Masquerade
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Part 1: Wearing the Mask
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I'm a little bored from writing only The Emperor and the Slave, so I'll start this earlier than I planned. That's all I have to say, so enjoy.
* * *
~Masqurade; Paper faces on parade.
Masquerade; Hide your face and the world will never find you...~
-Masquerade, from "The Phantom of the Opera"
"Ken-kun, we need to talk." Ken looked up at the woman leaning on the kitchen table. He gestured to the chair next to him, resigning for a very bad conversation. Miyako last used that tone when she thought she might be pregnant, so it had to be serious.
"What is it, Miya-chan?" he asked softly. Miyako winced at the familiar term.
"Ken, we've been married how many years?"
"Five; since I was 21. We both worked until I got my MBA, and then until I started my consulting company." Miyako nodded sadly.
"When you were going to college, Ken, did you ever imagine we'd end up like this?" Ken paused for a moment.
"No. It was the last thing I'd ever think would happen."
"And why, Ken?" Miyako asked quietly. "Is it because we weren't supposed to be together?" Ken felt as if she had slapped him.
"You can't mean-"
"Ken, listen, this is for the best. Neither of us are getting what we need out of our marriage. I-these are the divorce papers. I hope that we can resolve this without resentment." Ken nodded vaguely, looking through the papers. "Ken, please say something," she said, pleading.
"No," Ken said softly, the tears already starting to run down his face. Miyako looked at him sadly, and walked into their room, closing the door behind her.
* * *
"Ken-san, there's a couple of messages for you. There's something from an irate client,"
"Trash it." The secretary discarded the paper.
"Something from your credit-card company, an offer for a new level or something-"
"Do you have to ask?" Another piece of paper into the wastebasket.
"And, Ken-san, there's a call from the US, guy named Mark something-" Ken snatched the Post-it note from her.
"Mark called? Let's see, what's he...oh. I-Leah, cancel all my appointments for the next two weeks, and book me the next flight to Albany, New York." She nodded, and picked up the phone.
"First, business, or coach?"
"Whichever," was his response. He was heading for the door again. "And call me at home when you've made arrangements." She nodded, listening to the phone.
"And lodgings?" Ken shook his head.
"No, I'll be staying at a friend's house."
* * *
**Private chat**
-Bravechibu42 has entered-
-Holylight25 has entered-
Bravechibu42: So, Hikari, finally come crawling back to me? :)
Holylight25: Gods, sometimes you're insufferable, Dai-chan! No, that's not it.
Bravechibu42: So, what is it?
Holylight25: Well, a rather upset Miyako turned up at my apartment last night. She and Ken finalized their divorce.
Bravechibu42: I didn't even know they were having problems, Hikari.
Holylight25: It doesn't surprise me. You never paid much attention to the world around you, and now with your soccer career...but, anyway, apparently, Miyako saw problems, and realized that she never planned to end up as a housewife.
Bravechibu42: I always thhought she'd end up working with Koushiro on computer stuff; but I liked her better than him.
Holylight25: Yeah; Koushiro always talked down to us, or used big words we couldn't understand.
Bravechibu42: Getting back on topic...
Holylight25: You forcing the conversation to germane topics? I'm shocked, Dai-chan.
Bravechibu42: Well, I haven't heard from Ken for so long...
Holylight25: So, now that the love of your life has dumped you, you're looking for other options?
Bravechibu42: No! Hikari, he was my best friend, and we lost touch, so I want to hear from him again.
Holylight25: Sure, Daisuke. I don't think he'd like to know he's your second choice.
Bravechibu42: Hikari, I can't tell when you're joking over the Internet.
Holylight: Not my problem. Oh; Miyako needs to make a phone call. I'll see you around, Dai-chan.
-Holylight25 has left-
* * *
"I can't believe you, Mark." Ken was eating a bowl of pasta, sitting across the kitchen from an elderly man who moved slowly, avoiding agitation.
"I didn't think I was having problems!" he protested, sitting back in a wooden chair. "I'm in good health; I eat well."
"But you're 80 years old, Mark." The old man shrugged, his blue eyes bright.
"I can see just as well as I could thirty years ago, my hands don't have a trace of arthritis-"
"But you've got a very sedentary lifestyle, Mark," Ken protested. Mark stood up, and gestured for Ken to follow him.
"Mr. Ichijouji, I am a very old man. Someday very soon, I will die. And before that, I want to have a nice, long talk with you." Ken managed a smile.
"I've had that conversation twice, and once I was one the delivering end." Mark smiled at the younger man.
"I shouldn't ask who that receiver was?" Ken responded with a laugh.
"Dai-chan."
"Exactly what I wanted to discuss." Mark pushed open the door to a small room filled with clay, metal, paper maché, and plaster of paris.
