A/N: Getting into some serious Stages of Grief territory for a while. Buckle up, kiddos.
Historian's Note: This story takes place before, during and (eventually) after the original story through Millennium World, following the canon established in the manga. There will be spoilers, so proceed with caution.
Soundtrack: 'Haunted' on 8tracks.
Warnings: Body horror, major character death.
Disclaimer:Yu-Gi-Oh! and related characters are © to Kazuki Takahashi.
…
Haunted
Ehtar
Part XIX
…
Ryou knew he still existed.
It was sad that something so very basic would feel like an accomplishment, but so it was. He still existed, in whatever form. He often felt incomplete or out of step with the world around him, but he was at least certain that he was real. It was a small step, but one in the right direction.
And if he still existed, then it meant that somewhere, somehow, Bakhura was still out there. A shadow couldn't exist without a body to cast it – one piece of a soul wouldn't survive long without the rest. So long as he was alive, then he knew the Bakhura was still 'alive,' still defying the gods with his existence. Surviving was what Bakhura did the best, and he was still doing it. Somehow.
Wherever those endless sands had been, under a night sky which never changed, Bakhura waited.
Ryou just needed to find him.
He started small, keeping his activities to himself – which wasn't hard to achieve, as everyone was still avoiding him as much as possible. Ryou didn't spend much time wondering why he was given such space, and was just grateful it was given. It made for fewer explanations to give, fewer lies to tell.
The first thing he did in his search was purchase a Ouija board.
He'd felt ridiculous, from the time he'd sought it out, to paying for it, to setting it up to use in his apartment for the first time. He'd never believed much in Ouija boards. Whenever he'd heard classmates across schools talking about them, he'd only even been able to sigh at the fad which never seemed to die. The supernatural may be real – and he came to find out just how real it was later – but the notion that it might be so very easy to contact as a printed board from a store was ludicrous.
And yet, there he was, laying one out in his living room. If there was anything the last few years had taught him, it was that one should never underestimate the supernatural potential in anything. And he wasn't going to turn away anything which might tell him where Bakhura was – which might put him in contact with the rest of his soul. With such a connection to who he was trying to reach, surely that would increase his chances of the board working…?
He'd set up the board. He'd waited until it was late at night and quiet, and lit a few candles as his only light – not because he thought it would make the session work better, but to put himself in the correct frame of mind. He was the connection, after all, the board was only the tool of communication.
Ouija boards were meant to work the best when it was a group of people using it, with more than one set of hands on the planchette, but it would have to make do with only him. Even if he could ask anyone to help him, he wasn't certain he would want anyone to be present. This… wasn't something he could share.
He'd sat before the board, placed his hands on the planchette, taken a deep breath, and waited. The only sound had been his own breathing and the occasional, soft pop from a burning candle. Muscles in his arms and down his back began to tremble as he held himself still. In his mind he reached for those places which had once been taken up by Bakhura's presence, places which felt hollow and empty now, and sent out a generally inquisitive nudge. A broad, seeking call spoken in his mind: Where are you?
The only reply he got was silence.
Ryou recalled the weight at the back of his neck from the Ring, the feel of the metal against his skin, the burn of the points burrowing into his flesh and scraping his ribs. He brought forward those vague memories, years old, of the first night after receiving the Ring – the first time he had 'met' Koe and when their minds had first been melded together. Painful and terrifying, Ryou tried to recall every detail of that night, reigniting every sense he could to relive it, to be in those moments as much as possible. His breathing came a little harsher, shivers creeping along his skin…
And he concentrated on the board.
Bakhura. Where are you?
Minutes dragged by, lengthening into an hour, and then two.
The planchette never moved. The candles burned down into greasy puddles. The only answer to Ryou's question was silence and an aching back.
—•—
He didn't stop trying after the failure with the Ouija board. If one method didn't work, then it just meant he had many more to try.
Next he tried kokkuri, which was easier to put together, but stricter in needing more than one person for it to work. He considered asking someone – anyone – at school to try it out, since it was popular enough that it wouldn't be difficult to find a willing partner. But teachers and parents had very dim views on playing with kokkuri, and he didn't need a mass of irate adults coming down on him, questioning what he was doing.
So he drew up the board himself at home, beginning with the red torii at the top, then the 'yes' and 'no' to either side, the rows of hiragana below, and the numbers at the very bottom. With lights on and one window open, Ryou placed a coin on the torii and called out the phrase to summon the Kokkuri spirit.
