The story so far:
Prolog – Mayumi Osaka finds herself in a horrific situation while on a pleasure ride aboard a multimillionaire's yacht.
Chapter I, Subpar – Serena resolves to win the love of someone she admires by altering herself.
Chapter II, Calamity – The wellbeing of Naru's mother, Mayumi, is called into question when her cruise vacation is cut short by a sudden epidemic aboard a luxury liner.
Chapter III, Tryst – Serena's unusual morning ends off with meeting a strange girl and a controversial item in her possession.
Chapter IV, Friction – An interesting item catches Serena's attention at a boutique, and later, she finds herself heatedly defending her contentious decision to take drastic means to change her appearance.
Chapter V, Outsider – Serena cuts class to satisfy a curiosity but instead finds herself wondering how she looks in the eyes of others.
Chapter VI, Reveiller – A disturbing wakeup call has Serena rushing to Naru's house at 3 AM, ending in unspeakable tragedy.
MARIONETTES
Part I: Disingenuous
- VII -
Fragments
The bathtub water had grown tepid but the dense, warm steam still hung heavily in the air and condensed onto the grey ceramic tiles, succumbing to the gentle pull of gravity as meandering beads that haphazardly streaked their way down to the floor. Serena did not remember stepping into the tub, yet she presently found herself submerged almost to her collarbone, her hair done up into two tightly-wound odango to keep it from getting wet. How long had she been out? Her finger tips, shriveled like prunes, provided the only indication of the passage of time. It certainly was not like her to fall asleep in the tub, however relaxed she might be.
An unusual sound delicately reverberated against the bare walls of the bathroom. A delightful, sing-song melody filled the space with a strange tranquility. There had never been a radio of any sort in the bathroom, so the presence of the melody, however angelic, was disconcerting. Although she was unsure of the events leading up to falling asleep in the bathtub, she was certain that the voice was neither a recording nor coming from outside. Serena carefully peeled back the opaque shower curtain, peeking out to see if she was alone. Indeed, she was, which surprised her just as much as if she were not.
Unperturbed by Serena's misgivings, the cheery humming continued. Whether she wanted to or not, she would have to step out of the tub to investigate any further. Cautiously, she slowly raised herself up and with a careful step over the edge, she stood firmly on the absorbent bath mat that was content to take in the water running down her body.
The soft voice crooned on, coming from nowhere, as Serena searched in vain for a towel. There was none in sight, however, but that did not surprise her in the slightest; it was not unusual for her to have to call out for someone to make a towel delivery on her behalf. The melody continued to wash over her in the empty bathroom as she scanned for clues. In the haze, something caught her attention. There was a movement - one that was definitely not hers - in the mirror. Even as she stood still, something stirred behind the condensation. It was hard to tell just what it was, but its movements did not match her own; although she remained firmly in place, the shadowy figure bobbed gently from side to side.
As Serena cautiously crept to the white sink, the mirror resting on the wall just above it, she realized that the sweet, engrossing melody was coming from behind - or rather, from within - the mirror. It was a disturbing and surreal conclusion, but Serena somehow managed to resist her natural instinct to run away. Instead, she worked up the courage to place her hand on the mirror's cold, wet surface. It sent a chill up her arm that traversed down her spine and grounded her in her spot. A slow, quivering - and above all, reluctant - swipe across the mirror revealed the source of the humming.
Herself.
There she stood, obliviously looking straight back, the veritable one-way mirror separating their worlds. The autonomous reflection was as naked as Serena in her own bathroom, and entirely engrossed in brushing her hair. Stupefied, Serena peered at her doppelganger with uneasiness, as it blissfully continued gently humming and carefully stroking out tangles. As her reflection moved of its own accord, all she could do was simply stare in disbelief. The more she gawked, the less it made any sense to her. There was something... odd about the figure. While it was indeed her reflection, there were unusual things about her. Foremost, the colours were all wrong. Her eyes were pale grey - almost silver, even; her blonde hair had been bleached of all its brilliance and it hung over her bare shoulders as white as immaculate snow, like the fresh snowfalls Serena had come to love while living in Sapporo.
Whoever was on the other side of that mirror was not her. She was sure of that. Unfortunately, there was no way for her to inspect her actual reflection to confirm that. So she did the next best thing - Serena uncoiled her hair and let it cascade over her shoulders. To her utter shock, it had turned every bit as achromatic as her doppelganger's. So too, had her skin. How had she not noticed this when she had examined the wrinkles on her fingertips just moments ago? She examined her hands in puzzlement, observing that much like her alabaster chevelure, her skin had lost any radiancy it ever had. Indeed, the entire bathroom - herself included - had been stripped of life and reduced to a mere tricolour palette.
White. Grey. Black.
