Chapter 24 - Cracks in the Shell

Kusuo fell into his bed, feeling the mental exhaustion sink into his bone, expanding to his muscles, transforming into real tiredness.

The past three weeks felt like a blur of the proverbial feeling of being raked over burning coal, while dislocating all of joints and body parts, without the benefit of cryokinesis.

The first week was simply bad and he just did not want to think about it.

Then he devoted time and effort to trying to fix his limiter problem, amongst all the inherited problems caused by his no-good older brother, starting week two.

It's now the end of week three since this whole thing that started with that indelible day-long headache turned nightmare.

And the nightmare continued.

First, Kusuo's search of the lab turned out to be fruitless for any hints of the solution to his limiter problem.

Then he had to decide what to with Psi Industries that just suffered the total loss of their Cambridge Headquarters and his older brother's leadership.

Resolving the issues with Psi Industries in itself wasn't hard, considering the lengthy contingency plan that Kuusuke had already put into place. The company could run itself for years to come if Kusuo really wanted to be hands-off, and run itself well enough.

No, he won't do that, not completely. He wanted to run it even better, to spite the Board of Directors and especially to spite a specific jerk whom he happened to be related to by the accident of birth.

Then he had to go around various places in the world, looking at the 'a lot of crap,' that was now attached to Kusuo's pseudo name that Kusuo did not even know existed.

Oh...yes. Kuusuke was that evil. Kuusuke stole his younger brother's identity and created an entire ownership structure surrounding it. When Kusuo examined the original documents that create those pseudo names, Kusuo realized that he was staring at his own signature, with the correct pronounced loops and curves in Kanji characters.

Of course. Both of them can forge any signature.

Kuusuke was cosmopolitan in his exploitations.

Objectively, this entire ownership scheme was one of Kuusuke's milder pranks since it was not a direct threat to Kusuo's life.

Arthur Reeves, the attorney who handled the estate and was retained for general law consult, kept on telling Kusuo that the entire scheme was more like a 'doing business as' type of arrangement and not exactly identity theft. It was a legitimate method of ownership, practiced by many of the rich and famous to distance their business, outer, public personas from their personal lives.

The explanation didn't make Kusuo feel any better.

Rich and famous, huh?

That was the complete opposite of not-getting-attention!

And still nothing about how Kuusuke designed, built and assembled the limiters.

Or any last parting words.

Scrap the last parting words. The more Kusuo thought about it, the greater the urge to blast the moon into space debris became.

The annoying gaps in Kusuo's memories were still slowly coming back and would randomly surface, still in that zero-context manner. The memory that contained the sound of a drill could be either the memory of drilling a nail into a school festival prop or the memory of a drill through Kusuo's own skull.

A mild headache also accompanied the memory flashes now, which was completely unhelpful because there was a chance that the headache was a premonition of disaster.

At least he could tell the difference, most of the time.

Explosions, floods, fires, gunfire, sleepovers and hurricane days = premonition of disaster that could harm him.

Nonsensical sentimental saying, headache-inducing excruciating details, = Kuusuke was an asshole.

At least some of the memories should prove useful.

Dusty memories of working on higher-level math as a child were still there and slowly coming back. Kusuo was confident that within time, once all of Kuusuke's mind control effects faded, that he could figure out how to reconstruct a limiter within a reasonably short period of time. It would just be his first generation limiter, which didn't work as well as the third generation limiter that he currently uses. He also had no idea how long it would take for Kuusuke's mind control to fade.

At least he wouldn't have to start completely from scratch.

Kusuo did try to use the limiter from one of his clones, which turned out to be a very bad idea, indeed.

The clones were highly affected by his previous near flashover. Any damage that occurred on Kusuo, the original, would be reflected on the clones. The moment, he took their limiter from them, they immediately combusted. He was treated to a repeat, though much less dramatic, scene of the office building fire. He had multiple previews of what his future was going to be if he didn't fix the limiter problem.

At least Kusuo was smart enough to make sure the testing of the clone's limiter occurred at his training ground. The bed of glass that resulted from melted sand was interesting to look at, to say the least.

