| Chapter 6 |

Shizuka doesn't go out drinking at night—especially not when he considers himself on duty—which is inevitably Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Actually that's not true. What he doesn't do is go drinking with his co-workers, even though it is the norm. Part of the reason is that he generally dislikes restaurant food and has never been dragged to a drinking bar that compared favorably to what he knows and trusts. According to Watanuki he has inherited his grandfather's picky eating habits. Watanuki claims that Doumeki could have become a food gourmet if he had wanted to, not that he had. On the other hand, Shizuka doesn't dislike alcohol, either. Watanuki will sometimes offer a glass of something on the weekends, and next thing he knows, Shizuka persuades him to fetch a bottle of the stuff. Watanuki keeps vast stores of especially good saké and wine.

But none of his coworkers know, of course, and so over time this habit has garnered some confusion and resentment. Especially since Shizuka appears single, young, good-looking, and above all, unattached. People think they have the right to stake a claim on him.

Shizuka glances at the clock. If he's going to get to Watanuki's by six, catching the train, he's going to have to leave now. Most of his work is done. What is left can be addressed if he arrives early in the morning. Shizuka cleans his desk quickly, slips his working files into his briefcase, and stands, rolling his chair into place in front of him.

"You're leaving work early," the office-worker in the next cubicle remarks. He's the same age as Shizuka, and he's the one who likes to keep tabs on everyone and what they are doing, very sensitive to changes in routine. Normally Shizuka sticks to a regular schedule, partly because of personal habit, and also because dislikes of his co-workers' speculation—the scrutiny is irritating, even if there isn't much to gossip about when it comes to him.

It's true. During the week, Shizuka likes to work late into the night, until around ten o'clock or so: just in time to avoid midnight social hours.

Shizuka turns out the light in his office and steps out. "Yes. I have something that needs to be taken care of…"

The cursory explanation is apparently satisfactory. The office-worker nods and goes back to his work.

But the matter turns out to be not quite over. The office is aware of Shizuka's imminent departure. Someone pipes up, a kohai whose name slips Shizuka's mind. Anyone with people-skills at all could pick up on the fact that Shizuka Doumeki's kohai had been compelled to ask a curious, rude question on behalf of the entire office. Shizuka can hear the attention and the ears of all the other employees in the room straining.

The question was:

"Do you have a girlfriend?" he asks, completely awkwardly.

"No," says Shizuka.

The first-year takes a deep breath. "A…a boyfriend?"

"No," Shizuka replies, deliberately mildly.

"Do you have anyone?" the poor guy tries, lowering his voice a bit desperately. His hands flap in the air in place of the words he hasn't the courage to voice. He knows Shizuka has to have an excuse, but he can't make assumptions out loud.

"No."

"Doumeki-san, pardon my asking, but everyone wants to know where you disappear to on the weekends," the first-year says, looking ever more nervous, twisting his hands together.

That, Shizuka had figured out.

"Somewhere you can't follow," Shizuka says, lifting his head suddenly to stare forbiddingly over the first-year's shoulder and into the office at large. Suddenly the stillness is disturbed as everyone hastily finds "things to do" and remembers to "look busy" though Shizuka knows that they will all still be looking.

The first-year looks jumpier and more strung-out than ever. Shizuka takes pity on him, so he looks back down, and says gently, "There's a friend. I don't 'have' him. He's not 'mine'." He cannot say: 'He was my great-grandfather's, first'—that's impossible.

The first-year gulps. "What kind of friend?" He knows he's pushing his luck. There are some young guys in the office who would have no qualms launching a vendetta against a younger employee, just for asking too many questions. Shizuka doesn't like them. It's partly the reason why he keeps aloof, and this tendency is what the office workers are really worrying over as they indirectly probe at the question of why Shizuka doesn't socialize.

"The kind that needs me," says Shizuka, trying for finality.

The first-year turns a bit green. "Like cancer…or something?"

That's what they'll understand best, after all. "In a way," Shizuka says, indifferent. "He's having a hard time adjusting to the prospect of his coming death." Saying it so dry like this, it's hard to keep the frost from his voice, the implication that this is not your business, not to let on his personal struggles with Watanuki. He forces himself to show the barest ghost of a smile. "Still…it's nice to be needed, wouldn't you say? I'm happy to give him my time while he still has it." There. Now nobody can object in clear conscience.

