[Fic] despierto - cinco
Title: despierto (cinco)
Fandom: Crossroads
Characters: Yomohiro Tomoe, Fujioka Midori, Yomohiro Junichi, Yomohiro Hajime, "Akiyama Kou," and very vague mentions of Kunisaki Chie and Satoshi Kaede | Midori/Tomoe, Kou/Tomoe
Word Count: 3,558 (cinco); 15,617 (total)
Rating: M
Warning/s: Please highlight to view the laundry list of trigger warnings. character death, graphic depictions of death and violence, graphic depictions of sex, subtextual incest, abuse, self-mutilation and suicidal tendencies
Summary: One week after she moves into her new house, Tomoe's father dies. Things start happening that she cannot explain. | tomoe and the truths that cannot be obscured
Disclaimer: "Kou" is Miles', Midori is Arah's, Chie is Momo's and Kaede is Kriselle's.
Notes: More in-depth author's notes at the end of the story.
uno. | dos. | tres. | cuatro. | cinco.
.cinco.
She remembers.
Her old bedroom is at the far end of the house, hot and muggy during summers, sometimes getting so unbearable that she'd go to sleep in a thin cotton nightgown that her mother gave her. It began sometime then, she thinks, with her father standing by the doorway and watching her as she went to bed. Her father's eyes bearing down on her as she walked around the house - then eventually it became his words, feather-light caresses, just a father comforting his daughter when her bike toppled over, until it told her to pull up the hem of her clothes and then the door was shut with a final click of the lock.
Her teddy bear, the one named Kou, given by her mother for her fifth birthday, soft and furry as it sits on one side of the bed, watching silently as her father rumbled instructions in his low, somber tone, telling her what to, how to stroke with her thumbs, how to pinch with her fingers, how to angle her wrist and rub in circular motions.
She remembers yanking one of Kou's eyes, pulling until the stitches give way and his glass eye pops off - hissing don't look at me, don't - remembers the glass eye digging into her knee as she clutches at the headboard and pumps her fingers into herself from behind, her father sitting on his heels at the foot of her bed, watching her, always watching.
In her memories, his eyebrows would always be pinched together but his face was smooth and unmarred in contrast to the old, aging father suffering from Alzheimer's.
She remembers laying down on the red-orange sheets with her hair spread out like a halo beneath her as she touches herself even though no one is watching, dirty but fulfilled and wet wet wet.
"Doctor? Doctor!" Someone is shaking her shoulder and the noises come rushing back - the flatline, the yelling, the rush for the defibrillator and the chaos but she knows it's useless because the patient won't make it.
One of the nurses leads her out or- or she walks out, she can't remember, just that she's taking off her scrubs and slipping into a pantsuit and ambling across the hospital's hallways, humming beneath her breath I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you, humming and coming to a stop in front of her car.
She hums again as she slides into the warm leather seat - tell me tell me - but she cuffs her mouth, slap slap slap to silence, and then she is driving along a highway, over a bridge, past one house then two houses then a cluster of them, neat rows of homes with shingled roofs and pretty trimmed hedges. She realizes that she's parked in front a small shop with a Madame Sueño: Spirits, Séances, et al. scripted on a large glass window when a buxom lady steps out and knocks on her door.
She steps out of her car with a hasty apology, which the woman cuts off - "You need to be here, don't you, hija," smelling strongly of roses and incense, the beads of her bracelets clacking together when she gestures towards the shop.
"I feel like you're troubled, my dear," she says, her voice heavy with a foreign accent, the golden thread of her veil winking in the afternoon sunlight as she turns and makes her way inside. The door chimes open, emitting one of those robotic Welcome! pronouncements so common in ice cream parlors. "Call me Esperanza."
Madame Sueño - Esperanza - retreats behind the counter, flipping the end of her black lace shawl over one shoulder. At the back of her mind, Tomoe thinks that she looks like an actress playing at a formulaic gypsy character, covered up in see-through fabric that swayed with her gestures. Her dark eyes are rimmed with kohl that had one corner carelessly smeared up to her temple.
The shop smells like her too, roses and incense, cluttered with desks crammed together and filled with dusty items - an old mirror with a crack down its side, a brass lamp with a stain on its base. Crucifixes of different sizes and colors hang on a wall, clumped together with occult necklaces and bracelets with pentagram pendants. Tomoe itches to get out and rubs at her arms; the beaded ends of Esperanza's earrings jiggle when she tilts her head with a smile.
