I wake to the squeaking rumble of the train car, as it plunges through the twilight countryside. It was light when I fell asleep. I wish I had been able to sleep for longer last night, or at least had a more productive nap curled up against the cool train window, the fabric of my hood acting as a pillow.

Sitting up slightly I stretch my arms above my head, before withdrawing my phone from the overstuffed backpack. I check the time - just past nine o'clock at night, I've also got a missed call from a number I don't recognise. Damn it! Must have still been on silent from school.

With a sense of trepidation I hit the re-dial button and press the speaker to my ear.

"Hello…?" A soft woman's voice answers.

"Hi," I reply, trying desperately to work out where I've heard her before.

"Oh, Miki dear, it's Miss Kita." The worry in her voice is tangible.

"What happened to dad?" I ask quickly.

"Oh dear, I don't really know, one moment he was fine, the next he just fell over and we couldn't get any response. He and your mother are at the hospital now, and I will pick you up from the station when you arrive." It's hard to tell from her voice just how worried I should be, her tone is measured, but undermined with genuine panic.

I don't really know how to respond. Did I really want to know that information? Does it really help when I'm stuck on a train and at least an hour away from the hospital, and even when I get there, what can I do? Am I just rushing somewhere to watch my father die?

"Okay," I say quietly, "I will be there in about an hour I guess."

"I will be there when you arrive dear, don't worry."

"Thank you, I'll see you soon." I say dreamily, my head still filled with racing thoughts.

"See you soon dear," with a beep Miss Kita hangs up, as the first lights of my distant hometown glitter on the horizon, the midnight blue sky tinged an ugly orange.

— — —

The car journey is much the same as the train. Together in uncomfortable silence Miss Kita and I weave along familiar roads to the city's hospital. The black plastic dashboard, indented to resemble a vague sense of leather, is intermittently illuminated with orange light before fading back to darkness as we pass under each street light.

I hardly notice when we pull up outside the towering building, clad in white and green panels that hope to bring the aged building into the new millennium. It makes the vast mass before me no less imposing. Unseasonably cold air stings my face as I climb out of the small red car. Wrapping my arms around my chest I shiver, before turning back to my mother's housekeeper, still seated behind the wheel.

"Parking here is problematic, you go in dear, ask for your father and they will show you to his room." she speaks kindly, and it's with a slight start that I remember she's not really family, but an employee of my grandfather.

I nod, watching her small hatchback glide away, before turning back to the large automatic doors spilling clean blue light out onto the street. With a swish they part, and I have to screw my eyes up against the sudden glare of fluorescent lighting and clean white walls.

— — —

A nurse, recruited by the tassel-haired receptionist leads me through a maze of indistinguishable corridors. Memories of overwhelming boredom, eased only slightly by pacing through these halls spring into my mind, but it's impossible to tell where exactly in this labyrinth I was kept. Finally, after much walking and an uncomfortable lift journey in which the nurse spent a considerable amount of time trying not to look at my stump, we arrive outside a heavy wooden door.

With a gentle knock she opens the door, revealing the brightly lit room, past experience had told me to expect. Wordlessly the nurse vanishes, leaving me to enter alone.

Covering my mouth I take in the sight of my thin frame lays almost lost in amongst the bedclothes. Tubes and wires snake from an array of bags and beeping machines, to dive cruelly into his skinny body. Beside him, hugging her knees is my mother, her face pale and gaunt, eyes tightly closed. Is he alive?

Movement from the bed shows he is, as he slurs my name, "M…Miki?"

Letting the door swing closed behind me, I cross the room in only a few long strides; dropping my backpack as I go.

"Dad!" I say shakily, reaching his bedside and staring down into the face of my father. Oh no. The corner of his mouth and eye droop lazily and he seems to be having trouble focusing on me, even though I am only a few feet away.

"Miki," my mother says surprised, waking up with a start. "You needn't have come all this way."

I'm slightly taken aback, are things not as bad as they look? Because they look pretty fucking bad.

"What happened?" I ask; stunned.

"I… h… had a bit… of.. a fall.. i..is.. all," dad slurs, having problems articulating his speech.

"Your dad just passed out, it's nothing to worry about." my mum insists, sitting up a little straighter in her chair before stretching her arms and yawning.

What the hell? She's acting like nothing major has happened, and dad's trying to play the whole situation down even though he can hardly form a coherent sentence. Is this all some act to try and spare my feelings? Well, it's not working, I want the truth. Opening my mouth to start another round of questioning I'm interrupted, as Miss Kita and a white coated doctor walk into the room.

"Whats going on?" I demand of the newcomers, my voice louder than I intended.