The first-year gives him a startled look, mumbles something, bows, and hurries away.

Shizuka gazes after him with a vaguely troubled air, then clicks the snaps shut on his briefcase and picks it up. With one hand he picks up his jacket, and with the other he hauls the briefcase over his shoulder, deliberately assuming the cocky pose he adopted in high school for its effect on other people. He walks out of the office and no one says anything; the only sound left is the quiet beeping of fax machines, the clacking of keystrokes, the shuffling of paper.

As he turns the corner, he catches whispered comment, So cold— Right, how can he be so cold? He's his friend after all… We were just asking. Trying to help…

Shizuka can feel himself shrinking with dull unease. This can't go on for much longer.

He reaches the street outside and looks out at the moon, risen partway up the clear blue sky. It's not particularly reassuring. He never could get over the strangeness of that night symbol appearing in the daytime, but soon it will be dusk, and then nightfall; if it had been then, he wouldn't give it a second glance...

He glances at his watch. If he's going to make the train on time, he's going to have to hurry.

"Watanuki!" he shouts, stumbling over the threshhold and into the genkan and shelling off his shoes as fast he can.

Watanuki appears from around the corner in a flurry of robes. Kochoushu leans over and peers at Shizuka from behind Watanuki, cocking her head just so. Her hair slides over her shoulder, almost touching the floor.

"We need help—with you as support," Watanuki bit out.

Shizuka nods sharply. "What should I do?"

Watanuki hesitates, for a moment, but he answers quickly enough: "Protect us."

"Of course…"

Watanuki fills him in on the immediate details, although he doesn't tell Shizuka about his history with this particular kind of spirit and he doesn't explain why he needed him on this particular mission. Perhaps nothing will happen. Maybe. Shizuka knows that Watanuki isn't telling the whole truth, for even without the explanation, Shizuka picks up on Watanuki's jumpiness immediately. He decides it must be knowledge he does not need, yet—perhaps it is simply something he does not want to say in front of Kochoushu—so he does not ask.

But they seemed to be having trouble getting going. Watanuki would walk to the edge of the shop, peer over the edge, and suddenly veer, as if pulled by an invisible thread, and he would make up some excuse about more things he had forgotten to do. This despite the fact that it had been an hour and a half since Watanuki had known the problem and called Shizuka. It was obvious that he was thinking about venturing outside, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

Shizuka nudged Kochoushu, and bent down to her ear.

"What?" She looked up.

"Next time he does that, I want you to push him forward, off the porch," Shizuka murmured. "Just lightly."

"He's my teacher." She reminded him, frowning. "Why?"

"He wants to come, but he's scared of the outside. He just needs a little nudge. He'd be irritated if I did it; can you do it without him noticing you?"

Kochoushu nodded, and hopped up onto the porch, waiting to circle behind Watanuki's back. Shizuka stayed down by the gate to stare at Watanuki expectantly. Once again Watanuki lined himself up toe-to-toe with the steps, but he didn't go over.

Kochoushu spread the fingers of her hand and pushed. Watanuki stumbled forward, just barely managing not to trip down the steps. Kochoushu jumped to the opposite side of the direction of her push and innocently skipped to Shizuka's side.

"Are we ready to go?" said Shizuka.

"Maybe I imagined…" Watanuki mumbled to himself, and shook his head as if to clear it. "Yes." He walked to Shizuka, and stopped. Shizuka took his cue and dragged the shopkeeper into the street.

"Where now?" asked Shizuka, because Watanuki was too disoriented by being outside to think about the next step.

Kochoushu started, ran in front of them, and pointed. "That way. Just follow me."

"Right." Shizuka pulled Watanuki after her while Watanuki attempted to make sense of his surroundings. "Where are we?" Watanuki kept asking. And Shizuka would reply, watching carefully as Watanuki screwed up his face trying to remember what his neighborhood map used to look like and reconcile the familiar with the strange. Kochoushu ignored them both.

"Here it is." She stopped in front of a perfectly normal house. "What exactly do you propose to do?"

Watanuki looked at her. "I just need to talk to your cousin. I need to see if my suspicions are real. If they are, then dealing with the problem might be over quickly. If not—" he shrugged. "Then I have no idea."

