Cement Mixing Chapter – Finale

June 2016.

At the crack of dawn they begin, having only cobbled together the necessities. He can't afford to wait any longer. Not for what he'd been told.

They travel lightly, but the car is full. In the front is the driver and Oishi, who has business of his own pertaining to the Manaka Sonozaki situation, and in the back is himself, and his usual female companion.

As the black car slowly barrels off into the morning air, she catches him watching her and smiles at him gently, clutching her small suitcase. She hadn't confirmed if she was actually going to stay for any real amount of time, but she was still following him along for the time being, determined to have that picnic, and he really didn't have the where-withal at the time to ask any questions about it. If she got fired for screwing around with a boy during her working hours that wasn't going to be on him.

Ono District was everything that he had vaguely remembered it as, with what time he spent at his aunt's house by the Furude Shrine in his youth. It was overgrown and rural, but it certainly wasn't 'barren' or 'run down'. Simply put the land was beautiful. It only made sense that so much had happened for the sake of this land at the expense of so many people.

At one point not that long ago, the prefecture had been on the verge of being consolidated into the surrounding area, as urban developments continued to crop up all over and the more isolated regions of this district became more and more of an inconvenience to that extensive development. Through Satoshi's tenure as chairman of the Department of Welfare, many such arrangements had been made peripheral to his own responsibilities to clear out much of the rural area that did not contribute to the Department of Agriculture. The driving force of opposition to this, naturally, had been the Sonozaki family, and with the family largely wiped out, there were few deterrents to urban expansion into the Ono District remaining. It may have been a shame, but the land was just as valuable as it was beautiful.

The path the car takes is winding, and the mountainous region makes itself all the more apparent, at first with bumps in the road, then with the landscape starting to slant. And as that path continues to wind, the only thoughts in his head are of his destination.

They were headed for a small facility on the edge of Shirakawa-go – a clinic operated by Irie Kyosuke, a man that his uncle claimed had known his mother and helped put her to rest in secret. The arrangements had been made – the first stop on this path was that clinic, for the sake of respects that need to be paid.

All he has in his hands with him is that scrapbook. He has a suitcase with some of his own clothes in the trunk, but for the time being, that scrapbook is the only thing he has use for.

As the minutes tick by he continues to mull over the moment coming. He's thought about it in some capacity for most of his life, and now it was about to become a reality.

The path becomes a bit rough as they continue the ascent, the contents of the trunk making an awful lot of noise and breaking up the peaceful feeling. "You kids doing alright back there?" Oishi looks over his shoulder at the two of them – the girl is the picture of radiance, the boy is a brooding mess. It sounds about right for their age. He chuckles.

"We're alright, mister Oishi-san – right Kacchan?"

"Oho? She's calling you Kacchan already? That's a pretty big step for this early on."

"Wow, really?" Her eyes light up. "D-Does that mean I have a super-extra chance?!"

He's too preoccupied to give it any real thought.

"Hey Kacchan, you shouldn't ignore your lady friend like that." Oishi tries to scold him but can't keep from smiling through it all.

But she shakes her head understandingly. "It's okay. Today's a really big day."

"Sure is. Seems to be no shortage of those lately. But hey, Kacchan, you'd better hold onto this one, alright?"

Her cheeks flare up as she snuggles against his arm.

But before too long, he sees it on the horizon.

That grand sweeping view of the village below. The fields in full bloom, the mountain towering over all of it in the distance. It's in that moment that he at last sees Shirakawa-go once again.

"It's really beautiful, huh?" The girl at his side gently murmurs.

The path continues further below, and as they descend it becomes all too real.

Yomi no Kuni

The car at last comes to a stop. The building just outside looks utterly ancient, like a time capsule from the late seventies. It's been maintained over the years, but sorely pined for renovation. Standing just outside its entrance is a spectacle'd man with faded brown hair, wearing a lab coat.

Kanbei and his girlfriend get out of the car first, followed by Oishi. Kanbei moves to open the trunk, but Oishi stops him.

