In the Absence of Memory
by mikan

Chapter Four: Disclosure

He walked briskly up the path in the darkness, his feet judging unerringly where the wide flagstones were set into the ground. The frigid February air pricked his cheeks, making him glad that he had chosen not to lighten the usual ensemble he wore in Sapporo -- puffy down jacket, thermal-lined nylon pants, thick wool socks. He had felt like an idiot changing trains in Tokyo -- it had been unseasonably warm, the women around him wearing spring jackets and the men going about in their blazers. But here, in the wilderness where Shigure's house stood, winter was firmly entrenched.

The house came into view, a hulking shadow set off from the trees. Kyou frowned. The small lamp by the front door was off. Not a single window was lit.

Somebody better be home, he thought grimly. I told him I'd be here tonight.

Reaching the entrance, he stamped his feet on the rough brown mat, scraping off the clumpy, moist soil. Because it was winter, the glass sliding doors were shut over the shoji, fogging up from the heat inside. He dug his fingers into the aluminum frame and slid the door open.

The foyer was dark and cluttered with shoes. He shut the door and stood there for a moment, grateful for the blanketing warmth of the house. Dropping his bag, he began peeling his fleece gloves off, staring all the while at the assortment of footwear before him. Among the numerous house slippers, there were two pairs of sensible dress shoes, some gardening clogs, and a couple of colorful galoshes. In the corner, set apart in solitary glory, stood a pair of knee-high, fur-lined lace-up boots with an outrageous number of hooks.

Whose are those? he wondered.

The answer came to him readily. They had to belong to that paragon of bad taste, Ayame. Kyou stuffed his gloves into his pocket and, with impatient fingers, yanked down the zipper of his coat. He felt his ire beginning to rise.

If that just wasn't fabulous. It was hard enough having a normal conversation with that damn Yuki. Now, when there was serious business to be done, that freaky brother of his had to show up...

He kicked his sneakers off and stepped up onto the raised floor of the house. Voices came to him faintly from the living room. He walked straight to the closed shoji and flung it open.

Yuki was at the low table, writing down something, the phone at his ear. Next to him sat Ayame, a teacup at his fingers, the folds of his extravagant, fur-trimmed scarlet coat arranged around him on the floor. At the glass doors, looking out over the darkened yard, stood Hatori.

Ayame looked up.

"Ah, Kyonkichi!" he exclaimed. "You've come!"

Kyou glared at him.

"Don't call me that!"

Ayame smiled. "Sounds like you need some tea. How about some chamomile and mint to soothe those adorable frazzled whiskers?"

Kyou grit his teeth.

"You... " he bit out, "it's so useless talking to you!"

Ayame's face took on a haughty cast at the affront.

"How typically rude," he said scornfully, raising the teacup to his lips and consoling himself with a sip.

Kyou turned his attention to Yuki, giving him a hard stare. Yuki ignored him, absorbed in the conversation he was having on the phone. He balanced the receiver on his shoulder and tilted his head into it.

"Yes, that's correct," he said. "They were last seen yesterday night, in Sendai."

"Sendai!" Kyou exclaimed.

"Yup," Ayame confirmed. "Akito's been extra-naughty this time. He took our poor Tohru all the way to Sendai."

"Extra-naughty doesn't quite cover it," he informed Ayame coldly. Just wait till I get my hands on that bastard. "He kidnapped her!"

Ayame sighed.

"I guess you could call it that." He gazed down at the fur cuffs of his coat and stroked the fibers into one direction. "Although, you know, lately... Tohru's been acting quite unpredictably around Akito."

Kyou's brows knit. "What do you mean?"

Ayame finished sprucing up his cuffs. "Oh, that's right, I forgot," he said, looking up at Kyou. "You haven't been able to come down recently, have you? By the way, how is Kazuma?"

Kyou sombered a bit. "Shishou is fine. I've been making sure he gets enough rest."