Conveniently, the limiter that he took from his clones didn't suppress his abilities at all. A few more brute force attempts confirmed that he was not going to be able to use psychic powers to recreate the limiters, unless he wanted to experiment with his current limiters and hope to god that the ability to 'create something from nothing' comes back.

And god hated him so he was not going to tempt fate.

There were 184 other possible solutions to recreate the limiters that he also considered, all of which were illegal, brute force, for a far lower probability of success.

The initial sense of urgency when Kusuo first realized that he was going to combust if his remaining limiters broke did far temper quicker than he expected.

Wasn't that the wisdom of ages? The only two certain things in life were death and taxes? So why even think about, or fight, against the inevitable?

There was a risk in everyday activities. Driving, eating, taking a shower, taking a step, and whatever other mundane activities that people did always had that inherent, most slight chance, of death. It was very much like some of Kusuo's other premonitions where something as small as a rock, could spell disaster.

Who knows. Maybe if he was careful, he might never damage the two third-generation limiters and the one first-generation limiter for the rest of his life.

Fat chance.

Kusuo laid in his bed, held his hand up to look at the germanium ring. He's been wearing it longer and longer. Not so much when he was off on his brand new 'day job,' but it was a must at home. He took it off for a brief fraction of a second.

Immediately, he was assaulted with thoughts of "Ku-kun?" and "Where are you?" and "Why is Kuniharu not here?"

Before his heart could race and his stomach turn, Kusuo quickly replaced the ring on his finger.

Mom was still crying.

Dad was absent, having decided to sleep at a hotel close to work so he didn't have to come home and face the helplessness of mom not responding to anyone trying to get her past her debilitating grief.

As much as his dad's behavior reeked of irresponsibility, Kusuo was glad for it. He was not sure if he could handle the drama of both of his parents at home, since they were fighting again and Kusuo really did not want to learn, especially by accident, why.

Plus, he would rather that dad being in a hotel than himself. Psychometry was a bitch of an ability that made sleeping in a bed other than his own unpleasant and he hated wearing gloves to sleep. He still hadn't warmed to the idea of sleeping at one of Kuusuke's former haunts in isolated areas around the world.

Kusuo checked the clock and noted that it was already 8:00 p.m.

It didn't seem like mom was going to make dinner as she did for as long as Kusuo could remember. She hadn't tried to prepare food, clean, or any of her usual domestic duties, since the day the attorneys came. She barely makes it to the bathroom for relief of human nature. Even daily self-cleaning became more of once per every two to three days.

Clairvoyance told him that at least dad took care of himself, and was busily working to keep his mind from going down a memory lane that would inevitably reduce dad to not-so-manly tears. Dad had also taken on the diet of a manga artist, which is to say that he ate an onigiri while looking over several drafts and working late into the night. It was not the best form of self-care but at least dad went through the motions of life and not stew.

Back at home, mom didn't seem like she was going to move. She had not even been outside the house to water the plants. Her neighborhood association ladies had called and texted her nonstop for which Kurumi ignored. Politeness dictated that people don't come visit unless invited.

As for Grandpa Kumagoro and Grandma Kumi, they had not called. Preoccupied with Kumagoro's recent health scare and the more than typical visitation by friends from their rural community over that health scare, they seemed to not notice how their beloved daughter had not called, visited or inquired after them after the initial couple of days.

No one had told the grandparents that they only have one grandchild left.

Kurumi had picked up the phone several times, in between the time that Kusuo told her and the lawyer posse came. She never finished dialing. She wished, against all reason, that her younger son was wrong and was simply delirious from the psychic fever. Kusuo had been sick before and his memories did become a jumbled mess. The brothers did fight a lot, like all brothers do so Kurumi chalked it up to Kusuo finally had it with all of Kuusuke's antics. There was no reason to make drama and worry the family.

After the visit that truly confirmed her oldest child's passing, she had not found the will in her grief to notify her parents.

Dad simply refused to call. Kuusuke's death and the resulting fight with his wife seemed to change Kuniharu's attitude toward his in-laws, which was to say that he completely wrote them off. Why talk to a smelly old man who had yelled, berated, insulted him as a greeting and conversation starter for the past twenty-plus years? And that was during the good times, when all was peaceful. Though Grandma Kumi was cordial and pleasant to dad, she was guilty by association.