"Why are we coming down here?" Mark gave him a knowing smile.
"My masks are part of this discussion." He walked over to a plain mask, and picked up the white paper. "Masks are wonderful things, Ken. With them, you can hide your true identity from the world, abandon the personality you always wear. And even better than that, with a mask, you can assume another personality, become someone completely different. You can place a shield over your soul, which can disguise it as well. Isn't that a wonderful thing, Ken?" Ken sighed, and removed the mask from Mark's hand.
"Maybe. But when someone wears a mask too much, they easily find themselves putting on the mask for many occasions, finding excuses, and soon, they find that the mask is a constant factor in their life."
"Yes, Ken. And you forget what belongs beneath the mask, forget who you really are. And that is a great tragedy."
"But masks don't last forever," Ken said quietly. "It is usually someone else, who takes the mask from you and breaks it. And that leaves you searching for the person who made the mask in the first place, to remember who it was that originally put it on." Mark stepped near him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"And then, it is your decision whether you can remember your true self, or if you will be lost in a sea of your own masks. That's why I took up mask-making, Ken."
"Why, exactly?" Ken inquired. Mark chose to ignore him.
"There comes a time in a man's life where he must make a choice. Ken, it is a time when a man must look at himself, and decide. He must decide whether he will die a masked man, or if he will throw aside his masks and show his true face to the world." He pulled a key from a necklace he wore, and smiled sadly. "I made my decision long ago, after I realized what I had lost to my masks. My masks lost me the woman I loved, and so I dedicated my life to making masks for others, to show them the dangers they hold." He looked sadly at the key, and then opened a drawer in a desk tucked in the back of the room.
"I don't see what all this has to do with-"
"Be quiet!" Mark snapped. "I have to get this all out before I kick the bucket. You see, I loved a woman, beautiful, intelligent, and kind, but I lost her to another. I hid myself behind a mask, but...one day, in art class, we were to make paper maché masks. And the mask I made..." He removed a mask from the desk, and showed it to Ken. It was the image of a two-face, one side of the face a young man crying, and the other, a hauntingly beautiful woman smiling faintly into the distance. "I saw my deepest desire embodied in this mask, and saw what I had lost with my masks." He placed the mask lightly back on the desk, and a tear fell from his eye.
"But, Mark, I don't see what this has to do with me," Ken protested.
"You don't? Ken, you've worn many masks in your life; I can see that much. For the past decade, you've worn a mask, and now, all you based it on has broken. Ken, now is the time for your choice. You must abandon your masks forever, or be lost for the rest of your life from your true self." Ken sat down, and was silent for a few minutes.
"There was a man who believed he talked to God, Mark, and according to him, the greatest sin a man could commit would be to be untrue to himself. But Mark, I don't know who I am. The last time something like this happened, I barely survived. Mark, I don't have a baseline to who I really am...Without it, I have to cling to what I know in life."
"Cling to the masks you wore before? There is always a baseline, Ken, and it is our job to find it. It is always your choice, Ken; no one can take that from you. But choose wisely, and know that I am always there to help you." He took a deep breath, and then fell silent. The story seemed to have taken much out of him. Ken frowned thoughtfully, and then stepped away.
"Thank you, Mark. I will think about this deeply." Mark smiled, his aged face wrinkliing.
"It's all I could hope for."
* * *
"Hi, Oneechan; how are you?" Daisuke ducked under a bead curtain and approached the table in his sister's house around which she gave spiritual guidance.
"Eh, could be better. I could be married to a rock star, live in a huge mansion, and have newspapers dying for my picture. But, you know, Yama hated me, so I found a life and a husband." Daisuke smiled, and sat next to her at the table.
"How's Hiro?"
"Well, he landed a government contract, so they'll do pretty well, and actually, he and the kids went out for dinner."
"Why are you here?" Jun smiled enigmatically.
"I knew you'd come over." Daisuke laughed, and reached across the table to where she had a plate of cookies.
"And you made these in advance? Having a psychic sister rocks!" Jun smiled at him.
"But you didn't come over here just to see me, did you?" Daisuke shook his head, and responded around a mouthful of chocolate chip.
"I wanted to ask you some questions about Ken-chan."
"I thought the two of you lost touch," she said. Daisuke shrugged.
"We did, but I heard that he's alive and well...er, not exactly well, but more just alive. He and Miyako got a divorce, and I thought now might be a good time to re-extend the hand of friendship." Jun looked at him oddly.
"There's something else, but I won't pry. And actually, I don't think he's actually living in Japan right now. A friend of his from...America-is sick." She raised her hands to her temple. "And...he's very vulnerable right now, Daisuke. Something about a mask he wore, he's lost a piece of himself." She dropped her hands, and sighed. "That's all." Daisuke nodded, and then reclined in the chair.
