Chapter Three - Black Swan
On Friday mornings Madoka had back to back morning lectures. She crawled out of bed, shook Sayaka awake so she wouldn't miss class, and headed out herself.
In class she paid careful attention and took diligent notes, knowing it would all come on the exam later. Once lecture was over she chatted with a couple classmates over coffee before waving goodbye, catching the bus back home right on time.
It was a picture perfect morning. But it did little to assuage her anxiety.
Her father's car pulled up to her corner around noon. She was waiting on the curb by a bench, bag filled with neatly folded clothes and other essentials slung over her shoulder. The car was a quiet electric powered thing, because Tomohisa refused to drive anything with a loud engine. It was not his goal to stand out on the road.
"Hey, papa," Madoka said as she slipped into the passenger seat. Tomohisa smiled and ruffled his daughter's hair.
"Hey, Madoka. Did you have a good week?"
The car peeled away from the curb and merged into traffic. Madoka tossed her bag into the back seat, turning to watch the streetlights crawl by.
"Tatsuya gets out of school soon," Tomohisa said. "We'll have to pick him up on the way back."
Madoka nodded wordlessly. That same anxiety gnawed at her insides, sharpening its teeth against her guts. She didn't know if she ought to bring up what she had seen with her father. She was too afraid of the potential consequences.
"You alright?" Tomohisa asked, casting a sidelong glance. "You're awfully quiet today."
Madoka shook her head, keeping her cheek pressed against the window. "Sorry, it's just been a long week. Lots of studying, and all that."
Her father hummed in understanding. As they drove, the spring heat seeped through the window and lulled her into a light doze. The occasional click of her father's turn signal and the soft hum of the electric engine put her under. At some point she felt the car pull to a stop, her father's door opening and falling shut.
Stirring awake, Madoka rubbed at her eyes and yawned. A moment later it occurred to her that they were parked in a lot somewhere, not in front of Tatsuya's school.
Glancing out the driver's side window, she saw her father return with something in his hand. A cone of ice cream. Strawberry vanilla, her favorite.
"A little reward for making it through a hard week," he said, handing it to her. "I know it's your favorite."
Madoka nodded as she ate the ice cream, twirling it against her tongue. She felt like a little kid again. The guilt gnawed at her with renewed gusto.
Tatsuya was sitting cross legged by the school gate when the car pulled up next to him. He had his nose buried in a book as big as his torso. Class had just let out, and dozens of kids were streaming out past the gate; Madoka had to strain to catch sight of her brother.
"Tatsuya!" She called out, waving a hand. The boy glanced up, saw his sister, and snapped the book shut before running over to the car.
Tatsuya didn't talk much lately. He was seven now, and a couple years ago he had become an extremely avid reader. Madoka was happy for this, of course, but she did miss how energetic and fun her kid brother used to be. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had assumed he would always be like that.
The drive home was quiet, as Tatsuya went back to reading his huge book. Once they were home Tomohisa made them both a late lunch, roast beef sandwiches with tomatoes plucked fresh from the garden out back. Afterwards he retired to his room to take a nap, complaining of lightheadedness. He had developed low blood pressure a couple years ago, and it made him lethargic around the middle of the day.
Madoka wandered into the backyard, sitting on the wooden porch with Tatsuya placed between her legs. She linked her arms around his small stomach, which he didn't seem to mind. The boy was still absorbed by his book, which he had laid open across his lap.
"What are you reading today?" She asked him, peeking over his shoulder.
Tatsuya closed the book to show her the cover, not that she really recognized it at all. She wasn't much of a reader. It brought back memories of her awkward encounter with Homura, which she tried to suppress.
"Do you like reading that much?" Madoka asked, squeezing her brother.
"Mmm. It's fun."
"What makes a story interesting, in your opinion?"
Tatsuya made it a couple pages before answering. "Dragons."
She didn't imagine Homura would be satisfied with that.
A bird chirped somewhere in the trees. Inhaling deeply, she pressed her nose against her brother's hair and thought about how he almost hadn't existed in the first place.
