Artisan
Chapter 8

.

.

Rika watched Keiichi in school the next day. There seemed no difference, except the darkening circles under his eyes and she wondered if those had been there before. It wasn't unusual. Any world in which the parasite in his mind had awoken was the same. But this wasn't one of those worlds, even if it could have been. It could have been Shion as well, she supposed, but Shion didn't come to Hinamizawa at all in this incarnation.

'Will you stay?' asked Hanyu. 'Will you try again?'

Yes to both, Rika thought in reply. It's my duty, which this power I have.

Her duty to forgive those who sinned through no fault of their own. Her duty to forgive the distrust that spread - the distrust she did sometimes nothing to quell. Her duty to try and protect the ones doomed to die, even if she failed again and again. And to live past the June of Showa 58 was the reward.

Perhaps that was why. She'd failed Keiichi in this world, despite saving him. Hurt him in body and he was slowly hurting in mind and with no idea why. Perhaps it hurt more, to have his father slipping away. It had certainly hurt Satoko - but that was just a hypothesis on their parts, that Satoshi hadn't really run away.

More likely, though. Satoshi would never have left his little sister in that place if he could have helped it. More likely, far more likely, that he'd succumbed to the curse. But there was nothing she could ever do about Satoshi. She couldn't go back far enough. And it wasn't like Akasaka, where one meeting's outcome determined the next and the result of that first outcome was chance, always chance.

She was a priestess, but the knowledge she had now wasn't due to predictions but living those times again and again and again. Akasawa was a prediction. Perhaps. She wasn't too sure herself. Her voice had sounded too old back then. Old like it sounded now, if she cut off the cute ten year old persona she had to wear in front of everyone. Hanyu had her own theories. She had her own theories. She couldn't remain ten years old forever, repeating Showa 58 again and again and again… And she couldn't take all of that into her human body. It was too frail. Too limited. To cross timelines as she did with Hanyu's power meant to transcend the limits of humanity. To become a God was impossible though. Something else, then. A witch? And that was the part of her that observed and did nothing. The part that observed every board, every incarnation, and attempted to find the common points and the divergences and where she as the avatar could interfere and where she could not and what actions she would have to do and when to achieve the result she sought.

Had it not been enough worlds to get the full lay of the board? Or did she simply make too many mistakes to salvage even one?

Or was it that the possibility did not exist and they aimlessly searched.

.

Keiichi was at school. Ichiro was down in the basement again, and Aiko had left him breakfast by the door instead of calling him up to eat it.

And she whittled the morning away cleaning. Dust everywhere, it seemed. And it was newly built as well. Built just for them on the empty lot they'd brought. It had been a stroke of luck, that it had gone up for sale just when they were thinking of moving out of the city, into the Which reminded one. Ichiro had one scheduled for the next weekend.

Didn't you know? Rena's voice whispered in her head. No-one ever leaves Hinamizawa. Never.

No, they hadn't known. They hadn't been searching for a prison with a different name. They'd been searching for somewhere happy, somewhere free, somewhere without expectations to bind them and where the wildflower that was his son could grow into who he wanted to be.

And maybe that was all it was: a free, spirited place that just had a bunch of old folklores that everyone believed. But that wasn't true, wasn't it? Two people's bodies discovered in one night. The photographer from Tokyo - Tomitake Jiro - and Nurse Takano from the Irie Clinic. Two countryside where there was more fresh air and the expectations were far less.

The countryside had done wonders for Keiichi, and they'd never thought they'd have a problem adjusting. Their jobs could go anywhere, aside from the rare book signings and exhibitions.

murders in such a small town. A town that should have been safe from the things the city had splattered on their newspapers every day.

And they weren't even calm, but messy and inexplicable. Or not so inexplicable. Hadn't Nurse Takano told her? The curse of Oyashiro that clung to this town. One person dead on the day of the Watanagushi festival, and another person missing: a person spirited away by the demon. On the first year, two workers on the dam project. The following year, two supporters. Keiichi's friend Satoko's parents, or so Takano had said. And then the year that followed was the priest of the Furude Shrine and his wife. Rika's parents. And the year that followed that was Satoko's guardian aunt and her brother.