"When will the others be back?"
"Hiro and the kids will most likely be home in another 30 minutes or so. So, have you eaten?"
"Yes, but I won't turn down food," Daisuke repsonded. She laughed, and walked to the kitchen to grab a few things to eat.
* * *
Ken stared at the pale pink wall in his guest room. What sort of mask was he wearing, and why did he wear it?
'I thought I loved Miyako, but...I know myself, and if I really loved her that way, the divorce would have devastated me.' He crossed his arms, frowning in the darkness. 'This isn't something I can solve with my mind; it's a matter of my heart. But I was never good at emotions, Wormmon always helped me with emotions. I never would have-what? Something important I've forgotten. He helped me stop being the Kaiser, but there was something else...' Suddenly, he heard a cry of pain from downstairs, and shot up from the bed.
"Mark!"
* * *
"An 80-year-old male, from downtown, suffering from cardiac arrest!" Ken tried to follow the gurney, but was blocked by a formiddable woman.
"No one can go into the ER." He shook his head.
"But I have to see him. He's dying!" The woman remained firm, though, so Ken sat, wringing his hands, on a waiting room chair.
* * *
The several hours passed slowly,
'He's dying and I can't even see him!'
Ken alternating between pacing, staring at the clock, and glancing from time to time at the nurse. Every once in a while, a doctor would come and talk to her, and she might call over a group of people. Ken sighed.
"Is there a Mr. Ichijouji here?" Ken shot his hand up, standing up at the same time.
"That's me!" he nearly shouted. The nurse pointed him to a young man in a doctor's uniform.
"This is Doctor Marcowitz, Mr. Conforti's physician." Ken shook the man's hand.
"Pleased to meet you, although the circumstances are..."
"Right," the doctor said briskly. "You see, Ken, I won't mince words. Mark is dying, and he wants to see you before he goes. We've done all we can, and he's not in any pain, but, frankly, he's old, and his resolve is gone." He led Ken down the corridors, and stopped in front of Room 101, and opened the door. "Here, you can talk with him in here." Ken entered, and nearly gasped when he saw the frail body lying in the bed.
"It's not really as bad as it seems," Mark gasped. Ken hurried over, and looked down on him.
"Why did you want to see me, Mark?" The old man smiled, and waved a hand dismissively.
"That can wait a minute. I always thought, you know, that my greatest fear was to die without first revealing my true face, to abandon my mask for a moment to another. I want you too see me, to hear me out, for just a moment, Ken. The woman I fell in love with, her name was Kelsey Jordan, a vision of lovlieness, and I pretended I had no interest. But when I realized that she had fallen for another man, I...I allowed myself through. I told her how I felt, but left her to her fate. We left it at that, we would see each other again someday, maybe on earth, maybe in Heaven, but then, we could forget the circle we caused. I've only worn one mask since then, the mask to hide my pain. She was my soulmate, Ken, and my heart longs for her every day. I...Ken, I don't want this to happen to you. Seize your true self before it's too late to do anything about it. You've been like a son to me, Ken, so make me proud." Mark sighed, and rested back on the pillow. "Remember that I love you, and that you made your mask, so only you can remove it. Now, Ken, if you would be so kind, get the doctor please? I want him to see this..." And then his voice faded away to nothing, and Ken bowed his head over the man. He turned and left the room, nodding to the doctor. Doctor Marcowitz hurried into the room, but Ken ignored him. He was done here. Mark wouldn't be there for him again. He was on his own, and had to find his own path, work on his own to discover who he was.
* * *
"Miyako, I know that you and Ken just weren't right for each other, but that couldn't have been the only reason you broke off the marriage. I seem to remember you feel the need to only do something if you have at least three good reasons to do so." Hikari sat on the couch, staring across it at the purple-haired woman.
"You're right, Hikari. I...it wasn't just the fact that we didn't connect, the fact that I needed another life. You see, Ken's heart wasn't with me. He pretended he felt that way about me, and he may have believed it himself, but...Ken didn't love me. His heart has always lain with another, and I was too blind to see it." Hikari nodded, her face serious.
"I don't think you were blind, Miyako; you just didn't want to see it. Maybe you were so much in love that you were ready to convince yourself that he loved you back." Miyako sighed, and rolled her head back onto the back of the couch.
"No; he pretended. He *wanted* to love me. He at least wanted to *seem* to love me, and he might have succeeded. I always hoped that in time, we would grow to love each other, but...I didn't love him, Hikari. I...I made a mask to love him, because my heart lay elsewhere as well." She began twiddling her thumbs. Her next words were too quiet to hear. "Jorgess until two hearts are one."
* * *
Ken looked down at the letter that had been delivered to him.