Madoka heard the front door open, and her heart skipped a beat.
Her mother was home.
Junko Kaname's car was a far cry from her husband's. It was sleek and compact, really designed to hold two at most. The paint job was the same sleek grey of a lynx at night, and the engine purred like it was on the hunt.
Madoka had never really liked riding in that car, because the loudness of it tended to attract attention. That sort of thing was always a little embarrassing to her.
She was waiting by the door when the car pulled into their driveway, holding Tatsuya's hand. When the car door popped open Tatsuya slipped free and ran towards it, his hands outstretched.
"Mama!"
"Oh!" Junko exclaimed, as she was pummeled by her seven year old. She was in her dark business suit, an outfit unnervingly similar to the one Madoka had seen her in on Wednesday. "Hey, Tatsuya. Did you miss me?"
The boy simply pressed his face into his mother's front. She smiled and took his hand, leading them to the door. The car beeped behind her.
"Hey, Madoka," she said, reaching out with her free hand. "How have you been?"
Madoka closed her eyes as Junko ruffled her hair. It took all her willpower to not shirk away, as she did all those years ago.
The door closed behind them, and Tatsuya went off to find his book. Madoka followed her mother into her study, also making sure to close this door behind her.
Junko sighed loudly as she flopped into her desk chair, spinning lazily around in a half circle. Madoka steadied the chair and helped her mother out of her blazer, folding it over her arm.
"Long day?" Madoka asked.
"Long half day," Junko said. "I have to head out in another hour or so. Why couldn't I be this popular in high school?"
Her daughter smiled. "You weren't worth seven bazillion dollars in high school."
"Eight bazillion," Her mother corrected. Madoka scoffed.
The study was a cramped, but orderly space. A desk placed across from the door was occupied by a large desktop computer and several leaflets of notes and documents, placed in neat piles. A small twin sized bed was placed against the wall for those long nights spent on the phone, after which Junko did not wish to disturb her husband's sleep.
Junko turned to log into the desktop, opening a calendar app that displayed her schedule for the rest of the week, which she checked briefly before minimizing.
"Papa's asleep," Madoka said, taking a seat on the bed. "His usual nap. Did you want to say hi to him?"
Junko shook her head, waving a manicured hand. "No, that's alright. Let him sleep. Once you get to our age, falling asleep takes forever. And waking up is even harder."
Her daughter made a face. "You aren't that old."
"I'm old enough to be your mother, Madoka."
Madoka squeezed the fabric of the blazer between her fingers. It was clean but well worn, one of her mother's favorites. She could trace back its feel and scent to her toddler years, when she was the one hugging Junko when she finally returned from work. Back then, a blazer was enough to sum up everything her mother was, in her world.
"How was your week?" She asked, keeping her eyes trained on the blazer. "Any interesting stories?"
Junko hummed, tipping her head back on her chair. "It's hard to say what's interesting and what's aggravating at this point…I have two clients trying to make a joint investment in some real estate at the moment, but they can't agree on the mutual stakes. One party refuses to put up more than forty percent, while the other capped themselves at fifty five. Which, as I am sure you know, does not add up to a hundred."
"Why can't they just do fifty fifty? Wouldn't that be fair?"
Her mother blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Well…there are reasons. Good reasons, I'll admit. It's complicated stuff."
Madoka did not press the issue. She knew Junko thought she was too young to understand. They had been over it many times before. "So nothing much other than that?"
Junko waved at her phone. "Other than the astounding amount of membership points I'm racking up at the cafe across the street, not really. Why, were you expecting something better?"
Madoka forced a smile, shaking her head. "No, just wondering."
The woman shook her own head, spinning around in her chair. "I'm sure your life is much more interesting than mine, darling. You're in college now! Your life must be filled with bad boys and late nights out."
Madoka blushed. "You know I don't do that kind of stuff!"
Junko smiled affectionately, rolling over on her chair and cupping her daughter's cheek with her palm. "I know. No matter how old you get, you're still my same little Madoka."