Much as with the experience with the Ouija board, nothing at all happened, no matter how much Ryou concentrated, nor how long he sat.
Attempts to contact the other side in any way became more desperate as time went on, as each and every one failed. Next he tried tarot cards, which only gave mixed, tangled readings, and nothing which might be considered an actual message. From there he attempted two separate scrying methods, pendulum swinging and bowl gazing. One only taught him how hard he naturally wanted to swing things, and the other left him staring into his own watery reflection, which made for a very uncomfortable evening.
He made a half attempt at a summoning circle – half not due to any unwillingness on his part, but because he didn't believe the instructions he found would be all that effective. He was right in that, as after hours of prep and ritual, all he was left with was a mess to clean up and a little more bitterness to swallow down. Not even a candle had flickered during the ritual, which he might have taken as a sort of supernatural sign, for everything to be so unnaturally still and silent. But if the message was deliberate silence, then he wasn't accepting it. He would hammer on the doors to the underworld until someone answered him!
When there were no longer any methods he could try on his own, Ryou turned his focus outwards. From mediums to palm readers to temples, he went to anyone who might have a chance of seeing or hearing more than him, anyone who might be able to find Bakhura.
The readings he received ranged from pandering to dully generic. None of them had anything to say which sounded close to what Ryou was looking for. Not a single clue either to Bakhura or to any of the 'spiritualists' powers.
He was beginning to question where he could possibly go next, if the only option was to return to Egypt himself and find a way to resurrect the old magic to seek out Bakhura, when he found the most promising possibility.
It would require some travel, but not nearly so much as returning to Egypt.
—•—
Ryou didn't think he'd ever been on a train so empty in his entire life.
He was used to the overcrowded trains and buses of cities, where it was rare to sit, and being in close contact with at least one other person was the norm. When he'd begun this journey, that was how it had been. In the early morning, beginning out with the commuters on their way to work, Ryou had stood crammed, gripping his overnight bag tight and avoiding anyone else's eye. It was a long morning, and when Ryou made his first change over from one line to the next, he was relieved to be able to sit and breathe in the station.
The second train had been much less crowded, Ryou had been able to stand without touching anyone else, and about halfway through, he'd been able to sit down.
Now he was on the third and final train line taking him to his destination, and he was one of only three people in the car. The train was old, and creaked with every sway, its advertisements out of date and seats patched. It made sense, as outside the windows the landscape had shifted from concrete cities, to cozy villages, to sprawling farms, and now into wilderness, leaving civilization farther and farther behind.
Ryou sat in one of the hard seats, bag between his feet, and stared out the windows as the ranges slowly grew taller around them, and the sun sank lower. It would be nearly dark by the time they arrived at Aomori prefecture, and full dark by the time Ryou would find a place to stay for the night. When he'd begun this trip the sun had barely been in the sky, and he wouldn't reach his true goal until the next day. He was hungry, but didn't think he would be able to eat. His mind rebelled at the stillness, but he knew he'd never be able to concentrate on a book, even if he could safely read with the motion of the train.
In all, this journey would take him three days. One of those days would be a missed school day, for which he'd made the excuse of there being a family emergency. Having a reasonably good reputation meant the school didn't question him too closely and excused the absence. Which wasn't to say that their not approving the absence would have stopped him, but he did prefer that everything remain simple.
He told no one else that he was going, let alone why or where. Neither father nor friends, and he thought it unlikely that anyone else would even notice he was gone before he was back.
It didn't matter if they did, he'd decided. If anyone noticed, or if anyone worried, it didn't matter at all. What mattered was whether or not Ryou found what he was looking for.
He hoped he did. He had to. He was running out of places to look.
The train clattered and swayed, the light of the dying sun made the interior of the car glow, and Ryou absently held the front of his shirt in a loose grip.
—•—
It was raining when Ryou woke in a small hotel in Mutsu, the drops pattering a soothing rhythm designed to lull him back to dreamless sleep. As comfortable as the blankets were, however, the emptiness of his sleep was not, and he rose and prepared himself for the day amid soft drumming and watery light.
