Twenty-Nine Degrees
Part II: C'est Dommage
By Pata
The door creaked slowly open and Hikari stepped noiselessly into the room. "Mum?" she whispered tentatively.
"Hikari!" Her mother whisked around to the door and gathered her daughter into her arms. "Oh, 'Kari, did Yamato bring you home?"
"Yamato?" Hikari asked, feigning cluelessness.
"He went out to look for you. You haven't seen him?"
Hikari shook her head. "No, I haven't seen him at all."
"How'd you get home?" her mother asked.
"I walked," Hikari lied. "It wasn't far. I went out for a walk, but I got lost. Turns out I wasn't very far from home though."
As to how Hikari could get lost in the faceless urban meadow that was Odaiba Mrs. Kamiya did not inquire. Instead, she said, "It's really late, Hikari. You should get to bed."
Hikari made an elaborate pantomime of being exhausted. "Yeah, I'll just go to my room." She left Mrs. Kamiya to puzzle over where exactly her daughter had been for the past three hours.
Hikari was certainly not about to tell her.
*
When he was sure Hikari was gone, Yamato opened his ocean blue eyes. His head hurt. He found it difficult to remember exactly what had transpired, but one touch of his fingers to the wound on his neck brought his memory flooding back.
He turned the bloody knife over in his hands. It was smooth and cool to the touch, almost like ice, serrated and slightly sickled at the top. It was silver, but stained with red from many years of illicit use. It was naught but a kitchen knife; any child would have access to it. The only thing that set it apart was the word etched into its hilt:
KAISER
Yamato coughed wetly, bringing up a wad of bloody mucus, which he spat away into the bushes. His mouth tasted of saline and salty plasma, and every muscle in his body ached. Hikari, after drawing the knife across his throat, had taken his coupe as well, which meant he was – more or less – stranded.
He was painfully conscious of the long, thin knife wound across his neck, and it hurt like all hell. Hikari's intention had obviously been to kill him. He'd pretended he was dead, and he was just lucky that she didn't want to chop him into a million pieces. Satisfied with her "kill", Hikari had taken the car and left Yamato bleeding on the sidewalk in the crimson-dyed snow.
Upon seeing the knife that had nearly caused his death Yamato retched and fought the urge to chuck into the bushes. He should keep it, he knew; it would come in handy as evidence against Hikari.
Breathing was difficult – the wound had lacerated but not severed his trachea or esophagus, though it had nearly sliced through all his vocal cords. His voice was hoarse and barely there, and every breath brought more blood and mucus into his mouth and throat.
He forced himself to his feet. His vision swam from blood loss and pain, but he steadied himself and began to walk to no where in particular. He wanted to get home, but he wasn't quite sure which direction was home. Yamato knew that death was breathing down his neck, and that his time was running short. Each beat of his heart spurted more blood from his injury, and every step shot electric jolts of pain through every inch of his body.
Regardless, he faced the direction he hoped would lead him home, and began to walk the tightrope between death and salvation.
*
The Takaishi's home was a cozy little apartment in which only two people lived: Takeru and his mother. At the time, however, Ms. Takaishi was out buying groceries, and fifteen-year-old Takeru was making himself breakfast.
It was eleven o'clock Sunday morning, and it was rare from anyone in the Takaishi household including their cat to be up so early. Nonetheless, Takeru was hungry and had set out to make himself an omelet.
While waiting for his breakfast to cook, he had habitually turned on the morning news, not expecting to see anything of real importance to his daily life. So when the name Ishida was mentioned, Takeru nearly dropped the pan jerking around to look at the television.
"Last night, eighteen-year-old Ishida Yamato set out to find a family friend known as Kamiya Hikari. Yamato, known as Matt and Yama among close friends, never returned from the outing," the newscaster informed him.
Takeru almost had a stroke. He gasped and leaned in closer to the television to hear the whole story. "Though Hikari was returned safely to her home," the anchorman continued, "authorities have yet to discover Yamato. They did, however, discover a patch of snow drenched in blood that is believed to be in direct relation to the mystery."
The screen showed Hikari, face wet with tears. "I hope they find him," she sobbed into the microphone. "I couldn't stand it if anything were to happen to Yama-kun!"
In a state of shock, Takeru ran out of the kitchen and grabbed a phone, quickly dialing the Kamiya's number.
Rrrring…
"Please answer," Takeru pleaded.
Rrrrring…
Rrrrrring…
"Answer, damn you!"
Rrrrri – "Hello?"
"Moshi moshi," Takeru said, is Hikari there?"
"Speaking."
"Oh God, Hikari! What happened last night?"
Hikari's breath quickened. A muffled sob reached Takeru's ears. Actually, it sounded almost like laughter…Takeru smashed that thought before it could progress any farther. Hikari said, "I don't know! Oh, I'm so sorry about what happened; I hope your brother comes home soon!"
"Onii-chan will be home safe," Takeru said, trying to reassure himself as much as Hikari.
"Oh, I hope so," Hikari said.
"Hai," Takeru confirmed. "Me too, 'Kari."
"Ja ne, Takeru-san."
"Ja." He hung up the receiver. Still in a semi-stupor, he made his way back to the kitchen, where he found his omelet blackened and burnt to a crisp, the smell of burning food still hanging in the air.
He sighed and set about preparing another one.
*
Tyger, Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
*
End of the Innocence