"All right." Kochoushu held open the door. "Coming? I'll introduce you to my aunt." They nodded, and filed in behind her. She skipped to the next door while they were taking off their shoes, and called, "Obasan? Ooooi! Ojamashimasu! Are you here?"

But there was no reply.

"I don't like this," Kochoushu said uneasily. "She told me she was staying home today. I saw the car parked here..."

"Try again?" Watanuki suggested.

Looking doubtful, Kochoushu did so. And then she called for her cousin. "Kuwako! Kuwa-chan!"

Watanuki started looking uneasy when Kochoushu began to get upset. "It's all right, Kochoushu-san. You tried. It's better to get an invitation, but we can still do this."

"Watanuki, do you sense anything?" Shizuka said suddenly.

Watanuki closed his eyes, and concentrated. After a moment his eyes flew open, and he said, definite, "Yes. Kochoushu-san is right."

Kochoushu gritted her teeth. "It's not fine…I should have come over sooner." She stood stiffly by the door. "I left this matter for too long."

Watanuki turned to Shizuka. "Shizuka? I need you to take out the peachwood ring."

Nodding, Shizuka slipped it onto his finger, and the ghostly outline of a shining bow snaked through the air, growing until it reached its final form. Watanuki noted that it was somewhat bigger than it had been before. A good sign, probably.

"Just keep that on. In case." Watanuki took a deep breath.

Shizuka agreed, quietly.

"What is that, exactly...?" said Kochoushu, looking somewhat alarmed.

"Manifestation of purifying spiritual pressure," Watanuki said shortly. "It won't damage anything but unkind spirits. It's protection. Just in case."

She nodded, but didn't relax. "Let's go," said Kochoushu. She led them through the dark house.

They found Kochoushu's aunt asleep in the living room; Kochoushu stopped, but Watanuki hardly spared her more than a glance before sweeping on, and he picked up the pace. At Kochoushu's questioning glance, he explained, "That's not a natural sleep. I would not be able to wake her up until I dealt with the source of the problem." He swept his eyes this way and that, and chose before Kochoushu could direct him, listening to the tinny sound in his ears and slight shadows of curling, smoky tendrils that grew thicker as they approached the last door. They stopped.

"This is—this is Kuwako's room," said Kochoushu, taking a deep breath.

Watanuki nodded. "One more time. Try to make contact."

Kochoushu took a step forward to the door, and knocked.

The air grew suddenly heavy.

Not to be deterred, but grimacing now, Kochoushu said, "Kuwako, it's me. Kochoushu, your cousin. I'm worried about you. Please, could you open the door? I haven't seen you in such a—"

Leave me alone! GO AWAY!

The highpitched scream pierced all three of the minds in the hall while bypassing their ears, but they clutched their heads all the same and cringed. Kochoushu dropped to her knees, breathing hard. She wrapped her hand around the doorknob, ready to twist it and enter.

Watanuki stumbled back into Shizuka, but he straightened quickly having caught Shizuka's shoulder in a tight grip, and pulled Shizuka's face closer. "If I tell you to shoot, you must trust me, and do what I say. But no sooner, unless I am in danger. Can you do that?"

Shizuka licked his lips, and nodded. Watanuki dropped to the floor in a crouch beside Kochoushu.

Kochoushu's voice dropped. "Kuwako, the truth is I'm really afraid for you. I brought some friends. They're harmless, they just want to check you out. Please…would you let me in? I need to see you."

This time her feelings are not contained in words. They all feel sharp, purple pangs of grief rip through their skulls in a wave and leave a simmering ache behind. Kochoushu knocked again, and they could all feel a wave of Kuwako's fear go through them like rolling mist. You can't! she screamed.

"Kuwako," Kochoushu whimpered, her grip on the doorknob weakening, "I must."

Watanuki stepped over to stand over her, by the crack in the door. "Kochoushu. Open the door," Watanuki ordered, leaning on the doorframe.

She twisted her wrist and leaned a little, and the door popped open.

"Thank you." Watanuki slid the door open and brushed past Kochoushu, who was still shuddering from the onslaught. Shizuka seized Watanuki's shoulder, almost as if to hold him back, but found himself stumbling after him instead.