"How wonderful of you." Ayame took another sip of his tea. "In any case, it's good you managed to come here."

"Of course I managed! Tohru's missing, isn't she?"

Ayame glanced at Yuki sadly. "Yes... and Yuki's at his wits' end. My poor little brother."

Kyou clenched his fist.

"If only your poor little brother was protecting her like he was supposed to, then none of this would have happened!"

Ayame put his teacup down. He gazed at Kyou, his golden eyes suddenly solid.

"Now, Kyou, talk like that isn't helpful at all."

At that moment, Yuki looked up. Kyou scowled at him.

Without any reaction, Yuki turned his attention back to the paper on the table. "It would be easier if you could please send somebody over," he said into the phone. "Explaining everything this way is quite difficult. I've already spoken to three different officers since I first called this morning, and none of them were fully apprised of all the details. It's a waste of time to have to keep repeating myself."

In the silence they could hear the apologetic tones of the person on the other end. At length, Yuki said: "Thank you. We'll be waiting." He hung up, then placed the phone on the table and looked at Kyou.

"You're here."

"Was that the police?"

"Yes. They're sending over a couple of detectives."

With a calm grace that Kyou found highly irritating, Ayame stood and said sweetly to Yuki, "I'll make more tea!"

Yuki watched his brother happily head into the kitchen. He caught Kyou rolling his eyes.

"Will you please tell me what's going on?" Kyou said with exasperation. "I tried asking your brother but he's completely useless."

Yuki sighed, straightening his leg out tiredly.

"Akito came to the clinic two nights ago. He took Tohru and left."

Kyou frowned, bewildered.

"What do you mean, he took Tohru and left? I thought she was sick."

"She is still sick," Yuki said evenly, shooting a narrowed glance at Hatori's back.

Kyou followed his eyes.

"I'd better hear a good reason," he called out to Hatori. "You mind explaining?"

After a moment, Hatori turned around. His whole body exuded a practiced calm -- his hand casually in his pocket, his expression bland.

"Akito took her," he said.

Kyou stared at him.

"Yes, we know," he snapped. "Because you let him."

"There was nothing else to be done."

The dispassionate flatness of that reply caused Kyou's irritation to explode.

"You're not making any goddamn sense, do you know that?"

At that moment, Ayame floated back into the room, a tray in his hands.

"Ah-ah... looks like you need to drink some of this tea, Kyou."

"I don't want your damn tea, I want some answers!"

Ayame set the tray down with a deliberate plunk.

"Well, shut up and you'll get them," he hissed, the languid delicateness suddenly gone from his voice. He narrowed his eyes. "I understand you're worried, Kyou -- everyone is. But I won't have you attacking Tori-san like that just because you're ignorant of everything that's going on." Ayame pointed to the teapot. "Sit down. I'll pour you some tea."

Kyou glared back at Ayame. From his superior height, Ayame looked down at him coolly.

Kyou sank to the floor, shooting a malevolent glance at Hatori.

"Well?" he said testily. "I'm waiting."

"Come have some tea, Tori-san," Ayame beckoned, his voice much gentler. He set out four cups and began pouring.

Hatori walked over and sat down at the empty spot across from Ayame. He reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"May I?" he asked Yuki.

"Of course."

He slid a cigarette out and lit it. His eyes met Kyou's.

"The situation between Akito and Tohru isn't as you think it is." He took a long drag, then accepted the cup of tea that Ayame slid across the table. "Ever since she came back from America, Tohru's been acting... differently around Akito."

"What do you mean, differently?" Kyou demanded. "Why was she allowed to be around Akito at all? Wasn't she told how dangerous he's become?"

"You think telling her would have made a difference? You were here that time when we all went to the Main House to see him. Whose idea was that?" Hatori glanced at the crumbling end of his cigarette. Out of nowhere, Ayame swiftly produced an ashtray.

Hatori tapped the cigarette against the crystal rim. "Tohru has always had her own way of being stubborn."

