It seems, on this windy night, that Ander has lost his mind and the whole sky might just fall. Could his actions simply be blamed on a tumor; the rage; the fury; the frustration, all surrounding small things like the sound of her voice when she's clearly begging him to stop. To you, the reader, her please and animalistic noises of surrounded are things that draw you to her aid. For him it's an echo that reverberates against his skull and giving him the drive to make it worse.
Ander is torturing her. He's maiming her. It had gotten so bad that in this dreary, restless, and unforgivable night Lucrecia had begun to beg for death.
A trip to Japan is supposed to be fun. Fashion icons; karaoke; jasmine tea; lotus flowers; and botanical gardens filled with ancient mysteries were to be expected. Screaming at the top of her lungs as a boy she once called a friend cuts off her fingers one by one next to a pond, on the wooden floor of a gazebo, in the middle of the night wasn't on the list.
A sword bolstered by one of the finest craftsman in the country glimmered in the moonlight as he clipped away knuckle, after crimson spraying knuckle as though they were locks of his own blonde hair, spilling onto the cold tile, from a pair of sheers as the chemo-therapy had gotten overwhelming. A yellow handle looks orange soaked in her blood. Knicking an artery sprayed more blood on his pale, freckled face and he tasted iron as the thick droplets fell across his lips.
"It was this hand that killed him, Lucrecia.." He reminds her as tears stream down his face.
His voice catches in his throat, mid sob, as he yells at her, "You don't deserve this hand! It's hurt so many people!"
But her screaming had stopped. Her eyes had gone empty; her expression vacant. Hemorrhage. Lucrecia is now dead.
He drops the sword and it clinks as it comes to a settle. He backs away impishly. The tears streaming down his face mix with her blood and it oozes off his jaw line as the light of the moon fractures across his face through the wood in the poorly crafted ceiling.
"Death is too good for you." He whispers.
He allows the chill that's been working up his spine to go into his neck and shoulders; twitching vehemently as he fights off the images flashing across his eyes and then stands grabbing the handle of the blade once more. With one quick motion the blade goes from the right side of her throat to the left side. Her head rolls away from her body with a thump! thump! thump! Her open eyes face the shimmering pond and their emptiness reflect it back. A yellow and black stripped biker jacket lands on the grass next to her drenched in the blood from her body and the sound of footsteps get softer as he disappears into the woods.
Ander's Mosayoshi
One week earlier...
Valerio had finally found a new love; his poetry.
Ever since Cayetana vanished and he'd picked up the pen, cocoina just didn't seem to do it for him any more. Today he juices orange juice at the diner where he and Lucrecia are meeting their friends at because coffee gives him the jitters and unsteady hands make for messy words.
His half sister pops her gum loudly beside him in the booth where they wait patiently for the others to arrive and just as intensely as she chews he is writing. Today he scribes about the sun; summer heat; and a love for dancing.
Through a crowd of families all going somewhere for vacation or going home from vacation in this big airport diner the door ipens and three old friends enter the room in loud colors. Valerio's boss the sunshine yellow Carla wearing a rubber rain jacket; Lucrecia's bold red ex, Guzman in his letterman; and woeful blue Ander in his hoodie.
The five of them had planned this trip for some time now. All with a common goal; light hearted reunion. All with a hidden agenda; to be announced. For now; they hug; they shake hands; they laugh.
For Valerio it's genuine. He cares about them. He trusts them. A lot of time has passed since they all left Las Encinas. A lot has healed since that night at the club that shattered more than a three story window.
"My father is impressed with the changes you've made at the vineyard." Carla tells him, "His money is circulating in more honest ways than it used to. The stress used to eat him. He tells me he's paying you justly, I only hope that's true."
Ander, whom, like Valerio, is also sitting at a window, looks nervously at his hands. His voice is low and quiet as he says, "Stress eats us all."
Guzman sits between Carla and Ander. He has always been a peace keeper. Being bold is also being honest. So he explains, "Rebeka and Samu refused my invitation because they don't feel that any of us are truly friends. What happened at Las Encinas was a result of parent absenteism, neglect, and teenage hormones compromising the judgement of kids who had no business handling adult affairs. There is a lot more to bond us than Polo's death."
"Polo's murder." Says Lucrecia softly that only their table could hear her, "I murdered him Guzman."
Valerio finally speaks up, "I love working at the vineyard. I love Polo; even if it's just his memory. I love writing. And I love your company; all of you."
He looks at each of them. He pauses long enough to accept their smiles. First his sister; then carla; then Guzman; and finally Ander. Ander's smile, Valerio decides, is his favorite.
"So..." Says Guzman through his big toothy grin, "We're going to Japan."
Carla's bright blond hair catches the light of the sun as she throws it over her shoulder, "Japan!"
The waitor comes over, they all order breakfast, and Guzman asks for a round of mimosas 'on his tab'. Clink! Clink! with their bar drinks and soon sparkling silverware becomes sparkling hubcaps on a plane's wheels as it's pulling out of the hangar. The five of them buckle in for their take off.
Whoosh!
The air from the vents are soothing on Ander's skin. He's never been a good flyer. Eyes shut, hands gripping the arm rest, foot tapping vigorously. Anxiety is an understatement.
"You're missing it." Says Valerio.
