|| In the Absence of Memory ||
by mikan
Chapter Two: Stopover
They had driven into the city. She stared out the window at the tall buildings that towered above the street. Where are we? she wondered. Is this where we live?
The man who claimed to be her husband suddenly pulled off the road and drove into an underground parking garage at the base of a medium-sized office building. The car was suddenly bathed in a cool darkness. Bars of fluorescent lighting lined the edges of the bare concrete space.
"Where are we going?" she asked him anxiously.
He drove to a deserted end of the parking lot and stopped the car near a wall. Tohru looked around, her hearbeat accelerating. The mostly vacant lot had a cold, ominous air to it that frightened her.
He shut the engine off and pulled the trunk release. Then he reached over to her side and opened the glove compartment. She shrank away from him. He threw the keys inside and slammed the compartment shut. He looked at her.
"Can you walk?" he asked.
She blinked at him. Suddenly she became aware that under the long wool coat she had on, she was wearing only a hospital gown that ended right above her knees. On her feet were soft white bunny slippers. She pulled the coat tighter around herself and answered:
"I-I guess, but... I'm not really dressed."
"You're fine." He pushed his door open and got out. She stayed where she was.
He stared down at her.
"Do you plan to get out anytime soon?" he questioned in that same soft, chilling voice. She sat transfixed for a moment, then hastily turned to her door and pushed it open. He shut his door, walked around to the back of the car, and opened the trunk. The thud of luggage hitting the ground resounded in the empty parking lot. She extended her legs out of the car and pushed herself to her feet.
It was as if her legs weren't there. Her arms flailed out wildly, grasping at the door to stop her fall. They missed. She collapsed onto the ground, landing hard on her arm.
Akito glanced sharply at the passenger side. His eyes widened as he saw her flat on her stomach against the concrete, trying to push herself up. He dropped the duffel bag and rushed to her.
"What happened?!" he demanded harshly. "I asked you if you could walk!"
"I thought I could walk!"
He grasped her by the arm and pulled her up roughly. "Will you please be more careful next time?" he snapped. He held her securely by the elbow. "Can you stand now?"
She was leaning into him, fighting to keep her balance. The answer was evident. He sighed heavily and sat her back down on the seat.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" His eyes narrowed as he surveyed her from head to foot.
"No," she answered, looking away from him. This man is my husband? she asked herself incredulously. Suddenly she felt his fingers brush her chin. Her eyes shot back to him.
He was buttoning up her coat, his long slender fingers working deftly at the fastenings. He tugged at the wool, lining up the remaining buttons and slipping them into the holes. She stared at him. His face was very close to hers.
He looked up, and their eyes met. He gazed at her wordlessly for a moment, then straightened away.
"Stay here," he ordered. "I'm going to go get a taxi."
Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed the the white furry slippers peeking out from under the hem of her coat. Her boots! he remembered with irritation, striding back to where the luggage sat. He unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out a pair of soft snow boots.
Seeing them, she held out her hand.
"I can do it by myself," she told him.
He paid her no attention. Dropping low on his heels, he reached for her leg and pulled the bunny slipper off by the ears. His hand was cold on her skin. She stiffened involuntarily at the contact. He slid her foot into the boot.
"Is it comfortable?" he asked her, stripping the slippers from her other foot.
She wiggled her toes. The boot was lined in soft fur, its outer shell an even softer suede. With some reluctance, she nodded, feeling a cozy warmth begin to envelop her feet.
"I must have guessed your size right, then," he murmured, finishing with the other boot. She pulled her legs into the car.
He collected the rabbit slippers and tossed them into the duffel bag. Opening the rear door, he threw the bags inside.
"Lock the doors," he told her, pushing them shut. He went back to the trunk and closed it.
Satisfied, he turned away from the car and began walking briskly towards the exit ramp.
Akito buttoned his coat hastily and flipped the wool collar up, shielding his neck from the frigid wind blowing in from the street. He dug into his pockets for his gloves and cursed under his breath, remembering that he had left them in the car. He emerged from the underground garage and walked up onto the sidewalk, his eyes scanning the street for a taxi.