"You would be the daughter?" The doctor asks, his eyes drawn to my bandaged stump. I guess even in his line of work a one handed girl is still a novelty.

"Yes," I say simply, pushing my stump into the tube-like pocket of my hoodie.

"Why don't you take a seat?" he says, his eyes flashing back to my face, a guilty look marring his aged face.

"Have mine," mum says, getting to her feet quickly. "I need a drink, or something."

I watch, frozen in shock, as she leaves her bedside vigil and strides out of the room very purposely not looking at any of us. Does she not care at all? Miss Kita gives me an odd look - a kind of half frown - and a shrug before leaving the room as well, apparently intent on catching mum. Though I doubt it's to drag her back in here. Where she belongs.

The doctor clears his throat awkwardly, gesturing to the chair.

Sitting down I'm now at eye level with dad, who gives me a reassuring smile. Though with half his face dropping the effect is more alarming than comforting. Forcing myself to smile back, because it feels like the right thing to do, I take his cold hand in mine.

"I'm Doctor Yamanaka, head of neurology here," he straightens his lab coat as he speaks, not out of nerves but more a well worn habit though years of experience.

Whatever neurology is it doesn't sound good.

"Would you like me to explain the situation to your daughter Mr Miura?"

Dad nods slowly, his clammy hand squeezing mine very gently.

"Very good," looking directly at me with piecing lighting blue eyes the doctor continues, "I'm afraid your father has suffered whats called a Hemorrhagic Stroke, this is caused when a tumour on the brain starts to bleed increasing pressure inside the skull and pressing against vital systems."

Pausing he lets the information sink in. This can't be happening. Mum's acting like nothings wrong, when dad has what? Cancer? Thats the only thing that causes tumours right? And inside his head, no wonder he was starting to seem more spaced out at home. This is my fault. I should have made him go to the doctors before now, I was stupid to think everything was going to be okay. Nothing is ever okay.

"Does he have cancer?" I ask, looking into my father's distorted face.

"We can't be sure, due to the nature of the bleeding we will need to surgically remove the tumour before it can do any more damage, only once we perform a biopsy in the lab will we know for sure if its benign or not. Then we can start re-evaluating the necessary treatment." he says with professional detachment.

"But your talking about brain surgery," I whimper softly.

"I'm afraid it's the only option."

"When." I can barely speak now, not looking away from dad. Who is expressionless, slumped into his pillows.

"Tonight, as soon as we can arrange things."

"What are his chances?" I ask, trying not to meet anybodies eye.

"M… m… miki," dad splutters.

Looking between my and dad the doctors face softens slightly, a hint of regret touching his wrinkled jowls. "If the surgery is successful, his long time prognosis should improve greatly."

If.

I can feel the hot tears burn my cheeks as I nod, he might as well have told me dad's going to die. Looking up I see that for the first time dad looks upset, and it makes me feel even worse, how can he be worried about me with his death hanging omnipresent in the room?

"Do you have any more questions?" Dr Yamanaka asks, not unkindly.

I shake my head, touching my forehead to dad's hand, face hidden against the bed.

"I will take my leave, the nursing staff can contact me if you need anything at all."

I don't respond, but hear footsteps before a door open and closes, the noises feel like they are a million miles away. Unable to hold out anymore I start to cry, hard gasping sobs that seem to burn though my throat and reverberate though my body. I'm going to have to say goodbye… In a few hours I will have to say goodbye, and it will be forever.

"M… Miki… I'm going… to… be okay."

Sitting up slowly I wipe my teary face on my bandages, sniffing as I try and control myself. I can't lose myself, not when he needs me.

"You don't know that," I sniffle.

"N.. no… but, I h.. have h.. had a g.. good.. life."

"Don't talk like that," I exclaim, fighting back the tears that continue to flow down my cheeks.

With cruelty bordering on malice he chuckles, the sound odd and distorted. How can he laugh about this?

"If… something h… happens, I… go.. go knowing I helped… bring.. something wonderful… into the world," he grips my hand gently, as if to emphasise the point.

I could tell him, I could tell him his perfect wonderful daughter killed somebody in cold blood. That I lied. And what's worse is breaking up with my boyfriend gave me more sleepless nights than the murder I committed. I can't do that too him. I can't say goodbye with him hating me.

"W… what are… you… doing for summer break?" he asks unexpectedly.

"Nothing," I say quickly, "I will be at home with you and mum."

How can we go from talking about the worth of his life to my stupid summer plans.

"Y… you… should… spend t… time with your f… friends… outside…," he pauses, taking a deep rattling breath, "Outside… school. T.. these times… are precious."