Serena turned back to the tub, convinced that there had been some colour there, but it, too, was comprised of nothing but varying greyscale hues. A mere facsimile of the world was all that remained. Just how and when had everything become drained of its vivacity?
The confused teen firmly shut her eyes to will colours back into existence, but had no such effect on her environs upon opening them back up. She stubbornly tried again, wishing twice as hard, but failing just the same. Serena would have continued with more attempts, were it not for the immediately noticeable silence. The singing had stopped.
Although she had found the humming unnerving at first, its absence was equally unsettling now. Serena turned to the mirror once again and gasped. This time, her reflection was every bit as perplexed as herself; it had become aware of Serena's presence for the first time, despite having been looking in her direction all of this time. Whatever division had originally existed between them had vanished.
The collapsed reality did not sit well with the reflection. In a fraction of a second, her gentility disappeared entirely and a hateful grimace spread across her face. Through some supernatural force, her ire manifested itself a moment later as the mirror shattered violently, sending razor-sharp shards slicing through the air in all directions. The 'ping' of hundreds of ricocheting glass pieces stirred the air like an angry swarm of wasps.
It had all happened so unexpectedly - so inexplicably - that Serena had not had a chance to properly shield herself. By the time she had raised her arms, the shrapnel had already caused minor injuries across her face, arms and upper body, while the larger chunks of glass had torn much deeper wounds. Taken entirely unawares by the blast, Serena stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Slivers of glass painfully embedded themselves into her palms when she tried to soften the fall. A bed of unforgiving glass had awaited her thigh, ready to mince her flesh.
Serena's eyes remained shut. She was afraid to open them on account of the fear that she might have been blinded. Parting her eyelids would no doubt confirm her terror. So long as she did not pry them open, she could grasp onto the hope that she still had her vision intact.
While Serena worried about the damage to her eyes, the humming resumed. The notes, despite being the very same, seemed far less delightful than before. Their melodic, care-free cheer mocked Serena's anxieties with every passing note.
Once, Serena had heard that people who were blind had their other senses develop more acutely than those of other people. Whether that was true or not, she was not sure. However, her sense of smell was certainly picking up something unpleasant. It was a distinctly different odour that stuck to the back of her throat as she inhaled. What was it?
Aware that she could not remain on the floor forever with her eyes shut, Serena worked up the courage to meekly pry them open, already fearing for the worst. To her great relief, she could still see and things were coming back into focus slowly. From her spot on the cold, wet tiles, Serena could see her doppelganger, who had blissfully resumed brushing her hair. She was not at all inconvenienced by the shattered mirror, even though her face and body were unnaturally distorted into hundreds of tiny, disjointed pieces that had been too stubborn to leave their place during the explosion. The largest missing section, roughly where the reflection's heart would be, was nothing but a smokey grey recess in the mirror.
Serena's observations were interrupted by the unfamiliar smell that still lingered in the air, which drew the teen's attention away from the malformed figure. She glanced down and immediately realized the source of the pungence.
Blood.
It was all over her. Her hands. Her thighs. Her torso. That was not the worst of it, though - sticking right out of her chest was the very thing she did not want to see. Right above her left breast protruded a misshapen piece of glass, jagged and razor-sharp. How she was still breathing, she did not know. How her heart was still beating, even less. Regardless, she could already feel the panic settling into her core. This could be lethal. Was certainly lethal.
A red droplet fell from above and burst against Serena's thigh. To the best of her knowledge, it had fallen from her face. Was she cut there too? And where had the red just come from? A short moment ago, her blood had been a dull grey, just like everything else. This was not how she wanted to bring colour back into the world.
A shard of glass about the size of a her palm stared upward at the ceiling. Serena gently removed it from the floor, taking it carefully into her hand, even though the effort spent on being cautious was seemingly unnecessary at this point. How could her situation possibly get any worse?
Much to Serena's relief, it was her own reflection that looked back at her this time. Her fingertips smudged the once-immaculate mirror with blood as she examined her facial wounds. In the oblong fragment, she could see other drops of crimson beading down her face. They were mostly superficial, though in comparison to the piece lodged in her chest, anything else was merely superficial.
Her thorax was starting to become uncomfortably hot for some reason. She tried to ignore it, but the discomfort soon turned into a sharp, searing pain. Her efforts to will it away were every bit as futile as her initial attempts to wish colours back into the world - and considering how her wish had been answered, she reasoned she should not make any more of them. There had to be something else she could do.
Before she realized it, her hands were wrapped around the serrated edges of the embedded glass shard, pulling outward. It tore away at her, carving out at her insides, ripping through muscle, fat and skin. There was a bizarre sound. A cry. A roar. A wail. Whatever it was, all that it carried was anguish. It sounded so inhuman that Serena could not be sure the sound had even come from her. By the time it subsided, the excised fragment of mirror rested flat on the blood-splattered floor.