`Please report to the law offices of Gold, Goldman, and Silverman on the 12th of April, at 1 PM. At this time, the will of Mr. Mark Conforti will be read.`
Ken glanced up at the entrance to the offices, and stepped forward. The door pushed in easily, and Ken found himself in a quiet waiting room. A secretary with graying hair and triangular spectacles glanced up at him.
"Mr. Ichijouji?" Ken nodded. "The rest are in the office down the hall, last on the left." Ken barely noticed the diplomas and photographs hangin on the wall as he walked. This was really it. Mark was gone, and now his possessions were being given to those he cared about, including Ken. It didn't matter what he ended up with, as long as he could use it to remember the old man, his closest friend since
'Since what? What am I forgetting? What's so important?'
high school. He found the office, and opened the wooden door. Three lawyers and a young woman sat around a table, and glanced up at him. The first lawyer, a middle-aged blond, stood up.
"Hello, I'm Gold, this is Goldman, and that, the old fogey, is Silverman. This young lady is Maria Chekov, the only other significant heir to the late Mr. Conforti." The woman nodded to him, and Ken sat down in a chair next to her. Goldman, a younger man with almost white-blond hair, began.
"The will itself is short, but there are several letters to be distributed to his benefactors, and I'll hand those out after we're done. Now, 'I, Mark Conforti, of both sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath after my death, first, I leave my entire savings of $135,643 to the charitable organization most deemed suitable by my lawyers. To Jennifer Markana or her primary benefactor, I leave the message contained in my letter, and all of my possessions not given to others in this will. Finally, to Ichijouji Ken, I leave the center of my life, and the part of me by which he can best remember me, the building with the address 66 North Pearl Street, which I have bought and which belongs legally to me, and all objects contained within my workroom and showcase. To him I also leave words of wisdom contained in a letter I have written to him.' That's really about it, except for these letters." Silverman reached into his pocket and pulled out two envelopes, one which he handed to Ken, and the other to Maria.
"We'll contact you later about the things bequeathed to you."
* * *
'Dear Ken,
I know I told you many times while I was alive, but I will tell you again that you were like a son to me. I cherished you like family, and so, I was in pain because you were hiding behind a mask of paper and glue. I saw that you hid your true self, even keeping parts of yourself from me. I do not begrudge you for this; I instead see that there is a person to whom you can open up completely. Ken, I know that affairs of emotion are not your strength. However, I know that you can solve this for yourself. Ken, do as I did many years ago, and make yourself a mask. Look at what you make, and ask yourself what you need, what you are looking for, and whether you have the strength to reach for it. I'm going to leave you now, until we see each other again. Until that time, I leave you with my love.
-Mark Conforti'
* * *
Ken picked up the shaping tool Mark must have used thousands of times before, and pressed it against the block of clay. A thin sliver peeled away, so Ken continued, reinforced by the minor success. And as he continued, a face began to emerge from the gray, mud-like block. His work continued for perhaps two or three hours, but when he finished, he didn't stop the process. Pressing plaster of paris onto the face, he created a mold. As he waited for the mold to harder, he wandered among the paints Mark had used in the shop, choosing colors at random. He then took the mold, and pressed pieces of paper maché into it. Then, he finally abandoned the work to get sleep. His dreams were full of demons and death, and when he awoke, all he could remember was the intense fear, and the loss of
'Who is it? Who could I lose that would devastate me? What is the missing link?'
someone close to him, feeling his heart shatter as the person died. When he awoke, he returned relentlessly to the task his mentor had left to him. He peeled the paper maché from the plaster of paris mold, and began to sand in smooth. Through all this time, he ignored the shape of the mask itself, only focusing on the actions, holding comfort in the movements of his hands. Then, he opened the paint he had chosen, and began to create the details of the face. A dash of red here, a pale olive here, a spark of lively brown...The work of painting was more involved, more intense, than the other steps, for it brought to life the secret yearnings in Ken's heart, brought the colorless face to its final state. Ken set it aside, letting it dry, and took the time to eat. An hour, two hours later, he returned, and looked, really *looked* at the mask. A strange, frog-like being, with bulging green eyes, red paint smeared across its forehead, and frightening, almost bloody spikes raising from the top, all topped with a toothy grin. The face held Ken's gaze for nearly an hour itself, him trying to fathom its secrets. Finally, he threw in onto the working bench, and sobbed.
"I'll never find myself, never realize what I'm missing. I-" And then he stopped. "Get ahold of yourself, Ichijouji! I'm just asking for another slap on the face*. Mark knew what he was talking about, but his ideas are abstract. So all I have to do to solve this is to look at the mask from a different angle. Maybe I'll get some sleep, some food, and then look at this again. I'll find the meaning of my mask, make Mark proud of me."
