Disclaimed.


Finding Mikan

Chapter Three: Whatever Lets Her Sleep at Night


Cold.

Her fingers were cold. The metal was cold. But she would not let go of it. The trophy—pure gold, tainted gold—had made quite a prominent dent in her king sized bed. But she would not let go of it for a single night, no matter what, because it was hers. She had won. She had been the best. She had been worth something.

Hotaru awoke stunned, in cold sweat, to find her body instinctively curled in that horrifically familiar position. But instead of cold, solid metal, it was a bundle of sheets she pressed to her heart in fetal position. Shaking them off, she sat up. A cross of fury and self-loathing surged through her veins when she examined her hands, only to see that her fingers were twitching, still trying to hold onto something that had been long taken from her.

She shut her eyes, finding consolidation only in the memory of Janine's soft smile and kind words, in her warm touch as she wrestled that huge block of gold from Hotaru's fingers.

"You don't need this anymore, Holly. There's no sense in carrying something that heavy across the country."

And so, what little she had left of her life in Irving Academy was auctioned off to a man who probably melted it down and made it into jewelry. After all, no one had any need for a huge chunk of metal with her name and a big one scratched into it—no one but her. She learned the hard way the consequence of having lost something so important, something she had been so dependent on.

It was withdrawal.

Not just withdrawal, but withdrawal of the worst kind. Like a heroin addict who had been denied her daily dose, she sat on her bed, baggy-eyed and pasty- skinned, and, with her arms locked around her knees, rocked herself back and forth while whispering words of empty comfort. She was an Alice, a national treasure. She was Hotaru Imai. She was not worthless.

On some days it got better.

On some days it got worse.

But no matter what, Janine's reassuring hand was always there to clutch hers, if Hotaru would only reach out across the empty space between them. More often than not, she did not. It might have been less arduous to take the easier way out, but she knew all too well what happened when you got too attached to something. Or someone. So she stayed awake alone on those nights while Janine slumbered like a baby. The comfort came from knowing that anytime it got too hard to bear, she could just reach an arm over and shake awake the brunette. Not that she never did, because she was Hotaru Imai. But it was that comfort that solidified the trust that became the foundation of their friendship.

Scowling, Hotaru slapped her hand against the bedpost, wincing at the pain it brought her. It did stop the clenching, though, and that was all she wanted so she forced herself up to fetch some ice from the fridge.

As she roamed the space, it suddenly dawned on her how empty the entire apartment was now that Subaru had left. On one hand, the space was free for Hotaru to revamp. On the other hand, she had no idea what she wanted to do with the place other than to turn it into her workshop. Having lost most of her machines to strict airport security, the prospect of that idea was looking bleak.

At least the apartment was somewhat livable now, even though it took an entire week of painful procedures. When Subaru left, this place had practically nothing—no cable, no phone service, no Wi-fi. Only water and electricity had been provided. The only solace was that Subaru already transferred the billing to her bank account, leaving her free to do as she pleased.

And still, he gave her several orders before he left: "you will, under no circumstance, even lay a finger in my son's bedroom. Do not even breathe the air that is in there." The statement was reinforced with an icy glare and a following of, "and you will not touch the space where that was."

She knew he was talking about the wedding portrait.

So a week later, the two forbidden spaces were the only things Hotaru left unmodified. She did, however, succumb to her own overactive curiosity and decided to investigate the mysterious room.

The room that belonged to her nephew was situated at the very end of the corridor, adjacent of the bathroom. By far, this was the smallest bedroom of the house, about two thirds of Subaru—Hotaru's own bedroom. Its walls were painted a dim yellow that was very pleasing to the eyes. Three toy cabinets were placed consecutively from smallest to biggest between the far wall and a bed. The bed was only a single yet it took up most of the space, the rest occupied by an old, forgotten cradle that was also no doubt Hikaru's.

It was obvious why Subaru had issued an order for the room to be left untouched. Hikaru's room contained what little of her nephew left in the reachable world. Without it, he might as well become another name. Time tended to have that effect.

Feeling rather oddly at peace, Hotaru gently shut the door so that time would freeze in this little room for just a bit longer.