Somehow, Serena's hands had removed the glass all on their own, as though they had momentarily been on autopilot. Her fingers were coated in blood, which obscured the true carnage done to them in the process of the crude extraction. They were gnarled up like the roots of a tree and her attempts to wriggle them produced nothing but spasmodic twitches in some, complete apathy in others. Their defiance was a secondary concern now, however; blood was pouring out in an incredible rate from the deep gash in her chest, which burned even more intensely than before.
In desperation, Serena tried to stymie the flow with her hands, but all her clumsy, prickly fingers managed to do was to channel the blood down her forearms to her elbows, from where it cascaded directly onto her thighs. In moments, she looked like the macabre palette of an inexperienced artist who worked only in red. How long would it be before all the paint was consumed? She needed to find something to stem the incredible flow.
Serena struggled to stand, using the wall to support her. Her crimson handprints streaked the tiles, recording her determination to rise. Once up, she reached for the door and contended with the round knob, which was every bit as obstinate as she was. It refused to turn under her inept fingers, her blood acting as a lubricant. It did not help at all that every press, every failed attempt drove the embedded slivers of glass further into her palms and fingers, each piece sharply biting at her from the inside. When she managed to eventually pull the door open - the friction from rubbing had eventually caused the blood to congeal into a sticky goo, enough for her to get a decent grip on the knob - she stepped out of her bathroom into a long, dark corridor. Like the bathroom, it seemed familiar, but again, there was something that was off. It was too dark to make out the exact details of the hallway, though, and she had no time to fumble around for a light switch. There was no choice but to proceed down the corridor in search of something to act as a makeshift cork. Her desperation grew with every footstep as she raced down the hallway to find anything to stop the hemorrhaging.
At the end of the dark corridor, Serena stumbled into a medium-sized room. It was dimly lit, illuminated only by weak rays of sunlight - or was that moonlight? - that filtered into the room through the closed slats of the window covers. Flecks of dust fluttered chaotically in the sudden draft that Serena had shot through the room upon entering.
Everything in the room was draped in white linens. While only the leg stubs of the hidden items peeked out from under the sheets, the immediately recognizable outlines of the concealed objects gave them away. The myriad of couches, tables, and chairs were pressed up firmly against each other. A layer of dust covered them all, as though the house had been forsaken for ages, abandoned completely by everything but the passage of time.
Whose house she was in, she could not say. Despite the similarities in the bathroom, certainly, this was not the Tsukino home, as the layout was not correct. Yet, it was not completely foreign, either. Of the little of the furniture Serena could make out from below the covers, she recognized none of it. The furniture at her place had clean, modern edges; these were curved, ornate and upscale. The Tsukinos were still arriviste and owned few such possessions.
A strange sensation tickled away at Serena's shin, drawing her attention to her leg. The cascade of blood had reached past her knees. She eyed the covered furniture once again, dreading the conclusion she had just reached. The thought of pressing one of the dirty linens against her wound was repulsive, but there seemed to be little recourse and a rapidly decreasing amount of time to find a suitable alternative. Serena yanked a spread off a chair, sending the settled dust into a frenzy.
Looking at her gaping wound, Serena paused and knew that what she was about to do was certainly not sanitary. Would it really matter if a little bit of dust got in there, though? It seemed like such a trivial concern in light of her uncontrollable blood loss. She was far from a doctor, but even a perfunctory triage would dictate stemming the flow first. Reluctantly, Serena bundled up the linen as best she could and pressed it up against her, preferring not to look as the linen immediately lost its immaculacy. Serena tried to distract herself by observing the chair she had uncovered. It was too dark to make out the fine details in the armrests, which curled downward and merged with the legs. However, its more pronounced features were picked up by the soft light. Where had she seen this design before? A point of reference eluded her as she tried to shift her focus away from the likelihood of bleeding out.
The teenager was jump-started back to her immediate surroundings by a scream from an adjacent room. This time, Serena knew for sure the vocalization had not come from her. Evidently, she was not alone, nor was she the only one in dire need of help. Without hesitation, Serena raced toward the sound, leaving behind a pool of her blood in front of the now-exposed chair.
Upon turning the corner, Serena found yet another dimly-lit room. To her immediate right was a door with an embellished, rectangular window that let in the only light. After the struggle of opening up the washroom door, Serena had no desire to battle with yet another door knob. Moreover, it was not the door that had caught her attention; that object was to her left. It was a flight of stairs that led to a second-floor landing that was completely shrouded in darkness. The picture frames on the wall, which ascended into the black abyss, had been covered in white linen, like the furniture in the adjoining room. As she stared into the nothingness that loomed above her, it was then that Serena realized where she was - it was a view she had seen countless times before, dating all the way back to her infancy. She suddenly remembered how, as a child, she had then been terrified to even approach the stairs until an adult had turned on the lights for her. But even in the twisted fears of her childhood, these dreadful stairs had never been so dark, dreary... or ominous.
