Chapter Four - Inspiration
Madoka remembered the first time she stepped foot inside the Midoriiro.
She was sixteen, and her mother had just been promoted. The circumstances surrounding the promotion, or what this would entail for her mother, she could not say; Madoka was routinely kept in the dark about such things. Partly because she never asked, and partly because she knew it would do her no good to ask.
The building was tall, a monument to wealth and prestige so great it became nebulous; she remembered how long the elevator ride to the roof took. She wore a formal white top with a black skirt; the men in the elevator with her were in full suits, and she recalled feeling particularly adolescent.
The elevator doors opened to the rooftop Terrace, and a foreign universe sucked her in. It was night and the venue burned with a thousand electric lights. Dozens of men and women, corporate creatures, mingled amongst themselves. Some held wine glasses and spoke in tight, impenetrable circles; others spoke over tablecloths white as snow.
She felt disoriented. Memories from that time came only in brief snatches. Random people walking up to shake her hand, claiming that they had worked very closely with her mother. They spoke of things Madoka had no idea about. It occurred to her that these people, whose faces blended together into one monolithic enigma, had spent more time with her mother in the last five years than she or her father had.
A stunning leader…wonderfully capable…so blessed. So blessed.
So blessed. She caught sight of her mother at the far side the Terrace, but she was stuck in a tight knot of suits and Madoka was too afraid to enter that world with her. She spent some time at the bar, though she couldn't order anything, instead sitting with her back facing the tender and watching the heaving, unfathomable crowd.
You must have great admiration for your mother, young lady. Our company has recently expanded into financial advisory. I can think of no one better to head the division than Ms. Kaname.
She did not remember the faceless man who said that to her at the bar. But she did remember not knowing what to say in response. In the end she left the bar and sought out her mother, finally managing to catch her alone.
"Oh, Madoka. Are you enjoying the party?"
"I guess. It's interesting. What exactly were you promoted to? What kind of work will you be doing? I just met a lot of random people…"
"Well…it's rather complicated. Don't worry about that stuff; that's my job. Why don't you go find your father? I need to speak with a few more people. He's over there, I think they're going to start a dance circle soon…"
There had always been a barrier of ignorance between Madoka and Junko Kaname. She knew nothing about the woman beyond her identity as a mother. These men and women, with their high collars and fancy terms, knew things about Junko that Madoka could only imagine.
She wandered through the crowd and found Tomohisa, who was chatting with a stranger. The dance began; those who did not wish to participate fled quickly from the circle. The band that the company had hired for the night began to play, a languid tune that threatened to convince her everything was alright. Her father took her hand and they began to waltz, round and round, until the army of electric lights blurred out into lines, long, long lines that led nowhere and came from nothing.
When Madoka opened her eyes, she was not alone.
It was later in the afternoon, though not quite twilight; it seemed she hadn't been out for very long. She was sitting on a bench beneath the sun, blinded by its rays. The first thing she saw was a stone tiled path, worn and faded beneath her shoes.
Shielding her eyes, she looked up.
She was by the river. A stone running path snaked alongside the water, separated from it by a high metal railing. The river was vast and glittered beneath the afternoon sunlight; she could see small boats darting about on its surface, like mayflies over a pond. A group of children played together on a patch of grass nearby, their shrill squeals echoing over to the bench.
A slender raven haired girl appeared in the corner of her vision, carrying two canned drinks in her hands. She saw that Madoka had regained consciousness and walked over to the bench.
"Hey," Homura said. "How are you feeling?"
Madoka's lips parted with some difficulty. "I…" Her throat felt parched.
Homura sat down beside her and handed her one of the drinks after popping it open for her. Madoka accepted it, murmuring her thanks, before tipping her head back and letting it slide down her throat. A cool, peachy flavor, not too sweet. Some sort of iced tea maybe; it rejuvenated her somewhat, and she set the can down with a sigh.
The girl next to her sipped a bit more conservatively from her own drink. "Sorry I wasn't here when you came to. I grabbed these from that vending machine over there. And besides, I was getting a bit tired of having your head on my shoulder."
Madoka flushed gently, biting her lip and looking away from the other girl. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. My take on a joke. You know that bus that stopped right next to us? When you collapsed, I grabbed you and jumped on it. Couldn't think of anything else to do. It let us off here. So don't feel bad, it's not like I had to carry you all the way here or anything."
They sat in silence. The little boats in the distance danced across the surface of the river. The sun was a big rippling circle of white painted over the water; from here it looked like the boats were floating over some big white abyss, borne upon some mysterious magic.
Madoka turned her drink over and over in her hands. It was cold and helped to numb her into thoughtlessness. She craved that void in her mind, reveled in it; she didn't want to think, to remember.