Still rather grumpy from the morning's episode, she decided to redirect all her frustration to Hayami, who clearly made no attempt to contact her though it had been a week since their last meeting. Hotaru was by no means an impatient person. Years of experience with the stock market tamed her anticipation and frustration. For one who had been confined for a lifetime, another week or another month really made little to no difference in the big picture. Only, on this particular morning, her chagrin from all the episodes—with Subaru, with Natsume, with Hayami himself—conglomerated into one ginormous ball of pent up negativity that threatened to annihilate everything in its path.

Hayami just happened to be the unlucky victim.

Hotaru left him three angry messages instead of the usual one and when all three had gone straight to voice mail, she threatened a revisit very soon, though when she did not specify. Let him wonder, shudder in fear of a temperamental woman.

Then, because she was fed up with her hermit-like lifestyle, she relieved her fingers of the itch to call a certain bright eyed brunette who was probably asleep soundly back in Boston. The twelve hour time difference was almost an insult to injury on top of every other shackle that had been latched onto her.

"Hello?" The soft, soothing mezzo-soprano never failed to bring a surreptitious twinkle to the inventor's eyes. Evidently, her friend had indulged in the guilty pleasure of late night movie runs once again.

"Greetings, Janine."

"Holly!" she exclaimed at once, using the English name Hotaru had taken on in America. "I was beginning to think that you forgot me! Tell me all about Tokyo. I can't believe they sent you back! How come you never applied for to be a citizen all these years?"

Janine, being the non-Alice that she was, did not know about Hotaru's predicament and the circumstances that brought her to America. She knew that Hotaru was there on a scholarship and while there, developed a twisted attachment to a trophy she had won in a prestigious high school during her first year there. The rest of the inventor's adolescent life, she let Janine's imagination fill in, for the woman was much too considerate and compassionate to ever dig skeletons out of the closet.

It was one of the things Hotaru loved most about her.

"I have," the inventor replied softly, drawing the thick and elaborate vintage beige curtains aside to let in a little bit of light; it was now nearing noon, which would be around midnight for Boston. "I was rejected. No matter. Tokyo is not quite like Boston, but it has treated me well so far. Thanks to my brother, I already have a permanent residence. How is Tom?"

Tom was Janine's boyfriend of three years. She and Hotaru often crashed at his place because his roommate, a very gregarious chum, always had one friend or another over to add to the merriment. If they were not at his house, he was at theirs and the three of them often just lounged around and casually chatted or watched movies on a lazy afternoon. There would be no more of that now. Janine would be slightly happier anyways without a third wheel in her relationship.

"Tom," sighed her best friend dreamily. "He proposed to me, you know? Just last week. And we moved out, he and I. We have a place of our own now, since his roommate's got a brother who's coming to live with him next year. We're getting married in six months, can you believe it? I was planning on making you my maid of honour."

She could not stop her lips from forming a borderline wistful smile. "That is absolutely wonderful Janine. Congratulations. I am truly sorry for being confined in Japan."

"You have to get your butt back here. I won't let my wedding go without you." There was a little too much eagerness in her voice for Hotaru's liking. She wished, not for the first time, that somehow Janine could just understand her without long explanations of Alices, conspiracy, and secret governmental affairs.

"I cannot leave the country."

"Why? Does this have to do with your scholarship?"

A weary sigh escaped Hotaru's lips. "I was sent to America as retribution. Back in Japan, my family and I participated in a revolt against a school stringently run by government officials. They deemed me as dangerous and sent me away to save the burden of dealing with me personally."

There was a pause in which she assumed Janine was busy fitting together pieces of a puzzle. "And so you ended up at Irving Academy," she confirmed in a near whisper.

"Yeah." Hotaru gently cleared her throat of a bundle of phlegm that chose to make its presence. "I had a dream the other day."

There was a sharp inhale on the other side. As expected, Janine had immediately deducted the contents of the said dream and the anguish hidden behind her deadpanned words. Hotaru almost shook her lowered head with a smile; they really had been too close for too long. "Are you okay?" Janine was nothing short of tentative.

"Of course. Why would I not be?"

"Sometimes I really wish you would just get someone to take care of you."

What was left of her smile disappeared completely and Hotaru sharply warned, "Janine, we talked about this."