Suddenly, Serena was a six year old again and a fear-induced paralysis immobilized her at the foot of the very first step. She knew what awaited her at the top, but the last time she had been up there...
The blood-soaked linen dropped to the floor, her hands no longer able to sustain it in place. As she struggled with her trepidation, an intense dizziness overcame Serena as she tried to maintain her upward focus. Was it from all the blood loss? It had to be, she was convinced. The dark-stained wood hid the bloodstains more effectively than the bathroom tiles as she placed a hand on the banister for support.
Just how much blood had she already lost? Serena looked back to try and quantify how much she had bled along the way to this point. A trail of bloodsplatter led to her spot in the foyer. At least, she thought it was her blood. Somehow, droplets of ice blue, electric green and vivid orange had somehow worked their way in between the red splatter, which was now a brighter ruby colour than the crimson that had streaked her face. It made no sense. Had the linen she had held up against her had some prismatic effect? How would that even have been possible? Serena turned to the lump at her feet. The once-immaculate, white linen was blotted with deep pink splotches. Just what was going on? Was she becoming truly delirious?
The drab foyer, now spotted with polychromatic blood, began to spin around Serena. She clenched even tighter onto the banister, ignoring the glass still painfully embedded in her digits, but she could not maintain herself up-right inside the macabre kaleidoscope that swirled around her. She fell to one knee and closed her eyes, hoping to reconstitute her strength - at least enough to anchor the world steady once again. Her weak, battered body betrayed her intentions, however, and her hands gracelessly slid down the pole as her energy dissipated. This time, though, the artist used five colours for their work instead of just one to create the streak of blood that told the story of Serena's exhaustion and impending collapse.
A dull, hollow thud startled Serena, whose consciousness was now beginning to wane. The sound was of an object striking the ground, but she could not tell what. Whatever it was, it was not intent on waiting for Serena to regain her strength and deduce its source. Instead, it audibly rolled toward the steps on the landing above her. It was not the fluid, smooth roll of a ball, but that of something oblong and clumsy... something not meant to roll. A resounding 'thunk' echoed off the walls of the forsaken house as the object awkwardly bounded down toward the teen, one hollow bump after another. Serena cowered and wished she could somehow force her ears not to listen as it approached; one step, then another, then another... eventually coming to a stop before her.
For the second time since waking up in the washroom, she did not want to open her eyes. Yet, what could be the worse that could happen to her? There was no denying that she was about to bleed out entirely, despite her initial doggedness. Before long, she would be lying in a pool of her own, vibrant blood. Whatever was in front of her now would not be the thing that would kill her. With nothing possibly left to lose, the teen was now convinced - even morbidly curious - to see what had determinedly made its way to her.
Serena forced her eyes wide open to counteract the black haze that had masked everything just before she had closed her eyes. Her gaze was returned by Mayumi Osaka's decapitated head, which lay on its side as it rested at the teen's eye level. Her white teeth and blackened gums were left fully exposed by the misshapen lips which reached far back, as though a violent pull from a hook had relocated her mouth. Her nose was nonexistent; there nothing but a black nasal cavity from which black goo oozed out onto the step. Mayumi's messy, matted hair covered her face in a haphazard manner. But most alarmingly, her cold blue eyes shone brightly. They penetrated into Serena's very core. The damning eyes sent a crippling chill icing through her hollow veins and arteries and froze over her entire being.
Serena sat up with a fright.
Her mouth was parched. She forced herself to swallow hard, her throat painfully resisting every inch along the way.
The startled teen felt nauseated to her core and was ready to vomit. She leaned over the edge of the bed, ready to empty her stomach. Her lips quivered as she braced herself for the unpleasantness. There was no garbage can to puke into, but she figured it was better to spill the contents of her stomach on the floor than on the bed sheets. Somehow, despite the profound queasiness, she managed to keep down her bile. It was now caught part-way up her esophagus, which felt no better, and tasted just as bad.
A long time seemed to pass before she was convinced that there was no longer any danger of puking on her bed. Relieved, Serena slowly eased back into her spot on the bed. Her head ached intensely; it was a flaring pain which never had come on so strong. It was determined to crack her head apart from within.
Dull senses refused to willingly provide information and they required more focus than Serena was capable of channeling. The room spun around her. Despite feeling the mattress at her back, she had the sensation that she was floating. She clutched at the mattress as though it could moor her being. The spinning lasted longer than she would have liked, but the fixedness that came with latching herself onto the bed provided enough time for her lethargic eyes to slowly adjust to the darkness as she fought to remember her whereabouts. She was so disoriented, it felt as though she were coming out of a prolonged sleep. No one ever spoke of Princess Aurora waking up sick and flummoxed, but surely she must have felt something like this, Serena reasoned.