Without fully understanding why, I start to tell him about Ikuno and her invitation, my suspicions of her family's wealth, even about the stupid pony that I use to tease her. All the while he listens intently, a strange half smile playing across his wry face. I answer his questions without hesitation, finding myself opening up as if confessing on my own deathbed, rather than leaning against his.

He coos supportively when I tell him about the phone call with Ayumu's new girlfriend, and tuts disapprovingly, though in a clearly amused way, when he learns about Hisao and me becoming more than just running partners. The conversation is slow, and I worry that it's costing him too much effort, but the time for me to worry for his health has come and gone. We are at the end of the road, or at least that's how it feels.

"Mum thinks you're going to be fine, does she know about," I gesture to his head, immediately regretting it.

"S… she k.. knows," his eyes flicker to the jug of water on his bedside cabinet.

Cursing my own ineptitude I pour him a class, helping him to drink the lukewarm liquid, before wiping his mouth with my sleeve.

"T… thank.. you," he sighs softly, "Your… mum.. s.. struggles with… change, s… she w.. wants things… to.. always be.. the same."

I know exactly how she feels.

"Will she start drinking again?" I say, for the first time hearing fear slip into my voice.

"I.. h.. hope.. not, t.. things don't… always… end up.. the way you.. want them."

Nodding I take his hand again, the physical contact somehow comforting.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, my eyes not quite meeting his.

"A… anything."

I take a deep breath, "Do you ever wish you had never been caught, that you had just run away before the police arrived."

"Hmmm," blinking slowly he considers, "W… when… I was younger… more bitter… yes."

"And now?" I ask a little too quickly.

"I w.. would… feel… incomplete.. had I.. not atoned for m.. my.. crime, do… do you under.. understand?"

"Yes," I whisper, hardly able to speak.

Am I incomplete? Is that why so many bad things seem to happen to me. I never thought about justice as something the universe delivered, I thought heaven and hell were merely concepts so that people could find some comfort that good people were reward and the evil punished. Was I wrong? Am I the reason my dad is here?

"M… Miki… are you.. okay?"

I almost snort at how ridiculous the question is, I don't think I've even been so far from okay in my entire life.

"Dad, I-"

Before I can confess anything the door is opened, and I lose my nerve, falling back into my chair. Mum and Miss Kita stride into the room; cups of coffee in their hands. I vacate mum's seat, taking the coffee she brought back for me gratefully. Part of me feels guilty for not telling the truth. Another part feels just as guilty for nearly burdening him with it.

The room settles into a morbid silence as I take a seat in a familiar hospital issue armchair, positioned to give views out over the city. Tucking my legs under myself I try and find familiar streetlight lit landmarks scattered in the darkness; but it all just looks like so many points of light. Beside me, mum speaks gently to my father. I can't catch her words even in the nearly silent room.

— — —

Around midnight Miss Kita rises from her seat by the door and says her solemn goodbyes, apologising for having to leave. It's easy to forget sometimes that she has her own family. Rising from my seat, half needing to stretch my legs and half wishing to say goodbye, I notice dad is asleep. I have to look at the heart rate monitor to be sure nothing worse has happened.

To my surprise our housekeeper gives me a warm hug before disappearing out of the door, with a last lingering look at dad. Does she think this is the last time she will ever see him? She might not be wrong.

With the momentary break in the monotony, mum and I return to our respective seats. I don't feel like talking to her. I can emphasise with her fears, but I am no less afraid; I can't play her 'everything will be okay' game. Between the two of us I always felt like the strong one, the leaning post for when she was too drunk to stand, but I can't find any strength in me at the moment.

Feeling guilty for my boredom I withdraw my phone, flicking it open to find no new messages. Do I want to talk to somebody? Ikuno is an option, but I don't want to worry her with this, nor do I want to discuss things in the detail that she will demand. Ryouta, that would just be strange, no, what I need is a distraction.

My fingers move in a blur, acting before I can change my mind:

[To: Hisao] 'Are you asleep?'

Placing my phone on the arm of the chair I feel an instant tang of regret, he's been my boyfriend for less than two days he shouldn't have to be woken up in the middle of the night to answer stupid texts. Lets just hope he sleeps through it.

I jump slightly when the phone buzzes on the armrest, almost knocking the handset to the floor in my haste to grab it.

[From: Hisao] 'Not anymore, are you okay?'

I cringe at having woken him, but reply quickly.

[To Hisao] 'I don't think so."

Pushing the cool plastic case against my lips I wait.

[From Hisao] "Your dad is not doing well?'

[To Hisao] "No, hes not'

Could I be sounding anymore cryptic right now?