To that, she got a small, but audible and probably unintentional sigh. "I know, Holly. I have no idea why you're so set against having any kind of romantic relationship, male or female—" her voice had a teasing tone to it "—but I'm still convinced that you should at least have a flatmate. Oh, I do sound like an overbearing mother, don't I? Can you really blame me, though? With our history…"

"The apartment is not mine. It belongs to my brother."

"You're not living with him?" Janine was surprised.

"He tends to my parents in a small town up north."

"Mama's boy, is he?"

"Janine…" The idea of Subaru being a mother's boy, or anyone's boy really, somehow did not settle well with Hotaru. In fact, she preferred not to dwell on her brother in general seeing as their last conversation resulted in nothing short of angst. As she cringed, her fingers habitually found that notch of skin in between her eyebrows. Hotaru massaged it, body loosening as the dreadful idea left her mind. "You have never even seen my brother."

Laughter erupted from the other side of the globe. "I look forward to that, no doubt. Are you sure you can't make my wedding? He can be your plus one."

"No doubt about it. I leave Japan and somebody will end up gunning me down with a bazooka."

"If you're sure…"

Hotaru's fingers froze mid-circle as she suddenly remembered the key that she had been meaning to ask Janine about. "Wait. I have a question. You and Tom packed that bag of trinkets, right?"

"Mmhm."

"Well I know you two packed me a bag full of magnets and some other useless decorative trash, but what was the key there for? The one with the inch long tip. Its head is circular with a diameter of three quarters of an inch and there is a rectangular hole a fifth of an inch from the top. I do not ever recall us using a key like that."

"Thorough description," she teased. It had always been a mutual understanding between the both of them that Hotaru's mind worked quantitatively whilst Janine's worked qualitatively. "But yeah, I can't say that I remember a key of any sort. You never kept a personal diary and it's certainly not our house key or the mailbox key. Who knows? Maybe Tom had a brainfart when he chucked it in there."

Retrieving the key from her pocket, Hotaru held it up so that sunlight reflected off of its tip, shining light on the details of the miniature dents and bumps. The key itself was golden, small, something easily missed but somehow very intriguing once she paid it due attention. She rolled it in between her fingers, feeling the texture of the keyhead. It was not elaborate. It was not antique. But it had an air of mystique around it.

"You know," Janine continued, "I bet some girl dropped it at Tom's by accident and he just flung it into the nearest plastic bag. He was half drunk when we packed that after all."

"And you?"

"Left him unattended for a second. Bad judgement on my part. Sorry." Hotaru could just see the noncommittal shrug Janine would have given her had they been talking face to face.

It was nice to know that her two solid friends held her in such high light.

"You know what? I do not even want to talk about it."

Janine chuckled, "don't brood over the key any longer than necessary, Holly. I know what you're like when your curiosity gets the best of you."

Hotaru scrutinized the key one last time, deciding that there was nothing particularly special about it after all. With a shrug, she chucked it into one of her living room drawers.


Wet hair, clad in an old MIT hoodie and pajama pants, Hotaru laid tummy flat on the bed that formerly belonged to Subaru. To her left laid an haphazard array of empty picture frames, all left behind by the ex-wife, Naomi. Since Naomi did relinquish them, Hotaru figured that she might as well put them to good use. After all, she could not stand the apartment looking anything short of impeccable, and the empty frames made her cringe every time she perused her living space.

She had finally gotten around to sorting through the photo albums. All her life, Hotaru only carried three. They were plain, sensible photo albums, each a different preliminary colour. Blue stored memories of her early childhood. Yellow held pictures of Irving Academy. Red was from her university days and in terms of thickness, by far surpassed both the blue and yellow combined.

It was that album that she sorted through first, and while she did so, saw many pictures with many people taken on orientation day—people she never really talked to again. Towards the end, though, the photos mainly consisted of the inventor along with one other woman and sometimes another man.

The unquestionable face of Janine staring back at her lightened the apartment and made Hotaru feel slightly less lonely. Back in the day, Janine had a habit of wearing her hair in ringlets. The occasion when the picture was taken was no exception. She had been wearing a simple cardigan—her favourite cardigan—paired with tight white jeggings and the hugest hoop earrings to ever exist.