"Yeah, but we're talking about Akito here, for god's sake! Why didn't any of you try to stop her?"

"Because we didn't know what she was doing," Yuki explained. "It was only later that we found out she was actually spending time with Akito."

"That was probably because you weren't spending enough time with her!" Kyou retorted.

Yuki's eyes seemed suddenly pained.

"She didn't want to spend time with me," he said softly.

Kyou stared at him in disbelief. What the hell was he talking about? Who did Tohru use to study with, garden with, go out and buy groceries with? Him! They had done everything together. If there was anybody that she preferred spending time with, it was him, damn him to hell.

"What are you talking about?" Kyou leaned forward and jabbed his finger at Yuki. "You're the one she's always liked! When you went off to college, she was depressed for a month! A month! Nothing I said or did could cheer her up! Why do you think she agreed to go off to America like that? Because she was miserable here without you! She even came back right after you finished school! Doesn't that tell you something? How the hell could you have screwed all that up?"

"You don't understand," Hatori said flatly. "They've been apart for most of ten years. They've grown to be different people."

"So what?" Kyou said belligerently. "So you're telling me she dropped Yuki and ran straight to Akito, just like that? Even if she's changed, or matured, or whatever, she couldn't have instantly started liking that freak! It's impossible! He's been horrible to her too!"

Ayame looked into his teacup thoughtfully.

"I think you're underestimating Akito a bit," he remarked. "He's a creature of innate, alluring grace. His aesthetic sensibilities far surpass mine. That elegance of his -- "

"What Ayame means," Hatori interrupted, "is that Akito can be charming and persuasive if he so chooses."

The implied consequence was clear. Kyou fell silent, a memory suddenly weighing down his heart.

. . . "I think Akito-san really wants to change the way he is, but he doesn't know how to be anything else..."

She smiled at him.

. . .I guess it's up to us, then, isn't it? To show him another way to live..."

Kyou closed his eyes briefly. The memory of that smile was suddenly a very painful thing.

He looked at Hatori.

"She was unconscious. He couldn't have charmed her out of the clinic. He wouldn't have her now if it wasn't for you."

Hatori left his cigarette in the ashtray and took a sip of tea. Slowly, he set the cup down and curled his fingers around it.

"Akito and I had a deal," he said quietly.

Kyou locked his eyes onto Hatori's face. "What deal?"

"He promised to take responsibility for everything."

Kyou's eyes shifted from Hatori, to Yuki, to Ayame. Hatori sat brooding into his cup. Yuki's head was bowed. Ayame was gazing at Hatori with a solemn, sympathetic look in his eyes.

"For everything?" Kyou echoed, completely at a loss.

Hatori reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a well-worn square of paper. He tossed it onto the table.

Kyou stared at it. "What's that?"

"It's what you don't know."

Kyou snatched the paper and opened it up. It had been folded and unfolded many times, the ink at the creases already flaking off. He frowned at the long columns of numbers and abbreviations.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"Those are the results of Tohru's blood test. I ordered one done shortly after she was brought into the clinic."

The numbers meant nothing to Kyou. "So?"

"According to those results, she's pregnant."

There was a long silence.

Kyou thought he hadn't heard right. "You didn't just say that."

Hatori's face was a mask of imperturbable conviction.

"That's what the results say."

"That's impossible!"

Hatori's brow lifted slightly. "Why?"

"Because it has to be!" Kyou sputtered. "It can't be true!"

"It can very well be true and it probably is. Tohru is a woman of childbearing age."

Kyou shoved the paper away hatefully.

"I don't care what that shit says! She's not like that! She wouldn't... " His eyes suddenly widened, his gaze swinging to Yuki, hard and accusing. "It's yours, isn't it?" he snarled vehemently. "You touched her, didn't you, you dirty bastard!"

Yuki's face was dead serious. "I never touched her."

"Don't you dare lie about this!"

"I said I never touched her!"

