"Mary Tudor, Queen of England in the 16th century, thought herself to be pregnant. When she found out she was not, she embarked on the persecutions that made her reign infamous."
-Paulman, P. & Sadat, A. May 1990. "Psuedocyesis." Journal of Family Practice.
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It was just like those mornings, those awakenings. She was drifting awake, hovering between dreaming and consciousness. The stream of sunlight is in her eyes. And she can swear to you, that she can smell his aftershave, she can swear that it is his hand on her shoulder, it is his long fingers lightly and impatiently drumming on her shoulder. And she is already thinking, no. I don't want him to keep haunting me.
"Wake up, fucking manager."
And it was just automatic. "Don't call me that!" she said, her voice still containing the last dregs of sleepiness.
And Mamori's eyes popped open and she sat up in one motion, looking at him. Even the headache and the dragging weakness in her muscles could not compete for attention. Hiruma was sitting on a chair beside her hospital bed, sprawled on it, in fact, looking at her moodily.
He was too pale. Too thin. His eyes were dark and his hair wasn't bleached. It was black. But he still had earrings on. And Mamori found that she could not speak.
"How about fucking idiot? That more appropriate? How many women out there get themselves alone with a psycho in a fucking mountain?"
She flushed. "He was a guide," she snapped.
Hiruma sat up and leaned forward, his teeth gleaming. "Oh, perfect. You deliberately took the psycho as your guide. Not only a fucking idiot, but fucking suicidal, as well."
She put her hands on the bed and leaned in, as well, getting into his face. "I didn't," she said, grinding her teeth, "know that he was a psycho."
"Is that so? So, I guess, you're just left with the option of fucking idiot."
"And you're still rude and bad-tempered, maybe you should have kept away." And Mamori, found to her shock, that she was being swept into Hiruma's arms, her face pressed against his chest.
She also found she could not help the tears.
"Are you really sure you want to say that?" He said, above her, without inflection.
"No, I don't. Damn you, Hiruma. You were gone for years! And I missed you so much that I was going crazy. Goddamn you, what the hell kept you?"
And he did not answer her, only held her body being racked by sobs. After awhile, her sobs subsided. "I kept seeing you," she said dully, holding limply to his shirt that was wet with her tears. "I kept feeling you were beside me. I kept hearing your voice. I was even—" Mamori abruptly stopped and pulled away from Hiruma, her eyes wide. "What happened to the baby?"
And Mamori could feel her heart breaking in that moment that Hiruma's face pulled into a fierce frown and he said, "What the hell are you talking about?"
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"It's called pseudocyesis." Igawa-sensei said, clearing her throat. Her kindly face was now etched with worry, lines drawn taut. "It's also known as phantom pregnancy or false pregnancy. It's a comparatively rare condition where women sometimes exhibit symptoms of pregnancy, from amenorrhea or interruption of your menstruation, morning sickness—
"Are hospital pregnancy tests accurate, Sensei?"
Igawa-sensei cleared her throat again and shifted in her seat. "It's a serious emotional and psychological condition. Experts haven't really agreed on the universal cause, but it could be emotional conflict, intense desire or wish-fulfillment, and depression, in which shifts in your hormones fool your body into thinking—"
"How accurate," Mamori said again, never raising her voice, "are those hospital pregnancy tests?"
"Well," Igawa-sensei sighed, "We can be wrong, as well. In fact, 18% of all cases of pseudocyesis have been diagnosed by medical practitioners as pregnant. Of course, we are interested in investigating the case, further, Mamori-san, we can keep you overnight. This is a very interesting case and your mother was telling me, Mamori-san, that you had been quite, quite depressed for some time, enough to have hallucinations. This sounds like it would fit the cause and you can get treated for—"
Now, it was the shrill scrape of the chair stopped Igawa-sensei. Or perhaps it was the expression on Hiruma's face. "She is not staying," was all he said.
And that was that.
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Hiruma was still expressionless as he buckled Mamori in.
"Imagine that, I was just imagining it," she said brightly. "I guess you have literally driven me crazy." And she started to laugh.