Homura, to her credit, said nothing. She simply waited, downing the rest of her drink. Madoka envied her calm demeanor. She seemed relaxed, confident, and yet those forest-like eyes were still so deep, so unfathomable.
In the end, Madoka was the one to break the silence.
"You saw what I saw back there, didn't you?" Madoka asked. She kept her eyes fixed ahead, on the floating magic boats. "It wasn't a misunderstanding. You saw it too."
"I did," Homura agreed. She cast Madoka a sidelong glance. "Although I probably feel differently about it than you do."
Her heart squeezed. "How did you find me? How did you know I was there?"
"I saw you from across the street. It took me a little while to find you, because I didn't think you'd be on the roof. But I felt like I had to. You looked worried."
Worried. Was that the right word for it?
She turned to watch the kids that were nearby. Two boys and girl, no more than five or six, chasing each other around in circles on the grass. She heard their adolescent shrieks of laughter. Between their youthful dance, and the boats dancing above the abyss behind her, she felt trapped. It took her back to that night on top of the Midoriiro, the waltz she was both present and not present for at once.
"You know, my mama…my mother…Junko, her name is Junko. I'd always thought she was a very simple person," Madoka said. Homura watched her quietly. "I never really thought that much about who she really was, or what I might not know. Junko, you see, my mother…she works very hard, she lives hard. She does everything one hundred percent. And she's strong, and so kind, and she always knows the answer to everything. That's Junko. I always wanted to be just like her, at least a little bit, when I grew up. You'd look up to her too, Homura. I bet you would. She always knows the answer to everything."
She squeezed her half empty can. The aluminum gave beneath the pressure, slowly but surely.
"But you know what?" She said, looking down at her shoes. "If I went home right now, if I walked into her study and told her what I just saw, and if I asked her if it was true…do you think she would know the right answer? I don't even know if there is a right answer."
The tears had taken a while to come, but come they did. They fell silently, thin, weak tears. She turned and hid her face in Homura's shoulder, too ashamed to show it to the world. The raven hair girl stiffened, but then relaxed, raising a hand to stroke Madoka's hair gently.
The children continued to play, their screams piercing the white abyss of the water, oblivious to the world.
Once Madoka had composed herself she stood up and started walking away from the river. Homura followed her, unsure of what would happen next.
When they reached the station the pinkette turned and surprised Homura by grabbing her wrist. Her eyes were wide pools, but not difficult to read.
"I have to head home," she said. "My dad and brother, they'll be waiting. But I can't go back alone. Not yet. You're the only one. The only one who knows about…all this."
Homura stared into those rather fathomable eyes and found herself to be fascinated. It was not often that she took an interest in such things. She rarely ever did. But today, and the events that had transpired today, compelled her to act contrary to how she typically would have.
"I'll come with you," she said, and they descended into the station together.
The train ride back was subdued. They chose a car that had no one else in it, aside from a homeless man who was asleep in the far corner. Madoka sat close next to Homura on the train seat.
As the stops blurred by outside the window, Madoka talked about Junko. She told stories, she said things that Homura had no choice but to believe. How she was an extremely capable professional, the breadwinner of the household. Feared and respected by many, even the powerful. A reliable mother. Wise, yet understanding. Madoka had gone through life putting Junko Kaname on a pedestal.
She talked throughout the entire train ride, and Homura patiently listened. The anecdotes kept coming, like the girl thought she could force away the terrible thing she had seen today with them. She clutched Homura's wrist the whole way, consciously or not the girl did not know, but she allowed it.
The Kaname residence was a modestly posh, sprawling affair with a white exterior and glass finish. Homura admired how impeccably maintained the front yard was as Madoka led them to the door, ringing it after a moment's hesitation.
Warm lights were on inside, and the door was answered promptly. A kind looking man with ruffled hair appeared, a spatula clutched in one hand.
"Oh, Madoka!" The man, presumably the girl's father, said. "You're finally back. Where were you?"
"Just out and about," Madoka said, stammering slightly. The man tilted his head, but before he could inquire his daughter stepped aside, revealing Homura. "This is the friend I said I was meeting. Papa, this is Akemi Homura. I know it's sudden, but…can she stay for dinner?"
Homura bowed her head slightly. "It's nice to meet you. I apologize for intruding on such short notice."
Madoka's father raised his eyebrows, waving the spatula around aggressively. "Oh no, no trouble at all! Madoka's friends are always welcome at our home. Please, do come in! Dinner is almost ready. Tomohisa Kaname. A pleasure."
He vanished from the door to allow them inside, hurrying back to the kitchen. The two girls stepped past the door, pulling off their shoes. The interior of the house was just as meticulously clean as the outside suggested; it seemed Tomohisa Kaname was no slump when it came to running a household.
"Dining room's this way!" Tomohisa's voice floated from down the hall.