And now Tomitake and Takano - except there were two dead and none missing.

Why hadn't she put more stock on those stories before the proof had been shoved at her? Why?

Why had they, of all the quaint little country towns around, had they chosen the demon-infested one? Why why why -

Footsteps behind her. She jumped and shrieked. Ichiro was standing there, with the tray she'd left for him hours earlier. 'You didn't knock.'

'I - ' Her heart was still thudding in her chest, and how foolish it was. Who else would it be?

Footsteps. Footsteps in the shadows.

Wow, she'd really let Ryuugu Rena scare her, hadn't she?

'I knocked,' she managed, after a bit. 'You didn't reply, so I thought -'

He seemed to accept that - but there was a barrier between them and where had that barrier come from?

.

Aiko said she'd knocked. He hadn't heard that. Just footsteps approaching, then fading again. Had that been here then? How, then, had he missed the knock that should have been sharp and loud in the near silent basement?

When hunger had gnawed at him, too irritating to ignore, and he'd gotten up to fetch something from the kitchen, he'd seen the tray lying innocently there on the basement steps. And then he wondered why Aiko hadn't called him up, or at least knocked and said she'd leave the tray for him for when hunger called. Because the food was cold. Stone cold miso soup and stiff bread and a rubber egg and coffee with clumps of milk at the bottom.

He'd eaten it all because he'd been hungry, but they churned in his stomach afterwards. Churned when he clambered back up the stairs, when Aiko jumped at the sound of his footsteps, when she stuttered and took far too long to answer his questions. Why Aiko? I haven't changed. It was just the footsteps that haunted his sleep. And the story of curses that haunted the sketches that covered his basement studio and the painting he was now slowly crafting into life. And maybe a bit of trouble adjusting - and who knew, maybe the footsteps were a mix of that and old folklores doing their job of scaring new residents. Nothing sounded far louder in the silence, after all.

And the only way to make those haunting sounds go away was to be occupied elsewhere. In the painting slowly taking form under his brush. In the fumes that seared his nostrils but also, sometimes, didn't burn. In the shadows that stretched out from his canvas and reached for him, tried to pull him into the maelstrom that was his thoughts, his feelings, his soul -

But no, not this time. This was a depiction of Hinamizawa, not him. Or, perhaps, it would be more accurate to say it was a depiction of Onigafuchi - the swamp village of before that had been so demon-infested, or so they told. Stories made to scare, to fascinate. Stories with a grain of truth twisted so viciously now that who knew how much of that truth still remained. Concepts that created a mixing pot of theories and tales with people like Nurse Takano trying to come up with a single piece of string to connect them all.

And this was his contribution. Nothing more and nothing less than that.

.

It sucked up all his attention. Ichiro barely remembered to eat, and when he did, he'd wonder allowed why no-one had called him up, why no-one had come to bother him (and he used the word and made Keiichi look at him oddly and Aiko cringe), why he didn't need to walk Keiichi to school along with Rena ('because my leg's feeling much better, 'tou-san), why he'd stopped coming up bed ('because I need to finish just this little bit more'/because the footsteps are still there.)

Keiichi wanted to go down and drag him up, bug him with the ball or the baseball bat or something but Aiko sent him off with his friends instead. Drew the line at their plan to climb the mountains one day because no way Keiichi would be able to manage that still on crutches and knee still casted up, but said nothing else. Kept him out of the house so it was only Aiko and Ichiro, because Aiko was insensibly afraid of something, as though there was a bomb in the house that would soon explode, and Keiichi really didn't need to be there to see that. No kid really needed to see their parents fighting. Didn't matter how old they were, or how disillusioned.

Especially when Keiichi was just getting those illusions back under his belt.

She didn't know why she was expecting a fight. She just was. The wall was too thick. There was a hammer swinging somewhere, that would knock it down. Where had it come from? Why? Please don't say it was because they moved here, because they had to move, because Keiichi -

That's just - that's just not fair.

Keiichi was so happy. Why couldn't it have stayed that idyllic paradise the pair of them had dreamed it would be for him.