* * *
* * *
Part 1: Wearing the Mask
* * *
I'm a little bored from writing only The Emperor and the Slave, so I'll start this earlier than I planned. That's all I have to say, so enjoy.
* * *
~Masqurade; Paper faces on parade.
Masquerade; Hide your face and the world will never find you...~
-Masquerade, from "The Phantom of the Opera"
"Ken-kun, we need to talk." Ken looked up at the woman leaning on the kitchen table. He gestured to the chair next to him, resigning for a very bad conversation. Miyako last used that tone when she thought she might be pregnant, so it had to be serious.
"What is it, Miya-chan?" he asked softly. Miyako winced at the familiar term.
"Ken, we've been married how many years?"
"Five; since I was 21. We both worked until I got my MBA, and then until I started my consulting company." Miyako nodded sadly.
"When you were going to college, Ken, did you ever imagine we'd end up like this?" Ken paused for a moment.
"No. It was the last thing I'd ever think would happen."
"And why, Ken?" Miyako asked quietly. "Is it because we weren't supposed to be together?" Ken felt as if she had slapped him.
"You can't mean-"
"Ken, listen, this is for the best. Neither of us are getting what we need out of our marriage. I-these are the divorce papers. I hope that we can resolve this without resentment." Ken nodded vaguely, looking through the papers. "Ken, please say something," she said, pleading.
"No," Ken said softly, the tears already starting to run down his face. Miyako looked at him sadly, and walked into their room, closing the door behind her.
* * *
"Ken-san, there's a couple of messages for you. There's something from an irate client,"
"Trash it." The secretary discarded the paper.
"Something from your credit-card company, an offer for a new level or something-"
"Do you have to ask?" Another piece of paper into the wastebasket.
"And, Ken-san, there's a call from the US, guy named Mark something-" Ken snatched the Post-it note from her.
"Mark called? Let's see, what's he...oh. I-Leah, cancel all my appointments for the next two weeks, and book me the next flight to Albany, New York." She nodded, and picked up the phone.
"First, business, or coach?"
"Whichever," was his response. He was heading for the door again. "And call me at home when you've made arrangements." She nodded, listening to the phone.
"And lodgings?" Ken shook his head.
"No, I'll be staying at a friend's house."
* * *
**Private chat**
-Bravechibu42 has entered-
-Holylight25 has entered-
Bravechibu42: So, Hikari, finally come crawling back to me? :)
Holylight25: Gods, sometimes you're insufferable, Dai-chan! No, that's not it.
Bravechibu42: So, what is it?
Holylight25: Well, a rather upset Miyako turned up at my apartment last night. She and Ken finalized their divorce.
Bravechibu42: I didn't even know they were having problems, Hikari.
Holylight25: It doesn't surprise me. You never paid much attention to the world around you, and now with your soccer career...but, anyway, apparently, Miyako saw problems, and realized that she never planned to end up as a housewife.
Bravechibu42: I always thhought she'd end up working with Koushiro on computer stuff; but I liked her better than him.
Holylight25: Yeah; Koushiro always talked down to us, or used big words we couldn't understand.
Bravechibu42: Getting back on topic...
Holylight25: You forcing the conversation to germane topics? I'm shocked, Dai-chan.
Bravechibu42: Well, I haven't heard from Ken for so long...
Holylight25: So, now that the love of your life has dumped you, you're looking for other options?
Bravechibu42: No! Hikari, he was my best friend, and we lost touch, so I want to hear from him again.
Holylight25: Sure, Daisuke. I don't think he'd like to know he's your second choice.
Bravechibu42: Hikari, I can't tell when you're joking over the Internet.
Holylight: Not my problem. Oh; Miyako needs to make a phone call. I'll see you around, Dai-chan.
-Holylight25 has left-
* * *
"I can't believe you, Mark." Ken was eating a bowl of pasta, sitting across the kitchen from an elderly man who moved slowly, avoiding agitation.
"I didn't think I was having problems!" he protested, sitting back in a wooden chair. "I'm in good health; I eat well."
"But you're 80 years old, Mark." The old man shrugged, his blue eyes bright.
"I can see just as well as I could thirty years ago, my hands don't have a trace of arthritis-"
"But you've got a very sedentary lifestyle, Mark," Ken protested. Mark stood up, and gestured for Ken to follow him.
"Mr. Ichijouji, I am a very old man. Someday very soon, I will die. And before that, I want to have a nice, long talk with you." Ken managed a smile.
"I've had that conversation twice, and once I was one the delivering end." Mark smiled at the younger man.
"I shouldn't ask who that receiver was?" Ken responded with a laugh.
"Dai-chan."
"Exactly what I wanted to discuss." Mark pushed open the door to a small room filled with clay, metal, paper maché, and plaster of paris.