Those earrings were her favourite pair, having matched her hazel eyes perfectly. Hotaru remembered specifically picking them out herself, although not with the initial intention of getting them as a gift. The first time she saw those earrings, she was nothing short of shaken. The peculiar colour aroused a pang of nostalgia that pierced straight through her numb little heart. At the time, she had still been shaken over the aftereffects of Irving Academy's schooling methods and was willing to hold onto anything apart from trophy that contained sentimental value. Hotaru purchased them without a second thought. A while later, though, she had found Janine's affinity for hoop earrings and happily handed them over. It was at this point that their friendship officially established.

Carefully picking it up by the edges, Hotaru fitted the photograph into the best frame.

Now that the red album was done and over with, she was faced with the dreadful ordeal of combing the other two albums.

Irving Academy was painful and deadly competitive. What little pictures she had taken were with students that would have ripped her throat out had it ensured them first place in, well, anything really. And a few of them actually did try. Glassy eyed, Hotaru flipped the pages of the yellow album with vengeance. Each peer she saw only eked her hatred of the place, and by the end of it she gave herself a pat on the back for somehow managing not to burn the album.

What set her off completely was the last picture of the album.

Hotaru recalled that event as if it were yesterday. In this picture, she held up a huge, golden trophy. Hotaru Imai. 1st Place. The cameraman had refused to take the picture until Hotaru smiled satisfactorily. Even though her mouth curved upwards, her eyes were completely devoid of happiness. This was the only picture of Hotaru in her freshman year of high school, when she placed first in a contest of innovation for her invention of a machine that enhanced normal human memory to almost photographic.

The Memory Project.

Scowling, she slammed the yellow album shut, vigorously shoving it off to one side.

After seeing that, she was not in the mood of looking over photos anymore. The only album left was the blue album which had not been opened in eleven years.

It was hard to decide which she hated most—Alice Academy or Irving Academy. The suffering she had at Irving Academy was akin to child abuse, but the suffering at Alice Academy… it was child abuse. Unadulterated child abuse.

Alice Academy was the reason for her anguish—all of her anguish, because it was for Alice Academy that Hotaru had come up with the idea of the Memory Project. It was for Alice Academy that she had been whisked halfway across the globe. It was for Alice Academy that she and her brother, and a bunch of eleven year old children had sacrificed their childhoods. It was all for the good of the academy.

And that was why despite the trophy, despite her twisted perfectionism ways, the Memory Project—and by extension Irving Academy—was a blessing in disguise. Because if she had not resorted to using herself as a test subject, she would still have memories of her early childhood. She would still live doused in hatred and eager for revenge. But she had forgotten. And the pain had numbed. That was all that mattered.

The album sat there, awaiting her touch, innocent-looking yet as lethal as the flowers of belladona. Hesitantly, Hotaru drew closer, knowing that this could be her undoing but reluctant to stop all the same. She needed that little peek. Just one peek. She could not help but think that something should be different now that she was back in Japan. Something should be different now that she was a full fledged twenty-five-year-old adult, not an eleven-year-old child.

A kid could run away from problems, but it was foolish for a grown up to fear the past.

With a wavering resolve and numb fingers, Hotaru apprehensively lifted the leaden cover. The blue album had more photos than the yellow; her love for photography diminished as she grew.

The first photo was a class photo. Little kids lined up in rows while a blond teacher stood to the very right. Hotaru saw a slightly less phlegmatic, miniature version of herself in the second row, five to the left. This was her very own class picture from fifteen years ago. And it was full of unfamiliar faces and innocent children ignorant of the doom that would soon befall upon them.

After turning the page, she came upon a boy in a Snow White outfit. He had a few cowlicks, evidence of a valiant struggle with whomever decided to impose the scandalous outfit on him. It was too bad he lost. The expression on his face was absolutely priceless.

In the adjacent photo, there were three girls in front of a huge, blossoming Sakura tree. Hotaru herself was in the center. The girl on the right was a disagreeable looking twerp with a questionable hairstyle. And the other one—

The other was Mikan Sakura. She was sure of it.

Hotaru studied the girl closely. It was by Mikan's pigtails that she first recognized her former best friend. Mikan's hair was a similar shade to Janine's, perhaps only one shade lighter. The ten-year-old's face, in any case, was very corpulent but Hotaru almost could not tell because her cheeks were so stretched out by her smile.