"I-I apologize for taking your time," Tomoe retreats, her hip hitting a cabinet and upsetting the crucifix on its surface. "I'll be leaving-"
"Nonsense!" Esperanza hurls up her arms in a flurry of cloth. She strides forward and takes Tomoe's arm in a claw-like grip, dragging her out of the shop past a robotic chorus of Please come again! "You look troubled, hija. Take me there."
Tomoe tries to yank her arm but Esperanza holds on, her eyes bright with excitement. "Take me there," she whispers, bending her mouth to Tomoe's ear. Close enough, her breath smells like moist earth.
Tomoe nods, stilted, and unlocks her car.
Esperanza slides into the passenger seat, rubbing her palms together. She begins talking when Tomoe starts the ignition and pulls off the curb.
"Have you been in your house long?"
Tomoe glances at her sideways, because she hadn't mentioned any locations.
"Yes, yes!" Esperanza continues without waiting for her answer. "I could feel it emanating from you like- like you're a magnet to something." She claps her hands and rubs them together. "You have all these dark energies swirling around you. Your aura is very dark. I knew it from the moment you stopped in front of my shop-"
Tomoe debates turning the car around.
"-I could feel something clinging to you. What is it, then? Moving objects? Bumps in the night? Disembodied voices?"
Tomoe rounds a bend, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"Well? What is it?" Esperanza touches her elbow, her fingernails sharp, painted black from base to tip.
Tomoe exhales, and begins. Esperanza listens with rapt attention as she talks about the misplaced items, the dogs, the shadows. She doesn't mention her father, or the dreams, or the things she thought she saw but weren't really there.
"Did someone you know die, then? Because it feels to me like-"
Esperanza stops and seizes Tomoe's arm, looking out the window as the house comes into view. She stays silent until Tomoe drives up the courtyard and stops by the front door.
"Oh. Oh my." Esperanza lifts a hand to her chest and her eyes seem impossibly wider, her mouth slack in an 'o.' She trembles, then, a full body tremor that Tomoe feels through their flimsy connection.
"I-I need to get closer." Esperanza's voice is a whisper. Tomoe unlocks the car door and hesitates.
"Are you- certain you want to go inside?"
Esperanza gives her a terse nod, clutching at a rosary that Tomoe didn't notice amidst the heaps of necklaces around her neck. She steps out of her car, rattling the house keys in her pocket, steeling herself to approach the front door.
The doorknob is ice cold beneath her palm.
She glances behind her.
Esperanza's bangles clink together when she steps out of the car, motioning to Tomoe with a wave of her hand.
Tomoe takes a deep breath, releasing it in a stuttered exhale. Somehow, the thought of someone else going in with her - someone, anyone - gives her a sliver of relief. She unlocks the door and pushes it open.
The smell immediately hits her, the decaying stench of rot that had been festering in the open for too long, with a slight sweet tanginess curling at the edge. She covers her nose and steps past the entryway, past an empty foyer and into the deserted living room.
The glass vase on the side table has a small branch sticking out of its rim.
"Hawthorn?" Esperanza asks, the end of her shawl held up to her face. She takes the branch with her thumb and forefinger, holding it away from her as she walks to the front door and throws it out. It drips across her floor.
"Hawthorn smells like dead flesh when it is put inside an enclosed space," She explains, and the scent lightens. Somewhat.
A faint blister of hope flares in Tomoe's chest.
"Now where did you say the activities happened?"
Tomoe wrings her hands and notices the sharp cut on her thumb, her bleeding cuticle. She holds it behind her back before Esperanza can see it.
When did she close the door? Tomoe thinks. Tell me tell me tell me-
"Upstairs," She points with her chin.
Esperanza climbs the staircase with a swish of cloth. At the top of the stairs, she pauses, her hand fluttering on her chest again.
Tomoe follows her, and everything is quiet but her footsteps. Quiet and waiting with bated breath.
"I can feel the strongest activity here…" Esperanza interrupts the silence, and a sudden, unwarranted flicker of annoyance rifts through Tomoe. She bites her bottom lip, hard, gnawing at the skin. She keeps herself from speaking.
Esperanza rounds the corner and makes her way to the library.
