8. Lost and Found

"What happened to your eye?"

Syaoran looked up from the waffles on his tray. Sitting across from him, leaning forward to get a closer look at the bandages plastered to his face, was the yellow-haired girl he'd seen when he'd been brought to this orphanage. All he could remember about her was that she'd been crying over something when he'd walked in—the sheer chaos of the play room prevented any other impressions from sticking in his mind.

The girl wasn't crying now, though. In fact, she looked curious. He set his fork in a puddle of syrup on the side of his plate. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

He shook his head.

The girl frowned. "That's weird."

He returned his attention to his tray, stabbing one of the waffles with his syrup-drenched fork. It was his third day here. After he'd skipped dinner the first night, Macy had started making sure he attended his meals. Her apparent concern irked him. Couldn't she see that he didn't want to be around these people? Couldn't she see how they looked at him?

At this very moment, his red-headed caretaker watched over him like a bird of prey, a frown dawning on a face more given to smiling.

"You really don't know what happened to your eye?" the yellow-haired girl asked, still sitting across from him.

"No."

"Have you always had only one eye?"

He shrugged. "As long as I remember."

The girl smiled. "I once saw a man with only one arm. I didn't get to talk to him, though."

Syaoran looked up again. As soon as he did, he realized the girl was still staring at the patch of bandages over the right side of his face. His stomach stirred with unease under her piercing gaze. He hurried to finish his breakfast, then stood up, bringing his tray over to the counter where it would be washed. His vision blurred, his left eye stinging slightly. A dull pain sprouted in his throat. By the time he reached the stairwell, he was running.

"Syaoran, hold on," someone called. He stumbled up the first step, bashing his knee on the edge as he fled. Delicate fingers wrapped around his upper arm, holding him back. Half-afraid and half-frustrated, he tried to yank free, but the hand held fast. "Syaoran, what's wrong?"

Finally, he turned and opened his eyes. His red-headed caretaker, Macy, was staring down at him, her glasses askew.

Suddenly, it was too much: the three days he'd spent here, Macy's patronizing tone, not seeing Fujitaka. His tears overflowed and he started yelling. "I hate it here! I want to go back where he can find me! I can't stay, I can't—" A sob burst through his teeth, interrupting his tantrum. He wrenched free of Macy's hold and pressed his hands to his eye to wipe away the tears there. "I want to see Fujitaka . . ."

Macy sat on the step, right beside him. "I'm sorry," she said, and all the patronizing simplicity of her words disappeared in favor of the mature tone he was used to hearing around the police station. "Our rules require each child to go through an adjustment period before they're allowed to see anyone from the outside. In most cases, it's only about three days, but for you . . . Until we can get a clearer evaluation from the psychologist, we can't really say when it'll be all right for you to see anyone. You've experienced extensive memory loss."

He shook his head. She doesn't understand. I haven't lost my memories, I never had them. He curled up where he sat, folding his arms so they sat on his knees. "It hurts to not be around him. It hurts here." He lifted his hand to his chest, feeling the faint pulse of his heart under his skin. Even now, it felt as if it was rending itself apart, deprived of meaningful human contact.

"You miss him."

Syaoran nodded. "Can't I see him?"

The redhead sighed, lifting a finger to her nose to straighten her glasses. The gesture reminded him of how Fujitaka always cleaned his lenses of sand. "I don't know. I can ask."

He arched an eyebrow. "Ask? Aren't you in charge?"

A faint smile graced Macy's lips. "No, far from it. I'm only in charge of watching you kids."

Syaoran frowned. As far as he knew, that was all the adults in the place did. So, if she was in charge of watching over the children, why couldn't she change the rules and let Fujitaka visit?

Unless he doesn't want to visit. The thought intruded on his storm of emotion, silencing his mind. What if she's lying? What if he hasn't come because he's forgotten about me, or he doesn't care? Nascent tears budded in his eyes. No, that can't be true. He wouldn't have spent all that time teaching me if he didn't care.

Would he?

Syaoran stood. "I'm going to my room," he mumbled, crawling up the menacing staircase on his hands and knees.

"Do you want me to talk to the psychologist and see if they can make an exception?"

The twin trails of moisture were growing cold on his face. Oddly, despite having one eye out of commission, he still produced tears from both tear ducts. That might've fascinated him if he hadn't been so emotionally drained. "I don't care anymore," he said, just loud enough for Macy to hear. "I just want to leave this place."

He trudged to his room, closed the door behind him, and buried his face in his pillow to stifle the sobs building in his throat.

Fujitaka sat at his desk, perched over his notebook, wiping the sand off his glasses with his thumb. Even when he put them back on, the words on the page blurred. Oruha kept telling him he was making progress, kept checking back every day and looking over his notes with approval, but to him, it was as if his work, his entire life, had stagnated. As if he had no purpose, no place in the world.