At last, the room was coming into focus. It was her bedroom and she was safely in her bed. The room was still and dark, save for the moonlight and the accompanying glow of the street lamp from just beyond the Tsukino property that entered the room through the large, glass sliding doors.
I'm good. I'm safe. I'm home, Serena sighed in relief.
As she looked about the mess in her room that slowly came into focus, she noticed her blankets were covered in sweat. The sheets had been torn from the bed, exposing the bare mattress beneath. Where the blankets had remained on her, her skin was wet with perspiration as though she had just stepped out of the shower. Otherwise, her exposed skin was clammy and cold, inviting an unwelcome chill that ran deep. Her underwear and pajama bottoms were damp and her tank top, which she had apparently removed during her restless sleep, was a lumpy pile, also soaked in sweat, next to her pillow. Serena wondered if this was what people meant by 'night sweats.' It was the first time such a thing had ever happened to her.
Serena glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Its blue display, once cool and soothing, burned like the condemning eyes that had haunted her in her sleep.
3:00 AM.
Just how long had she been asleep? She did not recall even going to bed in the first place, so it was impossible to say with any certainty. Moreover, what day was it? Serena felt so weak and hungry that she felt as though she had been hibernating. She fumbled around for her phone on her nightstand, clumsily knocking it over in the process. Why did she feel so uncoordinated? As she tried to flex her fingers, they were incredibly cramped and unresponsive. Most likely, she had been sleeping on her stomach with her hands twisted underneath her, causing her fingers to ache. It had not been the first time such a thing had happened.
She reached down to pick up her phone, but found the soreness of the process entirely unworthy of her effort - the phone was dead, who knows for how long. Opening and closing her fingers was an oddly painful chore and she was not willing to trouble herself further by finding the charger for her phone. Besides, getting out of the uncomfortably damp clothes she was wearing was a more pressing matter.
The pale light that came in through the sliding doors provided scarcely enough light for traversing the room, but Serena was intent on leaving the lights off as she cumbersomely stood up and removed any trace of clothing that still remained on her body. Every slight movement caused her great agony, particularly when she reached downward. Her movements were slow and drawn out on account of the debilitating paroxysm that accompanied each motion. As she dried off with a towel that had been on the floor, she desperately struggled against the languor that had entrenched itself deep in her bones. The towel was coarse and rough against her skin but she did not care. Her aching hand occupied too much of her attention to be able to worry about small inconveniences like an abrasive towel.
Mayumi ...
It had been her shriveled, disembodied head that had startled her awake. Was it all a dream? She tried to remember, but her memory faltered. It was as though today was the first time she had ever awoken in this body, completely unaware of its previous comings and goings. Presently, all she could recollect was bleeding profusely. Serena inspected her chest, vaguely reconstructing the shattered image in her mind. Thankfully, there was no wound to speak of. Clearly, that had been a dream.
But... my hand... Serena eyed both sides of her aching right hand, for the little good it did in the had to be a reason for the incredible soreness. It was something far more intense than the numbing sensation that followed sleeping on top of one's hands. Glass and gashes from her dream could not explain her current pain.
We fought... she... tried to kick my face. That's how I bent my finger. Serena tried hard to recall the details of that fight - however long ago that was now - hoping that some alternate explanation would surface, as she covered her naked frame with an over-sized shirt that reached down almost to her knees. It hung loosely around her shoulders and billowed with her every movement. The long sleeves reached to her wrists, covering the bruises along her forearms, as it did with those on her body. Even in the darkness, the dark spots were visible on her skin.
I fought with Mayumi... That did happen. Despite her initial reluctance to accept her fragmented recollections as real, it was dawning on Serena that that horrible fight had indeed transpired. Had she really played a part in Mayumi's death, though? Was Mayumi really dead? Serena needed fresh air, she felt suffocated entertaining the very notion. The pain she felt suddenly took on a new, terrifying dimension - one that Serena was not yet willing to accept. As she traversed the room, the formerly insipid pain transmuted into an unwanted reminder of Mayumi Osaka, whose blows tormented Serena while she was awake, just as her severed head had haunted the young girl's dreams.
The outside air was warm and it kissed Serena's clammy skin gently. She breathed in deeply, ran her hands over her face until they reached the back of her head, and peeled her hair back into a ponytail. She once again felt ready to expel the contents of her stomach at any moment, yet - regrettably - this was the most lucid she had been since... the incident. As much as she wanted to deny it, the memories were coalescing into a clearer image. She had done something she had thought herself of as incapable of ever doing. Mayumi was dead... by her hand. It was a revolting realization.