Despite that, Mikan Sakura's eyes were the real defining feature of her face. When the picture had been taken, the girl with pigtails stared straight at the lens. Now, it looked like she was staring straight into Hotaru.

Suddenly, the smile did not look all that happy anymore. It was as if Mikan was accusing her, accusing the inventor of forgetting her bright-eyed friend.

Hotaru closed the album and set it down.


The second visit to Hayami's office was the result of one grumpy inventor waking up and then suddenly deciding that there was nothing better to do in this city. In retrospect, it was not really Hotaru's fault that things turned out the way they did. Rather, it was nobody's fault but rather the end result of a long string of coincidences all spiraling out of control. Hayami should not have withheld information from her. He should have known that she would drop by sooner or later. The receptionist should have been a little tighter on security. Hotaru need not have been so hasty.

On the inevitable day that the violet-eyed inventor marched back into the 5106 Furuta Street building, she was extremely disappointed in both Hayami and Ross, the former for not doing his job properly and the latter for giving the former such high praise.

In her disgruntled state, she radiated an aura of prideful and businesslike dignity that could be unmatched by no other. When Hotaru marched into the building, not only the doorman, but pretty much every person in the lobby at the time thought upon sight that she just had to be a VIP. Her pencil skirt, crisp white blouse, sleek blazer and no-nonsense stride certainly did not suggest otherwise. Many pairs of eyes strayed to catch a glimpse of the bedazzling woman's face as she approached the receptionist.

As young as Hotaru was and possibly younger, the receptionist, Hiromi as her name tag stated, tugged at her loose braid nervously. At first glance, Hotaru almost felt pity for the young girl. It looked like her first day on the job and the smile she donned, though practiced, was at best nervous.

"Hello miss! How may I help you today?"

Hotaru herself smiled back slightly. It would not do for others to think that she was completely closed in. From various reliable studies of human behavior by renown psychologists, it was said that people had a tendency to lower their guard in the presence of someone who appeared amiable.

"Greetings. I am a client of Hayami-san," she informed, for she knew better than to divulge her name freely. "Is he available at the moment?"

"Do you have an appointment with him?"

"No. You see, he has neglected to call me since our meeting over a week ago and I want to check in to see the progress he has made on our case since." She wondered if she should hint that she was offering a hefty amount of money. It did not seem necessary, however.

"Okay," chirped the woman brightly. "Just let me have a second and I'll see what I can do."

Hotaru waited patiently as Hiromi flipped through the various stacks of paper that sat on top of her desk. It seemed that she had underestimated the receptionist. If nothing, she was at least diligent. The young woman pulled out miscellaneous sheets here and there and gathered them together. After a few minutes, she managed to put together a folder of all relevant files on Hayami.

"I'm sorry, but Hayami-san is booked until twelve. At noon, he has a half hour lunch break before attending to his next client. And, oh dear, it seems that he's booked for the afternoon as well as Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday."

She gave Hotaru an apologetic look.

Hotaru did not know whether Hayami had a plan to keep her at bay by filling up all his appointment slots or if he had seriously been so busy that Hotaru was pushed to the back of his mind. Either way, she refused to let him get away with this trickery so easily.

"I am afraid that will not do," she half growled, switched to her domineering voice. "I am a very busy woman and I expect my appointment today. It is Hayami-san who has neglected to call me. I barely squeezed time out of my schedule to check in with him. Saturday is not a good time for me. My entire week and weekend is occupied and this case really cannot wait any longer."

Naturally, she had nothing planned for Saturday. Sure a few business companies had called and made offers, but Hotaru expressed her disinterest quite eminently. The excuse she used was that she needed to get a few personal matters out of the way before making any major decisions. The reality was that she was taking a well deserved break. Fending off government personnel had been an arduous task for the past seven years, especially when they sadistically conspired with major corporations to saddle Hotaru with as much work as possible.

At least she made a fortune off of all that.

"Well I-I suppose we could squeeze a short session with you in Hayami-san's break. It is his fault after all for neglecting to call you…"

Amused that she had reduced this diligent worker into a muddle of nervousness, Hotaru watched with jaded eyes as Hiromi scurried to the phone to make a quick call to Hayami. Barely a minute passed before she set the receiver back down. Surprisingly, it seemed that Hayami put up little to no resistance. There was no yelling to say the least, not that that gaunt, ghastly excuse of a man would ever yell. It was just too out of character.