The pinkette stared into the woman's deep mahogany eyes. Just as she was about to muster the courage to say something more, a phone rang.
"Ugh. That's the bad ringtone," Junko muttered, digging around in her pocket. She tossed aside her personal phone and palmed her business one, answering it. "Hello? Yes, I'm here…What? I thought that was taken care of already?"
The woman shook her head, rising from her seat. Madoka made to leave the study to give her privacy, but her mother waved her back down and headed for the door herself. She opened the door and disappeared down the hall, her voice settling into something more razor sharp and predatory.
"I'm afraid my client does not have the assets nor the willingness to do that. As we discussed, the terms of the investment are not…"
The door shut, and Madoka fell back onto the bed, sprawled out on her back. The sheets were laced with her mother's comforting scent. A pair of heels were lined up at the foot of the bed, shoes Madoka could never hope to fill.
How easy it had been to pretend that nothing was wrong, that everything was just has it should be. She supposed the older one got, the easier it became to push bad thoughts to the side, to ignore them.
Her ears detected a low hum reverberating throughout the room.
It was then that she realized her mother's computer was still logged in.
In retrospect, that was the beginning of the unraveling of everything she understood about herself.
Slipping off the bed, Madoka fell into the desk chair and rolled up to the computer. With a trembling hand she grabbed the mouse and clicked, opening up the app her mother had minimized moments earlier.
Junko Kaname's entire schedule popped up before her eyes.
Madoka did not consider herself shrewd, or overtly practical. But she understood immediately in that moment that she had to act quickly.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the calendar before minimizing the app.
A moment later the door opened, and Junko returned from her call. She found her daughter sprawled out on her bed, thumbing absently through her phone.
"Looks like they need me back at the office," Junko sighed. She walked over to the computer and shut it off, pushing the chair back in. "Don't wait for me; have dinner amongst yourselves. Tell your father for me, would you?"
Madoka nodded, and walked her mother to the front door. She waved as the sleek jaguar-like car pulled out of their driveway and rumbled away down the street.
Only when the engine was far, far away could Madoka hear the rapid thumping of her own heart.
What did I just do?
Madoka did not look at the photo of her mother's schedule for two full days. She wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't…In fact she came rather close to just deleting it, and pretending that it had never existed in the first place.
But she didn't. Instead the photo sat in her phone, brooding, festering. Madoka went through the rest of Friday and all of Saturday without looking at it. She helped out around the house, throwing herself into it with such gusto that her father had virtually nothing left to do. She made Tatsuya's lunch and dusted the house, then got three lectures ahead on all her classes.
"If you keep this up, your mother will divorce me and marry you instead," Tomohisa complained. Madoka laughed, albeit forcefully.
She wished she could stretch her ignorance for all eternity. But as it turned out, eternity is fleeting.
On Sunday, Tomohisa took Tatsuya to the museum. That left Madoka to sit on her bed alone, staring at her phone.
She had come to terms with the fact that she could not continue to run from this. Madoka couldn't rest until she knew for sure what she had seen that day. But at the same time, she could not bring herself to confront Junko directly. She could only imagine how much it would hurt her mother to hear such a question, if indeed it wasn't true.
Before her lay a method to verify the truth without direct confrontation.
The photo was off center and slightly blurry, the calendar obscured by those odd waves that showed up when you took a photo of a computer screen. Nevertheless, Madoka zoomed in and was able to discern her mother's schedule for the next couple weeks. A board meeting on Friday. Lunch with an executive yesterday.
And today…
Junko had blocked out the entirety of her morning with a simple commitment named "work," which Madoka assumed meant she would be in the office. After this, however, she had a lunch scheduled with someone named Ushikawa. There was no given name; it was impossible to tell whether the appointment was with someone male or female.
The location was simply listed as "The Terrace." But Madoka knew the place; it was a rooftop restaurant situated upon one of downtown Mitakihara's glittering skyscrapers, a popular gathering spot for social functions. Madoka had briefly attended a corporate event there as a child, something to do with a new division opening beneath the company.