"It's Akito's child," Hatori cut in bluntly. "He claimed responsibility."

A silence fell over the small gathering. Kyou stared at Hatori, struck dumb with horror.

Hatori picked up his cigarette and absently tapped the ash off.

"Yuki," he said suddenly.

Yuki looked up at him.

"When the detectives come, you must make it clear to them that this case involves special circumstances. Specifically," Hatori said, crushing his cigarette, "Akito must not be taken away from Tohru when they are discovered."

"Why?"

Hatori took the lab results, folded the paper, and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Because the blow to her mind would be too great," he replied. He looked up at them. "At the moment, Tohru's reality is built solely on Akito's existence. I erased her memory completely."

There was a stunned, frozen silence. Yuki's delicate face went ghastly pale.

"Completely... "

"Tori-san... " Ayame murmured, his eyes intense, "how could you do such a thing?"

Hatori took a deep, heavy breath. He stared at the twisted remains of his cigarette.

"Something has happened to Akito," he answered quietly. "And... although I might be wrong, I think it's the beginning of what we've all been waiting for." He hesitated. "But... "

Ayame touched his arm. "But?"

"I don't think there's much time."

The corridors of the Japanese Department at Columbia University hardly betrayed their newly-renovated state. The floor was dark hardwood, a narrow, antique-looking rug running the length of the hallway and protecting the mahogany underneath. On the doors, faculty members' names were displayed on burnished brass plates. Everything, even the copper-colored doorknobs, bespoke an old, elegant comfort.

One particularly giggly group of undergraduates was presently engaged in a search for a certain brass plate. Their footsteps were dulled by the rug on the floor, but their chatter nevertheless permeated the stuffy silence.

"Oh, you'll be sooo glad you went to office hours!" one of the girls squealed. "He's sooo cool! And he's such a hottie!"

"Oh god, I know! I bumped into him the other day in the hallway, and he actually smiled at me! Can you believe? I almost died right there!"

"Isn't he simply devastating? Especially when he wears those glasses!"

One of the girls abruptly skidded to a halt as a nameplate caught her eye.

"Oh, this is it! This is it, girls!"

They all stared up in awe at the name engraved on the polished brass:

Shigure Sohma
Professor of Japanese Literature

Suddenly the door opened, and the girls found themselves face to face with the man himself.

From behind his glasses, Shigure looked down at the bevy of sweet young females clustered before his door. He smiled.

A collective sigh escaped into the hush of the hallway.

"I was wondering where that charming giggling was coming from," he said, leaning his body against the doorframe and crossing his arms.

The girls giggled.

"Good morning, Shi-chan!" they chorused.

"Good morning, ladies. Oh, you're all so unspeakably lovely to look at! What a wonderful way to start the day!"

The girls were reduced to giggles yet again.

"Well," Shigure said, counting the heads that whispered and half-hid blushingly from him, "how many diligent students do I have here today? Ten, eleven, twelve. Twelve of you!" He sighed. "With deep regret, ladies, I must apologize... we can't all fit in my office. No matter how accommodating I want to be towards my students, alas! the department only grants me two chairs for visitors."

"Oh, we'll sit on the floor, Shi-chan!" came the hasty reply.

"Yes, really, we don't mind!"

Shigure cast his eyes downward, heaving another regret-laden sigh. He caught sight of his students' shockingly short hemlines and shapely stockinged legs. He closed his eyes momentarily in gratitude to the blessed souls who had thought to invent short flannel skirts and hose.

"The mere sight of you... makes a spring burst in this wintry heart," he murmured. His tone had dropped to an intimate softness, his lashes half-veiling his eyes.

"Ooooh," the girls purred adoringly. Their adulations came in quick succession:

"Shi-chan, that line's fantastic!"

"Sooo romantic!"

" Did you just make it up on the spot?"

"Ah... er, actually... " he grinned, "that's a quote from the passage I assigned at the last lecture."

They stared at him blankly.