Mutsu was a small city in Aomori prefecture, and about as far north as one could go before they would have to start swimming. After the long series of trains taking him from Domino City and into the wilderness, Mutsu had been a welcome haven, an oasis of humanity in the wild. In the light of day it was much easier to see just how small and rustic it was. The streets were narrow and quiet, with little in the way of traffic either on foot or in vehicles. The few shops Ryou had seen through the window of a taxi were all locally owned, none of them open during the late hour when Ryou had passed by. The hotel he was staying at was also small and local, feeling almost like someone's home he happened to be staying at, rather than a business. Even the breakfast they served was very traditional, with no sign of any Western dishes.
It was a relaxing morning, but as he clambered into another taxi and gave directions for his destination – outside the city limits, to the north and a little round the near peak, Kamabuse – another feeling settled over him. It was an odd mix of anxiety and numbness. He looked out the window as they drove, but saw very little of the town as it quickly gave way to trees and little farms. His mind buzzed, but attempting to hold on to any one particular thought was impossible. They slipped away from him before he could even fully process what they were, leaving his head in turmoil. His body, too, felt distant and unknowable, as though he were simply an observer in what was happening to him, not a participant.
It reminded him of the dreams that were memories, but at least in the dreams he had felt in control.
Was it ironic or fitting that he felt less a participant in his own life than in one lived thousands of years before he had even been born?
The drive wasn't very long, especially compared to the amount of travelling he had done the day before, but their destination made it feel as though they had travelled miles. The bay around which Mutsu had settled was lost to sight, as was the town itself. They'd left the paved street for a hard packed but muddy dirt road which led to a small cluster of neat houses. These homes were well taken care of, but even more rustic and traditional than the town proper. Sloped roofs covered in thatch, hanging far over the engawa to keep them dry. Chimes hung from the eaves, slightly under the lip to also protect them from the small waterfalls dripping down. There were no people in sight, but there came a glow from each of the homes through the shōji screens.
The driver parked in front of one of the little houses, one which looked just the same as all the others. Ryou hesitated before getting out. "This is the place?"
Though they hadn't spoken more than a dozen words during the drive, the young man behind the wheel must have heard the uncertainty in Ryou's tone. "Sure is. The ladies don't go in for nothing fancy, you know. They just live quiet and let anyone as needs them come to them. Like you."
He felt targeted, and felt his shoulders tense defensively. He couldn't deny what was said, though. He did need the help these women could offer, and he had sought them out. As hesitant as he may feel, as uncertain as he may be that it would all amount to anything at all, he wasn't going to back out now. He'd come far too far… and this might be his last chance.
After making certain the taxi would wait for him, Ryou got out, quickly opening an umbrella to avoid getting himself or the gift tucked under one arm wet. It wasn't far to walk, but he didn't want to drip water in someone else's home.
On the engawa and safe from the rain, Ryou took a deep breath and, feeling more distant from his own body than ever, knocked on the doorframe.
For a moment there was no response, but then same the soft sound of movement inside. Ryou waited patiently as the slow, deliberate footsteps came closer, stopped, and the door slid open.
The woman on the other side wasn't as old as he had been expecting. In his mind, Ryou had built up an image of a woman who was bent and gray with the weight of years, a face lined and soft with wrinkles and a cracked voice.
The woman who stood in the doorframe could be no more than thirty, her hair jet black and glossy in its bun, with a face untouched by wrinkles and sharp in its angles. She didn't stand military straight, but there was no sign of age in her posture. She stood strong and sure, leaving no doubt that she was the one in control and this was her home.
The one thing which Ryou had imagined that proved itself true, other than her gender, were her eyes. They were cloudy and unfocused, aimed at some point to Ryou's left.
She was blind.
She gave a half smile and a small huff, still gazing off to a side from where Ryou stood. "Well, stranger, I presume you have come for a reason. Would you be so good as to state it so we might proceed?"
Ryou started guiltily, realizing that he had just been standing in silence, staring, for much longer than would be considered polite. "I apologize." He bowed quickly, even if she couldn't see it. "My name is Ryou Bakura. It's a pleasure to meet you."
When he straightened back up, she was still smiling that half smile, but it looked more welcoming than before. She gave a partial bow in return. "Ryou Bakura, I'm glad to meet you. My name is Chie Hashimoto. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
Ryou hesitated, unsure now that he was face to face with the woman how exactly to phrase his needs. Every other medium he'd gone to had marketed their skills openly and plainly, making the process of purchasing those skills very easy. It made everything clear to navigate, with no need to explain one's business beyond a few details. This woman was different, and of a different type entirely. She didn't 'market' herself, her skills weren't for sale in the usual sense, and he had come to her in her own home. What would be the proper way to proceed?