Hiruma put a hand over her mouth, and only looked at her; Mamori laid a hand over his, her hand gripping tight. Then she removed his hand. "Can you take me somewhere?" She said, the laughter all gone.
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They were going up the mountain and their guide was a bright-eyed young lad. Mamori was sure that he was no killer this time even though he kept looking back at her, his eyes huge in his face. Hiruma's fierce expression had kept him at a distance, however, and only prompted Mamori's laughter.
"You'll get yours later," he murmured.
She ignored him and smiled brightly, "So, are the FBI and CIA still bothering you?"
Hiruma snorted. "I already worked that out even before I left the United States."
"So, why we're there so many Americans outside my hospital room when I woke up," she asked curiously.
"They were Secret Service. My temporary bodyguard detail." He answered, grinning, his sharp teeth glinting.
Mamori laughed again. When they found themselves on the rise, Mamori's eyes drifted as her laughter faded.
She was right.
Hayashida-san was sitting under the very same tree, looking for all the world as if he hadn't moved an inch since she had left him, in what had seemed like a life-time ago.
She walked to him, Hiruma trailing behind and the young lad staying in the clearing.
"Hello, Hayashida-san."
Hayashida shielded his eyes against the sun and beamed at her. "Ah, Mamori-chan, and that must be the young man behind you. So good to see you in the flesh. Come, come, sit by me."
Mamori took the root by his right side and she looked back at Hiruma who was only raising an eyebrow. "I think I'll wait with the guide. And maybe just have a talk with him."
"Hiruma!" Mamori stopped at Hayashida's hand restraining her arm. She looked at him as he grinned and nodded.
Hiruma said nothing, and turned back, walking to the young lad who already looked terrified at the prospect of waiting with Hiruma.
"He is a handsome devil, my child."
Mamori looked back at Hayashida and laughed. "Yes, I suppose so."
"It's good that you are well. I was afraid he wouldn't get to you."
Mamori's brow wrinkled. "But he didn't. He said he was still in the United States when the people at the onsen finally found me."
"Mmm-hmm." Hayashida only smiled.
"Anyway," Mamori pulled out her spool of red thread. "It didn't work. There was no baby. I really was just dreaming him up."
Hayashida took the thread. "Of course, if you say so."
Mamori paused, the resentment rising in her. She had been a good girl all her life, now a good woman; she was kind, caring and truly compassionate. But she was also human. "Don't give me that," she said in a low voice. "Don't give me your riddles and your mysticism. I tied the ends of the thread between them! I was not going to pick one over the other! But the baby is still…" and she shook her head, hands rising to cradle her forehead. She felt Hayashida's fingers tip her chin up and she was looking into Hayashida's eyes. They had seemed to deepen, and deepen even more, as if now they could contain entire universes. "Perhaps, you were not the only one choosing?"
Mamori sucked her breath in, remembering Hiruma's hand on her ankle. "But that's…that…" She looked back at Hiruma together with the young lad. He was grinning as he was speaking to the young lad, who looked twice as terrified now. Did Mamori imagine it or did his eyes seem harder? "A baby can't choose," she said sadly. "And I didn't want anyone making the choice for me."
"You did make your choice, Mamori-chan. And true, a baby cannot speak up for itself. But perhaps you shouldn't box yourself. Time and space, after all, are not separate things in dreams."
Mamori looked back at him, annoyed. "I've told you, Hayashida-san. Please, no more mysticism."
Hayashida-san laughed, "Think back, Mamori-chan. Think back to the times that you saw Hiruma, that you felt him, especially on that night and tell me if it's just mysticism."
Mamori opened her mouth and closed it again.
Hayashida grinned at her, "Think of that place as a…temporary nursery. Your young man, after all, is still tied to the baby, yes?" And he nodded beyond her.
Mamori's head whipped back and she almost stopped breathing. In the streaming sunlight, something was glinting off Hiruma's left pinky. It was so thin, even thinner than a spider's thread. But it was there, all the same.
A string leading away.
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The End of Chapter 5: Phantoms in the Womb and of the Future
The End of Shadow and Smoke