happy umineko day!
Timely Demise
Tohya's body had turned to bones. Six feet underground, they were untouched by human hands and preserved by the coffin. And they had been wound up tightly in the garbs and emblem belonging to the other half of his soul.
Ikuko, with her vast wealth, had buried him with the Ushiromiyas. She had him interred in the grave inscribed with his former self. None were the wiser, Ikuko having done the deed when the moonlight was at its highest and only one other woman knew the truth. (She supposed the young orphans were well aware of Tohya's death; he had fallen to the floor dead right in front of them, but their little brains couldn't understand the magnitude of his untimely demise.)
It had been a few years since his death. The years they had spent together were forgeries she treasured. The stories they weaved, her fingers hitting the keys while he spoke, it was magical. Readers flooded their inbox with theories and criticism, each letter volatile and passionate, and they poured hours into reading each one to further their discussions. Dining on a diet of alcohol and home-cooked meals, sorting through truths and lies, and rubbing his back as he sobbed, Ikuko understood she'd never meet another soul like Tohya.
She threaded her fingers through her long hair. Stray streaks of gray lined her dark locks. She'd have to order a new bottle of hair dye online. Making a mental note of that, she fixed her emerald brooch on her ebony blouse as the limousine came to a stop.
Ikuko opened the door as soon as her driver parked in the cemetery. She threw herself outside, ordering him to meet her in an hour. A chill nipped at her face and neck as she stepped onto the grass, the thin blades tickling her bare ankles. Her heels were silent, their usual clacking almost missed by the author, and she strode with purpose to her destination.
The private graveyard was for the elites of Japanese society. The names on each marble stone were heirs of oil dynasties, regal socialites who donated their wealth to the indigent, or others who proved their worth in a wide variety of esteemed areas. She assumed she would have been buried among them if her parents had their way with her.
She avoided trespassing on the dead. It marked a terrible omen if she besmirched their dignity. And she'd rather not risk her ruin when she had her upcoming novel to consider, her printer already showing signs of malfunctioning that morning.
The tombstones grew smaller as she approached the end of the field. As she walked, she observed the land. The occasional weed sprouted from the ground. Dandelions shifted in the breeze, and Ikuko remembered blowing their seeds clean off as a child. The sky was a crystal clear blue, preferable to the deep gray clouds rolling in the distance. Breathing deeply, she smelled the sweet hint of rain warning of the incoming storm and quickened her pace.
Ikuko raised her head when she spotted a figure kneeling in front of a headstone. A smile tugged at her lips. She anticipated her fellow author to arrive first, her bond to the deceased stronger with each passing year.
She said nothing as she approached Yukari. Instead, she surveyed the plethora of grave markers decorated with roses. She found Rosa and Maria sharing a tomb. Above them, Hideyoshi and George rested, Eva's plot nestled between them.
Next to the family of the oldest daughter were the graves of the oldest son's family. What sparked Ikuko's intrigue was the one belonging to Jessica. Freshly clipped violas had crowned her grave marker, their presence implying someone else had come to remember a beautiful life cut far too short.
She did not stew on the question for too long. Yukari stood up from the graves of her immediate family, her gloved hands clasped in front of her waist. She donned her mourning attire, a thin, black sweater and an ankle-length, shapeless shirt. The only color she wore was gold glittering on the crest of the one-winged eagle on her right glove.
"Good afternoon, Kotobuki-sensei," Ikuko began, bowing her head. She slipped her hand into her breast pocket and retrieved a dahlia flower. Its thick petals were the deepest shade of rouge, and she placed it upon the grave marker of her dear friend.
Yukari smiled. Faint wrinkles lined the corners of her lips. Her color was more anemic than usual, her skin bordering on opaque, ghostly. "No need to apologize, Hachijo-sensei. I'm glad you're here. My brother would have appreciated it," she said, her tone hoarse. She cleared her throat, massaging the lump.
Ikuko hummed. "I should have brought a bottle of water to split with you."
Yukari coughed out a rebuttal. "I'm fine. I had mint tea and two cups of water before I arrived," she said, pressing her palm to her forehead. "I also went to my primary care physician just yesterday. She said I'm well enough to travel."
Ikuko nodded. There was no point in disparaging Yukari's opinion. Acquiescing, she gestured at Jessica's grave. "I doubt you played favorites," she said.
"Certainly not. I love my family members equally" she replied, stepping over to Jessica's grave. She traced her index finger along the stem that fanned out into the grass. "An old friend of Jessica's arrived earlier. She told me her name was Manon."
Ikuko's eyes widened. "Her name ended with 'on?'"