Kusuo agreed with his father. If Kusuo had to deal with the tsundere habits of Grandpa Kumagoro right now, there were going to be repercussions. Kusuo would have to wait for a day when he felt that he had enough patience and time to interact with Grandpa, which might not be for another few months.

Throughout all of this, Grandmother Risa was quiet and hands-off. It could not be helped, since the only person who knew her was Kuniharu, and that was decades ago. She did tell Kusuo a couple of mundane sounding advice on dealing with grief and offered to help, if asked. She was a medical doctor, a mild psychic, and someone who truly understood his circumstances. She experienced a similar life event herself, much earlier in her life. So Kusuo listened without much inner commentary.

The clock ticked by to 8:30 p.m. and that sensation of hunger, most of which Kusuo had ignored for most of the day, had gotten severe enough that Kusuo needed to do something about it.

Sighing deeply, Kusuo pulled on his casual clothes, ones where he looked rather like a stereotypical shut-in who only of how to dress in track pants and hoodie sweaters. He went out the door to the local grocery store.

Only about ten minutes later, Kusuo had brought back takeouts. He placed the trays and boxes on the dining room table and transferred the foods in the takeout boxes into lacquer bowls, and little ceramic plates. He took the time to fill out glasses with water and set up the chopsticks and chopstick holders.

A return to routine was his goal.

With the dinner table set, a glass of water in hand, he went to get his mother.

Standing in front of mom's room and he politely knocked. "Mom?" he called with telepathy before opening the door.

Kusuo made sure to stare at her long enough to see to her muscles and bones. He still felt like ripping his heart out.

Mom was laying in bed, looking like she had been there for hours. Her pillow was wet with tears. There was a pile of tissues. Her hair was stuck at weird angles, matted against her skull. Her half-open eye were like deeply bruised welts on her face from weeping,

Kusuo placed a hand on her shoulder, to alert her to his presence. "Mom?"

"Ku-chan?" she whispered, her eyes unfocused, as if waking from a hazy half sleep.

"Dinner is ready," he said in her mind with as much casualness as he could.

"I'm...sorry...Ku-chan," Mom uttered with effort. "Can it...be...later? I...I..." She buried her face in her hands and curled up into a ball, her body was visibly shaking. Weak sobbing noises came from her.

Hearing those pathetic, agonized sounds made Kusuo immediately want to go beat up the asshole who made her cry.

Except that asshole is dead.

That same asshole didn't even have a grave for Kusuo to piss on to relieve his frustration.

Instead, he pulled her into a sitting position and handed her the glass of water. "Here."

As if acting on instinct, Kurumi obeyed. The act of drinking some liquids seemed to squall her sobbing. She was no longer making those gut-wrenching choking sounds.

"Come on. Let's go eat."

Almost like a child, Kurumi obeyed her son mutely. Still, she leaned on him heavily as they make the mundane effort down the stairs. Whenever she was about to breakdown and cry again, he pushed the glass of water to her and made her take a drink.

Looks like Grandmother Risa's suggestion was working. The mind can only focus on one activity at a time. It was hard to cry and drink water at the same time.

"Where is Papa?" mom asked absently as they sat down at the dining room table.

"He's traveling for work," said Kusuo. It wasn't a lie, per se. His father did beg the editor for more accounts to manage. Unlike before, where Kuniharu insisted on a schedule that allowed for generous home hours, Kuniharu requested this time, and obtained, several accounts where the manga artist lived outside their immediate area.

The arrangement should be temporary, Kusuo hoped.

"Oh, I see," said mom dully as he picked up her chopsticks. She did not utter the traditional benediction before she began to absently pick at the pickled plum and the teriyaki chicken.

Kusuo took his customary place opposite from her and watched her. He mentally ticked off each and every bite and swallow she took. So far, whatever she ate at mealtime could only be counted on one hand. It was concerning, but an improvement over the first couple of days where she was too distraught to even eat.

Halfway into her fourth bite of rice, tears started rolling down mom's cheeks and dropped onto the rice in her rice bowl. She dropped the chopsticks in her hands, making a loud isolated clatter as the wood contacted the ceramic. She held her hand to her face and began to sob.

