Part II: Resurrection

"I thought I saw a ghost."

—Hamato Raphael, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze

Prologue

You think you know Hamato Donatello. You think you can judge him. Perhaps you even think you have the right to judge him.

But you know nothing.

Let me tell you a story. It is a story that began over fifteen years ago … but I will tell you the part that began five years ago, that began with an assassination attempt.

---

"Father?"

"Yes, Hiroko?" But his eyes stay fixed on the old-fashioned gun that sits on the corner of his desk.

Uncertain, I pause in the doorway of his office. I want to ask a question. A question that I know is none of my concern. But, regardless, I forge ahead. "Who was that red-haired woman?"

His eyes jerk up. I can see the surprise in their dark depths, and I feel suddenly justified in my asking.

"She's no one," he says, a careless smile accompanying his words. "A potential investor."

He is lying. I have always been able to tell when Father lies. But this is not something I can admit aloud, so instead I remain respectfully silent, waiting for him to speak next. Though we both know that he's fully aware of my presence, he ignores me and returns to staring at the gun.

Unbidden, unwanted, curiosity flames within me. The gun means something. But what?

"Have you fed the prisoner today?" he asks suddenly, reaching towards the gun. He runs his fingertips along the barrel.

I flinch in embarrassment. "No, Father. Not yet."

He nods, slowly. "Then let's visit her together, Hiroko." Taking up the gun, he opens a drawer in his desk and tucks the weapon inside. "I would like to have a word with her."

Again curiosity claws at the inside of my mind, and my tongue burns with the desire to question my father. He almost never goes to see the prisoner personally. For the most part, the care and feeding of the prisoner falls to me. As I watch him unlock the secret passageway, I decide that this strange turn of events must have something to do with the red-haired woman. Or perhaps the gun, or even both.

In silence we crawl through the tunnels until we reach the one exit that is locked. My father pauses here and, after fiddling with his watch a moment, he reveals his true form. I bite back my surprise—I didn't know that he ever appears before the prisoner like this. Entering the access code and unlocking the exit, he crawls through, and I quickly follow.

As always, she is chained to the far wall. She doesn't look up, but I don't expect that of her. Not once has she ever looked at me or acknowledged my presence. She is like an Egyptian mummy. Pale with sunken eyes and brittle gray hair, she neither speaks nor moves. Though I wouldn't dream of confessing it to Father, this woman scares me a little.

My father, meanwhile, gently clears his throat to announce his presence. "Good afternoon."

Faster than I thought possible, the woman's head snaps up. Her faded eyes turn very bright, and her mouth opens and closes rapidly, like a fish's. Finally she finds her voice, long unused, and rasps out, "You."

"Yes, me. Here in the living-but-charred flesh." He walks over to her and kneels, so that he is at eye level with the prisoner. "I have a bargain I'd like to propose."

"You … "

He sighs. "Yes, we've already established who I am."

"You killed Leonardo."

Uncle Leo? Surely the woman lies. But as I gaze upon her, feeling the sudden heat of her wrath, I do not feel quite so certain. There are so many things I do not know about my father, about his past … Reeling, I turn away from the woman and look instead to my father.

He leans forward, so that he is almost beak to nose with this woman who has so casually accused him of fratricide. "Of course I didn't kill Leo," he explains in a voice made quiet with anger. "I could never, ever have hurt Leo."

"I saw the dagger."

"He killed himself." Father's voice is now no more than a strangled whisper. "And it was you yourself who brought him to that."

The prisoner's eyes begin to cloud over once again. She doubts. I can see it in her face. Just a little, but she doubts. Licking her dry, cracked lips, she offers, "But the dagger?"

"Was mine. I left it with him so he could protect himself. So he could protect himself from you." He closes his eyes. "After letting him out of his shackles, I went to find a good escape route for us. When I came back, Leo had … he had already … " With a sudden cry, he slams a large fist against the wall, right next to the woman's head.

She doesn't even flinch. While I have suspected before that she is ninja, now I know. She must be ninja. My mind races with this new knowledge. She is ninja. Respect now tinges the fear I still bear towards her. A fellow ninja.

When my father once again opens his eyes, he looks much calmer. He slowly rises and, from his full height, looks down on the woman. "As I mentioned," he says, as though there had been no pause, as though he hadn't just punched a stone wall, "I have a proposition for you. I am offering you your freedom."

She shakes her head in response. "My father is dead. Leonardo is dead. There is no freedom."

Father chuckles—a dusty, hollow sound, like the turning of pages in an ancient book. "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." At this the woman looks up, puzzled, and he further explains, "It's a lyric from a mid-twentieth century folk song. I thought it apropos."

Ignoring the explanation, she merely frowns. "What must I give you for my freedom?" she inquires at last.

"Only what you've already been giving me for all these years—your silence."

"I do not understand."

"Then allow me to clarify." He begins pacing, making quick, tight loops around the small cell. "I'll let you go. I'll have the helicopter take you anywhere in the world, and I'll have a tidy sum of money transferred to the bank account of your choosing. In return—" Here he whirls around to face her. "—you will live under an assumed name and reveal your true identity to no one. You will make no attempt to take my company. And you will never set a single foot in New York City ever again."

She mulls this over, wearing a carefully neutral expression. "Why? Why would you give so much for so little?" She shakes her head in an almost disapproving way. "It is unwise to let me go. You should either keep me here or kill me."

"I should have killed you years ago, actually." Sighing, my father runs a tired hand over his scarred face. "But I didn't kill you. And the past finally caught up with me today, I'm afraid. The past always does, doesn't it?"

She says nothing.

"At any rate, that's my offer. Take it or leave it. The choice is entirely yours."

Still frowning, she gives a curt nod. "I accept your offer, Donatello."

"Very good." Father gestures to me. "Hiroko will see to your arrangements." That settled, he heads towards the exit. Once there he turns to add, "I would suggest a visit to a hospital would be a good first step on the itinerary. Preferably a foreign one, where our guest won't be readily recognized."

"Yes, Father," I reply just as the latch closes behind him.

"Father?" The woman stares at me for several long moments. Then, slowly, she smiles. "You look exactly like him."

Though I know I am being mocked, I ignore it and make my way over to the wall. I kneel and begin undoing the prisoner's restraints. It is somewhat unsettling to have the woman speak to me, for I am far more accustomed to her silence. But, given the sudden change in our relationship from that of warden and prisoner to guardian and ward, I feel that I should not be rude. "My name is Hiroko," I tell her as I wrap an arm around her too-slender waist. "I am the daughter of Hamato Donatello."

"I am Karai, daughter of Oroku Saki." She sighs. "Or, at the least, I used to be."

"Karai? But Karai is—you're supposed to be dead."

Slowly, gently, we begin the arduous task of standing up.

While doing so, the woman smirks and glances towards the exit through which Father has just disappeared. "Perhaps," Karai concedes, "but so is he."

---

He explained, once, that he did not believe in happy endings. He did not believe in mercy. Nor did he believe in redemption. "My daughter," he told me, "I believe in one thing. I believe in vengeance."

But, as I have mentioned, I have always known when my father was lying.

The story is not over, of course. It has just begun.

---

Author's Notes: Revised 4/7. The saga continues!