21. We Belong – Pat Benatar

Amane sat and sobbed. She sobbed for a long time – so long, in fact, that when someone tapped her on the shoulder she tried to jump and found she hadn't the energy for more than a tired twitch.

"Don't cry, little one. It's all right."

Amane wasn't the kind of child to cross the street to avoid strangers. She was more the type to walk straight up to someone she didn't know and try to befriend them until someone – usually her mother or brother, who both despaired of keeping her safe from herself and the rest of the world's dangers – pulled her away and apologised to whoever she'd accosted.

"It's not," she said now, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Mummy always told her not to do that, but Mummy wasn't here. That brought fresh tears to her eyes and she sobbed afresh. "It's not all right. It's all wrong."

"Hush now, you'll make yourself sick."

"I feel awful."

"You will do at first, but it gets better. Does your tummy feel funny?"

"Not that kind of awful. I feel awful about being here. I'm supposed to be at home, but I … I can't go home. I don't think I can ever go home again, even though I want to."

Soft hands stroked her hair. Amane leaned into their touch, and didn't try to fight when the stranger hugged her. It was a nice hug, not too strong or too loose, and smelled like Mummy's special perfume, which she only wore on special occasions because it was so rare and expensive. She had to order it over the Internet. When it arrived in a box full of wonderful foam bits that cascaded like snow when you threw them into the air, Amane read the postmark on the box as 'New York'. Amane knew she wasn't in any danger from someone who hugged and smelled like that – warm and comforting and … motherly.

But however much she felt and smelled like Mummy, she wasn't her.

"I want my Mummy."

"She arrived here before you did. I can take you to her, if you like."

"You can?"

"Yes. Everybody's waiting for you."

Amane sniffed. "Everybody?"

"Yes."

"Even Big Brother and Daddy?"

"… No."

"Not everybody, then."

"You're very perceptive. You're also a very special little girl. You've been sick for some time."

"No I haven't! I never throw up!"

"I ... oh, yes, you're English aren't you? Um, you've been ill? Unwell?"

"You mean I've been poorly?"

"We'll go with that one. Yes, you've been very poorly. You were in hospital for a long time."

"I … don't remember."

"You were a special kind of asleep, called a coma. It was like a halfway point between there and here."

Amane knew what that meant, though she didn't want to. The knowledge had seeped into her mind with each convulsive sob. "I'm dead, aren't I?" She buried her face in fold of soft fabric and perfume.

"Yes, sweetheart, I'm afraid you are."

"And Mummy's dead, too." A thought occurred to her and she craned her head up. "Are you dead?"

"Yes."

"You don't look it."

"People rarely do on this side of the veil. It's a kind of magic – you go back to looking how you were at your best; how want to be remembered by those you left behind."

'Left behind'.Amane thought of Ryou and Daddy. "Can't you stop being dead?"

"Not really."

"But you're a grown-up. Grown-ups can do lots of things that seem magical but aren't really."

"That may well be so, but unfortunately not many grown-ups can do things that seem magical and are really magic."

"And this … really is magic?"

"The most powerful kind there is."

"Oh." Amane flexed her fingers, realised she was holding tight to hair that wasn't her own and quickly released it. Hair-pullers were horrible people; nearly as bad as biters and shin-kickers in the playground. "Like wishing? Ryou said wishing on a star is a special kind of magic. There are lots of stars around here." She gestured to the stygian blackness studded with sparkling points of light all around them. "I wished for him to have a friend. Everybody thinks we're odd because Daddy often forgets to get dressed properly when he takes us to school, and sometimes he's so busy reading he puts on Mummy's dressing gown instead of his own. I wished for Ryou to have a friend, and the next ay he told me I was his best friend, so his wish came true. Can … I stop being dead if I wish really hard?"

The stranger's forehead had crinkled higher and higher as Amane talked, and when the reply finally came it was a strangled, "No. I'm afraid not."

"But I don't like it here. I want to go home with Mummy and Daddy and Ryou and my cat." She sniffed again. "We ran over a cat. That's why Mummy crashed the car. She wasn't trying to hit it, but I think we did anyway. Would that cat be here?"

"We could go and see, if you like."

"I'd rather go home."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It does get easier with time"

"I … suppose I would like to try and find the cat, so I can say sorry to it. I mean, if I really, truly, honestly can't go back." Amane watched the stranger's face, looking for clues that there was still some hope. Eventually she stood up and held out her hand. "You're nice, for a grown-up."

"Thank you. I try to be. It makes people feel more welcome if there's a friendly face to greet them, so a few of us have made it our business to be those friendly faces. We help people who're confused or freeze up before they can properly move on."

"Like me." Amane tipped her head to one side. "You're pretty, too. You look like the princess in my storybook."

"Why thank you."

"Her name was Rapunzel. Mine is Amane Bakura, because my Daddy's from Japan so I got a funny name even though Mummy wanted to call me Susan. What's your name?"

The stranger smiled her rose-red lips. "My name is Cynthia."