"She was also an orphan and a companion of Shannon and Kanon during their time at the Fukuin House." Yukari turned her gaze skyward and chuckled under her breath. "Since I was so young, I only have one key memory about her. In 1985, I had gotten horribly lost in the mansion at night. When I started to hear cackling echoing in the hallways, I remembered a sin I had committed that afternoon. I had disgustingly denied Sakutaro's existence, and Maria excommunicated me from Mariage Sorciere, understandably so. I thought Beatrice was going to do something horrible to me to punish my sin. I was so terrified that I hid in a storage closet." She sighed, slowly shaking her head, "Manon happened to hear my sobbing and located me. She guided me back to my cousins' room before Beatrice could get to me. She saved me from a rather cruel prank from the witch I slighted."
"I'd say the witch still had her day. She did make you scramble into a closet," Ikuko teased, earning a light bout of laughter in return. "Did Manon leave any flowers for Shannon and Kanon?"
Yukari gestured at the far corner of the grave markers. There, Ikuko spotted the servants' names chiseled into the tombs. As she expected, fewer violas decorated Shannon and Kanon's names, the stems ripped at an edge, implying Manon had hurriedly torn apart her bouquet in their honor.
"She didn't know they were buried here," Yukari explained. "She only learned the truth after a long struggle of internet sleuthing."
"Really?" She arched an eyebrow, unable to hide her grin. "The mass graves of the Ushiromiya family and the servants had never been made public at Eva-san's request," Ikuko mused, cupping her chin. "I wonder how the information leaked online. Only the families of the deceased servants were aware of this site, so, perhaps, one of them posted the address on a forum."
Yukari gave a careless shrug of her shoulders. She focused her attention back on her brother's grave, and Ikuko crouched next to her, lifting her skirt to not dirty it. Yukari brushed stray specks of sand off the embedded letters of his true name, an identity that had haunted him for years until he exhaled his final sigh.
When Tohya had collapsed in the middle of the Halloween party, dead before he even hit the ground, Ikuko remembered the terror encompassing the room. The children screamed, running for their lives. Some wailed that the witch of the portrait had sucked his soul out of his body after looking at her. Others simply collapsed out of shock, tended to by the equally panicked staff Yukari employed.
But the cacophony was nothing compared to the expression on Yukari's face. The shock had sharpened her features. She had clutched her chest, her jaw dropping open to the point where Ikuko thought it had unhinged. She dropped to her knees and cried. Ikuko recalled how they both shook his shoulders, shouting his various names, but when they searched for any sign of life, there had been none.
Then, Yukari simply stopped, her expression blank. She had gazed over her shoulder and stared the witch square in her conspiratorial eyes, Ikuko unable to fathom the thoughts spinning in her head. It was as if she was having a conversation with the witch, tearing Yukari's attention away from the fresh corpse of her brother that hadn't even relieved himself.
She had bowed her head to Tohya's ear. She murmured something Ikuko couldn't hear. And when she straightened her spine, she pressed her fingers over his eyelids and closed them, a smile on her lips.
Ikuko never brought up what was discussed between Yukari and Beatrice. As much as she enjoyed gossiping and learning, it was none of her business. She respected Yukari as a fellow author far too much to pry too deeply into her personal decision, but Yukari suddenly placed her hand on Ikuko's shoulder, the storm clouds swelling overhead.
"He's at peace. Beato reassured me of that today, last year, and on the day of onii-chan's death," she explained, "and she wanted me to tell you as someone who cared for him in his most dreadful state."
Ikuko cocked her head, uttering a low hum. "And I suppose I wasn't privy to that information until now? Has Beatrice been so angry with me for staying with him for those long years that she wouldn't relay that message herself?"
"Well, no matter how much another woman might help him, she'll always claim that he belongs to her, heart, body, and soul. She's jealous beyond all rationality." She rubbed her temples, sighing. "Despite how old I get, it makes conversations with her rather frustrating whenever I want a second alone to speak with my brother."
"For a thousand-year-old witch who slaughtered humans in the wickedest ways possible, she sounds like a petulant child who never learned how to share."
"She is!" Yukari laughed, but Ikuko winced as she suddenly wheezed. Her hand flew to her mouth, doubling forward and catching herself by sinking her fingers into the grass. She coughed, her chest heaving.. Yukari swallowed, Ikuko noticing splotchy patches of red crossing her cheeks, the shade similar to the hue of her hair.
"Your cancer has progressed. It's affecting your lungs, is that so?" Ikuko asked, helping Yukari to her feet.