Ander mumbles something about how he can live without seeing the engine catch fire but Valerio isn't having this dismissal. Fingers find fingers and palms move away from Ander's face unblocking his vision.
There, out the small window, a pelican soars in symmetry with the plane. In it's bill is a fish way too big to fit and flapping with all it's strength in hope of being released and somehow this eases Ander's anxiety.
Liquid pours into a glass. Red wine. Valerio passes it over to Ander who's hand clutches it like a casual habit. Maybe he can get through this flight. Maybe he just needs some help and he really likes the softness of the purple tones Valerio's sweater has to offer.
Two seats back, flipping through the pages of Moose Pro Magazine Guzman is more than content. Beside him Lucrecia most certainly is not. Everything is a problem for her; the seat; the smell; how ugly the waitstaff is.
As she gripes and complains Guzman smiles to himself as he is being casually reminded why they're no longer together. Getting over her was difficult. Coming back to endure her afterwords; not so terrible.
Across the isle Carla is chatting it up with a Japanese boy in a white button up and some black dress pants by the name of Sun who's headed home for the holiday. She's very well rehearsed as even her accent rings through as they practice casual phrases and attempt to dive into deeper conversation. She seems to be flirting with him but Lucrecia, even from a distance, reads his body language to discover that this boy can't pick up on that at all as she adjusts her bubblegum pink headband. So she complains to Guzman about that too.
"There are lots of tourist traps." Sun tells Carla when she introduces her friends to him, "Inauthentic, gimmicky, not worth anyone's time."
Valerio turns around to look at the pair of them and he asks, "What can you tell us about the temple of Pai Mei?"
Several people in other seats and even a stuartist look at him with a mix of expressions but none hold their gaze for longer than a few seconds.
Sun tells him, "That it's abandoned. Pai Mei was murdered. Why would you want to hang around that place and all it's ghosts?"
"Why does a writer do anything?" Valerio asks.
Sun smiles at his dangerous response. The world outside the windows is a pastel pink. Static cuts through the intercom.
"Kon'nichiwa. Welcome to Tokyo Japan. The pilot expects an easy landing. We will reach our destination in fifteen minutes. Please power down all your electronic devices and fasten your seat belts. Turbulence is always expected." The attendant repeats this in three other languages including Japanese and European Spanish. Ander eases into his seat content that it's all almost over and accepts the gesture when Valerio's hand finds his.
Escalators of black are illuminated in bright white lights and not only rise in an incline against the deep opal walls and ceiling but also run horizontally past massive windows that twinkle with the cosmic eruption that is a vibrant technicolor city of the night. The six of them talk and laugh as they pull brightly colored suitcases behind them. Walking past bars full of rich people having rich foreign conversations and pop market stores that beam out into the velvet carpeted corridor they're tempted by the wild whimsical wonder of merchandise three times expensive as anywhere else and can't help but enter the lights.
They try on neon sunglasses; tailored blazers; and nibble on weirdly exotic snacks as they talk about how they've got to wait on the taxi that will take them to their hotel anyway and Sun explains his ride wont be there for some time either. Then they all trade the ones they've chosen and peer into the mirrors centered on the spindials trying not to knock over plush figures of Aang the Last Airbender.
Valerio buys Ander a hat full of red wine with swirly glasses that pair as a straw and lights up every time Ander drinks from it. Ander buys Valerio a giant fuzzy mint green scarf for that sweater. Valerio wears it with pride just like Ander with his gift.
Lucrecia complains about the fashion selections and Guzman roles his eyes as he watches a gentleman behind the plexi mold glass with a blowtorch. Sun and Carla play a quick step, multiplayer, dance system in an arcade to the song 'Last Call' by Pink and whoop or holler as they climb the leader boards drawing attention from people who'd lost interest in pacman and air hockey to watch them finally land the high score and type in three letter nick names in symbols Carla can read but her friends cannot.
Guzman buys everyone a shot and Carla takes an excited selfie with everyone in the frame even if Ander is struggling to smile and Lucrecia looks hateful.
She posts it with the hashtag #BUBBLY4YOU and over eight hundred people like it in under a minute including Rebeka.
Neon green drops into a glass and soon a bar drink is a sign behind a window in a store in one of what feels like a billion buildings here in the street square as they're pulling out of the airport parking garage. Ice clinks in cylinders now. A bucket sits in the corner of a booth that curls in on both sides. A bottle Lucrecia bought from the liquor store pours out a glowing bubbling pink.
As they all bring their drinks together for a toast Ander, like always, is distracted. Polo loved to be included. He'd be whispering to Carla about now; making her laugh. Ander's wondering how different Polo might have been if he wasn't so consumed in her. Carla is wonderful in her daylight warmth. Still, just like the rest of them; she's rich; she's entitled; and she's so caught up in her own everyday pains that she forgets about the needs of other people.
"Thanks again." Guzman says with his big muscular presence so strong and protective here in the night.
The others talk about random moments on previous vacations and laugh at silly jokes he or she said here and there at the just perfect moment but Ander's right here in this easy moment where he, unlike with most people, doesn't need the clarification in specifics from a friend. Guzman doesn't need to elaborate for him. They'e been best friends for years. They've cave jumped; they've sky dived; they've even shared a hostile and brought home lovers in the same space at the same time.
"You're my person." Answers Ander almost dismissively but Guzman knows better.
"You're mine."