None. He grit his teeth, feeling the cold starting to seep in. The noise of a busy intersection ahead drew his attention. He forced himself into a faster pace, heading towards the corner.
She would be fine in the garage for a little while. He much preferred leaving her there, locked in the car, than dropping her off at the apartment and having her sit there by herself while he returned to the garage. In her condition, anything could happen. And knowing her, something outrageously ridiculous probably would. Plus, the box had probably been delivered to the apartment already. And god only knew what else was being kept in that room. There was no way he could leave her alone there.
His breath materialized into little puffs of chilled air as he walked. God, he was tired. He had driven for seven hours straight, all the way from Tokyo to Sendai. No sleep, no food, and no rest the whole time, driving through the night well into the morning. The brightening daylight glared into his eyes, grating on his nerves.
The apartment building was a mere two blocks from the garage, but here he was, wasting time trying to find a goddamn taxi. He reached the corner and stopped, glancing up and down the street. Still none. Where the hell were all the taxis in Sendai? He bit down on his impatience and shivered inside his coat.
If only she wasn't so weak, then they could have gone and walked the two blocks to the apartment, and by now he would be inside a nice heated room, within arm's reach of a futon. If only she hadn't fallen, he would have had no second thoughts about making her walk the distance, even if it meant holding her by the arm and hobbling the whole way. But no, she had to go ahead and stand when she really couldn't. Brainless twit. She had absolutely no sense whatsoever.
He stared back down the street, and spotted a taxi. He stepped off the curb and flagged it down.
It slowed to a halt before him. Akito jumped into the seat and directed the driver to the parking garage. The cab turned at the corner and headed for the building.
"The Sohma building, sir?"
"Yes."
They drove into the garage. Akito pointed at the far wall where he had parked his car.
"Park right next to it."
"Yes, sir."
He got out of the taxi and walked over to the passenger side of his car. She was still sitting there, obviously chilled. She stared at him through the fogged-up window, then flicked the lock up. He pulled both doors open.
"Why did you have to get a taxi?" she asked. "Why can't we just drive home?"
He picked the bags up off the back seat, slinging one over his shoulder. "Because I have to return the car."
She frowned. "It's not yours?"
"I borrowed it." He walked over to the taxi and dumped the bags in the trunk. Then he went back for her.
"Get up," he said, holding out his hand. She stared dubiously at it.
"I'll fall -- "
"If you don't hold on," he cut in impatiently. "I can't carry you."
She took his hand. He hauled her upright with what felt like the last of his strength. He threw one of her arms across his shoulders, and wrapped his arm around her waist. He looked down at her.
At least she was managing to stay upright. He pulled her along hurriedly. He could feel the force in his arms draining away.
I am so tired.
They shuffled together towards the waiting door of the taxi. He deposited her onto the seat. She scooted over to let him in. To her surprise, she saw him walking away.
"Hey -- " she started to call out, the words dying off abruptly as she realized she didn't know his name.
My own husband, and I don't even know his name!
She leaned forward and gripped the back of the driver's seat.
"E-Excuse me," she stammered. "Could you please run out and stop that man? Where is he going? He can't just leave me here -- "
The driver looked out the window, then turned to her with a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry, ma'am. Looks like he just forgot something in the car."
"Oh." Tohru sank back slowly into the seat, staring out the window, trying unsuccessfully to see what he was doing.
Akito slid into the passenger seat of his car and opened the glove compartment. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open. Credit cards and ID cards in various colors peeked out at him from their slots. He slid them all out and dumped them into the open compartment. He had cleaned out all his accounts the day before, and a considerable fraction was now sitting in a fat wad in the billfold of his wallet. The rest he had had transferred to an account in a small bank in a very out-of-the-way place.
And as for the IDs... it was a kind of death, really. A complete cessation of existence.
He emptied his wallet of everything except the cash, then closed up the glove compartment and got out of the car. He tapped the lock down and slammed both doors shut.
Tohru was waiting for him, watching him through the open taxi door. He stepped into the cab. The door shut automatically.
