Chapter 10: Secrets are Meant to be Kept
When he volunteered to go fishing for their hostess, Chichiri had expected some time alone with his thoughts. But when an hour passed and his mind remained blank, he knew it was hopeless.
The week had passed in a blur. Only few things stood out: the doctor's ever-present gravity, the woodsman and his wife's solicitations, and Tasuki and Lolita's visit. That last one he couldn't forget if he wanted to. His mind always went back to that second when his friends were first admitted into Ami's room and Lolita fell on her knees and cried. It was like a slap to the face admonishing him again about his carelessness.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Chichiri allowed the pole to go slack in his grasp. He couldn't remember what he had told Tasuki exactly when they dropped by again only the previous day, but it had to be something along the lines of the temporary transfer of authority to make the sullen bandit puff up with male pride. With a tiny smile, Chichiri shook his head. Somebody was going to have to grow up while...
Then he stopped, smile slipping from his masked face. The gloom he walked around in wasn't too all encompassing to blind him to the looming necessity of moving out. Sure the elderly couple told him he and Ami could stay for as long as they needed to, but how long was that going to be? A few more weeks? A month? A year? Ten years? What if Ami never woke up?
For a minute he entertained the idea of teleporting to Mt. Taikyouku. The Nyan-nyans there could do better than any doctor, and it would end their excursion early. But he worried that Ami might be too weak to endure the strain of crossing several planes of existence at once. In the end, it might even do her in. After that he thought of sending Tasuki and Lolita ahead to their destination. Then again, that wasn't the point of the journey.
Thankfully, a tug on the line kept Chichiri from having to think any more. Catching the pole before it slipped from his hands, he struggled to reel in the day's only catch. The fish was visible under the shimmering surface of the river, swimming in frantic circles. Carefully balancing himself, Chichiri stood and yanked backwards. With a loud splash, his catch flopped out of the water, more than big enough to keep. Despite himself, the monk grinned as he gathered his things and headed back to the hut in the woods.
Finally, something had gone right in the week of disappointments.
The woodsman's wife shared his enthusiasm over the fish. While she fussed over supper, Chichiri retreated into Ami's room again. Over time, it had become a sort of habit – his seeing her first thing when he returned from an errand – and they were never disturbed.
It always amazed him how, try though he might, he couldn't feel guilty in her presence. Every time the door closed behind him, the troubles he had been putting himself through seemed so silly; and though asleep, it was as if it was Ami herself who was telling him that. In fact, he had even taken to speaking to her. Most of the time, he told himself she was listening.
Not that day, though.
He thought he'd tell her about catching supper, that she had better hurry and wake up so she could see for herself. Then he felt the chi levels in her room make a drastic drop, and knew that he had been making pretty fancies for himself all along.
Even then, the part of him that refused to believe speculated that it was anxiety finally catching up with him. Or maybe his abilities were getting rusty after a week of disuse. But whatever it was, it had him running to her side.
Her usual expression was replaced by one of deep peace, as if she had finally signed the waiver to forfeit life.
"No! No no no no no!" Chichiri clutched at her pulse. Weak, but hanging on. "Ami-chan!"
Rushing to see what the fuss was about, the woodsman's wife saw him bent over the bed, fingertips lightly pressed against Ami's temples. "Should I call for the doctor, Chichiri-san?"
Yes.
No.
"Maybe you should, no da," he replied distractedly, trying to pick up the scattered pieces of his energy. Taking several deep breaths to collect himself, Chichiri focused his chi until he found and sank down the wavering thread to Ami's consciousness. Not surprisingly, her defenses were easy to break down. Almost as soon as they linked minds, his chi flooded hers, filling the emptying spaces with a sudden warmth. From the far reaches, he could detect her slipping away, draining into an abysmal void.
There was no time to apologize for the invasion. Bracing himself, he plunged in.
At first there was light – a glow enough only to see more of the darkness ahead. Her mind was worryingly empty, all thought banished like little animals scurrying back into their burrows. He walked alone. It was cold inside that dying mind, and dry, as if the tides of life had ebbed away into the gloomy recess he knew he couldn't enter. And silent though he was, his footsteps echoed on the floor of her consciousness.
No matter. She couldn't hear him.
But the light ended too soon, and he was left to find his own way in the stark blackness.
It was then that he felt the vestiges of life – choking, whispering strangled words of sheer pain – and was hopeful. He ran forward. Wary twittering echoed over his head. The sounds were like tiny fairies debating whether to show themselves to the newcomer or not. Goosebumps raced up his arms.
"Ami-chan," he dared call. It boomed in the silence, bouncing off invisible walls to return, unanswered, to him.
The twitterings stopped.
Farther on, he met with wet sand. Somewhere, she was waiting to die. Sometime soon, he would have to find her. But he would no longer use his voice. Like a cloak, he gathered his energy around himself, sweeping it over more territory as he ventured deeper and deeper into her mind. When its hem detected the first tremors, he knelt down, hoping by his stillness to coax her forward.