"Why are we coming down here?" Mark gave him a knowing smile.
"My masks are part of this discussion." He walked over to a plain mask, and picked up the white paper. "Masks are wonderful things, Ken. With them, you can hide your true identity from the world, abandon the personality you always wear. And even better than that, with a mask, you can assume another personality, become someone completely different. You can place a shield over your soul, which can disguise it as well. Isn't that a wonderful thing, Ken?" Ken sighed, and removed the mask from Mark's hand.
"Maybe. But when someone wears a mask too much, they easily find themselves putting on the mask for many occasions, finding excuses, and soon, they find that the mask is a constant factor in their life."
"Yes, Ken. And you forget what belongs beneath the mask, forget who you really are. And that is a great tragedy."
"But masks don't last forever," Ken said quietly. "It is usually someone else, who takes the mask from you and breaks it. And that leaves you searching for the person who made the mask in the first place, to remember who it was that originally put it on." Mark stepped near him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"And then, it is your decision whether you can remember your true self, or if you will be lost in a sea of your own masks. That's why I took up mask-making, Ken."
"Why, exactly?" Ken inquired. Mark chose to ignore him.
"There comes a time in a man's life where he must make a choice. Ken, it is a time when a man must look at himself, and decide. He must decide whether he will die a masked man, or if he will throw aside his masks and show his true face to the world." He pulled a key from a necklace he wore, and smiled sadly. "I made my decision long ago, after I realized what I had lost to my masks. My masks lost me the woman I loved, and so I dedicated my life to making masks for others, to show them the dangers they hold." He looked sadly at the key, and then opened a drawer in a desk tucked in the back of the room.
"I don't see what all this has to do with-"
"Be quiet!" Mark snapped. "I have to get this all out before I kick the bucket. You see, I loved a woman, beautiful, intelligent, and kind, but I lost her to another. I hid myself behind a mask, but...one day, in art class, we were to make paper maché masks. And the mask I made..." He removed a mask from the desk, and showed it to Ken. It was the image of a two-face, one side of the face a young man crying, and the other, a hauntingly beautiful woman smiling faintly into the distance. "I saw my deepest desire embodied in this mask, and saw what I had lost with my masks." He placed the mask lightly back on the desk, and a tear fell from his eye.
"But, Mark, I don't see what this has to do with me," Ken protested.
"You don't? Ken, you've worn many masks in your life; I can see that much. For the past decade, you've worn a mask, and now, all you based it on has broken. Ken, now is the time for your choice. You must abandon your masks forever, or be lost for the rest of your life from your true self." Ken sat down, and was silent for a few minutes.
"There was a man who believed he talked to God, Mark, and according to him, the greatest sin a man could commit would be to be untrue to himself. But Mark, I don't know who I am. The last time something like this happened, I barely survived. Mark, I don't have a baseline to who I really am...Without it, I have to cling to what I know in life."
"Cling to the masks you wore before? There is always a baseline, Ken, and it is our job to find it. It is always your choice, Ken; no one can take that from you. But choose wisely, and know that I am always there to help you." He took a deep breath, and then fell silent. The story seemed to have taken much out of him. Ken frowned thoughtfully, and then stepped away.
"Thank you, Mark. I will think about this deeply." Mark smiled, his aged face wrinkliing.
"It's all I could hope for."
* * *
"Hi, Oneechan; how are you?" Daisuke ducked under a bead curtain and approached the table in his sister's house around which she gave spiritual guidance.
"Eh, could be better. I could be married to a rock star, live in a huge mansion, and have newspapers dying for my picture. But, you know, Yama hated me, so I found a life and a husband." Daisuke smiled, and sat next to her at the table.
"How's Hiro?"
"Well, he landed a government contract, so they'll do pretty well, and actually, he and the kids went out for dinner."
"Why are you here?" Jun smiled enigmatically.
"I knew you'd come over." Daisuke laughed, and reached across the table to where she had a plate of cookies.
"And you made these in advance? Having a psychic sister rocks!" Jun smiled at him.
"But you didn't come over here just to see me, did you?" Daisuke shook his head, and responded around a mouthful of chocolate chip.
"I wanted to ask you some questions about Ken-chan."
"I thought the two of you lost touch," she said. Daisuke shrugged.
"We did, but I heard that he's alive and well...er, not exactly well, but more just alive. He and Miyako got a divorce, and I thought now might be a good time to re-extend the hand of friendship." Jun looked at him oddly.
"There's something else, but I won't pry. And actually, I don't think he's actually living in Japan right now. A friend of his from...America-is sick." She raised her hands to her temple. "And...he's very vulnerable right now, Daisuke. Something about a mask he wore, he's lost a piece of himself." She dropped her hands, and sighed. "That's all." Daisuke nodded, and then reclined in the chair.