The lunch was scheduled to begin in an hour.
She decided then, quietly and internally, that this would be the one time she would ever do something like this. Even if her mother truly was up to something, and she just happened to be innocent just for today, Madoka didn't care. She would rather see that and rest easy, convincing herself that there was nothing to worry about.
But she had to see it first.
In her room she had a pair of binoculars, stuffed unceremoniously into the closet; she and her father would often go stargazing when she was younger, but those days were long past now. Rising from her bed, Madoka dug the binoculars out and threw them into her bag.
Scribbling a note about meeting a friend for her father, Madoka walked gingerly out the front door.
The Terrace was located atop one of Mitakihara's most highly rated hotels, the Midoriiro. It was a lithe, elegant building, its exterior coated in dark glass that seemed to glint a soft seaweed green in the sunlight. The front entrance had its own drive through loop, which was manned by several bellhops clad in black uniforms with gold trim and white gloves. From Madoka's memory, the interior was graced with more soft whites and golds; it had always reminded her of sunrise of a snowy mountain.
Across from the Midoriiro was a building of equal height, a large shopping complex that had been erected to please the expensive tastes of the hotel's residents. It was filled with high-end outlets and designer clothes, things Madoka occasionally fancied buying but never really would.
At the very top of this shopping complex was a rooftop garden, a quiet sun filled space lined with rose bushes and gently painted benches. Students of the university often came here on dates, murmuring lovingly to one another as they watched the world slide by beneath them.
But Madoka was not here on a date. Although it was very possible she was about to witness one.
The binoculars dug painfully into her back as she slipped through the crowd, making her way past the stores and towards the elevators. Everyone was walking much too slowly for her taste; or perhaps it was just her anxiety, urging her to walk faster. Middle school kids chatted over coffee, and young couples strolled with linked arms. The colloquialness of it all almost angered her; did they not understand what was about to happen?
But of course they didn't. No one did, not even her.
The air inside the shopping complex was suffocating. She was almost glad to emerge out onto the open air of the rooftop garden, where the sun was beating down. The elevator doors slid open and she darted outside, her bag clutched in her hands.
The garden was crowded per usual, but Madoka found a bench at the far end that was relatively void of anyone nearby. Plunking her bag down, she walked over to the railing and peeked over it.
There; across from the shopping complex was the Midoriiro, and on top of it, The Terrace. From the garden she had a clear view of the restaurant, which had all its seats out in the open. Only the kitchen and some VIP sections were housed indoors. From here she could see a wide open space scattered with round tables topped by white tablecloths; waiters in tuxedo vests patrolled the floor, hands folded behind their backs.
Madoka retreated from the railing until the bench hit the backs of her knees, sitting down nervously. She knew of this spot because of an ice cream date she had with her friends last semester. At the time all she thought was that it was a neat little place to enjoy a strawberry vanilla.
The sun was intense. She had come in a hat and some clothes she rarely wore; there was almost zero chance her mother would be able to recognize her from this distance, but she was taking no chances.
Pulling the binoculars out from her bag, she waited.
Homura was thinking about death when she saw someone she thought she recognized.
In downtown Mitakihara there was a park that she frequented, despite it being a ways away from campus. It was a big city, even by city standards, and it often took her about half an hour by subway to get to the park.
But she loved being there. She had spent the entire weekend studying, because she was attending the university on a full scholarship, and the aid was contingent upon her grades being at a certain level.
She walked out of the library that afternoon feeling fried in the head. One latte and a train ride later, she was sitting in her favorite park. It was small, with only a single winding path through a tight knot of trees. But it was quiet, because it was near the water and far from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the city; one of the most inescapable things in a big city is the constant noise, of cars and people and a restless world which will not sleep, for fear of missing out.
Homura sipped at her latte as she sat. She thought about her writing, or perhaps the lack of it. But she soon grew tired of that, and her thoughts turned to her strange encounter with Kaname Madoka, the girl from the library.