But what had happened afterward? Everything since that night was a complete blur, as though Serena had tuned everything out. She knew that she had been out of the house but could not recall the details of those outings. Only sporadic fragments remained and she had to do her best to match the pieces together, yet that only provided a partial picture. The pounding in her head became every bit as unbearable as the throbbing in her hand, intensifying every second she tried to reconstruct the missing events.
On that fateful night, somehow, Serena had made it back to her room after she had... dispatched Mayumi Osaka. She had ignored Kaguya all the way home, an open gash having appeared across the young girl's face. Kaguya had seemed to shy away and no trace of her had been seen around the Tsukino household, at least as best as she could remember. Serena regretted ever having given the strange girl her phone number. Thankfully, Kaguya had not called when her physical presence was not wanted.
Serena recalled that the following morning, the Tsukino family was awoken early by a phone call. Her mother had picked up. It had been the police. Had the Tsukinos not been listed as Naru's emergency contact on Azabu-Juuban High School records, they might not have been notified at all. Something had happened to Naru, as well as her mother, they informed Ikuko, who had been quick to grief.
The call had come in at around 7:30 AM. Serena distinctively remembered the sharp, irritating ringing that pierced her ears after a sleepless night spent huddled in her dark room, her knees clutched tight against her chest. The Tsukinos knew of Mayumi's passing, but nothing was mentioned of a murder. The authorities had apparently not divulged that information yet, though Serena knew it would only be a matter of time before the crime - and its perpetrator - were made public.
School was a haze. Featureless faces with no expressions and mouths that uttered no sounds were all that she remembered. News of the Osaka family had been quick to reach their high school, as several other students lived on the same block as Naru and they no doubt had been woken up by the flock of EMS vehicles and police cars that had suddenly congregated in front of the Osaka residence. Students had surely come to Serena for more information, knowing of her close relationship with Naru, but she could not recall her responses. Whatever she had said, evidently, it had not been a confession.
The warmth of the night's air removed the last of the clamminess on Serena's skin but she did not feel any better. Instead, she felt increasingly more frail and debilitated. Other things had happened too, but it was all so surreal, she could not recall exactly what else had occurred. At this point, she did not want to become cognizant of anything else about that night and wished she could undo the last few minutes of recollecting. Serena was ready to crawl back into the bed with its sodden bedsheets, and let sleep consume her. She would not have to endure thinking about any of this dour foulness there.
Straight beyond the translucent curtains, Serena noticed something hanging from her door. She was not sure how she had missed it earlier, for the black object stood in stark contrast to the white wood. Her eyes must have been really slow to adjust to overlook the object. From her spot on the balcony, Serena could plainly see the modest, knee-length black dress with a white collar. It was oddly out of place, for it rarely ventured out of the back of her closet as it was not a dress she usually wore. In fact, she had only ever worn it twice before.
What's that doing there? That's my special dress, the one I only wear for... At last, the mystery of the missing time came to Serena in an overwhelming tide of sorrow that crushed her being. She slumped over, her back pressed against the cool concrete banister. One sniffle led to many, which turned to a series of sobs, and then finally, into a stream of tears that burned a trail of guilt down her cheeks.
The room had been brown, ornately decorated with wooden panels made of darkly-stained wood, with equally elegant matching furniture. It was all dimly lit, to match the overbearing sadness of the funeral home. The floors were carpeted in teal, dulling the footsteps of everyone to the point where they walked as silently as ghosts. There had been beautiful yellow flowers, too. They decorated all the corners of the room, sticking out of blue and white vases.
Serena had resisted on going but her parents had been adamant. A snippet from their conversation kickstarted like a scratched CD suddenly coming to life in a stereo.
'I don't want to remember her like this.'
'She would be very upset if you didn't go.'
'She loved you.'
The words from Kenji and Ikuko had cut deep, far more profoundly than either of them knew. The love they spoke of had always been apparent. It had manifested itself in countless ways, as far back into her childhood as she could remember. She had felt it and never doubted its existence.
Reluctantly, Serena had attended the wake for Mayumi Osaka that her parents had organized. As the departed mother had no close relatives who lived nearby, Ikuko and Kenji had felt it was their duty to stand in for Mayumi's family members and honour their long-time friend. Serena was unsure if Christians normally had wakes, but her parents said it did not matter. 'Her life needs to be celebrated nonetheless,' they had stated decisively. They thought it strange that the authorities were keeping Mayumi's body temporarily, but even without the deceased - the murder victim - they conducted the wake. People had shared their prayers and well wishes at a lovely shrine constructed of delicate flowers, in which a lovely, large, black and white headshot of Mayumi was centered.