As they made to follow it, a small figure appeared from a room that branched off from the hall. A young boy, with his nose buried in a book.
"Tatsuya, your big sis is home!" Madoka sang, kneeling down and hugging him.
The young boy glanced up from the page he was on, snapped the book shut, and wordlessly gave his sister a hug before returning to the story.
"He's been really into reading lately," the pinkette laughed, holding her brother around his midsection. "Come on, Tatsuya. It's my friend, Homura! Say hello."
Tatsuya looked up long enough to bow his head, and Homura returned the gesture. As her gaze shifted downward, she noticed that though Madoka seemed to be acting more normal, her hands were shaking around her brother's body.
"Nice to meet you," Homura said, though she opted not to kneel. She had always hated when adults did that when she was his age. "So you like books? I'm an avid reader myself."
Tatsuya looked up. "Really?"
"Yes, quite. I write as well, though I'm not published yet. Maybe you'll read one of my books one day. What do you think makes a story interesting, Tatsuya?"
"Dragons," the boy said very seriously.
"I see," Homura said. "I'll keep that in mind."
Dinner was hamburger steak served with fried vegetables and rice. The food was delicious; Tomohisa served it with a precision and ease that made it clear how used to it he had become. The four of them sat in a tight circle around the table, Tatsuya next to Tomohisa, Madoka next to Homura, who was in Junko's usual spot.
"The food is wonderful, Mr. Kaname," Homura said.
The man sitting across from her laughed. "Well, thanks! I would hope I learned a thing or two after all these years at the stove. Also, feel free to call me Tomohisa. You're a grown lady after all, as much an adult as Madoka here…so tell me, how did you two meet? As it turns out, you're the first college friend she's brought home, believe it or not."
Homura saw Madoka clench her fork through the corner of her eye; she assumed the girl was not a good liar, and probably hadn't thought this far ahead. Fortunately, she made up fake stories for a hobby.
"We had a class together last semester," she said. "Though it was a large lecture, and we didn't officially meet until exam season. The test was a bit too difficult to tackle alone."
Tomohisa hummed. "So, have you decided what you're studying yet? Madoka is still undeclared, though she has plenty of time to figure it out."
"Economics," Homura said. "Though I would like to be a writer. But I understand that most of us still hold day jobs. I don't expect to be any exception."
"A writer, huh? And economics! Aren't you an impressive young lady. I studied marketing myself, but of course I don't work anymore…Madoka, please don't turn out like your old man when you get older. I'd much prefer you grow up to be like your mother."
Homura put on a fake smile, though she made sure to wrinkle her eyes too so that it looked more genuine. She heard Madoka laugh beside her, but beneath the table she felt the girl clutch her knee.
The rest of the meal passed without much incident. Homura was forced to lie a few more times, namely about what they were doing together and where. But they were simple, flexible lies. She often wrote such things into her stories, in case she felt like she needed to change something later.
"Thank you very much for dinner, Tomohisa," Homura said. Tatsuya leapt out of his seat and ran upstairs to get back to reading, while the man began clearing up the dishes. She tried to help, but he waved her off.
"No problem. I always enjoy hosting." He set the dishes in the sink and toweled his hands off before offering one to her, which she shook. "And between you and me, thank you for being friends with Madoka. She's my eldest, and I trust her, but as a father I can't help but worry sometimes. I'm glad she has a reliable friend like you to watch her back."
Homura paused for a minuscule moment in shaking Tomohisa's hand, but he didn't notice.
"Of course. The pleasure is mine."
Madoka was waiting for her by the door. She followed her out, and the two of them walked to the end of the front yard, where a small wooden gate separated the lot from the outside world. It was a warm spring night, very much like the one when they met for the first time.
"Will you be okay from here?" Madoka asked.
"Yes, I should be fine," Homura said. "The station isn't too far. You don't have class tomorrow?"
"Not until the afternoon on Mondays," the pinkette said. "I'll head up in the morning."
It was a mundane, ordinary conversation, masked in the warm hug of the fireflies floating around the garden lights. On any other day, this would have been just fine. Homura might have gone home feeling proud of herself for finally making a friend, maybe.
But today she couldn't ignore the occasional tremors that still roiled through Madoka's hands, or the way she chewed incessantly at her bottom lip. She was hurting still, deeply and viscerally, but she wouldn't show it.
It bred a sense of sympathy within Homura, but there was something more beneath that. Something a little more twisted.
Fascination.
She turned to leave, but before she could go Madoka reached forward and pulled her into a tight hug.
Homura wasn't a touchy person. She hated being touched. Her least favorite thing in the world was a crowded subway during rush hour. She had hardly even hugged her own parents, if ever.
But the curiosity was too great, it drove her. It was sudden, almost breathtaking; she supposed when one rarely touched others, even something as simple as a hug became electric. She was so soft, and so small; her nose pressed against the collar of Homura's shirt.