"Let's not worry about the bags for right now. We're not going the rest of the way on foot." He smiles.

"A-Ah, right. Sorry." Oishi pats his back reassuringly.

"Don't worry. This doc's a bit of a pushover."

The man in the lab coat steps forward to greet them, starting with Oishi.

"Oishi-san. You're looking healthy as ever." The man smiles. His voice is raspy – some kind of throat condition, maybe even cancer.

"Irie-kun – every time I come out here I see you hangin' around out here. I'll never get why you do it to yourself." He says with a big grin.

"So are these -"

"Yep, here's the lady friend, and here's the son, our hotshot prosecutor."

Kanbei steps closer.

"I guess I should call you Maebara-kenji?" The man laughs. "I'm Doctor Kyosuke. Feel free to call me Irie-sensei. Only seems fair." He extends his hand, and Kanbei shakes it.

"Well, on that note, I guess I'll give you kids some time to sort this morbid stuff out. We'll head out when you're ready." Oishi says as he heads back to the car.

"Thanks for stopping by – It'll be nice to have a family living in that old house again." Irie begins.

"O-Oh, goodness no, we're not married just yet." His partner chimes in, cupping her cheeks with her hands as she imagines something probably inappropriate.

"What kind of shape should I be expecting?"

"From the house? Oh, it's been untouched since back then. Not a soul's been in there since you were real little. Really not much changed around here in the last twenty years. It's been the people, more-so than the land."

"I'm guessing you've been told everything, right?"

"Right… I guess there's no point in putting this off any longer, now is there? Are you ready, though?"

The girl beside him grasps his free hand. Holding the scrapbook in the other, he nods. "I'm not going to be any more ready if I come back and try again later."

Irie smiles. "I guess that's a pretty good way of putting it. If you'll just follow me -"

He leads them around the other side of the clinic. From there it's a short minute's walk away to a small cliff overlooking the entirety of Shirakawa-go, still a little further off in the distance, concealed in the shade of the woods.

And along that small cliff is a single stone slab sticking out of the ground. His hands start shaking as he stands over it.

"Anything more than this would've been too conspicuous. I wish I could've done better – that we all could've done better." Irie explains.

"Did you know her?"

"Your father too. They were both brilliant. Ran right into me their first day in this village." Irie smiles sadly. "It's not a day I think I'll be forgetting."

Kanbei opens the scrap book. The proof of his entire life is concealed inside. He retrieves the photograph from between the pages. He's blotted out her face – Mion Sonozaki's face. This way, the woman in this picture so close to his father could've been anyone. The girl stands at his side, running her hands along his back as a form of comfort.

He sets the scrapbook down in front of the stone slab, and rests the photograph against it, folding it a little and holding it in place with some stone. It was a bit too makeshift, but he wasn't good with arts and crafts in the first place.

He didn't know her name, he didn't know what she looked like. Chances are, there wasn't a single image of her left. This was the only capacity he would ever know her in. And it really just made sense for him to leave her the single best representation of all the time he'd been alive, even if she hadn't been around to see any of it.

He stands over the grave silently.

"What was she like?" He asks Irie.

"...She was a lot like you."

"At least tell me. Tell me what her name was."

But that request is met with silence.

"It's no good, Kacchan." The girl whispers into his ear, taking his hand.

"What do you mean?"

"He can't tell you, because they'll kill him if he does."

"Hu-"

With that she pulls him in and kisses him, long and hard, cupping both sides of his face with her hands. When she pulls away, she gazes at him, longingly. But her eyes – no, they're not the same. It's as though everything besides that glint that was not quite right had faded away.

"Sayaka." Irie speaks, pleadingly. "Please. This is far enough. He's no different from you."

It was like flipping a light switch. There was a world that he knew, that made sense, that fell into all his expectations time and time again. A world of corrupt, sad sacks of shit that went day in and day out living broken, dishonest lives in a futile hope that one day the sun might shine on them.