A sturdy chair with navy blue cushions had been Serena's only companion that night. Like her fractured memories of school, no words accompanied the images in her mind from the ceremony. She remembered being sullen and withdrawn, having sat on that chair for most of the wake. The entire event was devoid of any emotion for her. She had remained silent throughout, her quietude intended not to arouse any suspicion of her hand in the demise of the beloved entrepreneuse. Numerous classmates had come to offer their condolences, but for the most part the evening was full of people whom Serena had never seen or met before. No doubt they were a mix of old clients, colleagues and classmates. The latter had likely all gone to school together with her parents along with Mayumi, hearkening back to happier days before the responsibilities of raising kids and balancing personal and professional lives.
Serena recalled the diamond earrings given to her as a gift by Mayumi. Why she had them at the wake was beyond her. Most likely, Ikuko had remembered about them and asked her to put them on in memory of the departed mother. Serena had hesitated to comply with that as though wearing them would literally have branded her skin with the word 'traitor.' Thankfully, Serena's hair had been down and Ikuko never noticed that her daughter had not actually worn them.
Of the few instances she could recollect not being seated in the oak chair, Serena remembered being just about to throw out the earrings in the trash. She had been unable to decide whether that would have been more or less disrespectful than wearing them (- even now, she did not have the faintest clue over which was worse). As she was about to toss them into a covered waste receptacle, someone had approached her, offering their condolences. She had quickly palmed the velvet case containing the earrings, stuffing it deep into the pockets of the black peacoat she had worn over her dress to hide the bruises on her arms.
Idle with her thoughts, Serena had whittled away the rest of the night, seated in the corner. She was thankful when her parents had said it was time to go home. As far as she could recall, that was the last thing she had done before falling asleep. Judging by the mess she had made of her bed, sleep had not come easy.
Like the other mourners who attended the wake, all Serena could do now was reminisce of a happier time; one so close but now, seemingly forever distant; a time when her hands were not tainted with the blood of someone who, as her parents had so poignantly stated, had loved her dearly.
Serena stared at her black and white dress, which glared back at her with no compassion, for what seemed like an eternity before fatigue finally overwhelmed her and she lulled herself back to sleep, her head rested on her knees.
When Ikuko came to wake her daughter for school in the morning, there was no response from behind the white door. She did not think much of it on the first occasion; Serena had been under a lot of stress for the last few days and was likely more deeply asleep than usual. When she passed again fifteen minutes later, full laundry basket in hand, the mindful mother found the quietude on the other side of the door to be peculiar; she was accustomed to battling against her daughter every weekday morning. Serena's passive resistance was vocal, even when her body language was sufficient. She was hardly ever silent.
Even with her ear up against the door, Ikuko could not make out the faintest of movement inside the room. She waited several moments and knocked a third time, reminding Serena that she should already have been out of bed.
Again, silence.
After the fate befallen upon the daughter of her closest friend, she had every reason a mother needed to be anxious over the well-being of her own child. Had Serena somehow contracted the wither too? For the last few days, that was the leading story on every news broadcast and website - more victims of 'the wither' throughout the city as the virulent condition spread in-land. Ikuko grew increasingly apprehensive. She did not knock a fourth time.
Ignoring all concerns over privacy, she opened the door and walked in to her daughter's room with a visceral pang of worry. The soft morning light bathed the room in tranquil tones, giving the disheveled room a pacifying sensation, but her daughter was nowhere to be seen. She eyed the room frantically and even stepped back out into the hallway to see if Serena had silently had made her way to the washroom while she had been filling up the laundry basket. However, the bathroom door was ajar and the lights were off. No, evidently she had not yet risen. Had she somehow missed her in her room?
A disconcerting feeling accompanied her as she walked back into her daughter's bedroom. This time, she walked further into the room, needing a definite answer to the question of her daughter's whereabouts. As she examined the cluttered room, she spotted Serena out on the balcony. It did not come as a relief, however, for when she saw her partially clothed and lying face down, she feared the worst. First, her best friend's daughter, now, her own...
Ikuko needed to know - and was desperate to confirm - that Serena was alright, but she was paralyzed. Bravery was not in her. Unfortunately, no one could do this task for her; Kenji had left for work already and Shingo, always punctual like his father, had gone with him. The frightened mother fought against her stubborn, reticent muscles and put down the laundry basket. She then reluctantly approached her daughter, dread clutching her throat tighter with every step. Was her daughter the latest lifeless victim of the wither? Another tick mark on the epidemic's increasing bodycount? She could not bear to entertain the dreadful thought.