"Kuwako-san!" Watanuki commanded, striding into the center of the room. "I am the Keeper of the Wishing Shop I inherited from the Dimensional Witch of Time and Space herself. I have the power to help. At the request of your cousin Kochoushu, I have come to help you, if you let me. Look at me!"

Kuwako met his eyes for the barest instant and immediately she turned away, wailing and clutching strands of her long black hair. She was pale in the dim light. She was covered in blankets, huddled on her bed, shuddering.

"Don't look at me, don't look at me, don't look at me—!"

He decides that he will play her game her way if her demands are so simple. It would be better not to encourage her fear if he can succeed in earning her trust. "All right, I shan't look at you," says Watanuki calmly, and faces away from Kuwako, facing Shizuka's chest. To Shizuka, aghast that Watanuki willingly turned his back on the danger in front of him, Watanuki murmurs, once again, "I trust you to protect me." Shizuka doesn't turn around; Kuwako doesn't seem to mind Shizuka staring at her, but even so, he averts his gaze slightly, and relaxes for a fraction.

"Kuwako, you may not want us to see you, but I want you to watch me," says Watanuki. "I want you to think about how you got here. About why you are imprisoned in this room."

A movement catches in the corner of Shizuka's eye, and he looks up. The ceiling lamp above Watanuki sways dangerously, and Shizuka forcefully tows Watanuki to the side by the arm, with a margin, before the lamp plunges straight down to where they had been sitting, and shorts out.

"Is she trying to kill us?" Shizuka hisses in his ear.

Watanuki shakes his head mutely.

Galvanized by the crashing sound, Kochoushu had gotten up and stumbled through the door. "Cousin," she croaks, her eyes flickering over the room. She spots the lamp on the floor, sees that Watanuki and Shizuka are all right, and sighs with relief. Slowly, she sinks back to her knees.

Rather than face her, Kuwako dives under the blankets.

"Cousin," says Kochoushu, "We need to know what you promised."

Kuwako curls into a tighter ball.

"Kuwako, we know something has happened. We know you need help," said Kochoushu quietly.

"I don't need help," came the muffled reply. "No one understands. I'm not going to die. I won't die. I won't die."

"Kuwako, who are you talking to?" Kochoushu asked.

Kuwako burst into tears and sobbed.

"You're speaking to his ghost, aren't you? You're speaking to Hiichirou's ghost," Kochoushu continued.

"He's here!" shouted Kuwako, and pounded the walls.

"I saw him," said Watanuki, turning. "I saw him, Kuwako. He's the ghost sitting on your bed, with his arms around your shoulders. He's been telling you not to listen to us. Doing everything he can to distract you."

"You can—see him." Kuwako sat up, and the blankets slid off. "I—I know," she croaked, gulping down her tears for control. "I l-love him but I'm trying n-not to lis-sten. Everything—it's just—I'm so confused and everything is wrong! He d-didn't used to be like this!"

"He wants you to join him and you can't," says Watanuki in a low voice. "That's good, Kuwako. You've been doing very well."

Kuwako shook her head. "No, I'm not. If I weren't such a coward I would j-just g-give in—" she shuddered, clutching her ears. "He loves me! He's always loved me!"

"Kuwako. Your cousin, for one, is glad that you are a coward." Watanuki nodded to her. "And your aunt, for another. But on the contrary, you have been very brave. Listen to us. We want you to live. You want to live, too, but you have been resisting him so long that you have become confused."

"It would b-be better if I was dead," said Kuwako, but she sounded unsure.

"We want you alive. The boy's spirit has been corrupted. He has been feeding off of your despair," Watanuki continued, calmly and soothingly. "It's because he was murdered. He was trapped on this earth and he needed sustenance, unable to reach the afterlife. In his desperation he became impure, and clung to you. He's been killing you slowly, all this time. He knows this. You must let us send him on."

"I can't!" Kuwako cried, and tears leaked from her eyes over her cheeks. "I love him!"

"He no longer loves you," said Watanuki. "He has become entirely selfish." He's guessing now. It may not be truth. The spirit probably still does love her, just like the spirit of the woman loved him. This is the hardest part, the clincher, of all these cases—

"I promised!" Kuwako sobbed. "I promised we'd be together forever—"

So that was it. A promise made before he ever became a ghost—

"You can't!" Kochoushu gasped, aghast, and floundered towards her cousin. Kuwako, frozen, locked eyes with her.