"Wait-" Tomoe digs her fingernail into her thumb, into the open flesh of the wound, and bears down until her skin depresses into a crescent gouge, liquid oozing out. She shakes her head when Esperanza looks at her, necklaces jangling - clang clang clang, and then Esperanza is opening the door and stepping inside and Tomoe has the sudden urge to stop her, running across the hallway and skidding inside the library-
-neat and organized, the curtains drawn shut, the chairs pushed back beneath the desk, all the books slid neatly into place on the shelves.
She exhales a rushed breath.
Esperanza walks across the room, her shawls flapping in front of her.
"Who are you?" She calls out, like a melody.
Tell me tell me tell me the answer, Tomoe thinks, tell me tell me tell me-
"We're not here to hurt you!" Esperanza flutters her arms. "We know you've been wanting to catch her attention. This innocent girl over here-"
Her arms seize by her sides, frozen, her fingers twisting into stiff claws. Her shoulders buckle and her spine contorts backwards, inch by impossible inch, head lolling back until it hangs by her knees and she's looking at Tomoe with a wide-eyed upside-down stare, bent out of shape and frightened.
Look out helter skelter helter skelter, sings Tomoe's mind. She's coming down fast yes she is.
"Dios mio- our father in heaven hallowed be thy name- h-help me please!- thy kingdom come thy will be done be done be done- help- on earth as it is in heaven in heaven heaven- please- I'm watching you I am with you I will win I will win I will win-"
Esperanza jerks upright. "Something is in this house please help me! Por favor! Ayúdame! Por-" She lurches towards the door.
Tomoe watches in muted horror as Esperanza disappears into the hallway, screaming, screaming, always screaming and Tomoe wants to cover her ears but her hands are immobilized, everything in her locked rigid but her legs as she follows Esperanza to the top of the stairs, Esperanza's kohl running down her face, her face twisted and pinched with a sob, begging even as her mouth splits her face in a wide wide grin teeth bared, grinning even as she cries, as she tries to speak past her outstretched lips, "Ayúdame, help-"
Her mouth clips shut.
Her arm staggers up.
She waves.
She leans back, the balls of her feet teetering on the edge of the stair, teetering, teetering, on the edge of falling- and then jerks up.
Tomoe feels relief-
"Just kidding!" And then Esperanza flings herself backwards, thump thump thump, her body like a rag doll flopping down the length of the staircase, helpless and limp, her veil catching on a banister as the momentum propels her body down Esperanza wailing her veil holding Esperanza choking her veil stretching, and there is a sudden sickening crack as the opposite forces snap her neck, her body resting to a gentle stop by the bottom stair.
Her eyes are wide open and she is still smiling.
Someone is wailing, shrill and high-pitched like the cry of a baby which Tomoe belatedly realizes is hers, a heaving sob-
The hallway walls go t-t-t-thump thump THUMP rushing towards her and she scrabbles down the staircase, falls on her hands and knees, crawling away no no please no a stereo blaring LOOK OUT HELTER SKELTER staggering past Esperanza no Esperanza's body HELTER SKELTER clapping her hand over her mouth the fetid stench hitting her as she sees the dead dog at the center of her living room HELTER SKELTEEEER spools of slimy intestines wrapping around the plain urn intact and undamaged-
no please she runs away across the hallway, bumping against a basket of lilies which topple over and burst into slimy maggots crawling against her feet as she shrieks and kicks at them LOOK OUT HELTER SKELTER ring ring ringggg goes her phone suddenly in her hand flashing Kou ringggg Kou ringgg Kou
she flings it away and it clatters against the wall bang goes the phone bang goes the front door bang bang BANG SHE'S COMING DOWN FAST
YES SHE IS
the lights flashing on-off on-off on-off
no more please
YES SHE IS COMING DOWN FAST
the kitchen door looming in front of her
no more please
MY HEAD IS SPINNING
no more
-stumbling into the kitchen slipping on the tiles falling on the floor-
no more please oh god-
The breath of a quiet laugh sounding beside her ear:
"There is no God."
Her kitchen shudders, convulses, a stop-motion picture that suddenly jumps to the next film.
She is in the library of the old house.
It's as clear as she remembers - warm lights, wood-paneled walls, the shelves containing books in a systemic arrangement. Far away she hears the sounds of shouting, doors slamming, her mother and father arguing, but she tugs on the hem of her cactus pajamas and feels small again, that if she stretches up for the top shelf she won't be able to reach it.