"Well, Hayami-san managed to squeeze you into his schedule. Your appointment with him will take place during his break, in five minutes. Meanwhile, feel free to take a seat in our lounge."

Flashing a small, contemptuous smile back, Hotaru waved away the woman's suggestion, choosing in lieu to make a turn for the elevator.

"Where are you heading?" she could hear Hiromi's shrill voice exclaim.

It was too late. The button had been pressed and the elevator, conveniently on ground floor, opened its doors to welcome her in. All Hotaru had to do was to raise a deaf ear to the other woman's protests, a laughably easy task. It sure did not look as if anyone else was going to restrain her and although Hiromi seemed rather frantic, she stayed rooted to her spot behind that rather huge receptionist desk so Hotaru knew she was going to let it go anyway.

Unlike the last visit, where the elevator made as many stops as a bus traveling through New York City, it only stopped once this time.

On the fourth floor, she saw a rare specimen that seemed to be almost extinct here in Tokyo. A blond stranger with a warm smile stepped in and Hotaru could not help but give a small smile back. He was the first Caucasian person she had seen up close in ages. She could not help but notice that when he first saw her, his azure eyes widened just a smidgen.

Hotaru liked his eyes. They were quite a nice, crisp shade of blue, like the Snow White boy's in the picture.

Come to think of it, a lot of his features were similar to that of the boy. It was not just that they were both Caucasian males either. Hotaru had been in America long enough to differentiate between white men. The more she looked at him, the more she was convinced that they also had the same nose; this man's was only slightly more defined.

"Going up?"

"Yes." Her eyebrows almost shot up at the incongruity of his voice and his outward appearance. It was surprisingly high for a grown man. "Nine please."

She pressed it for him.

They endured four floors of silence, in which she sneaked as many glances of his face as she could. By the eighth floor, she was almost sure that he had at least ninety percent of the same DNA as the boy who had been forced into the Snow White costume. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing Hotaru had yet to determine. A small world it was.

The more similarities she spotted, the more conscious she became of her surroundings. What if it was not just one of his relatives or someone who looked like a grown up version of him? What if itwas him? She feared that at any moment the man would open his mouth and start spewing out questions, for she recently got a boy cut before returning to Japan and did not look all that different from her Alice Academy self.

But he remained silent for that last floor, and the only sound she heard was the ding of the elevator as its doors opened.

Conflicted, Hotaru wondered if she should speak now or forever hold her peace. In a strangled attempt, she managed to open her mouth slightly but could not force one syllable out.

The man seemed to have the same struggle. He mumbled something Hotaru did not quite catch completely before the doors closed completely.

The hair on the back of her neck stiffened. The word was "bye." He said "bye." He did not say "Imai." It was just pure rotten luck that her surname had such similar pronunciation to the word.

With new knots in her stomach, the inventor made her way down the familiar corridor of the sixteenth floor until she reached Hayami's office number, sixteen thirteen. His door was made of thick, opaque wood. There was none of that translucent glass stuff where the more solid colours could make their way through to the other side.

Though it was not yet time for her appointment, Hotaru tried turning the knob, already picturing the confrontation in her head. The next half hour would probably consist mainly of Hayami's silence and her various attempts to break it, not much different from their first meeting. Only, she was seriously contemplating whether or not to threaten retracting their contract if he kept biding time for whatever reason he did.

Unsurprisingly, his office door was locked. But before she could withdraw her hand, the knob turned from right underneath it.

There was a shuffle, followed by a drag and a creek as the door opened. The view of oak was replaced by a plaid, monochrome blue button down shirt, neatly ironed with no wrinkles at all. Lazily, Hotaru's eyes drifted up the line of buttons to the man's face. This time every single hair in her body froze, along with all muscles and nerves as well.

Upon seeing her, the man in the room had the same reaction.

They would have heard a pin drop.

"Imai."

"Hyuuga."

And then Hayami dashed to the door and slammed it loud enough for Subaru to hear.


Muahahahaha. Can you say cliffhanger? This was one of the funnest chapters to write.

Please review, fave, alert!

-IndigoGrapefruit