"When will the others be back?"
"Hiro and the kids will most likely be home in another 30 minutes or so. So, have you eaten?"
"Yes, but I won't turn down food," Daisuke repsonded. She laughed, and walked to the kitchen to grab a few things to eat.
* * *
Ken stared at the pale pink wall in his guest room. What sort of mask was he wearing, and why did he wear it?
'I thought I loved Miyako, but...I know myself, and if I really loved her that way, the divorce would have devastated me.' He crossed his arms, frowning in the darkness. 'This isn't something I can solve with my mind; it's a matter of my heart. But I was never good at emotions, Wormmon always helped me with emotions. I never would have-what? Something important I've forgotten. He helped me stop being the Kaiser, but there was something else...' Suddenly, he heard a cry of pain from downstairs, and shot up from the bed.
"Mark!"
* * *
"An 80-year-old male, from downtown, suffering from cardiac arrest!" Ken tried to follow the gurney, but was blocked by a formiddable woman.
"No one can go into the ER." He shook his head.
"But I have to see him. He's dying!" The woman remained firm, though, so Ken sat, wringing his hands, on a waiting room chair.
* * *
The several hours passed slowly,
'He's dying and I can't even see him!'
Ken alternating between pacing, staring at the clock, and glancing from time to time at the nurse. Every once in a while, a doctor would come and talk to her, and she might call over a group of people. Ken sighed.
"Is there a Mr. Ichijouji here?" Ken shot his hand up, standing up at the same time.
"That's me!" he nearly shouted. The nurse pointed him to a young man in a doctor's uniform.
"This is Doctor Marcowitz, Mr. Conforti's physician." Ken shook the man's hand.
"Pleased to meet you, although the circumstances are..."
"Right," the doctor said briskly. "You see, Ken, I won't mince words. Mark is dying, and he wants to see you before he goes. We've done all we can, and he's not in any pain, but, frankly, he's old, and his resolve is gone." He led Ken down the corridors, and stopped in front of Room 101, and opened the door. "Here, you can talk with him in here." Ken entered, and nearly gasped when he saw the frail body lying in the bed.
"It's not really as bad as it seems," Mark gasped. Ken hurried over, and looked down on him.
"Why did you want to see me, Mark?" The old man smiled, and waved a hand dismissively.
"That can wait a minute. I always thought, you know, that my greatest fear was to die without first revealing my true face, to abandon my mask for a moment to another. I want you too see me, to hear me out, for just a moment, Ken. The woman I fell in love with, her name was Kelsey Jordan, a vision of lovlieness, and I pretended I had no interest. But when I realized that she had fallen for another man, I...I allowed myself through. I told her how I felt, but left her to her fate. We left it at that, we would see each other again someday, maybe on earth, maybe in Heaven, but then, we could forget the circle we caused. I've only worn one mask since then, the mask to hide my pain. She was my soulmate, Ken, and my heart longs for her every day. I...Ken, I don't want this to happen to you. Seize your true self before it's too late to do anything about it. You've been like a son to me, Ken, so make me proud." Mark sighed, and rested back on the pillow. "Remember that I love you, and that you made your mask, so only you can remove it. Now, Ken, if you would be so kind, get the doctor please? I want him to see this..." And then his voice faded away to nothing, and Ken bowed his head over the man. He turned and left the room, nodding to the doctor. Doctor Marcowitz hurried into the room, but Ken ignored him. He was done here. Mark wouldn't be there for him again. He was on his own, and had to find his own path, work on his own to discover who he was.
* * *
"Miyako, I know that you and Ken just weren't right for each other, but that couldn't have been the only reason you broke off the marriage. I seem to remember you feel the need to only do something if you have at least three good reasons to do so." Hikari sat on the couch, staring across it at the purple-haired woman.
"You're right, Hikari. I...it wasn't just the fact that we didn't connect, the fact that I needed another life. You see, Ken's heart wasn't with me. He pretended he felt that way about me, and he may have believed it himself, but...Ken didn't love me. His heart has always lain with another, and I was too blind to see it." Hikari nodded, her face serious.
"I don't think you were blind, Miyako; you just didn't want to see it. Maybe you were so much in love that you were ready to convince yourself that he loved you back." Miyako sighed, and rolled her head back onto the back of the couch.
"No; he pretended. He *wanted* to love me. He at least wanted to *seem* to love me, and he might have succeeded. I always hoped that in time, we would grow to love each other, but...I didn't love him, Hikari. I...I made a mask to love him, because my heart lay elsewhere as well." She began twiddling her thumbs. Her next words were too quiet to hear. "Jorgess until two hearts are one."
* * *
Ken looked down at the letter that had been delivered to him.