"Hashimoto-dono," he said, opting to be very polite, "I came to bring you a gift, and to beg the use of your gift."
The smile widened, one brow rising. "A trade of gifts. Pray, what gift is it you believe I possess?"
Ryou could tell from her tone that she was amused by this exchange, by this boy who'd landed on her doorstep. It somehow made him feel a little less anxious to speak. "The gift to speak with the dead. The gift of the itako."
Hashimoto nodded. "Your accent isn't local," she said, apropos of nothing. "And if you aren't local, you had to have travelled far to get here… You sound as though you come from one of the big cities. Whoever you wish to speak to must have been very important to you."
He began to nod, checked himself, and cleared his throat. "Yes, he was. He was very important."
"Someone you cared for?"
Ryou opened his mouth, and then had to close it again. How he felt about Bakhura… wasn't something he had ever tried to fully verbalize, not even in his own head. He missed him, he was angry that he was gone and resented that he was regarded by others as irredeemable… He felt incomplete – he was incomplete without Bakhura, and had no way to express any of that with his friends, aware what they would think of him if they knew. But to say unequivocally that he cared… how much? In what sense? Those were questions he had never truly asked himself, and…
"Yes," he said quietly. "In ways I haven't fully realized yet."
The rain pattered around them, muffling what little sound there may have been in this far flung corner of nowhere and drawing a curtain close around the two of them. Hashimoto, standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame, stared out silently, a thoughtful line appearing between her brows as she considered his words. Ryou knew he was being weighed – again. He was being judged before he would be allowed to proceed farther. Visions of a scale floated in Ryou's mind, of a small plate sinking in silent and final condemnation.
Would he be turned away after coming so far a second time?
He felt himself age standing on that engawa, his heart straining with the uncertainty, no clue given in Hashimoto's ghostly gaze. When she finally gave a firm nod, Ryou's breath came out all at once.
"Very well, I will see you. Let us see if we can contact who it is you are missing."
She stepped back, indicating that he should come in, and Ryou felt lightheaded as he followed the invitation. He hadn't been turned away!
The inside of Hashimoto's home was just as traditional as the outside. The floor was covered in clean tatami, the walls recessed and adorned with various objects on shelves or an occasional painting. This last Ryou realized would only exist for the benefit of visitors, and wondered who had helped in picking them out. All of the furniture was low to the ground and placed carefully about, no stray chairs or carelessly lain cushions. A spray of flowers in a small vase was on the center table.
Hashimoto had him leave his gift on a table near the entryway, without asking him what it was, and led him to the main room and the waiting chairs. She moved confidently, only occasionally touching a shelf as she passed as a check on her location. With neither stumble nor hesitation, Hashimoto made her way to a recess in one wall which had been obscured from the door. Here there was an altar, complete with hanging shide and small offerings of food. She walked to the cushion before the altar, and indicated that Ryou take the seat before her. While he brought a cushion over for himself, Hashimoto took down a white jōe and put it on over her normal clothing. It made her even more imposing than before. Though she was blind and petite, there was a presence to her which made Ryou want to completely defer to her.
When they were both seated before the altar, facing each other on their cushions, Hashimoto took a deep breath and looked towards Ryou. Her eyes remained unfocused, slightly off from where his eyes truly were, but he felt the weight of her gaze nonetheless. She may have been blind, but it did not mean he went completely unseen. If she lived up to the reputation of itako, then she would see more of him than others who had full use of their eyes.
"Now then, Ryou Bakura," she said, her tone shifting to something more authoritative, one hand clasped over the other in her lap. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself, and of the one you wish to contact."
Where Hashimoto was still and serene in her seat, Ryou's hands fidgeted with one another, nervous energy making him wish he were anywhere but where he was. "Well… I'm a high school student from Domino City, and I'm studying to go into Egyptology like my father. Um… The one I want to speak to is someone I've known since I was ten years old. We sort of grew up together, I guess…"
Hashimoto's expression shifted subtly as she listened. When she spoke, her voice was softer than before, carefully sympathetic. "It must have been very hard for you when he passed on."