.

She knocked on the basement door again. Again, nothing. Knock. No reply. Leave. She hadn't knocked again since she'd heard crashes one day and then she'd fled up the stairs like a startled rabbit. Silly me, she'd scolded herself afterwards. Silly her for being afraid of her romantic, non-violent husband. The only time he lost his temper was when he was scared, deeply scared. Like when Keiichi had admitted to his night misadventures.

And like when, before they'd married, when those rumours about a measly two-hundred yen book author dating a bum artist had gotten around - and they'd been unfounded. She had a degree in japanese folklore (though Hinamizawa was not one they'd ever studied) and her books weren't worldwide sellers by any means, but certainly decent enough to cover what she'd lacked from her day job at a local cafe back then. And he sold enough paintings and was commissioned for enough covers and artworks to manage with the house his parents had already paid off. Sure, their circumstances had been good. Wouldn't have worked so well if they'd had to pay rent or mortgage or they'd had a child before they'd married and moved in together and put a bit aside.

Wouldn't have been able to afford such a large piece of land in even a backwater place like Hinamizawa if the land-prices hadn't skyrocketed since their parents' times, either. But maybe they'd have been able to find another solution of that had been the case. A place where they wouldn't have to unroot themselves - and it had been such a good thing, they'd thought. Such a good thing, to get a fresh start somewhere far away except now it was suffocating, frightening, and was this how people disappeared? Scared, running away, never to return.

No-one ever leaves Hinamizawa.

She shivered, even if there was no wind to chill her. 'I'm sorry.' The words fell from her lips without meaning, without demand.

Ichiro opened the door.

.

He heard them. Footsteps, again. And rustling. Someone moving about outside. And a whisper, though he couldn't make out the words.

He waited. They went away. He opened the door for his own piece of mind and nothing more.

Aiko stood there, pale and eyes wide and startled. 'I'm sorry,' she blurted, and the words echoed in his ears. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Had Aiko been the one standing behind the door? Didn't he know how that made his heart hammer inside his chest.

Of course not, some reasonable part of his mind pointed out. How can she, unless you tell her?

But he couldn't tell her, because that was the truth he could or could not face.

And then there was the other possibility. That she was drifting away. Found something in this town just as Keiichi had - or found something more, and he was left behind. And she was apologising too. Apologising so the words burned into his mind and whywhywhy -

'What?' he snapped, his voice cutting through the echo like the blade he'd intended it to be.

'L-lunch,' she stuttered in reply and why did she stutter. She hardly stuttered. The confident woman who could write up a storm and sell it to make a comfortable amount. Who'd birthed a boy who had such a way with words and those sorts of people just didn't stutter like that, just didn't lose the words, the sentences, the elegant forms…

Of course they can. They're human too.

But some rational bit of his mind had already slipped away, without his notice.

'Why were you just standing here?' he wondered. He meant to wonder. But Aiko flinched and maybe his tone was too harsh or maybe she's hiding something. That's it, isn't it? She's hiding something and I just don't want to admit she is.

'Lunch,' she repeated, a little more steadily. and when had she backed away? See? She's hiding something and she's afraid of your reaction to whatever it is she's hiding. 'It's ready. Come up and eat.'

First time in three days, the voice in his head continued.

She says she's knocked every time.

But you don't hear here, do you?

'Ichiro?' She inched closer. Reached out for his chin.

He saw the hidden sneer in her face, the cold in her eyes, and reeled back.

She jerked back too, red blossoming on a cheek but a hand covered it.

I - hit her?

Someone laughed. Aiko?

She thought you were blind. Thought she had you fooled.

'Don't you love me anymore?' The question fell from his lips like he was a pathetic child and she the mother with her bags all packed and leaving. And she'll pack them. She'll pack them one day. You know that. You just don't know when it started.

'I - ' She fumbled, backed away. 'I - of course I love you. It's just -'

See, she stutters.

Finally, she abandoned the track. 'Come,' and she forced it steady, forced it form. 'Let's eat lunch.'

Neither side of his brain would allow that. He shut himself in the basement again.