Nothing.
He hesitated, and then walked even farther. Wet sand gave in to water. A shiver made him stop. Whatever prodded that sensation, it wasn't pleasant. A gust of wind assailed him from the left, leaving in its wake a twinge of desperation. He was growing more confused by the second, for there were no images, only her emotions bared raw for him to experience. Never had he thought she could harbour such intense feelings. As it was, he could barely keep himself from the enticement of tearing into her little secrets.
It would have been easier if they left him alone. But like ghosts, those secrets haunted him, brushing against his clothes, touching his face, urging him, inviting him to take a peek and understand the person whose mind he had the audacity to explore. More than once they threatened to overwhelm him, bringing back memories of his own that he had fought so hard to repress.
In all honesty, she didn't want to wake up. The world was too big, too mean, too difficult. Where she was, she was safe. There was no need to worry about wrong or right, or about how everyone around her would react to the things she had done. It was a wonderful feeling to be so in touch with oneself, to feel bound to that other person generally ignored in wakefulness. But it wasn't the right time for that. She felt it. The dawning around her seconded it. The annoying, incessant, beeping told her so.
She wasn't too banged up to die. Not yet.
Giving in, she allowed herself to float back to consciousness. A whirlwind of sound met her ears – talking, running, ticking, the beeping she had heard so much of. Experimentally, she found the tips of her limbs. Bare toes were concealed under a blanket, but they were there. Fingertips touched the same fabric the blanket was made of, though one fingertip was pinched and pounding. She couldn't figure out what had happened to it. Sighing, she opened her eyes to see what was wrong to said finger, and gasped.
The place was an alien hole. It had to be, with all the cables and tubes and machines and wheeled beds and fluorescent lights and laboratory smells and clipboards and people in uniforms. And the noise! Groaning, she turned away to return to the blessed darkness, only to be interrupted by a pleasant voice. Once again, her eyes popped open. The voice was speaking in a language she recognized!
"It's about time you got up, honey." A nurse said as she bustled around the bed with the patient charts. Ami stared until it registered that she was in a hospital, not an alien hole. "You've been out for two days. Mighty bad idea to have gone downtown instead of to the docs."
She was only half-listening. On the table beside her bed was a piece of paper – plain, folded once. Reaching over, she opened it. From her mother and father.
"I say," finishing her routine, the nurse peered closer at her, making Ami start slightly. Quickly, the note found itself crushed in her hand, stuffed under the blanket. "You're that senator's daughter, aren't you? Your mom and dad were here couple of days ago to see you, settle the bill... Strange how they never visited again." Turning to go, the nurse added, "Must be real busy running for senate president. Still, that doesn't mean you have to go ignored. If you need anything, honey, just call." With a wink and a wave, the older woman disappeared.
Ami squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it was all nothing but a terrible dream. She promised herself to change, to be good, to do everything her parents asked her to. Just don't make this real. But the ache in the pit of her stomach was very much real, as was the stiff paper in her hand. Again, she took it out. The writing was in her mother's hand – neat lines of loopy script that filled the page – saying exactly what she thought it said.
To the open doorway through which the nurse had just left, Ami sighed. "No use speculating over my parents. They're never coming back for me."
He wanted to scream for the secrets to stop distracting him.
The moment the thought crossed his mind, his surroundings suddenly changed, hardening to repel an unknown body, forcing his chi into a tight little ball around him. A mighty wind raged, almost knocking him backwards. The persistent memories fled, hightailing back to their rocky lair. Water ran fast, rising up his ankles, threatening to drown him. From the darkness he saw a tiny beam of light. Then, he was sure that she was coming round.
Letting go of whatever hold he had had on her mind, he rappelled into his own, snaking through the flooding labyrinths back to the light of his own head. Safe inside, he eagerly watched for her awakening.
As far as she was concerned, everything was fine. She was watching old memories on the big screen, reliving the joys, wincing at the worse moments, and crying when she remembered to. Then towards the end of it, a long-forgotten reel of film popped onto the projector, forcing her to see that very scene she had struggled to put behind. It wasn't supposed to be unearthed – not now, not anytime soon, not ever – yet there it was, making her squirm and want to run away.
But the last film wasn't really all that bad. Terrible as it was, it had made her so desperate to search for other sources of entertainment that she actually bothered to peer into the bleakness she had left behind. Were it not for that she would not have discovered the presence of an intruder. Afraid that he might discover her big secret, she put up her defenses once again. Surprisingly, he chose to flee, though Ami felt that if he wanted to, he could have easily smashed her walls and forced his way in.
His sudden departure left her standing alone, staring and shaking her head at the wasteland her mind had become. The place was inhospitable – probably riddled with potholes and ditches – yet there was somebody interested enough to travel through it.
She asked herself why.