He couldn't help the half-laugh which escaped him. "Yeah, you could put it that way." And then, because he'd had no one he could speak to at all about what he'd been going through, and because Hashimoto had no context for his words on which to build any moral judgements, Ryou let some of that turmoil come out. "He was the only one I could rely on to always be there while I was growing up. My family moved a lot, so I could never keep friends very long, my father was always working and my mother always distracted, and…"
He trailed off, Amane's face rising up in his mind's eye. He wondered what it said about him that he would use this opportunity to maybe, possibly speak with Bakhura – arguably the reason he'd had no long lasting friends in the first place – rather than his own sister. Didn't she deserve to be reached out to as well? She'd only been a child, killed suddenly… what if in the afterlife she were lost, confused, afraid? Shouldn't he use his time here to check in on her, rather than chase a spirit there was little chance of finding?
…Amane had been upset when she'd died. Upset with him and his refusal to do one small thing for her, when that very day she had stood up for him against her peers. That upset had led her to walk ahead of him, to forget to look at the traffic lights before stepping into the street.
He was the reason Amane was dead… How could he face her spirit with her blood on his hands?
Amane deserved everything, but Ryou didn't deserve to be the one to give it to her.
"Bakhura was the only constant in my life," he said quietly, pressing back the memory of his sister for now. "Whether good or bad, he was always there. I didn't realize it until he was gone, but I came to rely on him a lot. It was like he was a part of me, and I was a part of him."
"It sounds as though you're still grieving him very much," Hashimoto said, voice quiet and neutral.
He shrugged, realized the uselessness of the gesture, and answered aloud, "I… suppose I am."
Except he wasn't grieving. Grieving was what you did for people who had died. Technically Bakhura had already been dead for centuries. And on the other hand, Ryou didn't believe he was truly dead at all. He wasn't – couldn't be truly dead.
"It's not generally encouraged to attempt contacting the recently departed, while we are still in the midst of processing their departure." She said it gently, her face betraying no sign of judgement or censure that Ryou was before her while still 'in mourning' for Bakhura.
Despite the gentleness of Hashimoto's words, and the reassurance that she didn't think less of him for his eagerness to disturb the dead, Ryou's heart plummeted. Would he be turned away? Would this last hope of his to reach Bakhura be taken from him before it was even tried?
He was just preparing to bow low and plea with her, to tell her that he understood why that would be the normal and natural attitude to take with those seeking closure with those who passed, but to please make an exception in his case – when she came to a conclusion herself. She nodded slightly. "Not generally. But you have come very far to find the answers you seek. And I feel… there is something more to your tale than may first appear. Something which requires a conclusion. This Bakhura meant a great deal to you, and you to him."
Ryou wanted to laugh, but felt like he would choke if he did. "Yes. Each for a different reason, but… yes. We meant a lot to each other."
She nodded again. "I will be your bridge, then."
"Thank you," he breathed, grateful to already be sitting.
For the next few minutes, Hashimoto asked him some questions about Bakhura and about their relationship. None of them were particularly intrusive, but it was still somewhat tricky to answer everything honestly without also giving away the full nature of the situation. Ryou felt that even a medium, someone who dealt with the supernatural on a day to day basis, would have some trouble believing what had been Ryou's reality for years. He could open up about Bakhura, and more to the point, about Bakhura and him, more with her than any of his friends. But not everything.
There would never be anyone he could tell absolutely everything to.
After what felt to be an hour of careful wording in response to Hashimoto's questions, she finally had enough information to begin the ceremony.
She took out a string of black beads, which she held loosely in one hand, and struck a small gong standing on the altar. In a tone very different from the one she had used while interviewing him, Hashimoto began a litany of low prayers. It was monotonous and regular, punctuated by the soft click of beads as they were gone through one at a time, keeping measure of time and her place in the ceremony.
Ryou wasn't familiar with all of the prayers Hashimoto droned out, or even all of the kami to which she was appealing in them. He soon found he was losing focus on the words themselves, however, unable to concentrate on the meaning, and was instead being lulled into a deeply relaxed state. Hashimoto's voice was soothing, steady and calm, distracting him from his own thoughts without imposing anything else to take its place. It was nice. For the first time since… a very long time, Ryou felt as though he could breathe properly, a knot of muscle between his shoulder blades slowly letting go.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, enjoying the internal stillness while it lasted.
So relaxed and drawn into his own internal stillness did he become that he didn't notice when the chanting trailed away and stopped. He had no idea how long it had gone on, nor any idea of how long they had sat in silence when he slowly opened his eyes.
Hashimoto sat just as she had before, the beads now still in her fingers. Every part of her was very still, her face tilted upwards and her cloudy eyes closed.