"He's nothing like me."

But even that world, one that he harbored no feelings for – even that world that no one really wanted was gone. And all that was left was this perpetual dread building and building.

And eventually, the series of realizations come gushing forth in a cloud of vomit, spilling out onto the grass below.

"It really is a shame, Kacchan." She spoke again, in that same tone of voice, as though nothing was wrong. "I was really fond of her – your ex. Nana was a really nice girl. She was one of my first friends, too. And I thought maybe, if she could really love you, maybe it would be okay."

"I don't… Sayaka? Is it – there's no fucking way, right?!"

"I thought – Kacchan's such a cool guy, Sacchan and Macchan are always saying so, and I thought so too. So it doesn't matter that Nana-chan's daddy lost all his money. Kacchan's gonna take good care of her, and they're gonna have lots of kids and make a big happy family. That's all she ever wanted, after all, and she'd have done anything you said just to have that."

"No, no no no no no this isn't this isn't fucking real -"

"But it's the only thing that is real, Kacchan. Just like Nana hanging from her ceiling fan like that." She pulls her face close to his ear, her lips brushing the side. "Should I tell you what she looked like? Swaying slowly back and forth, the rope getting caught in between the fan blades, her feet all swollen and blue? You used to footfuck her, right? Maybe that's why they were always so pale."

He tries to back away, but she holds him in place.

"I didn't want to believe it. I loved you so so much that I couldn't stand the thought that you were actually just a piece of shit the whole time. But now that I've let you take me every which way, and you never so much as asked for my name, I know. You're just Sacchan's puppet. You always have been."

It's then at that moment. Her face twists into an ugly, impish smile. "And now he's just gone and given you up completely."

In his perpetual torment he barely even notices the hands reaching up to grab him, pulling at him from the corners of his vision. Were they the hands of the dead, come to drag him to the depths of hell where he belonged?

No, they were the hands of men – men and women, that had encircled him. He recognizes what they're wearing by sight. Every last one of them is dressed like a Sonozaki, like the countless that were brought in across all their various operations. He starts shouting, even to the doctor, for help. But Irie just stands there looking on in disappointment as they pull him to the ground. He can see the black car off in the distance, and as he vainly calls for Oishi, the car starts to drive off.

Her shadow looms over him. "I was just a little surprised, when he actually said yes. After all he's sunk so much time and money into your pasty little ass – but then again, he's put that much more into his job, hasn't he?"

"No, that's not true. That's not -"

"It's a fuckin' riot, though, isn't it Irie-sensei? I know you're still listening." But the doctor continues to stand there in the background, his expression clouded as she grins at him. "Our next governor's gonna be a deadbeat dad with level four. The whole country's just gone straight to shit."

Kanbei continues to struggle, but she then sharply kicks him right between his legs.

"Not that it matters to any of us. He can drive this prefecture straight off a cliff, as long as we got you at the end it's all unimportant. I saw what you did to my mother, by the way. It was smart. There's just no way that she can keep leading the family looking like that. But I wonder if you were even thinking about any of that when you did it."

And Kanbei's wail continues. "God, no, you're lying there's no way, what kind of – what fucking nightmare is this?!"

"What did I tell you, about people who don't say what they really mean?" One member of the congregation steps towards her. They present her with a massive metal object – it was a cleaver. Made for cutting through meat. "It's sad, isn't it, Kacchan? Y'know, my friends here – they were all convinced this was never gonna work. Because surely you'd recognize your little cousin, right? Surely you'd seen even just one fucking picture of her in the last five years. But they don't know you like I do." She gestures to one of the men holding him down on the ground. "Take his pants off."

At this point his screaming turns feral as his lower half is exposed. Lying there all he can do is helplessly look upward at her. Her smile begins to twist into a scowl as he goes on, kicking and screaming like a small child.

She readies the blade like she's used it thousands of times.

How familiar.

Of course.

It was just like it was for him.

And no matter how much she took out of him, it wouldn't be enough.