A baby cries, and she tiptoes to the center of the room where an elaborate hand-carved crib is installed, peering over its edge at her baby brother flailing against his blue blankets, kicking at a rubber ball by his feet.
"Shh, shh," she murmurs, stepping closer and rocking the crib - gentle, comforting. "Let's play a game, do you want that?"
"You monster!" Her mother yells, and something shatters. "I can't believe you'd do that to our daughter! Your own flesh and blood!"
"Shh, shh." She holds up Kou, her one-eyed teddy bear, and bounces it in the air.
Her brother hiccups and looks up. She reaches down, brushes back the red hair sticking to his forehead.
"I didn't do anything! I never even touched her!" Her father - furious, the only time she'd ever heard him raise his voice.
"BUT YOU TOLD HER TO TOUCH HERSELF AND YOU WATCHED-"
A loud smash shattering the early morning, ah yes, she remembers, the cracks on the doorframe unfurling like the web of a spider flecked with blood, her mother's head caved in.
"Shh, shh." She rubs her thumb across her baby brother's cheek. "In this game…"
Hajime, she remembers, Hajime. Her brother's name. A name she hadn't dared to think about in decades.
"You'll never- SMASH- take Hajime- SMASH - away from me, you bitch!"
"In this game…"
"Never!"
Yes. That's right. Her father had always loved Hajime best.
"In this game…"
She takes the rubber ball in her fingers.
She hadn't been a good girl all her life but now she can do the one true thing she could do best for her brother. Hajime blinks at her and smiles widely, gumless, his eyes crinkling.
"The one who…" she croons, as she places the rubber ball on top of her brother's mouth.
"…holds his breath the longest…" she whispers, as she rests her thumb and forefinger on either side of his nose.
Wins, she thinks, as she bears down and cuts off his breathing, his tiny little body struggling beneath her, so weak, just baby strength, a feeble struggle that slowly dwindles to a jerk of his small leg.
And then, stillness.
"I'll protect you from daddy, Hajime. He won't be able to hurt you anymore."
She bends down and kisses his damp forehead. "I love you very much."
She straightens and stands up.
The image jerks back to the present, the pool looming in front of her, drawing steadily closer.
Dead koi float on the surface of the water which is still and placid. Beckoning.
She pauses, half of her soles on the porcelain edge, the other half hanging in the air.
The red rubber ball rolls, stops by her feet.
"-You win."
And this time, after so so long, so much time keeping herself up and pretending to be whole, she lets herself fall into the water - where her baby brother does not cry. The water welcomes her, swelling around her and pressing down, bearing on her nose. The air hardens inside her chest and beats against her ribcage until she cannot keep it in and it leaves her in a flurry of bubbles. She gasps with a soundless cry, the water rushing inside her throat, and this is her peace.
The red-haired man floats in front of her, his eyelids sewn shut. His hair drifts around him and he seems asleep, curled up in a fetal position and peaceful like she is, growing woozy, her vision fading.
He jerks, his lashes fluttering.
Are you my baby brother?
She reaches for him, her fingertips padding over his lashes, and she tears out the strings and the thread with her cracked fingernails - tears them out until he is crying blood.
He opens his eyes and she sees that they are red.
No.
-and she's being dragged out of the pool, kicking, squirming, struggling and coughing for air, Midori wet and gasping beside her, his arm around her waist, pulling her to him, clutching her close, sobbing her name against her hair - again and again and again.
"I've been calling you," he explains, as he helps her to the kitchen. The inside of her house is in perfect order, quiet and still.
"I kept getting your voice mail and when I called this morning, the service provider said you were out of service area."
He takes a towel from one of her cupboards and wraps it around her shoulders.
"I knew you weren't; you told me you had a surgery scheduled for today. Mitral valve replacement.
He scratches the back of his head and looks away, a flush creeping up his neck. "I went here then."
She looks up at him standing there by her kitchen counter, and feels a warm rush of affection for him then, this man who has stayed by her, with her - unequivocally, constantly.
She loves him, she thinks.
"All right," she says.
"I'm sorry?" He tilts his head sideways, an endearing gesture of puzzlement.
She smiles.
"Nothing. I'll go make you some tea."
He protests, of course, says she has to rest while he calls for an ambulance. But she is able to persuade him to take a seat, ruffling his hair as she makes her way to the counter. She takes his mug - the chipped one, his favorite one, and fills it with water.