[From Hisao] 'Is there anything I can do to help?'

Despite myself I let a smile touch my lips, it's a sweet gesture. We never really spoke about his heart condition, it was always the elephant on the track causing me to keep constant watch over him. But now that I think about it he must have spent his fair share of time in a hospital when he was diagnosed, has he ever had surgery? Perhaps he knows more of what I'm going through than I thought.

My thumb floats across the raised digits of the phone formulating a reply.

[To Hisao] 'Distract me?'

He does not answer at once, and I begin to wonder if he's fallen back to to sleep, I couldn't blame him. Perhaps If I go to sleep in this chair I will wake up to find that this entire day has been a nightmare.

My phone buzzes.

[From Hisao] 'Running without you sucks. I'm much slower, and I have no one to talk to.'

[To Hisao] 'I hope you were careful young man, I want you fighting fit for when I get back'

[From Hisao] 'I'm always careful, I learned my lesson from your first telling off!'

I pull my hood up so mum can't see my glowing cheeks and smirk. If I can count on one thing, it's my distraction. In our slow and almost silent way we continue to text back and forth, Hisao doing his level best to keep me distracted with increasingly ridiculous stories from the student council. A lot of which seem to be highly embellished, but I don't mind. I do notice, however, that he never directly mocks Shizune as I might have done; which irks me slightly. Perhaps I got the wrong measure of her? I don't like the idea of being wrong.

— — —

Finally his well of stories seems to run dry at around half past one in the morning and a warning tone tells me my phone battery is on its last legs. It's been nice to escape for a little while.

[To Hisao] 'I better let you get back to bed, thank you for staying up with me.'

[From Hisao] 'You sure?'

[To Hisao] 'Very sure, run along to bed, i'll see you when I get back 3'

I blush realising I sent a love heart in the last message, hopefully he doesn't pick up on that.

[From Hisao] Goodnight Miki, I'll see you soon I hope'

I type my own goodnights and send, thankful that his boy brain missed the childish symbol. It's all Ryouta's and Ikuno's fault anyway: They can't text properly and they spread their bad habits to me.

[From Hisao] '3'

Stupid thoughtful idiot.

—

I'm dozing, caught halfway between sleep and reality when the doctor comes to collect dad. I stand up, swaying unsteadily as he's wheeled out of the room. I've never felt so hopeless. Mum follows them all the way to the door, her aged hand gripping the doorframe as she watches him disappear.

We're left in silence, the lack of heart monitor settles into the room, it's rhythmic beeping suddenly very noticeable in its absence. I don't know what to say. Mum turns to me slowly, and at once I see sparkling tears in her eyes.

"I don't think he's going to be okay," she whispers, covering her mouth with her hand.

In three quick strides I am in front of her, my arms wrapped around her small body. We stay like that for a long time, until by some unseen signal we wander to the armchair, which is big enough to allow us to sit side by side. With the glistening city laid out in front of us we wait for the dawn, holding each other's hands, closer than we have been in ten years.

It occurs to me that I might have heard my father's last words. It didn't seem to register when I was speaking to him, but now, as the city sleeps, I can't get them out of my head. I would feel incomplete had I not atoned for my crime. I've not atoned, not in the slightest, how can I be sure that dad's condition is not a punishment meant for me? Is that selfish?

But how can I confess? How can I spend time in prison, away from my friends, my family, from Hisao. He will move on, like Ayumu, once he learns the truth. I can't blame him for that, but imagining the disgusted look on his face still stings. Grinding my teeth I try to picture Tatsuo's face and find some remorse, but I can't. All I feel is loathing. He did this too me, all of this is him.

The fingertips on my phantom left hand start to burn, as if I was holding them against a hot frying pan. As subtle as I can I slip my stump into my pocket, pushing it hard into my stomach. Is this not punishment enough? But I know it isn't, pain is not justice - not when I'm the only one who knows the reason for it. Did he have a family? It's hard to imagine the specter from so many of my dreams having a mother and father who cared for him, who wept for him, who blamed him for the accident.

Is this what fate or god, or whatever malevolent force turns the universe wants me to understand? That my pain is not the sole consequence of my actions, that by my lies I cause pain to others and I, like my dad says, am somehow incomplete. I refuse to believe there is no reason for everything that happens, that would be too cruel. I owe a debt, and the universe will not be happy until I've repaid it.

Confessing makes me feel sick to my stomach, because the cold, hard, horrific truth is, I don't think I'm strong enough to do it.

The faintest trace of dawn touches the sky, as in an operating theatre not far from where I'm sitting, the universe plans its next move.