"There's something I want you to know that you can take to hell with you, okay?" She digs the tip of the cleaver into his right leg. At first it stings, but soon he cries out in pain. "The woman you ruined – my mother – she was not Mion Sonozaki." She then she pulls the blade right out, and swings it back down, taking everything from his knee down clean off. Foolishly he'd raised his right arm in defense, and in that moment a few of his fingers go flying as well.

With a curdling scream, his vision goes red as blood swells. But still the only thing he can see is her face, and that white dress he'd pulled off of her that night now stained with his blood.

"Her sister – my mother – her name was Shion. You destroyed her face, you almost ended her family. And it wasn't even the right fucking sister. That's pretty horrible, isn't it?" She drives the blade into his left leg next, and once again pulls it straight out, bits of flesh scattering about. "But now I'm here, and my name is Sayaka Sonozaki. And that's it, really – that's why this is happening."

Raising the cleaver one final time, she thrusts downward with all her might, straight through his pelvis. At that point his screams are inaudible as the unbearable pain washes over him. His blood mixes with his vomit as he lies there, overflowing and thoroughly soaking his mother's grave and the scrapbook of his life.

And she does it again, and again, until there's nothing left.

At that point he's stopped resisting, and the men holding him down back away.

His eyes are streaked with tears, and he lies motionless. But he has yet to fully lose consciousness.

There is the presence of a will. A will that wants to escape from its fleshy prison and exact its revenge. But that will is virtually nothing without that container to hold it. And so it despairs.

He thinks of his uncle.

Surely when he finds out, this village will be burned to the ground. Surely Oishi would come back with help. Life would be hard, but this couldn't be the end. Someone would come – someone would come and save him.

But before his eyes finally lose focus and what little was left of him departs for the next world, that moment never comes.

She stands there, the cleaver scraping the grass, still caked with his blood. There's no sign of pleasure or of grief. It's as though the moment he passed from that world, her own strings had been cut.

What follows next is something that his body remembers, but the mind does much of nothing with – as though the man operating it was long gone, but the camera was still there, and still recording.

A dirt road, and a crowd of people. The slow sensation of being dragged across it steadily, strung to a slowly moving vehicle by the neck, the ground eating up the skin on the limp left leg as it moved along. The trail of blood off in the distance, that stretches on for a mile. Murmurs, shouts, and even some cheers seemingly coming from far, far away. Stones and cans are thrown, cutting up the arms and the face, and one even blots out an eye. At one point a bump is hit, and the left leg then a shell of its former self breaks completely. And that path too was winding, and went on and on, till what had been left behind was drained of blood and left at the top of a hill, surrounded by trees.

The eye remaining settles on the black car, the trunk opened, and on the ground just in front of it, the body of Manaka Sonozaki, clothes in tatters, the lower jaw completely missing, eyes rolled into the back of the head. Then it's spun around, facing the treeline above. Then a clicking sound, accompanied by a series of small flashes. But then, there's nothing. The sounds start to fade. The voices quieting down, the vehicles driving away.

And what follows that, is only the droning of the cicadas, as time begins to pass.

On and on, forever, enough to drive the dead insane.

All life inevitably returns to the earth, even roadkill left wasting away fused to the asphalt. One way or another, life finds its way back, as skin and bone, as ashes, sometimes even as a noxious gas. For the dead left to rot in the summer air, this moment comes sooner than most, as nature pines for sustenance in the scorching heat.

In Shirakawa-go that day, nature's inhabitants have a go at quite the treat. Even the rodents would show up to partake, and before too long the birds would come along to cart off whatever was left.

But even in this world – this world of mindless scavengers fulfilling that promise of death, at the top of the food chain was man. Not even this world, concerned only with the procession of what was already dead, was free from man's influence.

And so it was that day, that the frail old woman with black hair, with strength seemingly long since abandoned by her years, stuffs the corpse of the young boy into an old wheelbarrow, and with that was off into the distance.