She hums as she measures an exact teaspoonful of powder and pours it into his mug.
She hums as she mixes and hums as she hands it to him.
He takes it and looks up at her with such trust that she loves him all over again, loves him with such a vast, immeasurable enormity, that she will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.
He sips from the rim.
His mug shatters on the floor and he pitches forward, holding a hand to his head.
"I-I'm not feeling well."
"You should go to sleep," she says, calm, rational.
He gives a sharp nod as he staggers up, and she takes his arm and wraps it around her shoulders. He sways on his feet but she is able to lead him across the hallway and up the stairs, past the body of Esperanza, still smiling as she hangs from the banister. She takes him to the library, the closest room.
He groans and collapses on one of the chairs - weak, woozy, murmuring incoherent indistinct words. Around them, all the books are flipped upside down.
The red rubber ball rolls to her feet.
She bends down to pick it up.
"Let's play a game."
Midori tries to reach for her. His arm drops halfway. Behind him, a figure steps out from the shadows; out from the darkness and into the light - his red hair messy, his red eyes bright.
"Hajime?" She asks.
The man shakes his head.
"Kou," she says.
The corners of his lips quirk up.
"I got blisters on my fingers," she sings, and kisses Midori's forehead as she presses the ball against his mouth.
fin.
previous. | author's notes.
This entry was originally posted at http://quadrantal.dreamwidth.org/16706.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Crossroads
Characters: Yomohiro Tomoe, Fujioka Midori, Yomohiro Junichi, Yomohiro Hajime, "Akiyama Kou," and very vague mentions of Kunisaki Chie and Satoshi Kaede | Midori/Tomoe, Kou/Tomoe
Word Count: 3,558 (cinco); 15,617 (total)
Rating: M
Warning/s: Please highlight to view the laundry list of trigger warnings. character death, graphic depictions of death and violence, graphic depictions of sex, subtextual incest, abuse, self-mutilation and suicidal tendencies
Summary: One week after she moves into her new house, Tomoe's father dies. Things start happening that she cannot explain. | tomoe and the truths that cannot be obscured
Disclaimer: "Kou" is Miles', Midori is Arah's, Chie is Momo's and Kaede is Kriselle's.
Notes: More in-depth author's notes at the end of the story.
uno. | dos. | tres. | cuatro. | cinco.
.cinco.
She remembers.
Her old bedroom is at the far end of the house, hot and muggy during summers, sometimes getting so unbearable that she'd go to sleep in a thin cotton nightgown that her mother gave her. It began sometime then, she thinks, with her father standing by the doorway and watching her as she went to bed. Her father's eyes bearing down on her as she walked around the house - then eventually it became his words, feather-light caresses, just a father comforting his daughter when her bike toppled over, until it told her to pull up the hem of her clothes and then the door was shut with a final click of the lock.
Her teddy bear, the one named Kou, given by her mother for her fifth birthday, soft and furry as it sits on one side of the bed, watching silently as her father rumbled instructions in his low, somber tone, telling her what to, how to stroke with her thumbs, how to pinch with her fingers, how to angle her wrist and rub in circular motions.
She remembers yanking one of Kou's eyes, pulling until the stitches give way and his glass eye pops off - hissing don't look at me, don't - remembers the glass eye digging into her knee as she clutches at the headboard and pumps her fingers into herself from behind, her father sitting on his heels at the foot of her bed, watching her, always watching.
In her memories, his eyebrows would always be pinched together but his face was smooth and unmarred in contrast to the old, aging father suffering from Alzheimer's.
She remembers laying down on the red-orange sheets with her hair spread out like a halo beneath her as she touches herself even though no one is watching, dirty but fulfilled and wet wet wet.
"Doctor? Doctor!" Someone is shaking her shoulder and the noises come rushing back - the flatline, the yelling, the rush for the defibrillator and the chaos but she knows it's useless because the patient won't make it.
One of the nurses leads her out or- or she walks out, she can't remember, just that she's taking off her scrubs and slipping into a pantsuit and ambling across the hospital's hallways, humming beneath her breath I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you, humming and coming to a stop in front of her car.