The pinkette had gotten on the last bus that night, so Homura was forced to rent a bike from the school and pedal home. It was free, as it was a service provided by the university to the students, but her calves were not appreciative of this at all.
It was so strange, what Madoka had said. Was the girl's mother involved in an extramarital affair? Homura genuinely had no idea. The way Madoka had said it, like it was a silly, laughable thing, left too much room for interpretation. Perhaps if her own parents were still around, she would have asked them about it.
The thought made her smile wryly. Crushing her empty latte cup in her hand, she threw it away and left the park.
It didn't take long for the city noise to swallow her again. Hundreds of thousands of people, so numerous that they became faceless. The downtown skyscrapers loomed, a constant reminder of how small and insignificant she was.
No matter what the truth was, she was unlikely to ever see Kaname Madoka again. And in any case, it was none of her business. Her parents would have told her the exact same thing.
The nearest subway entrance was in the center of a square surrounded by several skyscrapers, all housing prominent financial firms. The men and women filing in and out of the entrance were all dressed impeccably in business formal attire; she saw more briefcases than unbuttoned collars.
So when the man caught Homura's eye, it wasn't because of what he was wearing.
No, it was one of those things, a feeling that seizes the heart before the mind can react. The sense of sudden familiarity, like she had seen his face somewhere before.
A sleek gray cab pulled up to the street by the station, and out stepped a middle aged man in a crisp black suit. Homura stopped with one foot on the first step of the station entrance, turning her head to look.
The man was tall, with a slender, almost lanky body. As he bent over to speak briefly to the cab driver, Homura saw thick hair that was swept back with gel, a few touches of gray gracing the edges. When he stood she saw a strong brow and an elegant nose, as well as impeccable posture.
All of this transpired within just a few moments. Soon enough the cab pulled away and the man began walking alongside the street, quickly blending into the crowd of suits.
Homura didn't have time to figure out what it was she had just seen. Her feet moved first, and suddenly she was following the man through the crowd, keeping her eyes fixed on the head with thick swept back hair and graying ends.
Who was he? She had seen his face somewhere before, she was certain of it. Homura bobbed and weaved through the crowd, throwing out an elbow or two and earning a couple curses thrown her way. But she managed to keep up with the man, following him for five blocks before she saw him leave the sidewalk.
Homura grunted as she pushed her way out of the mass of flesh; it was lunch hour and everyone and their grandmother's dog was out and about. With one last push, she broke free, stumbling out in front of a building.
She looked up just in time to see the man disappear inside the front entrance of the Midoriiro. He simply waved at the bellhop manning the door, who seemed to nod as if he knew him.
Homura walked up to the door, standing on the other side of the drive through loop. There was no way she was getting in there; even if she could act like she had a reservation (which she did not and probably never would), she was in a shirt and shorts.
Cursing, she turned away from the entrance, and from the suspicious bellhop giving her stares. She left the drive through loop, and was about to give up and go home when she saw another familiar face.
A small pink head, moving hurriedly into the shopping complex across the street.
Madoka?
Her breath caught in her throat when a small purple head appeared on the rooftop.
Grabbing her binoculars, Madoka peered across the street. Her heart clenched painfully when she confirmed that it was in fact her mother; she emerged from within the building and walked out onto the Terrace, dressed formally with makeup. Through the circular view of the binoculars Madoka followed her path, watching tensely as the woman took her seat at a freshly set table by the railing.
Madoka was sweating beneath her clothes, but she wasn't sure if it was due to the afternoon heat. From here she could see everything; her mother's face, scrunched slightly as she surveyed the menu. The silverware sparkled beneath the sunlight. A waiter spoke with her briefly, then returned with a glass of still water.
Taking a deep breath, Madoka took a moment to calm herself down. She hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary yet. Junko's schedule had dictated that she would be here. She checked her phone; five minutes to the hour. Madoka set her binoculars aside for the time being.
Two minutes later, a man she did not recognize emerged onto the rooftop.