To Watanuki's eyes, the boy Hiichirou wrapped himself around the girl even tighter and glared at him. "Hypocrite!" the boy spat, seething darkness. "Everyone knows what you've done, shopkeeper—you dragged that woman from death, just to see her again! How is that different? How can you split apart our love? Surely you can understand our desire! It is no business of yours!"

Watanuki stiffened. Shizuka looked at him sharply.

"Kuwako-san doesn't want to die," Watanuki hissed, livid. "And her cousin asked me to save her. That woman asked me to help her. You may love Kuwako but it is not enough; you know that this way, with you dead and not yet gone, your love hurts her. When your love becomes more important than the other's well-being it becomes lust, indulgence, selfishness. You are impatient. You fear that time will dull love after you are gone. We cannot condone such a thing: you must allow nature to continue. You assume too much. Even I could not move heaven and earth for all of time, and if that woman did not wish to come back for me, then I could not persuade her. You have no right to speak. What little I know of love, I suffered for. I know only of the waiting." His voice cracked bitterly. "And you must not."

Watanuki darted behind Shizuka's back and pointed him in the right direction, and felt Shizuka tense as the bow crackled with power and light. "Shizuka," Watanuki whispered into his ear, "Now. Shoot..." Shizuka snapped up the bow, drew and — let go.

The bolt of light shot towards the chilly, empty spot near Kuwako. Instinctively Kuwako fell towards it, shrieking, "No!" But the empty space surged forward, taking on the blurred features of a young man—it pierced him, and he began to dissolve, and turn white.

"Hiichirou—"

"Kuwako," Hiitachi stopped her. "It is no use. I must go on." He kissed her brow. "I was afraid, and it corrupted me. I almost corrupted you. I could not let you save me from what I had to confront all along. Forgive me. I love you. I always knew it was always better that you lived on. I just couldn't face it."

"Hiichirou!" With the last bright sparks wavering around her, Kuwako listened.

Kochoushu ran to her cousin's bed and wrapped her arms around her neck, and held her tightly.

Watanuki turned away, and found himself facing Shizuka, who had slipped the peachwood ring off his finger and was looking dark and ordinary now without the illumination of the ring's harsh light. "Oh," Watanuki mumbled, and moved as if to step aside— Shizuka held him there, instead, and almost involuntarily Watanuki's head dipped down towards his shoulder as he sagged towards him.

"Watanuki, what did the ghost say?" Shizuka asked.

He shook his head, avoiding Shizuka's eyes. Feeling sick at heart, he tried to extricate himself.

"Shh. Be still," said Shizuka, and Watanuki stopped. "It's all right."

"It's not all right." Watanuki blinked tears into Shizuka's shirt. "Kochoushu's aunt is coming up at any minute."

That wasn't what he had been talking about. "I don't care," said Shizuka, and held him.

Watanuki sighed. After another minute, he stepped away and Shizuka let go.

There he was, the shopkeeper. The door to Kuwako's room banged open. "What's going on?" said Kochoushu's aunt, blinking to take in the scene.

Watanuki smiled at her wanly. "I believe things will go back to normal here in a few days."

"What happened?"Kochoushu's aunt said faintly.

"Your daughter had a run-in with a nasty spirit that she's been keeping secret for…oh, at least a month," said Watanuki. "It was very brave of her, but foolhardy. She could have died. Needless to say, it's gone now. I think that should explain some things. None of it was actually her fault. You should keep a closer eye on her."

Kochoushu's aunt simply blinked at him, then crossed the room to join Kuwako and Kochoushu by the bed.

"I think we should go," Watanuki murmured. "Kochoushu will come back to the shop when she's ready. They need time alone." He swallowed. In a moment, Shizuka was there, gripping his hand, searching his eyes. Watanuki nodded, and Shizuka led him from the room.

I hate myself, at 19 years old

It hurts so much I get nauseous, because your heart is so beautiful

And I, who cannot do a single thing—why would you kiss someone like me?

"Only to an unclean soul, it is impossible to look inside one's heart.

No matter where you walk, can that really be called your future?"

My dreams are left hanging at 19 years old

My lies are left hanging at 19 years old

I hate myself, at 19 years old

—"Juukyusai," by Shikao Suga [translated]