She hums again as she slides into the warm leather seat - tell me tell me - but she cuffs her mouth, slap slap slap to silence, and then she is driving along a highway, over a bridge, past one house then two houses then a cluster of them, neat rows of homes with shingled roofs and pretty trimmed hedges. She realizes that she's parked in front a small shop with a Madame Sueño: Spirits, Séances, et al. scripted on a large glass window when a buxom lady steps out and knocks on her door.
She steps out of her car with a hasty apology, which the woman cuts off - "You need to be here, don't you, hija," smelling strongly of roses and incense, the beads of her bracelets clacking together when she gestures towards the shop.
"I feel like you're troubled, my dear," she says, her voice heavy with a foreign accent, the golden thread of her veil winking in the afternoon sunlight as she turns and makes her way inside. The door chimes open, emitting one of those robotic Welcome! pronouncements so common in ice cream parlors. "Call me Esperanza."
Madame Sueño - Esperanza - retreats behind the counter, flipping the end of her black lace shawl over one shoulder. At the back of her mind, Tomoe thinks that she looks like an actress playing at a formulaic gypsy character, covered up in see-through fabric that swayed with her gestures. Her dark eyes are rimmed with kohl that had one corner carelessly smeared up to her temple.
The shop smells like her too, roses and incense, cluttered with desks crammed together and filled with dusty items - an old mirror with a crack down its side, a brass lamp with a stain on its base. Crucifixes of different sizes and colors hang on a wall, clumped together with occult necklaces and bracelets with pentagram pendants. Tomoe itches to get out and rubs at her arms; the beaded ends of Esperanza's earrings jiggle when she tilts her head with a smile.
"I-I apologize for taking your time," Tomoe retreats, her hip hitting a cabinet and upsetting the crucifix on its surface. "I'll be leaving-"
"Nonsense!" Esperanza hurls up her arms in a flurry of cloth. She strides forward and takes Tomoe's arm in a claw-like grip, dragging her out of the shop past a robotic chorus of Please come again! "You look troubled, hija. Take me there."
Tomoe tries to yank her arm but Esperanza holds on, her eyes bright with excitement. "Take me there," she whispers, bending her mouth to Tomoe's ear. Close enough, her breath smells like moist earth.
Tomoe nods, stilted, and unlocks her car.
Esperanza slides into the passenger seat, rubbing her palms together. She begins talking when Tomoe starts the ignition and pulls off the curb.
"Have you been in your house long?"
Tomoe glances at her sideways, because she hadn't mentioned any locations.
"Yes, yes!" Esperanza continues without waiting for her answer. "I could feel it emanating from you like- like you're a magnet to something." She claps her hands and rubs them together. "You have all these dark energies swirling around you. Your aura is very dark. I knew it from the moment you stopped in front of my shop-"
Tomoe debates turning the car around.
"-I could feel something clinging to you. What is it, then? Moving objects? Bumps in the night? Disembodied voices?"
Tomoe rounds a bend, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"Well? What is it?" Esperanza touches her elbow, her fingernails sharp, painted black from base to tip.
Tomoe exhales, and begins. Esperanza listens with rapt attention as she talks about the misplaced items, the dogs, the shadows. She doesn't mention her father, or the dreams, or the things she thought she saw but weren't really there.
"Did someone you know die, then? Because it feels to me like-"
Esperanza stops and seizes Tomoe's arm, looking out the window as the house comes into view. She stays silent until Tomoe drives up the courtyard and stops by the front door.
"Oh. Oh my." Esperanza lifts a hand to her chest and her eyes seem impossibly wider, her mouth slack in an 'o.' She trembles, then, a full body tremor that Tomoe feels through their flimsy connection.
"I-I need to get closer." Esperanza's voice is a whisper. Tomoe unlocks the car door and hesitates.
"Are you- certain you want to go inside?"
Esperanza gives her a terse nod, clutching at a rosary that Tomoe didn't notice amidst the heaps of necklaces around her neck. She steps out of her car, rattling the house keys in her pocket, steeling herself to approach the front door.
The doorknob is ice cold beneath her palm.
She glances behind her.
Esperanza's bangles clink together when she steps out of the car, motioning to Tomoe with a wave of her hand.
Tomoe takes a deep breath, releasing it in a stuttered exhale. Somehow, the thought of someone else going in with her - someone, anyone - gives her a sliver of relief. She unlocks the door and pushes it open.
The smell immediately hits her, the decaying stench of rot that had been festering in the open for too long, with a slight sweet tanginess curling at the edge. She covers her nose and steps past the entryway, past an empty foyer and into the deserted living room.
