Kyou Kara Maou: Past Pain and Past Yesterday
Warnings: Worst mourning ever. Reincarnation conundrums at their finest. A theoretical lack of Shinou, but of course, not really. I'm notoriously bad at ignoring him.
.past pain
The first message on his answering machine said, "Mister Rodriguez, this is Doctor Vargas calling you from San Luis Hospital, regarding a Miss Christine Salazar. It is with deep sadness that I inform you that Miss Salazar was hit by a car this afternoon, and she has passed away. If it is any consolation, she did not suffer..."
The second message on his answering machine said, "Jose Rodriguez, please find in your mailbox a one-way ticket to New York City. Bob has made arrangements for your visit -- he has something to tell you."
He almost didn't hear the second message. Something wild seized him the moment he heard the doctor's name, his heart wrenching in his chest, already certain of the news. Every moment in the last few weeks when Christine had taken that far-away look, when she had smiled at him so kindly.
Oh God, you knew, didn't you!
He felt like everything was dying inside him, the world going black. As if there was nothing worth doing or knowing without her. He hadn't said everything he'd wanted to say, he hadn't had enough time, he still didn't understand her, and now she was gone, beyond him, forever.
He had collapsed into a chair and was hiding his face in his hands when he heard the second message. The words meant nothing until he heard the name -- Bob -- such a simple name, conveying so much -- and then he had to replay the message to understand it.
The plane ticket was for the next morning; although short notice, and still so painful, he knew that he would go. Jose had never met the Maou of Earth before, although of course he knew of him -- everyone did.
"What could he want with me," he said to the nearest figurine. Jose was not nearly interesting enough on his own merits to have anything to do with Bob. The message had been recorded twenty minutes after the hospital had called him.
He called the hospital where he was interning and told them that due to circumstances he would explain later -- what would he tell them? his girlfriend had died? his best friend? the most fascinating woman he had ever met? he couldn't even bring himself to say the words -- he would be unable to come in to work for a while. In the morning he boarded a plane and the pressure built up as they rose until finally he wept, and fell asleep with the tears still dying on his face.
At the airport they met him with a limousine, three sober men in black and one blond woman with piercing eyes. They recognized him on sight and didn't bother to speak to him, which suited Jose just fine. He didn't think he could sound like himself if he tried to speak.
He exchanged no pleasantries with the Maou of Earth either -- they seemed like a terse lot.
"Mister Rodriguez," said Bob. "I have called you here in order to share with you some unfortunate information."
"More?" he said, feeling dull inside. The huge windows looking out on the city were blinding.
"I was sorry to hear that Christine Salazar was killed in a car accident yesterday."
He couldn't help it -- he laughed a little. It was so perfect that the whole world should grieve for her... From its lowliest Mazoku to its most powerful king. Who would have imagined that she had been a small-scale Mexican porn actress?
Bob's expression did not change at his laughter, but his next words stifled it. "There are things about Christine you don't know."
And things I never will know. The thought almost brought fresh tears, although he couldn't think what those things would be -- what kind of juice was her favorite? -- but Jose forced out, "How would you know?"
"I was in frequent communication with her. I was one of her emergency contacts -- right after you."
Jose stared at him, stunned. He had always felt that Christine was special, unique somehow, but he had not imagined that anyone else would have thought the same. It had been, in a way, his own private piece of her.
"I have a letter for you," said Bob, sliding it across the desk. "She wanted me to disclose it to you after her death. It explains, I believe, a great deal."
"Who... Who was she?"
The taller Mazoku stared at him, eyes not unsympathetic, but immobile, distant. He seemed very old. "Have you ever heard of the Great Sage?"
Jose clutched the letter in his hand, unwilling to think about what could be inside it.
"Then you know who she was."
But that person meant nothing to him. Christine had watched cheesy horror movies with him late at night, curled up on the couch in sweatpants, and she had eaten ice cream only over warm foods like pancakes or brownies, and she had teased him about being the biggest fan of her work even with all his other obsessions to distract him. The Great Sage was a mythical figure, vast in the mind of the world, a hero without whom there would be nothing left of civilization.
Words like 'civilization' and 'mythical' did not apply to someone like Christine, who was so much a part of the world he knew.
Bob stood from behind his desk, powerful frame all but blocking out the sun. "As the executor of Christine Salazar's estate, it is my responsibility to see to it that her wishes are followed. And she had one wish that needed to be conveyed to you in person."
He opened a drawer and withdrew from it a small vial, empty save for a single sphere of gently glowing light, white and luminous like the moon.