Maybe that's why I travel, he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. Maybe my subconscious has already accepted the fact that there's no place for me, and that's why I wander.

He sighed and stood up. Sitting here would do him no good. He paced the length of the living room, passing the coffee maker several times before deciding to brew another pot. Most days, the thrill of his research was enough to keep him running for hours. Recently, his work had lost its usual joy, like a diamond losing its luster.

Once the coffee maker was running, he went over to the phone. For a while, he just stood there, numb, barely cognizant of his fixation. When he finally moved to dial, he was almost unaware of who he was calling. He heard the dial tone, but tuned it out the same way musicians tuned out ambient noise when they practiced. It wasn't until he heard the voice on the other side of the line that his mind regained some functionality.

"Hey, Fujitaka. Made any progress?"

He shrugged, then realized Oruha couldn't see him over the phone. "Some. I've drawn up some likely meanings for several characters, based on their phonetic origins, but it's tedious work. How are Kentaro and Erii doing?"

"Well, they can't keep their hands off each other, if that's what you're asking."

He blinked, thoughts derailing for a moment as he tried to make sense of that. "What do you mean?"

"Didn't Kentaro tell you? He asked her out two nights ago. They're in love."

Right. Of course they are. "You seem so thrilled. Actually, I was wondering if they've made any headway on their end."

"Some. I can tell Kentaro to bring his notes to you if you need them."

Fujitaka readjusted his glasses. "No, that's fine. I'll pick them up tomorrow morning. I was planning on visiting the ruins again anyway." Anything to get out of the house for a few hours. Anything to move forward again.

"You sound kind of depressed. You need some help or something?"

"I . . . No. Just having trouble focusing, that's all."

"Did you hit your head? Concussions can affect your cognitive ability, you know."

He sighed. "I'm fine. Thanks for the update. Bye."

He hung up before she could respond.

If he was being honest with himself—and he tried to be, especially when the truth was hard to face—he knew why he felt so empty. It had been more than three days since he'd seen the boy, and the knowledge that he'd broken his promise was wearing heavily on his mind. Moreover, the knowledge that Syaoran was alone in the orphanage, one eye bandaged and his speech still crippled, made Fujitaka wish he could assure the boy that things would turn out okay. As it was, Syaoran was fodder for the bullies.

Fujitaka sighed, then started pacing again. A dull ache had formed just above his eyes, throbbing with every heartbeat. He lifted his thumb to the point of tension, trying to drive the headache away. I should've gone, he thought. I should've been there to see him off.

A shrill wail pierced his eardrums; he jumped, then blinked to clear his head. "It's just the phone," he told himself, wondering what Oruha had forgotten to tell him. He picked up the phone and lifted it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello," said an unfamiliar female voice. "Are you Fujitaka?"

"Yes . . . May I ask who's calling?"

"This is Macy, secretary and caretaker at the orphanage in Clow. I'm calling about a boy by the name of Syaoran."

Hope flared in his chest. He leaned forward, searching for a pen and paper, in case he needed to write anything down. "Has something happened? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. Actually, I've just consulted with his psychologist, who advised me to contact you. According to the information I was given, you were the one who found the boy."

"Yes." Alone in the rain with no one to look after him. Abandoned and abused, like a dog left to die.

"We were wondering if you could come by the orphanage today and speak with Syaoran. I think he'd appreciate it. If you're busy—"

He cut her off. "I can be there in ten minutes." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "if that's all right."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, as if he'd caught her by surprise. The pause was followed by some shuffling, and the sound of papers going airborne. "That . . . That should be fine. I'll arrange everything."

Belatedly, he realized how much of a strain this kind of impromptu visit must've been putting on her workload. "Thank you for contacting me. Truly, I'm grateful."

"No problem. I'll see you in ten minutes." The line went dead.

Fujitaka set the phone back on the receiver, grabbed his new cloak from the hook by the door, and went out into the desert.

A red-haired woman waited for him under the awning, a clipboard in one hand and a bucket of miscellaneous toys in the other. "You must be Fujitaka," she said, brightening.

"Yes." Paranoia swept through him. What if they'd changed their minds? What if the boy resented him for disappearing so abruptly?

"Syaoran's inside. I'll take you to him. Oh, I'm Macy, by the way. I'm the one who called you."

Fujitaka nodded, following Macy through the door. She set the bucket of toys in the corner, then scribbled something on her clipboard. While she did that, Fujitaka looked around, searching. In this colorful room, where his beige cloak should've stood out, he saw no trace of the boy. Has he been taken somewhere else? Have they lost him?

"Where is he?"

"He's upstairs, in his room." Macy's head tilted down just a fraction of a degree. A shadow seemed to fall over her face, painting her in a somber light despite the cheery surroundings. "I wouldn't call him antisocial, exactly, but he prefers spending time alone rather than with the other children. He could be shy, or he might have realized how . . . different he is from his peers."