Yukari did not look at Ikuko. She stared at Battler's grave marker, her chest moving up and down as she caught her breath. Resting her hand on her glove's insignia, she whispered, "I'm not meant for this world much longer, but I'll continue to live until I finish what I believe needs to be said." She nodded to herself, her lashes wet when she closed her eyes. "I will join them when I'm ready. I'll rest when I know it's time just like onii-chan."
Ikuko did not immediately reply. She felt Yukari lean into her shoulder, and she wreathed her arm around the thin woman's angular weight. Yukari had lost weight. Stray skin folded at her hip despite the wool in her sweater. Her chest continued to rise and fall, her breathing faint and shallow as Ikuko shifted her arm from Yukari's waist to around her shoulder just as she had done for Tohya in the middle of the road many decades ago.
Ikuko would have commented about feeling awkward, but her admiration for Yukari overpowered her natural urge. She helped Yukari turn from her family, murmuring that she would call her driver to return early. Removing her mobile phone from her pocket, she froze as lightning flashed, blinding her.
Surrounded by pure white, warmth bloomed on Ikuko's forearm. When she looked, she found bony fingers pressed against her sleeve. Then, a second, smaller, smoother hand covered the heavier palm, filling the silence with a cackle.
Battler, dressed in his cape, and the witch from the portrait, Beatrice, smiled at her. Golden butterflies flitted around them. Thunder rumbled overhead. Lightning flashed again, tricks of the deluge ready to pour.
"Thanks for taking care of Ange. I know she can be a handful, but this time, she really needs assistance," Battler said.
"Of course, Tohya, but I have to criticize you for dying on me in the middle of a party. Quite rude," Ikuko sneered, rolling her eyes.
Beatrice threw her head back, her curls jostling. "As if Ange's Halloween party could keep him thoroughly entertained when his wife was right before him! He was already unfashionably late to our reunion!" she exclaimed, slapping Battler's back and startling him.
"H-hey, Beato! That's not fair to say to Ange when she's about to pass out," he cried, but she flicked his cheek with her sharp fingernail. It left behind a red mark that seemed to sting when Battler rubbed it.
"You're unreasonably foolish today, Battler! Ange is my dear sister-in-law. Of course I'd come speak with her any time. Since you were taking so long to arrive, we already talked about your incompetence!" She flicked his cheek again, Battler yelping as she injured the same welt. "You were too busy pouring over a mystery novel that I had already read a hundred times over. Way to keep your sister and wife waiting! Idiot. Bum. Braindead moron. Incompetent in every single manner humanly and magically possible."
Beatrice listed off insults and punctuated her taunts with flicks to his wound. Battler whined, unable to retort. Ikuko listened with a wry grin on her face, the lightning continuing to shoot out and spear through the clouds. Raindrops began to fall, landing in her hair and into her clothes. She cleared her throat just as Beatrice laughed and bashed her knuckles into Battler's shoulder, the pair blinking at her.
"Well, as fun as this has been, I'd rather not get wet," Ikuko said, and she started walking with Yukari, who slowly ambled along with her, "and Kotobuki-sensei needs her rest."
Parting from Battler, Beatrice nodded. "Regrettable, but expected. See that she's taken care of. She has much loving wisdom to impart to this world."
"Just as you did," Ikuko remarked, winking.
Beatrice showed off her teeth as she smirked. Her lip curled, and she crossed her arms underneath her chest. Arrogance exuded off her like an aura, her confidence almost overwhelming to a lesser author, but Ikuko matched her persona well.
"Hm, you are a forgery author truly worthy of my time. I've read your tales thrown into the sea of fragments, and I respect your craft," Beatrice replied, golden butterflies whisking around her. She slipped her hand into Battler's and grinned at him. "Let's take our leave. Your friend will take care of Ange."
Battler nodded. Beatrice's frame faded like dust, and she parted with a solitary nod aimed at Ikuko. Nothing of her body was left behind, but tangible proof of her existence had already been stored away in Ikuko's care in the form of a message in a bottle.
"Thanks again. When it's a good time for you, let's write another forgery together," Battler said. His body fell to the wind, shifting and swerving, like grains in an hourglass.
"I hope you think of many ideas that I'll criticize to hell and back," Ikuko sneered, "because you know I won't accept shoddy manuscripts with half-baked concepts."
His laughter filled her ears until only the thunder remained. It bellowed. Ikuko stared at the darker clouds, their forms thick and pitch black, the shade of Beatrice's dress.
Setting her phone to her ear, she grinned to herself and dialed her driver. As the rain increased, the chill seeping into her bones, Ikuko exchanged a glance with Yukari. The authors shared in a mirthful laugh, the flowers they left behind unbothered by the storm, the ones beyond grave accepting their gifts and awaiting their eventual arrival.