Slowly, Ikuko inched her way to the balcony while her heart seemed to have painfully migrated to her throat. To her great easement, she realized her daughter was actually sleeping, wheezing softly with her mouth partly open and the floor moist under her mouth. Ever the lady... she thought with tender sarcasm. She must've been sleepwalking... It was rare for Serena to sleepwalk, but it did not seem like a far-off possibility - she had practically somnambulated her way through the last two days. Her daughter had been slow to act and respond. If it was not sleepwalking, then certainly it was narcolepsy, which Serena's teachers had informed her about at many parent-teacher meetings. Whatever the reason, it was likely stress-induced, Ikuko reasoned, reflecting on Serena's unusual silence and aloofness at the wake in particular. Her daughter was not one to be so withdrawn. She's a quiet griever… Evidently, Mayumi's passing had struck Serena deeply. It did not surprise Ikuko; she knew her daughter to be empathetic and sensitive, and prided herself in knowing she had imparted those qualities on her. No doubt the last two days, the wake in particular, had drained her of all her energy.
Even though her initial thought was to jumpstart her daughter's day with a yell and send her to school scrambling, seeing Serena passed out serenely in the gentle sunlight struck Ikuko's soft, nurturing side. She smiled to herself as a caring mother does when she sees her child, peaceably rested after an arduous experience. School was not what her daughter needed right now.
Ikuko rested on the frame of the sliding door and contently watched Serena sleep as though she were once again a baby. I know what she needs...
The distinctive ring of the house phone cut through the air. The device was set to maximum volume and had the annoying habit of making itself heard throughout the entire household when it rang. It had awoken Serena, who opened her eyes to a new world; her headache was gone and it did not hurt to think; the soreness that had stunted her every movement had faded in intensity. Her memory was a bit sharper and clearer now too; she remembered being on the cold, hard floor of her balcony. That was where she had fallen asleep. Now, instead, she found herself comfortably rested in her own bed. Last night, it had been a complete wreck, yet now it was pristine; the sheets were properly tucked in under her and the blankets hugged her snugly. How had she managed to get back into bed? Her room was an upturned pigsty, last she recalled. Somehow, it had become immaculately tidied and organized. There were no empty plates to be seen or clothes strewn about, not even her mourning dress on the door.
What had occurred in her room? How was it that she had slept through it all? It seemed that, once again, it all began with the question she had asked herself upon waking up at 3:00 AM - how long had she been out? Looking outside, she could discern that it was dusk... or dawn. She was unsure. Had she missed a whole day of school? No, mom would never allow that.
Serena removed the blankets and fumbled for her phone on her nightstand, suddenly remembering she had not bothered to charge it. To her surprise, it was already connected to the charger but the phone had intentionally been kept turned off. Attached to the cellphone was a note written on a vibrant pink Post-It.
Thought you might have needed the day off today. No interruptions. Love, Mom. The carefully written words were accompanied by a neatly drawn heart with a smiley face in its center.
Serena was in a state of disbelief. "They actually let me stay home?" she mumbled, her voice strained and weak. It was the first time she uttered a word in almost an entire day and pushing air through her esophagus was surprisingly strenuous. They must have really sensed how out of it I was... Neither of her parents tolerated excuses, particularly when it came to missing school; staying at home was a big deal. The last time she had been allowed to stay home from school was all the way back in the seventh grade, when she had caught the chicken pox.
As she was still coming to, Serena could hear her mother talking on the phone downstairs. She was sure she had heard Shingo and her father a moment ago, but they had fallen silent, along with the TV. She listened from her bed, picking up half of the conversation.
"Uh huh," Ikuko's concerned voice resounded up the stairs and down the hallway. "No, no. I understand, but it's still very good news," she said, her mood suddenly changing altogether. "So she's awake, then?"
There was a long pause.
No. Stay comatose. Serena was shocked to find herself channeling such negative thoughts. She immediately felt ashamed and was unsure what had come over her. It was not like her to be mean-spirited; she was a well-wisher, not an antagonist.
"Thank you. We're very grateful for everything," Ikuko's tone was a mixture of reverence and jubilance. "Thank you," she reiterated emphatically. "We'll be there right away." Ikuko hung up the phone with unintended forcefulness, reflecting her elation.
There was little room for confusion. Even in a state of disjointed and disorienting convalescence, Serena had been able to piece the entire conversation together. 'She's awake.' Under normal circumstances, she would have been ecstatic to hear those words, but there had been no shred of normalcy in her life in the last few days. Those two and a half words were harbingers of a confrontation she did not want to have.
Serena threw the blankets over herself, as though they had the power to remove her from all existence. Admittedly, it was a cowardly act, but at least cowards did not find themselves embroiled in murder. If only she had remained a craven a few nights ago, she would not be in this awful situation...
Eyes shut, the repentant teen prayed that her parents would once again show her the leniency they had displayed when they permitted her to stay at home instead of making her go to school.
A.N. – Loved it? Hated it? Doesn't matter! Please leave a comment! (It goes a long way to keep me motivated!) Thanks! ^_^ Took a long time to write and edit this chapter on account of the dream sequence. I wanted it to be meaningful and I rewrote it entirely because I wasn't happy with the first iteration.