"Thank you," Madoka whispered. "For coming home with me. For being there. It really means a lot. I know we just met. We're just strangers…but I was so scared, and I still don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. But I'm glad I wasn't alone. I'm glad you were there. You're a good person, Homura. So…thank you."
Madoka released her then, flashing her a pained smile before retreating towards the house. But before she reached the door she stopped and turned back to Homura.
"Can I ask you something? That man…did you recognize him?"
Homura stared at Madoka, her face shrouded in shadow.
"No," she said. "I didn't."
Madoka smiled once more, then waved before disappearing inside the house.
Homura stood with one hand on the wooden gate, struggling with a sensation she had never known before.
She could have taken the subway home, but instead she walked. It took nearly an hour that way, but she felt like she needed time. Time to process, time to digest.
As Homura walked she thought. She thought deeply, barely even paying attention to where her feet were taking her; she let instinct lead the way home. The warmth of Madoka's touch lingered in her pores. The utter simplicity of the girl's expression, wide and shallow like a pond after a heavy rain, was seared into her memory.
How fascinating. Madoka Kaname, the innocent young girl whose mother was far from it. Homura didn't need to know the girl well to know that she was naive. Young at heart, easily trusting of others; diligent, honest, and straightforward. She could infer the rest. The impeccable interior of that house, Tomohisa's kind smile, Tatsuya's wholesomeness, they all screamed about the quality of Madoka's character.
There was just one piece that didn't fit into the puzzle. Or perhaps it used to, until today.
Junko Kaname, the woman who represented everything Madoka aspired to be. Homura had seen it on the train back, how much the girl idolized her mother. And why shouldn't she? The woman sounded incredible, by all accounts. But now that incredulity had been betrayed.
And the woman's accomplice. Who was he? What were his motivations? The brief glimpse she had caught through the binoculars that afternoon raised so many questions. And like Madoka, she craved answers.
Though unlike Madoka, she might have a method to satisfy that craving.
Her apartment was dark when she returned; Kyouko wasn't home. The door closed behind her as she made her way into her bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights; she was comforted by the cover of darkness. It matched the color of her thoughts. She fell into her tiny desk, which was shoved into the tiny corner next to her tiny twin bed in her tiny room, and opened her laptop.
She called up a search engine. The name she typed into the search field came naturally, almost unbidden. It was a name she had read many, many times, but had never thought too much about it until now.
Sasaki Arata.
The engine returned results in a millisecond. She tabbed through them until she got to the images.
Taking out her phone, she pulled up the pictures she had taken earlier that day.
The same person. It was unmistakable.
Backing out of the image tab, Homura clicked on the wiki article that displayed the man's name.
Sasaki Arata, aged fifty six. Born in a nearby prefecture, current residence, Mitakihara City.
Occupation: company owner.
Once she remembered, Homura knew instantly why the man's face had looked so familiar. There was a reason why Toby's publishing company was the one she chose to submit her work to. It could have been any other place, somewhere easier with lower standards. But no, it had to be Toby's company, because she had a dream.
Sasaki Arata, the sole owner of Toshoukan Publishing, and Toby's employer.
And, as it just so happened, the author of The Glass Garden.
Homura spent several moments sitting motionlessly in front of the computer, its pale glow bathing her face. She felt a mixture of emotions: shock, incredulity, disbelief. To her it felt like two separate universes, hers and the one within The Glass Garden, had come together.
She then opened a new tab and searched a different name.
Junko Kaname.
An impressive resume, as advertised. The chief officer of the financial advisory arm of a large multinational corporation. Not much other public information, aside from a couple shallow Forbes articles. Images…no pictures of them together.
She closed her computer and left her desk. Her window squeaked as she pushed it open, letting in the warm night air.
Fascinating. It was all so fascinating. The head of her favorite publishing group and the author of her most beloved novel, in an affair with a married woman. Was Sasaki married? She didn't know. It hardly mattered. And then the woman herself, an impressive figure influential in her own field. And finally the daughter, young and tender, witnessing something that could change her world forever.
Intimacy, discovery, betrayal. A glimpse into the human psyche. Could this be it, what she had been waiting for? A way to move forward, to gain the understanding she so craved.
She knew this feeling. She hadn't experienced it in a very long time, but she would always recognize it immediately. A heavy pull that beckoned at her heartstrings. An excitement that flew through her veins.
An elusive secret, the key to everything she desired.
Inspiration.
She exhaled slowly before closing the window. Sitting down at her desk, she turned on her laptop and opened a word processor. After that she pulled out several pieces of paper from inside her desk; she always drafted on paper first.
Once she found a pen with enough ink, she began to write.
Someone please give me a cookie for uploading on time for a straight month. Please.
-Banshee