Madoka's hands trembled as she lifted the binoculars to her eyes. Her blood roared in her ears; she could acutely hear her own heartbeat, like it was trying to tell her something. Every inch of her wanted to get up and chuck the binoculars over the railing and just go home, but she remained rooted in place.
The man was of middling height, with a pale complexion and small eyes. He was rather old; his hair was snow white and mostly gone. Only a small ring of it clung to the edges of his scalp. His suit, though ill fitting, was crisp and clearly of high quality.
He greeted Junko amiably, and the two shook hands before he took a seat across from her.
So this must be Ushikawa.
Was it him? Could he be the one? Thinking back to that day at the salon, Madoka had never quite caught a good glimpse of the strange man. Only the memory of his arm, wrapped around her mother's waist, was burned into her memory. From his appearances, this Ushikawa was rather wealthy; had he invited Junko to the roof of the Midoriiro to steal a quiet afternoon away together?
Ushikawa sat with one arm placed on the table. Junko sat with her hands folded in her lap. They began to converse, though about what she could not say; Madoka was not able to read lips very well. If only she could tell what they were saying! Her fingers clenched the binoculars so hard they hurt, her teeth digging painfully into her lower lip.
The waiter returned, and the two patrons placed their orders. The Terrace was relatively empty aside from the two of them; only three other tables were occupied, none near the two of them.
Afterwards they resumed their conversation. Ushikawa seemed to enjoy gesticulating as he spoke; his wrinkled hand chopped softly at the table several times. The food was brought out with surprising swiftness; a spaghetti for Ushikawa, a fusilli for Junko. The old man chewed thoughtfully as the woman said her own piece, nodding occasionally.
Madoka observed them in this manner for about half an hour, during which time she saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. At the end of the meal Ushikawa reached for his wallet, but Junko held her hand out. The two of them rose from their seats and shook hands once more, before Ushikawa departed from the scene.
Relief exploded across Madoka's chest when she saw Ushikawa leave. It had been a very brief meeting; she presumed he was staying somewhere in the hotel. So it really was all just a misunderstanding! Breathing out heavily, she set her binoculars aside and closed her eyes, pressing her palms against them.
She was so glad. She was so, so glad. It was just a mistake, what she had seen that day at the salon! A trick of the light perhaps, or a confusion created by the shifting of the crowds. She felt euphoric, almost giddy; a small laugh escaped from her lips.
Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. Only then did Madoka notice that Junko was still seated at her table.
Not a moment later, another man emerged onto the rooftop.
Her body reacted before her brain did; she felt like she was going to throw up. Swallowing thickly, she hunched over and watched in dread, too woozy to retrieve the binoculars. Even without them she could see how tall the man was; he was in a suit that was tailored exactly to his proportions, very much unlike Ushikawa's.
Junko looked up as the man approached, and he took the seat that Ushikawa had occupied only moments prior. He leaned forward to say something to Junko, and Madoka saw her mother finally take her hands out of her lap and lean forward herself.
Only then did she pick up the binoculars.
What she witnessed then sent her entire world crashing down around her.
The man reaching across the table and taking Junko's hand. Junko smiling as he said something she found amusing. Her saying something back, lips curved mischievously. How close their heads were, bent towards one another like black swans dancing on a lake. His thick, swept back hair and graying ends, the unfathomable depth of his eyes; the emotion in Junko's own irises, which Madoka found to be even more incomprehensible.
The waiter returned with the check, which Junko paid. He gave them a strange look as he walked away. Junko turned back to the man and cupped her chin in her hand, looking at him in a way that…why, why was she looking at him like that?
She felt like crying. A dry sob lumped up in her throat but no tears were forthcoming. To weep would be to acknowledge the reality laid out before her. This couldn't be real. It must be a dream; but what dream was this vivid, this realistic? In what dream could the agony she felt now be so visceral, so real? Her head throbbed; the binoculars shook in her heads, rattling her view of the rooftop.
"Madoka?"
She cried out, flinching as she dropped the binoculars. Whirling around, she saw Homura standing behind the bench.