"Ah so... " he wagged a finger at them, "you girls didn't read again, huh?"

They pouted.

"But it's so hard, Shi-chan!"

"Yeah, I mean, the vocab! I was totally lost!"

"That's why we came today -- for help!"

"Yes, you've got to help us! We won't leave till you do!"

He held up his hands.

"How can I possibly refuse such charming, dedicated students? We'll work our way through the passage so you ladies can outshine everyone else in class today. But first," he said, waving the sheaf of papers in his hand, "I have to go make some copies. So why don't you all come with me and I'll bring you to the lounge, where you can make yourselves comfortable while I take care of this really quick?"

"Oh, would you like us to make the copies for you?"

"Yes, Shi-chan, we really wouldn't mind!"

He shook his head, smiling at them.

"This is your quiz for this week," he informed them sweetly. He pushed away from the doorframe. "Well... shall we go? Someone else might take the lounge."

The girls stared up at him expectantly, still blocking the doorway.

He tilted his head. "May I pass?"

"Oh, sorry, Shi-chan!" The girls stepped away from the door.

Careful not to brush against any of them, he walked into the hallway, and held up a finger.

"Now remember, ladies... no crowding!"

They all nodded and formed a neat procession behind him. He led them down the hallway.

"Will you show us the quiz, Shi-chan?" a voice piped up. "Just us? We won't tell anyone else!"

"Oh, I wish I could... " he said, his tone heavy with regret, "but unfortunately... "

"Oh, but you'll give us hints, right?"

He reached the lounge and pulled the door open.

"Well, here we are!" he said exuberantly. "Make yourselves at home." He held the door open until the last girl entered, then he stuck his head into the room and said with a wink, "I'll be back in a second."

Another sigh followed him as he walked back down the hallway and headed towards the copy room at the other end of the wing. He stared at his watch. Office hours would probably go overtime today. That meant he would be late to his lunch meeting by about fifteen minutes, since he'd have to catch a cab to the other side of town...

As he passed his office, he suddenly noticed that he had left his door open. He broke his stride and reached for the doorknob.

At that moment, the phone on his desk rang.

He sighed, and walked inside. He tossed the sheaf of papers onto his blotter and picked up the phone, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Yes," he answered, his voice a touch weary.

"Shigure."

He straightened, his mind instantly alert. He took his glasses off and dropped them carelessly on the desk.

"Ha-san." Before Hatori could reply, he asked abruptly, "How is Tohru?"

There was a pause. Shigure felt his heartbeat stall.

"She's missing, Shigure," came the answer. "Akito took her... "

He stopped breathing at that point, his eyes falling to the cluttered space of his desk, searching out the one thing that he needed to see, the one thing he needed to look at...

Tohru.

He fixed his gaze on the picture, making vivid in his mind her face... happy and smiling as it had been that day, her hair streaming in the breeze, her eyes gleaming the same blue as the sea that stretched behind her.

. . ."If I make you a necklace of seashells, will you wear it?"

Her voice, light and laughing, came echoing back at him.

He stared at her face as he heard out the rest of what Hatori had to say. He listened to the words, their meaning not really reaching him, his mind suddenly murky, a frightening emptiness in his chest.

"Shigure?"

Hatori's voice reminded him he was being asked a question.

"Yes," he managed to say. "I'll be there... as soon as I can."

He pressed the button, hanging up on Hatori without even saying goodbye. Holding the phone limply in his hand, he turned to the window and looked out at the chaos of the city around him.

Tohru...

At that moment, the fear suddenly became keen, hitting him with all its terrible force.

A vision of Akito flashed in his mind -- a face stark in its cruelty, a body deceptive in its delicateness. Enfolded in that body he saw Tohru -- her face beautiful and young and trusting.

Shigure closed his eyes, finding himself immersed in fear so paralyzing that he found it difficult even to breathe.

In the depths of his anguish, her face began to fade away.

Tohru...

I should have never let you go.