The Maou held it out to Jose, who realized what it must be. He took it in shaking hands, holding Christine's soul and thinking very seriously that if he didn't let it go, she might never have to die in his heart.
"Do you know what it means?" said Bob. "That the soul is round?"
Jose shook his head, but he was already beginning to relax, to let the pain ease beyond him. A small, sad smile touched his lips.
You wanted this... So that I could have a chance to say goodbye, didn't you, Christine?
So that I could have one last chance to understand you.
"It means that the one who passed has nothing to regret."
.past yesterday
"I'll take good care of him," Jose promised the hassled-looking young couple. It was far from the first time parents had been reluctant to leave their children alone with him -- not out of any sort of suspicion that he was an unsavory character, but simply out of a reluctance to admit that their child needed any sort of psychiatric help. Leaving their child with him meant that there was officially a problem.
For his part, their child looked pretty content with the deal. He wandered around a bit, kicking at plastic trucks, and then gravitated towards the horse figurines and began to play with them idly while his parents lingered. By the time Jose had chased them away, he was apparently oblivious to the world, and didn't look up until the doctor crouched in front of him to catch his attention.
There was nothing familiar in that round face, he decided.
"Murata Ken, right?" The boy nodded vigorously. Jose grinned at him. "I'm Jose--"
"I know who you are," said Ken.
Jose ran a hand over his hair and thought about that. "Are your parents gone?" He reached out tentatively with maryoku to test it, but was beat to it by the child, who reported promptly, "Yep."
"Good." Jose stood up and held out a hand to help Ken to his feet. "Wanna go get some ice cream?"
He was definitely not supposed to take children out of his office, and could probably be arrested for this easily. But he couldn't bear to seal Ken in the playroom like all the other problem children that were brought to him, not when he knew better. Besides, who could object to ice cream?
"So... Christine, right?" he asked his melon-flavored ice cream.
Ken peered at him over the cone in his hands. The glasses he wore were too big for him. "Ken," he corrected.
"I know, I know. I'm past that now." It had been eight years since she'd died: the boy in front of him wasn't even that old. It was hard to make the emotional connection and feel anything other than fondness for him. "I just..."
I just want to know why you killed yourself. There had been too many sad smiles, too many quiet moments of affection, in the days before he had gotten the call from the hospital. A car accident, perhaps, nobody's fault, perhaps, but something Christine had been waiting for.
Had chosen?
"I remember you," Ken said, with a good cheer that was strangely out of place on him, although it might have belonged on any other boy his age. "From before."
Jose smiled to himself. "Right. Your mom said you told her you remember things from before you were born."
The little boy kicked his legs, looking somewhat downcast. "She doesn't like it when I say that," he muttered. "Shouldn't have told her."
"What sort of things do you remember?" The moment he said it Jose realized with sudden horror that this little boy might remember the sort of thing Christine had done for a living -- or with him -- and Shinou forbid he should tell his mother that.
Suddenly alight, Ken said, "A war! Like the kind on TV on the history programs, with men on horses fighting with swords and arrows and that kind of thing. They were all in western clothing though."
"Sounds pretty exciting!"
"No," said the boy, quietly. "It was horrible."
Was Christine like you when she was your age? He'd seen pictures, but the bright little girl in the photographs hadn't had the sense of duality that he felt from this child... as if looking at him straight on, he might just be a boy, but behind those wide lenses hid an ancient, ancient soul.
Jose urged, "Tell me about it. Who was fighting?"
"I don't really know," Ken said, thoughtful, and then shook his head. "Well, I kind of know. But it sounds silly. Like... the army they were fighting wasn't real, just dolls, or like those mannequins in the store."
That was the incident that had decided his parents: his mother had described, with great agitation, a day in the mall, Ken-chan giving her not a single lick of trouble, and then suddenly the child screamed and bolted for the doors and refused to come back inside, sobbing on the curb about mannequins and death.
It's not normal! she insisted. All the human children were laughing at him-- My husband needs this job, we can't afford to relocate and we can't afford to stand out. These delusions he's having are making him stand out.
Something about the mannequins stirred a very deep-seated terror in that old soul, the kind of fear that no child could manage alone.
"And there was this... black presence..." But instead of continuing, Ken fell silent, looking moody. He stared at his melting ice cream cone.
"Your mom probably says you're just imagining things, right?" Jose said. In his mind he could already list all the clinical diagnoses he would make for any other child. "I believe you."
The Japanese boy looked up, perfectly composed. "You don't think I need psychiatric help?"
Shinou help him, he felt responsible for the boy. Jose said, with a conspiratorial wink, "No. But that won't make your mom feel better. Why don't we say that you do?"
