignorance. She left the bus, took a chance and found another ATM, stole seven hundred dollars of her ex's money, and found a tiny inn overlooking a charming pond and meadow and offering a beautiful view of the surrounding country side.
She slept for two days this time, before deciding she really needed to get something done.
--
There wasn't anything really distinct about Shiori, something she had abhorred as she child but now adored as a possible fugitive, and it offered an advantage when she decided that Toride would be a suitable place to hide and mourn and disintegrate in peace. She traversed the village in search of possible job offerings, giving her maiden name and praying that no warrant had been issued for her immediate arrest. Nothing happened, to her relief and suspicion, and she found herself with a job in a small coffee shop, making lattés and listening to the teenagers of the tiny community as they ranted about psychics and becoming disgusted with the brainwashing she had so steadfastly ignored when she was still with Hakatana and wishing she could see her son again. Once or twice she may have cried, but she turned away quickly when she felt the offending moisture, hiding it from the oblivious patrons for all she was worth and wiping it away with vicious palms.
She could be strong. She knew that Shuuichi wouldn't want her to shrivel up and die. And so she would endure, if only for him.
If only for him.
--
She fell into an easy routine. Wake up, shower, put on uniform, brush hair, apply minimal make up, have breakfast in inn, wander until shift, work for seven hours from two in the afternoon to closing at nine, wander to bar, maybe drink one or five, and go to bed.
It was numbing and soul sapping and she loved it and clung to it for all she was worth.
It kept her ticking and she needed to keep ticking because she did it for Shuuichi and, if she stayed alive it gave her some hope that maybe he could too. He was strong.
She had to believe that.
--
A man entered the coffee shop about three weeks, give or take five days, after she had started working there that she had never seen before and it threw her, because all of the customers she had served thus far had turned out to be regulars.
He smiled at her, approached the counter, ordered a French roast, and asked her for her name, all in such relaxed, gentle, calming tones that she was caught off guard entirely and it never occurred to her not to say, "Shiori Minamino," as she stupidly held the button down on the roast machine for two long and got a scalding handful of black, almost boiling coffee.
She shrieked, he jerked, and she swore that the coffee that lingered between her fingers slid away from her skin and landed on the counter where it couldn't continue to brutally burn her frail skin in a way that never would have happened naturally and she looked up at him, stupefied for an entirely different reason, her whole body shaking and her mouth stuttering, "I'm sorry, so sorry, let me clean this up and-!"
Her manager appeared then, a scowling man of his mid thirties who was obviously slightly bitter with his career and he glowered first at her mess, then at her obviously injured hand, and then into her eyes, "Minamino, you cannot work in this condition," he snarled and she flinched backwards into the counter, all the while very aware of the man behind her, the back of her mind screaming at her that he was a PSYCHIC! "Get yourself to the clinic," she knew of the place and nodded dumbly as he advanced on her, pushed her aside and began to soak up the coffee with a torn dish towel from the back room, "If you cannot work tomorrow, make sure you call tonight," he added nastily, "I need to get a replacement."
"Yes sir," she mumbled, the pain finally settling in and nearly drawing tears and she cradled her hand and stumbled around the counter and passed the man-the psychic-without looking at him. Fear had accompanied the pain, it was the first time she had felt it since she had begun her numbing journey from her old life as Shiori Hakatana a month ago and she didn't like it, so she determined that she needed to get as far away from the psychic as she could to rid herself of it.
She managed to make it out the door and two feet down the sidewalk before he evidently decided to follow her.
"Shiori," he murmured, so close behind her she actually shrieked again, softer this time, and spun to stare at him and shake some more. He looked down at her through gentle lavender eyes and he smiled and she was suddenly less afraid and more at ease and she wondered, a second before he began to speak again, if that was a psychic trick or if he just gave off a reassuring air. She decided she didn't care when he said, "Let me see it," and took her hand and lifted it to properly throw the burns into sharp relief, making her flinch with their raw, pink and red severity. The man furrowed his eyebrows and reached up absently with his left hand, the hand that wasn't clutching hers so tightly, to brush his messy brown hair out of his face and she noticed how open his face was, how handsome, how kind, and felt herself relax even more, despite herself. He was young, she realized abruptly as she watched him, and she had at least a decade on him, if not more.
Then he replaced his left hand on hers, his ring and middle fingers brushing over the burn and inspiring more than a little stinging with the touch and she couldn't help but squeak, "What are you doing?" in a rather pathetic tone.
He smiled at her again and this time she felt herself hardening because it was sort of obvious that he was pouring on the charm. For all his good looks and obvious confidence, she was slightly put off suddenly and she couldn't put her finger on why, though when he spoke, she was sure it had something to do with how he seemed almost arrogant, "Healing you, of course. I know that you know I'm a psychic and I'm assuming, since you didn't start screaming and pointing and throwing me under the bus, that you have no intention of doing so."
She let herself glare, because she felt he deserved it after that assumption, "No, I'm not going to turn you in," she tried to wrench her hand free and scowled even more when he only tightened his grip and grinned, "I don't need your help."
"This is a second degree burn," he shrugged nonchalantly like it was nothing to him, but it certainly was hurting her so she tried once more to tear herself away, only to find her efforts futile and she almost hissed in frustration, "Besides, it was my fault."
"Listen, sir," she began in what could only be called a snarl, only to have him place his left palm flat over the burn, shocking her into silence with the pain the small movement caused.
"Hanransha, Hinshu," he said lightly and Shiori felt like there was something moving over her skin, despite its obvious lack of substance, like a wave of air or something more, and suddenly her whole hand was numb and she stopped trying to jerk away and stared at the tops of his knuckles and she felt what was unmistakably his power flowing into her wound, down through her skin, and into her veins. She also felt his gaze on her face and avoided those eyes, those powerful, strange eyes, with every ounce of calm courage she could summon in that moment.
It was strangely intimate and it was all she could do not to flush and make an even bigger fool of herself than she already had.
He removed his fingers so suddenly she almost fell backwards with surprise, but instead managed to stare at her newly repaired, flawless skin with shock. The violent burns that had marred the back of her hand, her knuckles, her fingers, and palm were completely vanished, leaving in their wake no scars, no hint of any nasty wound ever having been there. She blinked as she turned her hand to properly stare at her palm, and then frowned as her eyes slid down to her wrist, to where the scars of almost fifteen years before peaked out from under the shelter of her blouse as her mind left the man before her and fell painfully down to her son and her buried thoughts of him.
It was like a fresh wound and she had to take a deep breath to calm herself and she suddenly was less awkward and more furious.
"Thank you," she said, trying to hide the shaky anger in her voice as she turned away from his smile, which for some reason was still etched firmly in place. She had had every intention of walking away and it struck her that maybe she should have run, because after her second step a hand clamped down ruthlessly on her shoulder.
"I know who you are, Shiori Hakatana," the man, the psychic, Hinshu, said softly, flatly and it froze the blood in her veins.