The visitor left a trail of luminescent red thread, a guide to help her find her way out of the dark. She had a fleeting idea as to who had left it. Acting on a compulsion, she grabbed one end and followed where it led.
It ended at the brink between the conscious and the unconscious, giving her the option to turn back and hide, or dive into the light. To the darkness she yelled, asking what to do. Silence met her question. So she threw it to the brightness, and the brightness responded with a rumbling chuckle that sent chills of delight through her. Still, she hesitated, and turned to stare the other way.
The darkness felt stale, like a merry-go-round that went in endless circles until all she wanted to do was tumble out and throw up.
The light, then?
The light, at the moment, was too brilliant for her taste. It would niggle out every little thing she wanted to keep private.
Maybe she should just wait at the threshold until someone – or something – made her decision.
No, that was cowardly.
Stamping her foot in frustration, Ami scowled at the light. Then, with a final look at her safe, dim nest, she fell, allowing the brightness to swallow her whole. Just as she disappeared over the ledge, the waters rushed out full force, waves cresting on the remains of her mental wall.
This time, there was no beeping. Just silence, and an excitement radiating from a source so close she could feel it.
She wasn't alone. But she would be damned if it was just a nurse come to gossip about her parents. Then again, she had made her choice. It was time to face it. Breathlessly, she made herself look.
No tubes. No glass windows. No talking, no rushing. Nothing remotely space-age. Except for the blue-haired man looking down at her, everything seemed normal...albeit old. Really, really old. Where the hell was she? She opened her mouth to ask, but instead of the question, a name sprang from her lips,
"Chichiri."
The man smiled, prodding the rusty gears in her head to whirr to life, the previous events she had been through clicking into perspective. Remembering the deadly cliff, she wriggled her feet, wincing when a thrumming pain clambered up the side of her ankle. Gaze not even leaving her face, Chichiri supplied, "You twisted your right ankle, no da," with such nonchalance she waited for the catch. Maybe they had to amputate her arms or something, and a twisted ankle was good news compared to that.
Suddenly, Ami didn't feel too good. Slowly, she flexed her elbows. Still there. Hands? Still... Her eyes widened. She couldn't move her left hand. Panic-stricken, she fought to right herself, only to be pushed back down onto the bed. An elderly woman appeared at Chichiri's shoulder, fretfully asking what was wrong. On the verge of tears, Ami stammered something about her hand.
Chichiri looked sheepish. "There's nothing wrong with it, no da." Releasing it from between his own, he settled for rubbing slow circles on her palm.
She fell back with a nervous sigh, content for the moment that she had made it out of the experience in one piece. The elderly woman, determining that Ami was, for the moment, as comfortable as she could be, bustled back to the kitchen, leaving her guests to look at each other awkwardly.
Chichiri was going to begin his litany of apologies and promises when Ami closed her fingers over his, cutting him off.
"Just now...were you the one inside my head?" Though she spoke softly, he could not deny the defensive edge in her tone.
"Yes, no da." There was no lying out of that one.
"Did you see..." She trailed off, clutching tighter. "Did you see...anything?"
He saw absolute darkness, and the trails of death snaking through her consciousness. There was also that gushing of emotions, though he knew she did not need to hear that. And finally, there was that one nagging remembrance that seemed to want to bare itself to him.
"Nothing, no da."
A hint of mistrust flashed in her eyes, but vanished as soon as it came. As she drew her hand away, he found his gaze following its movement to her chest, where it finally settled atop her heart. From there, his eyes swept upwards to her smiling face, and he started at her obvious relief.
"Thank you for being here."
"You know I can't leave you, no da." He told himself to add, in your present condition, but somehow couldn't find the words.
"I hope you won't find reason to."
A/N: Pretty short chappie, but the last few days have not been conducive to anything, thanks to global warming. People from four-season countries, be happy. You cannot imagine what it's like to have to live through summer in a tropical country. Up north, in our capital, the temperature reached a whopping 48 degrees Celsius. Thank god I live down south.
Anyway, my debt to InkedButterfly: Sorry I forgot to reply to your question in Chapter 8. I have this nasty habit of rambling off and forgetting the main topic until my rambling gets too long and I have to stop...See? I was doing just that and I do it all the time... (clears throat) Okay. When I wrote the scene in question, I actually had Mozart's Turkish March on my mind. Unfortunately, that it all conjecturing, as I am not musically gifted (was laughing at the Earthlings when God was doling out musical talent in heaven) and do not know, and perhaps never will, whether it is possible to play that piece on the Chinese instrument referred to in the abovementioned chapter. I'm glad you liked Chapter 9, though in truth, I was completely serious when I asked the question about Chichiri. But if it made you laugh, oh well. That's got to be an answer in itself, I suppose. (grin)
I have to stop here, people. Don't know when the next chapter's coming up, but I sure will think about it. (More like, obsess about it until posting.) Anyhoo, to those who haven't reviewed yet, don't be shy. Tell me what you think. Or bash me over the head. Whichever suits you. (shrug)