Kusuo got out of his chair and picked up the chopsticks. Instead of returning to his chair though, he settled down on the chair next to mom. He leaned in to hold her.

Mom automatically leaned away as she roughly wiped away the tears on her face with her sleeve. She choked, trying to quickly diminish her tears. "No. It's okay. Ku-chan. I'm okay."

"No. You're not." Kusuo held her anyway.

Mom struggled a little bit, making sure that there was at least an air gap between any areas where their naked skin could touch. Kusuo had gloves on his hands, but not on his neck and face. She could not subjugate her only remaining child to the mess that was her emotions now. "Ku-chan. No. You can't. Your pscyhomet-"

Kusuo was careful. Some of his fashion choices were based on how he could make sure that his more annoying abilities were not activated. He owned far more long sleeves than short sleeves for a reason. "That doesn't matter. You are my mother,"

Mom's breath hitched. A moment later, she began to wail. "Ku-kun is gone, Ku-chan. He's really gone. Your older brother is gone."

There was nothing to say to that.

"His phone is disconnected now," mom continued. "I...I can't even listen to his voice anymore."

Mom was right in more ways than one.

If there was one thing Kusuo learned from looking through Kuusuke's 'a lot of crap' was that Kuusuke was relentless in hiding his digital trail. In that, Kuusuke had hacked computers in an effort to erase all evidence that would draw attention to himself. Sure, Kuusuke published papers, won prestigious awards, grants and scholarships. The evidence of Kuusuke's exceptionalism could not be completely erased. Heck, on a cash basis, Kuusuke was probably the wealthiest man in the world and that had to get some attention from a banker. But in the age of easily reproduced electronic articles, records, searchable answers, Kuusuke made sure that anything that highlighted, pronounced, these achievements and superlatives were erased within days, if not within hours. The indexing of internet pages, journal publications, that traced back to Kuusuke were erased by hidden algorithms in the server farms all over the world.

One of the consequences was that there were no digital pictures of Kuusuke, or recordings of him. Kuusuke's voicemail message recorded with the phone service provider had been erased within the hour that service ceased. Added onto Kuusuke's own nebulous psychic abilities, to subtly mind control, the man could've completely wrecked the world and no one would ever know.

Kuusuke's verbal threat of holding the world hostage when the brothers had their spat a year ago was real.

Kusuo knew because he searched through the extensive files in Kuusuke's computers and realized that with one wrong tap of a keyboard, the world would be thrown into chaos.

Frankly, Kusuo was not surprised. He imagined Kuusuke would've laughed while humanity descended into anarchy.

On second thought, probably not. Kuusuke simply did not care. The laughter would've been for effect, rather than pleasure. It was hard to know whether any of Kuusuke's outer expression was real, considering that no one knew the extent of Kuusuke's brand of psychic abilities. The only thing for comparison was the massive fire that could hurt Kusuo himself, which said nothing of exactly Kuusuke could do, outside of the fact that it's likely fairly powerful.

And honestly, Kusuo was more interested in the computer algorithms that erased the digital memory of Kuusuke. Kusuo was set on making sure that practice continued for himself. His current profile was too high for his comfort.

Mom, though, wasn't thinking about any of that. "Who's going to take care you if you get sick again?" mom asked.

-What am I? Two-years old? I can take care of myself,- was what Kusuo wanted to tell her.

Mom was right though, since she was specifically referring to problems with his ESP and how only Kuusuke had ever been effective in mitigating (and exacerbating) the problems caused by it.

And technically, Kusuo still hadn't figured out how to build a limiter yet. He had depended on his brother to take care of that aspect for years.

It was an incredible oversight on Kusuo's part, even with the realization that Kuusuke might have a hand in that oversight. It was a problem that he intends to fix, as soon as he could.

Except that life had too much on the schedule for him now. Untangling Kuusuke's extensive possessions would continue to take time. Running a multi-billion dollar international conglomerate while trying to stay out of the media took more mental gymnastics than he was willing to admit. Making sure mom ate more or less regularly was a new thing that he picked up since dad was doing his best to deal with his own grief and didn't have the emotional energy to help mom.