Ken giggled and resumed his idle fidgeting, legs swaying back and forth with boundless energy. "I knew you would listen to me," he said. "You were always a good listener."
.past pain
The first message on his answering machine said, "Mister Rodriguez, this is Doctor Vargas calling you from San Luis Hospital, regarding a Miss Christine Salazar. It is with deep sadness that I inform you that Miss Salazar was hit by a car this afternoon, and she has passed away. If it is any consolation, she did not suffer..."
The second message on his answering machine said, "Jose Rodriguez, please find in your mailbox a one-way ticket to New York City. Bob has made arrangements for your visit -- he has something to tell you."
He almost didn't hear the second message. Something wild seized him the moment he heard the doctor's name, his heart wrenching in his chest, already certain of the news. Every moment in the last few weeks when Christine had taken that far-away look, when she had smiled at him so kindly.
Oh God, you knew, didn't you!
He felt like everything was dying inside him, the world going black. As if there was nothing worth doing or knowing without her. He hadn't said everything he'd wanted to say, he hadn't had enough time, he still didn't understand her, and now she was gone, beyond him, forever.
He had collapsed into a chair and was hiding his face in his hands when he heard the second message. The words meant nothing until he heard the name -- Bob -- such a simple name, conveying so much -- and then he had to replay the message to understand it.
The plane ticket was for the next morning; although short notice, and still so painful, he knew that he would go. Jose had never met the Maou of Earth before, although of course he knew of him -- everyone did.
"What could he want with me," he said to the nearest figurine. Jose was not nearly interesting enough on his own merits to have anything to do with Bob. The message had been recorded twenty minutes after the hospital had called him.
He called the hospital where he was interning and told them that due to circumstances he would explain later -- what would he tell them? his girlfriend had died? his best friend? the most fascinating woman he had ever met? he couldn't even bring himself to say the words -- he would be unable to come in to work for a while. In the morning he boarded a plane and the pressure built up as they rose until finally he wept, and fell asleep with the tears still dying on his face.
At the airport they met him with a limousine, three sober men in black and one blond woman with piercing eyes. They recognized him on sight and didn't bother to speak to him, which suited Jose just fine. He didn't think he could sound like himself if he tried to speak.
He exchanged no pleasantries with the Maou of Earth either -- they seemed like a terse lot.
"Mister Rodriguez," said Bob. "I have called you here in order to share with you some unfortunate information."
"More?" he said, feeling dull inside. The huge windows looking out on the city were blinding.
"I was sorry to hear that Christine Salazar was killed in a car accident yesterday."
He couldn't help it -- he laughed a little. It was so perfect that the whole world should grieve for her... From its lowliest Mazoku to its most powerful king. Who would have imagined that she had been a small-scale Mexican porn actress?
Bob's expression did not change at his laughter, but his next words stifled it. "There are things about Christine you don't know."
And things I never will know. The thought almost brought fresh tears, although he couldn't think what those things would be -- what kind of juice was her favorite? -- but Jose forced out, "How would you know?"
"I was in frequent communication with her. I was one of her emergency contacts -- right after you."
Jose stared at him, stunned. He had always felt that Christine was special, unique somehow, but he had not imagined that anyone else would have thought the same. It had been, in a way, his own private piece of her.
"I have a letter for you," said Bob, sliding it across the desk. "She wanted me to disclose it to you after her death. It explains, I believe, a great deal."
"Who... Who was she?"
The taller Mazoku stared at him, eyes not unsympathetic, but immobile, distant. He seemed very old. "Have you ever heard of the Great Sage?"
Jose clutched the letter in his hand, unwilling to think about what could be inside it.
"Then you know who she was."
But that person meant nothing to him. Christine had watched cheesy horror movies with him late at night, curled up on the couch in sweatpants, and she had eaten ice cream only over warm foods like pancakes or brownies, and she had teased him about being the biggest fan of her work even with all his other obsessions to distract him. The Great Sage was a mythical figure, vast in the mind of the world, a hero without whom there would be nothing left of civilization.
Words like 'civilization' and 'mythical' did not apply to someone like Christine, who was so much a part of the world he knew.
Bob stood from behind his desk, powerful frame all but blocking out the sun. "As the executor of Christine Salazar's estate, it is my responsibility to see to it that her wishes are followed. And she had one wish that needed to be conveyed to you in person."
He opened a drawer and withdrew from it a small vial, empty save for a single sphere of gently glowing light, white and luminous like the moon.
The Maou held it out to Jose, who realized what it must be. He took it in shaking hands, holding Christine's soul and thinking very seriously that if he didn't let it go, she might never have to die in his heart.