Ryou watched her closely, tension creeping back into him as the silence stretched on and on… and on. How long was it meant to take before contact was made? Was it normal for the itako to remain still for so long, or was something wrong? He wanted to ask if everything was alright, if she could sense Bakhura, or… But he also didn't want to break her concentration. He would not be the cause of a failure to contact the dead.
Hashimoto's body was still as a statue and tense, as though she were straining against something unseen. There was tension in her face as well, around her lips and her closed eyes. As Ryou watched, a line would form between her brows, then smooth away, only to return moments later.
The silence went on for what felt like years within the little house, the only sounds at all the whisper of breathing and the gentle drumming of rain on the roof.
When Hashimoto gave a soft sigh and dropped her head, Ryou thought his heart might stop. She lifted her head again, eyes opening and turning towards him with such accuracy that for an instant he forgot that she was blind.
"Bakhura…?" he breathed, almost afraid to break the silence, that it might break the moment, chase away the spirit who had been a part of him for years…
But Hashimoto shook her head, and it felt as though his heart really did fracture and crack apart.
"I'm sorry, Bakura," she said, and truly did sound remorseful. "It's rare, but it does sometimes happen when no contact at all can be made. Why this happens can be a few reasons, but the one trying to be contacted having already moved beyond the point of being reached is the most common."
Ryou was listening, but it sounded as though Hashimoto's voice were coming from somewhere underwater. Or was he the one underwater? He did feel a little as though he were floating far, far away. The last rope tying him to land, to stability and to hope had been cut, and now he was completely unmoored. The only real question was whether he would just continue to drift forever, or if he would sink.
Hashimoto's next words cut through the muffling effect, bringing Ryou back to the present, back to the little house and the pattering of rain. "In those cases, there's nothing at all for me to find, no one to reach back and speak out. This one… is different. I've never encountered this before. I'm not entirely certain how to interpret it. It's not as though there's nothing at all – there is something there, but no one reaches back to speak."
Ryou frowned, trying to understand. "What does that mean? That he's there, but not speaking?"
Hashimoto shook her head again, also frowning in a mixture of frustration and concentration. "I don't know, not for certain. I would normally say no, there is nothing there which resembles a person at all who would wish to speak, as I have never contacted someone who left this impression… but it also does not feel not like someone." She huffed, obviously struggling to explain something which defied being explained to someone who had never – supposedly – experienced anything similar, and which she did not fully understand herself.
"It's almost as though the one I'm reaching out to was there, but has left, leaving behind… something. An echo of himself, like the ripples left in a pond after the stone has sunk to the bottom. Or if someone were to walk away and leave their shadow behind. A shape is there, but no substance."
The world froze for a moment on Hashimoto's words. He stared at her, unable to think, unable to breathe, as though the words she'd spoken had been pulled directly from his skull.
Only a shadow left behind…?
One of Hashimoto's hands came up, arresting his attention again. She reached towards him, her palm out as though she were feeling for the heat given off by a flame.
"It's something I feel from you, as well," she said, and he wondered if the accusatory tone was his imagination. "Something which is incomplete, but different. As though you hold some of the pieces that were left behind."
Ryou tried to give a chuckle, but it came out more as a strangled, choking noise. "You mean I'm the ripples… or the shadow that got left behind?"
She paused, hand lowering slowly back to her lap. Had she been sighted, Ryou believed she would have been scrutinizing him very carefully. As it was he still felt the same effects, as though he were being examined from head to toe. Her frown deepened as the silence went on. If she expected the silence to make him so uncomfortable that he would crack and reveal something to her, then she was mistaken. Ryou knew how to keep silent when needed, and against greater challenges than a disapproving frown.
"You sound as though you're already familiar with the concept, and as though you've already accepted it."
He'd felt as though he could speak openly before, at least more openly than with anyone else, but this… this felt too close. How could he explain in a way which would make sense to someone on the outside, let alone in a way that they could understand? Could he ever open himself in that way, to that extent? What happened with the Ring, with Koe, with Bakhura… it was all such a tangled, confusing mess, so full of conflicting emotions even he wasn't clear on how he felt in the end. Did he want anyone else looking in and judging? When even he wasn't sure, could he stand an objective view?
Did he want to know what he looked like from the outside?
"It… wouldn't be wrong to say that since Bakhura has been gone, I've felt like one of the scraps left behind. A piece of him left to me, and most of myself taken with him."