`Please report to the law offices of Gold, Goldman, and Silverman on the 12th of April, at 1 PM. At this time, the will of Mr. Mark Conforti will be read.`
Ken glanced up at the entrance to the offices, and stepped forward. The door pushed in easily, and Ken found himself in a quiet waiting room. A secretary with graying hair and triangular spectacles glanced up at him.
"Mr. Ichijouji?" Ken nodded. "The rest are in the office down the hall, last on the left." Ken barely noticed the diplomas and photographs hangin on the wall as he walked. This was really it. Mark was gone, and now his possessions were being given to those he cared about, including Ken. It didn't matter what he ended up with, as long as he could use it to remember the old man, his closest friend since
'Since what? What am I forgetting? What's so important?'
high school. He found the office, and opened the wooden door. Three lawyers and a young woman sat around a table, and glanced up at him. The first lawyer, a middle-aged blond, stood up.
"Hello, I'm Gold, this is Goldman, and that, the old fogey, is Silverman. This young lady is Maria Chekov, the only other significant heir to the late Mr. Conforti." The woman nodded to him, and Ken sat down in a chair next to her. Goldman, a younger man with almost white-blond hair, began.
"The will itself is short, but there are several letters to be distributed to his benefactors, and I'll hand those out after we're done. Now, 'I, Mark Conforti, of both sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath after my death, first, I leave my entire savings of $135,643 to the charitable organization most deemed suitable by my lawyers. To Jennifer Markana or her primary benefactor, I leave the message contained in my letter, and all of my possessions not given to others in this will. Finally, to Ichijouji Ken, I leave the center of my life, and the part of me by which he can best remember me, the building with the address 66 North Pearl Street, which I have bought and which belongs legally to me, and all objects contained within my workroom and showcase. To him I also leave words of wisdom contained in a letter I have written to him.' That's really about it, except for these letters." Silverman reached into his pocket and pulled out two envelopes, one which he handed to Ken, and the other to Maria.
"We'll contact you later about the things bequeathed to you."
* * *
'Dear Ken,
I know I told you many times while I was alive, but I will tell you again that you were like a son to me. I cherished you like family, and so, I was in pain because you were hiding behind a mask of paper and glue. I saw that you hid your true self, even keeping parts of yourself from me. I do not begrudge you for this; I instead see that there is a person to whom you can open up completely. Ken, I know that affairs of emotion are not your strength. However, I know that you can solve this for yourself. Ken, do as I did many years ago, and make yourself a mask. Look at what you make, and ask yourself what you need, what you are looking for, and whether you have the strength to reach for it. I'm going to leave you now, until we see each other again. Until that time, I leave you with my love.
-Mark Conforti'
* * *
Ken picked up the shaping tool Mark must have used thousands of times before, and pressed it against the block of clay. A thin sliver peeled away, so Ken continued, reinforced by the minor success. And as he continued, a face began to emerge from the gray, mud-like block. His work continued for perhaps two or three hours, but when he finished, he didn't stop the process. Pressing plaster of paris onto the face, he created a mold. As he waited for the mold to harder, he wandered among the paints Mark had used in the shop, choosing colors at random. He then took the mold, and pressed pieces of paper maché into it. Then, he finally abandoned the work to get sleep. His dreams were full of demons and death, and when he awoke, all he could remember was the intense fear, and the loss of
'Who is it? Who could I lose that would devastate me? What is the missing link?'
someone close to him, feeling his heart shatter as the person died. When he awoke, he returned relentlessly to the task his mentor had left to him. He peeled the paper maché from the plaster of paris mold, and began to sand in smooth. Through all this time, he ignored the shape of the mask itself, only focusing on the actions, holding comfort in the movements of his hands. Then, he opened the paint he had chosen, and began to create the details of the face. A dash of red here, a pale olive here, a spark of lively brown...The work of painting was more involved, more intense, than the other steps, for it brought to life the secret yearnings in Ken's heart, brought the colorless face to its final state. Ken set it aside, letting it dry, and took the time to eat. An hour, two hours later, he returned, and looked, really *looked* at the mask. A strange, frog-like being, with bulging green eyes, red paint smeared across its forehead, and frightening, almost bloody spikes raising from the top, all topped with a toothy grin. The face held Ken's gaze for nearly an hour itself, him trying to fathom its secrets. Finally, he threw in onto the working bench, and sobbed.
"I'll never find myself, never realize what I'm missing. I-" And then he stopped. "Get ahold of yourself, Ichijouji! I'm just asking for another slap on the face*. Mark knew what he was talking about, but his ideas are abstract. So all I have to do to solve this is to look at the mask from a different angle. Maybe I'll get some sleep, some food, and then look at this again. I'll find the meaning of my mask, make Mark proud of me."
* * *