"Do you know what it means?" said Bob. "That the soul is round?"
Jose shook his head, but he was already beginning to relax, to let the pain ease beyond him. A small, sad smile touched his lips.
You wanted this... So that I could have a chance to say goodbye, didn't you, Christine?
So that I could have one last chance to understand you.
"It means that the one who passed has nothing to regret."
.past yesterday
"I'll take good care of him," Jose promised the hassled-looking young couple. It was far from the first time parents had been reluctant to leave their children alone with him -- not out of any sort of suspicion that he was an unsavory character, but simply out of a reluctance to admit that their child needed any sort of psychiatric help. Leaving their child with him meant that there was officially a problem.
For his part, their child looked pretty content with the deal. He wandered around a bit, kicking at plastic trucks, and then gravitated towards the horse figurines and began to play with them idly while his parents lingered. By the time Jose had chased them away, he was apparently oblivious to the world, and didn't look up until the doctor crouched in front of him to catch his attention.
There was nothing familiar in that round face, he decided.
"Murata Ken, right?" The boy nodded vigorously. Jose grinned at him. "I'm Jose--"
"I know who you are," said Ken.
Jose ran a hand over his hair and thought about that. "Are your parents gone?" He reached out tentatively with maryoku to test it, but was beat to it by the child, who reported promptly, "Yep."
"Good." Jose stood up and held out a hand to help Ken to his feet. "Wanna go get some ice cream?"
He was definitely not supposed to take children out of his office, and could probably be arrested for this easily. But he couldn't bear to seal Ken in the playroom like all the other problem children that were brought to him, not when he knew better. Besides, who could object to ice cream?
"So... Christine, right?" he asked his melon-flavored ice cream.
Ken peered at him over the cone in his hands. The glasses he wore were too big for him. "Ken," he corrected.
"I know, I know. I'm past that now." It had been eight years since she'd died: the boy in front of him wasn't even that old. It was hard to make the emotional connection and feel anything other than fondness for him. "I just..."
I just want to know why you killed yourself. There had been too many sad smiles, too many quiet moments of affection, in the days before he had gotten the call from the hospital. A car accident, perhaps, nobody's fault, perhaps, but something Christine had been waiting for.
Had chosen?
"I remember you," Ken said, with a good cheer that was strangely out of place on him, although it might have belonged on any other boy his age. "From before."
Jose smiled to himself. "Right. Your mom said you told her you remember things from before you were born."
The little boy kicked his legs, looking somewhat downcast. "She doesn't like it when I say that," he muttered. "Shouldn't have told her."
"What sort of things do you remember?" The moment he said it Jose realized with sudden horror that this little boy might remember the sort of thing Christine had done for a living -- or with him -- and Shinou forbid he should tell his mother that.
Suddenly alight, Ken said, "A war! Like the kind on TV on the history programs, with men on horses fighting with swords and arrows and that kind of thing. They were all in western clothing though."
"Sounds pretty exciting!"
"No," said the boy, quietly. "It was horrible."
Was Christine like you when she was your age? He'd seen pictures, but the bright little girl in the photographs hadn't had the sense of duality that he felt from this child... as if looking at him straight on, he might just be a boy, but behind those wide lenses hid an ancient, ancient soul.
Jose urged, "Tell me about it. Who was fighting?"
"I don't really know," Ken said, thoughtful, and then shook his head. "Well, I kind of know. But it sounds silly. Like... the army they were fighting wasn't real, just dolls, or like those mannequins in the store."
That was the incident that had decided his parents: his mother had described, with great agitation, a day in the mall, Ken-chan giving her not a single lick of trouble, and then suddenly the child screamed and bolted for the doors and refused to come back inside, sobbing on the curb about mannequins and death.
It's not normal! she insisted. All the human children were laughing at him-- My husband needs this job, we can't afford to relocate and we can't afford to stand out. These delusions he's having are making him stand out.
Something about the mannequins stirred a very deep-seated terror in that old soul, the kind of fear that no child could manage alone.
"And there was this... black presence..." But instead of continuing, Ken fell silent, looking moody. He stared at his melting ice cream cone.
"Your mom probably says you're just imagining things, right?" Jose said. In his mind he could already list all the clinical diagnoses he would make for any other child. "I believe you."
The Japanese boy looked up, perfectly composed. "You don't think I need psychiatric help?"
Shinou help him, he felt responsible for the boy. Jose said, with a conspiratorial wink, "No. But that won't make your mom feel better. Why don't we say that you do?"
Ken giggled and resumed his idle fidgeting, legs swaying back and forth with boundless energy. "I knew you would listen to me," he said. "You were always a good listener."