Hashimoto nodded slowly. "That feeling is not so uncommon as you might think. Grief is a difficult thing to process, and often we feel as though loved ones who have passed have taken a part of ourselves, a part of our hearts with them when they pass."
Ryou shook his head, but said nothing. No, it wasn't the same with Bakhura as what she was describing. What she was describing was the grief of losing family or a spouse. Bakhura's… absence was different than the grief of losing Amane. Bakhura's soul going missing was literally losing a part of himself. It was watching as his memories of his other life slowly eroded. It was feeling his own thoughts and opinions begin to shift and change without that second set of experiences there to inform him. It was him becoming someone he no longer recognized.
Who was he now, and who would 'Ryou Bakura' be once all of the memories faded away completely?
"As I said before, though, this is something I've not encountered before," she went on. "It's not only on Bakhura's side that's out of the ordinary, but yours as well. You say you feel like a scrap left behind, of him and of yourself. What I can feel… is that there is more than just a scrap of him left with you. You may not realize it, may not feel it yourself in your grief, but you hold several pieces still with you." She shook her head slightly. "It's nothing I have ever come across before, and I wish I could tell you what it means. What I can tell you is that you are less alone than you think you are, even if you feel incomplete as you are now."
Deep in his chest, what felt like hysterical laughter was trying to bubble up at the absurdity of it all. Alone but not, broken but with pieces, incomplete but possessing some parts of another… He just wanted to know what happened to Bakhura for certain, to hear his voice, his words…
"I am the King of Thieves! I could have existed an eternity!"
Was it so awful that he wished for everything to return the way it had been?
"I'm glad He's not taking every piece…"
Was it so wrong to miss someone like Bakhura?
"Glad I am to have found my shadow at last."
Was it so horrible if he…
"My ib. My heart."
…
The rest of Ryou's visit with the itako didn't consist of very much. She wasn't able to contact Bakhura, and had no real idea of why or how that was, though her impressions of the situation certainly gave him plenty to think on.
She offered him tea, which he declined at the risk of appearing rude. Tea would mean staying longer, and with this latest and final failure, all he wanted to do was retreat. If he could, he would have returned to Domino, to his little apartment, to his own bed and blankets, but the trains back had already left for the day. He would have to make do with the room at the hotel until the next day, as he'd planned.
He paid his respects at the altar, made his excuses, and walked to the door, opening his umbrella as he stepped out to ward off the rain.
Hashimoto followed him to the door to see him off. While she made no attempts to hold or keep him any longer, she did call out to him as he stepped from the engawa onto the muddy walk.
"Ryou Bakura? While I couldn't make direct contact with him, there was something there. A word or a name I didn't recognize, possibly it was just a sound, but… if it means something to you, you should know."
He stopped, half turned from the waiting taxi.
"It sounded like 'Sheut'."
…
A/N2: We have some actual notes!
Kokkuri / kokkuri: A Japanese method of divination which is very very similar to Ouija boards, going back to the Meiji era. The biggest difference seems to be that when performing kokkuri, a spirit, Kokkuri-san, who is a mix of different animal spirits, is meant to possess the tools being used and give answers to the questions being asked.
Torii: The traditional red gateways seen at Shinto shrines, one is also drawn at the top of a kokkuri board.
Aomori Prefecture, Mutsu, and Mt. Kamabuse: All real places, and described as best as possible from someone who has never been there in their life. ^^; Google maps was abused mightly for this particular section, and some liberties taken in how small and rural it appears, as in story we're meant to be around 1997/1998 time period.
Engawa: The 'porch' on a traditional Japanese house, wrapping all the way around the building.
Shōji: Probably doesn't need an explanation, but just in case - the dividers made of latticed wood and translucent paper.
Shide: The white, zigzag paper streamers seen at Shinto temples.
Jōe: "Pure cloth," it's basically a white robe worn for rituals and ceremonies.
Itako: Shamelessly pulling from wiki for the basics here, but: "Itako are blind women who train to become spiritual mediums in Japan. Training involves severe ascetic practices, after which the woman is said to be able to communicate with Japanese Shinto spirits, kami, and the spirits of the dead." They are also most commonly associated with Aomori Prefecture, hence why we have Ryou traveling that way. For this interaction I relied heavily on an article by Marianna Zetta, "Meeting an Itako – Spiritual Medium."
Thanks for reading, everybody! Only two chapters to go!