The glass vase on the side table has a small branch sticking out of its rim.
"Hawthorn?" Esperanza asks, the end of her shawl held up to her face. She takes the branch with her thumb and forefinger, holding it away from her as she walks to the front door and throws it out. It drips across her floor.
"Hawthorn smells like dead flesh when it is put inside an enclosed space," She explains, and the scent lightens. Somewhat.
A faint blister of hope flares in Tomoe's chest.
"Now where did you say the activities happened?"
Tomoe wrings her hands and notices the sharp cut on her thumb, her bleeding cuticle. She holds it behind her back before Esperanza can see it.
When did she close the door? Tomoe thinks. Tell me tell me tell me-
"Upstairs," She points with her chin.
Esperanza climbs the staircase with a swish of cloth. At the top of the stairs, she pauses, her hand fluttering on her chest again.
Tomoe follows her, and everything is quiet but her footsteps. Quiet and waiting with bated breath.
"I can feel the strongest activity here…" Esperanza interrupts the silence, and a sudden, unwarranted flicker of annoyance rifts through Tomoe. She bites her bottom lip, hard, gnawing at the skin. She keeps herself from speaking.
Esperanza rounds the corner and makes her way to the library.
"Wait-" Tomoe digs her fingernail into her thumb, into the open flesh of the wound, and bears down until her skin depresses into a crescent gouge, liquid oozing out. She shakes her head when Esperanza looks at her, necklaces jangling - clang clang clang, and then Esperanza is opening the door and stepping inside and Tomoe has the sudden urge to stop her, running across the hallway and skidding inside the library-
-neat and organized, the curtains drawn shut, the chairs pushed back beneath the desk, all the books slid neatly into place on the shelves.
She exhales a rushed breath.
Esperanza walks across the room, her shawls flapping in front of her.
"Who are you?" She calls out, like a melody.
Tell me tell me tell me the answer, Tomoe thinks, tell me tell me tell me-
"We're not here to hurt you!" Esperanza flutters her arms. "We know you've been wanting to catch her attention. This innocent girl over here-"
Her arms seize by her sides, frozen, her fingers twisting into stiff claws. Her shoulders buckle and her spine contorts backwards, inch by impossible inch, head lolling back until it hangs by her knees and she's looking at Tomoe with a wide-eyed upside-down stare, bent out of shape and frightened.
Look out helter skelter helter skelter, sings Tomoe's mind. She's coming down fast yes she is.
"Dios mio- our father in heaven hallowed be thy name- h-help me please!- thy kingdom come thy will be done be done be done- help- on earth as it is in heaven in heaven heaven- please- I'm watching you I am with you I will win I will win I will win-"
Esperanza jerks upright. "Something is in this house please help me! Por favor! Ayúdame! Por-" She lurches towards the door.
Tomoe watches in muted horror as Esperanza disappears into the hallway, screaming, screaming, always screaming and Tomoe wants to cover her ears but her hands are immobilized, everything in her locked rigid but her legs as she follows Esperanza to the top of the stairs, Esperanza's kohl running down her face, her face twisted and pinched with a sob, begging even as her mouth splits her face in a wide wide grin teeth bared, grinning even as she cries, as she tries to speak past her outstretched lips, "Ayúdame, help-"
Her mouth clips shut.
Her arm staggers up.
She waves.
She leans back, the balls of her feet teetering on the edge of the stair, teetering, teetering, on the edge of falling- and then jerks up.
Tomoe feels relief-
"Just kidding!" And then Esperanza flings herself backwards, thump thump thump, her body like a rag doll flopping down the length of the staircase, helpless and limp, her veil catching on a banister as the momentum propels her body down Esperanza wailing her veil holding Esperanza choking her veil stretching, and there is a sudden sickening crack as the opposite forces snap her neck, her body resting to a gentle stop by the bottom stair.
Her eyes are wide open and she is still smiling.