"Straight down the street for two blocks," he instructed the driver. "It's a white apartment building to the right."
"Yes, sir."
She was still watching him. He gave her a sidelong glance.
"We're almost home," he whispered, his lips curving into a smile.
Tohru hung on to his shoulder and gaped at the room before her.
"This is... home?" she mumbled.
Akito didn't answer, his eyes rapidly scanning the room. A low brown box near his feet caught his eye.
There it is.
He dropped the bag he was holding, then let the duffel slide off his shoulder onto the floor. He kicked the bags out of the way and gripped her waist.
"Over to the wall," he told her curtly.
Tohru dragged her legs along, hanging onto him tightly. He brought her to the wall, then sat her down on the floor. He walked across the room and flung a closet open.
She looked around her, unable to believe that this was her home. The apartment was tiny. Off to one side was a small, dark kitchen. Next to it was a door -- probably the bathroom. The main living area was completely empty, except for the tatamis on the floor.
Empty and dirty, she thought. She touched the tatami and felt the dust, grainy and old, rub onto her fingers. She watched him pull out a futon from the closet.
"Um... are you sure that's clean?" she called out hesitantly.
"Of course it's clean," he answered, gathering up the bedding and depositing it right in front of her.
She hoped she was merely imagining the cloud of dust that seemed to billow from the futon.
"We haven't been home for a while, have we?" she remarked.
"I must have misled you," he said, unrolling the mattress. "We're not home yet."
She stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He did not. Instead, he finished laying out the futon. Then he went to her side, reached over, and began pulling off her boots.
"We're wearing shoes on the tatami," she reminded him.
"I don't think you'd want to go barefoot here, do you? The dust on the floor is an inch thick."
"Then why are we here?" she pressed, frustrated. "I thought we were going home. What is this place?"
He held the blanket open for her. "Get in."
"I asked you something!"
His eyes narrowed.
"Let's not be difficult now, sweetheart," he said, his voice dropping to that menacing delicateness which was fast becoming familiar to her. "I'm very, very tired."
That soft voice had the unfailing power to paralyze her with a slow fear she could not understand. How can he scare me like this? she asked herself, her eyes still held to his. He's my husband.
She averted her gaze and grasped at the futon. She pulled her body inside and reached for the blanket which he held.
"Aren't you going to unbutton your coat?" he asked her.
"I'm fine," she said abruptly, grabbing the blanket from him. She drew the covers all the way up to her chin and turned her back on him.
He sat there for a few more seconds, then she felt him get up and walk back across the room. A moment later, she heard the sound of cloth being dragged over the tatamis. A puff of air touched her neck. He was unrolling another futon right next to her.
"Will you at least tell me where we live?" she asked, half-expecting him not to answer.
He didn't. I should have known, she muttered to herself. What a disagreeable man. I wonder what the state of our marriage really is. Could I have been planning a divorce when I got sick?
Sick... what kind of sickness do I have, anyway? Why can't I remember anything? Not my face, or my name, or... anything! She tried to think of something she should know -- birthday, hometown, family, anything. Everything came up as a blank.
Stop, she told herself forcefully, shutting her eyes tightly. She had been able to remain calm for most of the morning because she had forced herself not to think, not to pay attention to the alarming questions crowding her mind. Everything will come back, she reassured herself. Just try not to think about it for now.
Akito straightened the sheets on his futon, his fingers lingering on the softness of the mattress. It was so tempting. He was so very tired. But not yet, he told himself. There was still one more thing that needed to be taken care of.
He got up and headed to the foyer. The box sat waiting. He reached for it and pulled it up onto the tatami-covered floor.
The top was taped tightly. He glanced at the small label on the side.
Sohma Akito-sama, it read. No address.
There had been no need to put one. He stood and walked into the kitchen. He pulled a drawer open and found some knives. Grabbing one, he returned to where the box sat.
He sliced the top open and pushed the cardboard panels to the side. On a bed of curly styrofoam lay a neatly packaged array of small white plastic bottles. He counted them silently. Good. Exactly as ordered. He reached for the duffel bag and began stuffing the bottles into it, the pills making a jingly noise. He emptied the box and kicked it back into the corner. Picking up the duffel, he walked back into the room.