The raven haired girl stared at her, a frown etched into her face. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Madoka's jaw quivered, but no sound came out. Without warning her head was gripped by a wave of nausea; she moaned and clutched her head between her hands, hiding it in her lap.
Homura's eyes fell upon the binoculars sitting on the floor, then at the rooftop of the Midoriiro across the street. Stooping down, she raised them to her face and peered across the street.
She saw him, the lanky man with the swept back hair, sitting with a woman she didn't recognize. He had his chin resting on top of his hand, a languid smile on his face.
Only then did she finally realize who he was.
"Oh my god," she murmured.
As she watched, the waiter returned with a paid check. The two rose from their seats and prepared to depart from the building.
"They're leaving the hotel," Homura said to herself. She turned to the shell shocked girl sitting beside her. "Madoka, they're leaving the building. If we move now, we can catch up with them."
Madoka was unresponsive. She had her face in her hands, but her eyes were wide open, stretched to almost impossible lengths but seeing nothing.
Homura grabbed the girl by the wrists and yanked her into a standing position, catching her when she almost fell over. "Madoka, listen to me. That's your mother, isn't it? I can tell. Listen, if you don't move now, you might regret it for the rest of your life."
The words seemed to make it through to the girl, who blinked. Moving as if in a daze, Madoka stumbled away from Homura and towards the elevators.
After making sure the girl wasn't going to fall over, Homura turned back to the railing. Taking out her phone, she held it up and zoomed in on the rooftop across the street.
It wasn't as powerful as a pair of binoculars, but these days phones were plenty good enough for her to see the couple's faces very clearly. Zooming in a bit further, Homura made sure the camera was properly focused on those faces.
The picture she took caught them in an intimate moment, his arm wrapped around her waist.
Madoka was waiting for the elevator. Homura took her hand and pulled them past the doors, jabbing at the button for the first floor. The ride down was agonizing; neither of them said a word, and Madoka just stared at the floor, a hollow look in her pale eyes.
The doors opened and Homura pulled them both out, past the stores and out onto the street. As they emerged she spotted the couple in the drive through loop of the Midoriiro, saying goodbye to a bellhop. Homura checked the traffic briefly before diving into the street, weaving through cars jam packed bumper to bumper. Madoka's fingers were loose in her hand, but she followed nonetheless. The heat of the asphalt rose up and seared their flesh; the crowds seethed about them.
The couple began walking down the length of the block. Homura followed them intently, careful not to get too close lest she be discovered. She tailed them for two blocks before they turned a corner at a bus stop, entering a small side street where the crowds were significantly thinner.
There, hidden beneath the shadow of an awning, the same sleek gray cab from earlier was waiting. Homura stopped at the corner and hid, shoving Madoka behind her. The couple stopped by the car to speak to one another briefly. Holding her phone around the edge of the corner, Homura took another photo.
A bus rolled up to the stop next to them and let out its passengers. A thick knot of people spilled out onto the sidewalk, pouring down into the side street. Homura left the corner and pulled Madoka behind her, making sure to hide herself in the crowd. She had to get closer. She had to be sure…
The crowd parted for a brief moment, and she was ready. By now the man had gotten into the cab, and was speaking to the woman through a rolled down window. He held out his hand to her, which the woman took.
This time Homura's photo captured him planting a chaste kiss upon that hand, his eyes closed and oblivious to the rest of the world.
Behind her, Homura felt Madoka look up. And in that moment the girl saw it, the foreign lips she did not know pressed against her mother's flesh, the flesh that had conceived and borne her, the flesh that had kissed her and said it loved her, flesh against flesh, the undeniable flesh of the truth.
Her mind flew back to the summer she first turned twelve. The Steinway broke loose from its chains and hurtled down, and this time she wasn't lucky, this time she couldn't escape the inevitable.
The world spun around her, and she fainted on the spot.
"Madoka!"
Well, this story is finally up and running now. That makes three weeks in a row that I've stuck to the upload schedule, we'll see how long this streak lasts...
Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!
-Banshee