"Different how?"

Surprise flitted across her face as they stepped into the stairwell. This place was less chaotic, but the conflicting color schemes gave it a sort of eerie, unbalanced atmosphere. Macy's response allowed him to put his unease aside for a moment, though her words weren't exactly comforting. "You must know about his eye."

Fujitaka hadn't actually seen the damage for himself. Someone else had always taken care of the wound behind the mask of bandages. "I don't know the extent of the damage. I wasn't the one who changed his bandages."

The caretaker frowned. "The damage is . . . quite severe. The eye itself is in tact, and the physical damage will heal, but he's blind in his right eye."

How? he wondered, biting his lip to suppress the exclamations that wanted to jump to his tongue. How could anyone hurt a child so badly and just leave them on the streets? He could have died. Would have, if someone hadn't found him. If I hadn't found him.

Instead of denouncing the boy's previous caretakers, Fujitaka nodded. "I see. Does he know?"

"The boy? No, not exactly. It's hard news, especially for someone who's still acclimating to new surroundings." They reached the top of the stairs. Macy turned down one of the hallways, studying her clipboard intensely, as if doing so would shut out any personal feelings on the matter. "For now, we've decided to keep treating him as we have. There's nothing we can do to change it."

"It won't help to keep the truth from him."

"You wouldn't lie to him," she said, pausing outside one of the doors. "If you want to tell him now, I won't stop you, but there are more important concerns than that. His amnesia, for one, and his depression for another."

"I understand. This is his room?" He glanced at the undecorated door Macy had stopped in front of.

"Yes. I'm going to make sure he's prepared for visitors, if you'll wait just a moment." Her fingers traced the door handle, pressing down without letting the door swing open. Fujitaka gestured for her to go ahead. As soon as she slipped inside, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He wasn't ready for this. He probably wouldn't ever be ready to admit he'd broken a promise by vanishing without telling the boy. But he'd try.

The door came open with a faint creak.

Syaoran glanced up, then away. His caretakers checked on him often, usually trying to get him to eat more, or go downstairs and play with the other children. He drew his cloak tighter around his body, like armor.

"Syaoran, can you get out of bed for me?" Macy asked, kneeling at his bedside so they were at eye level.

He shook his head.

"Come on now. There's someone here to see you."

"You said I couldn't have any visitors." And I don't want to see any more specialists.

"Oh, stop sulking. I think you'll be really happy to see this visitor."

He rolled over so he was facing away from her. All he wanted was to lie here for a while and pretend he was sleeping.

"Well," Macy said, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to let him in, so you ought to be ready to see him."

He sat up, angling himself so he was facing away from the door and drawing the cloak over his head. Armor. The cloak was his armor against the world, and he intended to keep it that way.

He heard Macy's quick footsteps, then the creak of the door as it opened. Several minutes passed as she murmured something to his visitor, but even when he listened, he couldn't make out what they were saying. There was something familiar about one of the voices, though, something that had him listening intently despite his resolve not to care. A moment later, the voices cut off, and he heard two pairs of footsteps approaching his bedside.

"All right, Syaoran," Macy said. "Let's say hi to your visitor."

"I don't want to." Couldn't they understand that? Couldn't they understand that he didn't want to talk to anyone? He'd already consented to daily sessions with the orphanage's psychologist. What more could they want from him? "Go away."

"Syaoran, turn around. This is no time for sulking."

He shook his head vigorously. "I don't want to see anybody."

Someone sighed behind him, and the sound made something in his chest tighten. The sigh was familiar, just as the cadence of the voice had been familiar, even muffled by the door. No, he thought. I hate this place. I don't want to meet anyone else.

His visitor spoke, despair laced through every word. "He doesn't want to see me."

The voice, so close, so instantly recognizable to his ears, shredded Syaoran's resolve. He turned around, sloughing off his cloak like a snake shedding its skin. It can't be . . . he thought. They said he couldn't visit.

But they must've changed their minds because standing at the foot of his bed was Fujitaka.

Author's Notes:

I give you permission to yell at me for the long delay, but before you do, I have an important announcement.

Some of you may already be aware, but on June 23rd, many users of fanfiction . net will be protesting the sudden purging of stories with explicit sexual content, extreme violence, song lyrics, and anything else they deem to be breaking site rules. This protest will consist of all of us logging out of our accounts and abandoning FFN for one day, in order to show the site administrators how much they rely on writers and readers like us. I highly encourage you to take part in this protest by staying off FFN on June 23rd. That means no reading, no reviewing, and no posting chapters/stories. No use of the site at all for 24 hours. If enough people participate in this silent protest, FFN will have to acknowledge our dissatisfaction, and we will be one step closer to having unreserved freedom of press. I will be participating as well, so please, take this opportunity to stand for our right to write. Thank you.