She still had her back to him. He opened the bag and took out an envelope, then went back into the kitchen and lifted the phone from its cradle in the wall. The plastic keypad clacked noisily in the silence as he punched in a number.
Lying quietly on her futon, Tohru waited for him to speak.
"Yes, I would like to request a shuttle for this evening," she heard him say after a few seconds. She listened as he gave the address. "Two people -- my wife and I," he answered after a pause. "Our flight is at eight-thirty. I will also be requiring a wheelchair."
Flight? Tohru thought. We're going to fly tonight?
"The name is Okishima," he informed the person on the phone. "Okishima Akito."
Okishima. Akito.
His name was Akito. Her name was Okishima Tohru.
The names meant nothing to her, jogged nothing into remembrance.
"Thank you." He hung up. She heard him walk back inside.
"Aren't you asleep yet?" he asked her.
She took her time answering. "It's morning."
"We're flying home tonight. It's probably best that you try to get some sleep." She felt him sit down on the futon beside her. He kicked his shoes off and slipped inside the covers.
There was a deep, satisfied sigh.
"Where are we flying to?" she murmured, certain that he wouldn't even bother to answer.
"Okinawa," he replied.
Her head whipped around and she stared at him, for a minute disconcerted to discover that he was lying very close.
"We live in Okinawa?"
He closed his eyes. "Not exactly in Okinawa, but very near."
She continued to stare at him for a long time. Finally, Akito felt her settle back into the futon and turn her back to him once more. He let his limbs go dead, his body sinking into the soft feather mattress.
Tonight they would leave Sendai. He had driven all the way for the express purpose of picking up half a year's supply of medicine straight from the pharmaceutical plant they owned on the outskirts of the city. The apartment they were in now was owned by the Sohma subsidiary two blocks down the street, normally used for housing new hires. The box had been delivered without question, the drugs completely free of charge.
Sometimes it was very convenient to be a Sohma. But it was a convenience he was all too ready to abandon. Everything would end in Sendai.
He opened his eyes and gazed at the spill of her hair on the pillow.
The name would never touch her. That was why he had chosen to take the taxi; why he had had the box delivered; why he had locked the car up and cut off all traces of his identity. That was also why he had asked Hatori to take everything away.
Now she was completely his.
As he would be hers. From that night onwards, Sohma Akito would cease to exist. The name had been the curse of his life. He was determined that it would never, ever touch either of them again.
No matter how hard they try, they'll never find us.
A smile twisted his lips as he closed his eyes.
But that night, before everything ended, he still had one more call to make.
Hatori slid the papers into a folder and reached across his desk for the stack of medical files. He placed the folder on top of the pile and bent down, pulling open a heavy bottom drawer. He was about to drop the pack of folders inside when the telephone rang.
He picked it up. "Yes?"
"Hatori," came the whispery voice from the other end.
Hatori froze.
"Akito!"
"You can pick the car up at the building in Sendai. It's a present from me."
"Where is Tohru?"
There was a soft laugh.
Hatori fought to keep his voice calm. "You need to come back, Akito," he said tersely. "You're due for another IV infusion in less than a week. If something happens to you -- "
"My, my," Akito clucked, "no need to get so worked up, Hatori! I have everything under control. By the way," he paused delicately, "if anybody asks, you are to tell them that I am taking Tohru to a place where she can recuperate fully."
"And where is that?"
"Where indeed." He sighed deeply. "Well -- I'll keep in touch... "
"Akito!"
The line went dead. Hatori stared at the phone.
Suddenly the door to the clinic slid open. Hatori looked behind him sharply.
Sohma Yuki walked in, still clad in his dark business suit, his overcoat folded over his arm. He was carrying a bouquet of tall, bright sunflowers.
He caught sight of the empty bed and stopped in his tracks. The sunflowers fell to the floor.
His eyes shot to Hatori's, alarmed and piercing.
"Where is she?!"