Kusuo felt like the boulder that was getting pounded by water, trying to reduce him to nothing. So far, the water seemed to be winning.

Withdrawing from school was probably the least he could do in reducing the demands on his time and attention.

All the while, Kusuo thought about his limiter problem. He wasn't sure how long trying to figure out how to build a limiter was going to take, but he was certain that he would not go down without trying.

-"It's going to take two years!"- came the unbidden memory, oddly in his own voice, along with a sharp pain to what felt like the middle of his forehead.

"Ku-chan?"

Mom was looking at him now. She looked to be on the edge of panic.

"I'm fine," Kusuo responded to her, schooling his expression back to a blank. He didn't realize that he was holding his head, grimacing."It''s nothing."

Such words did not seem to temper mom's fears. Kusuo did not need telepathy to know that her thoughts had turned to a dark place.

Mom began to hyperventilate.

Kusuo grabbed hold of his mother's hands and squeezed. "Mom. Look at me."

Mom refused to look, as if looking would only confirm the worst.

For once, Kusuo felt that he must reinforce their current status. To get past all this useless mourning. "Ani is gone," said Kusuo, "but I'm still here."

Through teary eyes, Kurumi gazed upon her younger son. She looked upon his features, noting how her younger son was getting to that point of handsome physical maturity where he could make the ladies swoon with a look and be the enviable son that all moms wanted. Kusuo had become a gentle, caring, courteous young man with enormous potential. He would go on to attend college, get a job, probably get married, have beautiful children, come visit her every weekend, show her love in that quiet-Kusuo way. Such thoughts of such a future for Kusuo and for their family used to make her heart swell with happiness.

But, now, all she could really think about right now was Kuusuke and memories of him. She started to see how little Kuusuke was around when he was little, how deeply her heart ached then, but she never seemed to be impacted by that absence until now.

Then she began to fear for Kusuo. She thought about how, now, Kusuo would be all alone, with no one to help him with his powers. And if something were to happen to her and Kuniharu, Kusuo would have no sibling to automatically keep him company, no capable older brother to watch out for him.

There was also something deeper still. It was akin to the shattering of glass. Like how some tempered glass would shatter into thousands of shards internally but still keep its shape due to a veneer support lattice, never falling into pieces.

The moment she heard those inevitable words, and saw the irrefutable proof of Kuusuke's passing, she felt that veneer peel away, and shattered pieces fall away one by one.

"Mom, Can you please eat a little more?" Kusuo asked her presently. "For me?"

Such a question shook Kurumi out of her internal turmoil.

Kurumi wiped her face with her already wetted sleeves and tried. She kept on reminding herself that her younger son rarely asked her for anything. She relished the opportunity to do something to bring a smile on that dour face, even if it seemed futile. She really did try. She took a couple more bites before her emotion had gotten the better of her.

Kusuo kept his outer demeanor calm, like he normally would as if this was any other day.

After the pretense at dinner, Kusuo helped his mother through getting herself to the bathroom so she could go through the daily self-cleaning ritual. He ran the bathwater for her and picked out an outfit for her to change into so she didn't have a chance to run back to the bedroom and just breakdown.

Once mom went through the ritual of self-cleaning, Kusuo led her to the couch in the living room. He put on a mind-numbing TV show for her, making sure that the channel was on a comedy show. Instead of Kusuo's usual practice of standing a good distance away, scowling like a looming black cloud, he sat down next to her and watched the TV show with her.

She seemed almost normal, initially. She did laugh a little at the comedy show. Made her usual comments of the obvious like "this is funny." or "I can't believe he said that."

Eventually, though, even when the laugh track clearly indicated that whatever the skit was hilarious, the tear that rolled down her cheek was not from laughter. She wasn't listening anymore.

A little more time later, her eyelids became heavy. There seemed to be a quiet lullaby playing somewhere. Maybe it was something on the TV but she wasn't sure. She laid down on the couch, finding a convenient throw pillow for her head. A blanket covered her at some point, but she was already asleep.

"Good night, mom," Kusuo said to her. "I hope you're better tomorrow."