Someone is wailing, shrill and high-pitched like the cry of a baby which Tomoe belatedly realizes is hers, a heaving sob-
The hallway walls go t-t-t-thump thump THUMP rushing towards her and she scrabbles down the staircase, falls on her hands and knees, crawling away no no please no a stereo blaring LOOK OUT HELTER SKELTER staggering past Esperanza no Esperanza's body HELTER SKELTER clapping her hand over her mouth the fetid stench hitting her as she sees the dead dog at the center of her living room HELTER SKELTEEEER spools of slimy intestines wrapping around the plain urn intact and undamaged-
no please she runs away across the hallway, bumping against a basket of lilies which topple over and burst into slimy maggots crawling against her feet as she shrieks and kicks at them LOOK OUT HELTER SKELTER ring ring ringggg goes her phone suddenly in her hand flashing Kou ringggg Kou ringgg Kou
she flings it away and it clatters against the wall bang goes the phone bang goes the front door bang bang BANG SHE'S COMING DOWN FAST
YES SHE IS
the lights flashing on-off on-off on-off
no more please
YES SHE IS COMING DOWN FAST
the kitchen door looming in front of her
no more please
MY HEAD IS SPINNING
no more
-stumbling into the kitchen slipping on the tiles falling on the floor-
no more please oh god-
The breath of a quiet laugh sounding beside her ear:
"There is no God."
Her kitchen shudders, convulses, a stop-motion picture that suddenly jumps to the next film.
She is in the library of the old house.
It's as clear as she remembers - warm lights, wood-paneled walls, the shelves containing books in a systemic arrangement. Far away she hears the sounds of shouting, doors slamming, her mother and father arguing, but she tugs on the hem of her cactus pajamas and feels small again, that if she stretches up for the top shelf she won't be able to reach it.
A baby cries, and she tiptoes to the center of the room where an elaborate hand-carved crib is installed, peering over its edge at her baby brother flailing against his blue blankets, kicking at a rubber ball by his feet.
"Shh, shh," she murmurs, stepping closer and rocking the crib - gentle, comforting. "Let's play a game, do you want that?"
"You monster!" Her mother yells, and something shatters. "I can't believe you'd do that to our daughter! Your own flesh and blood!"
"Shh, shh." She holds up Kou, her one-eyed teddy bear, and bounces it in the air.
Her brother hiccups and looks up. She reaches down, brushes back the red hair sticking to his forehead.
"I didn't do anything! I never even touched her!" Her father - furious, the only time she'd ever heard him raise his voice.
"BUT YOU TOLD HER TO TOUCH HERSELF AND YOU WATCHED-"
A loud smash shattering the early morning, ah yes, she remembers, the cracks on the doorframe unfurling like the web of a spider flecked with blood, her mother's head caved in.
"Shh, shh." She rubs her thumb across her baby brother's cheek. "In this game…"
Hajime, she remembers, Hajime. Her brother's name. A name she hadn't dared to think about in decades.
"You'll never- SMASH- take Hajime- SMASH - away from me, you bitch!"
"In this game…"
"Never!"
Yes. That's right. Her father had always loved Hajime best.
"In this game…"
She takes the rubber ball in her fingers.
She hadn't been a good girl all her life but now she can do the one true thing she could do best for her brother. Hajime blinks at her and smiles widely, gumless, his eyes crinkling.
"The one who…" she croons, as she places the rubber ball on top of her brother's mouth.
"…holds his breath the longest…" she whispers, as she rests her thumb and forefinger on either side of his nose.
Wins, she thinks, as she bears down and cuts off his breathing, his tiny little body struggling beneath her, so weak, just baby strength, a feeble struggle that slowly dwindles to a jerk of his small leg.
And then, stillness.
"I'll protect you from daddy, Hajime. He won't be able to hurt you anymore."
She bends down and kisses his damp forehead. "I love you very much."
She straightens and stands up.
The image jerks back to the present, the pool looming in front of her, drawing steadily closer.
Dead koi float on the surface of the water which is still and placid. Beckoning.
She pauses, half of her soles on the porcelain edge, the other half hanging in the air.
The red rubber ball rolls, stops by her feet.
"-You win."
And this time, after so so long, so much time keeping herself up and pretending to be whole, she lets herself fall into the water - where her baby brother does not cry. The water welcomes her, swelling around her and pressing down, bearing on her nose. The air hardens inside her chest and beats against her ribcage until she cannot keep it in and it leaves her in a flurry of bubbles. She gasps with a soundless cry, the water rushing inside her throat, and this is her peace.
The red-haired man floats in front of her, his eyelids sewn shut. His hair drifts around him and he seems asleep, curled up in a fetal position and peaceful like she is, growing woozy, her vision fading.
He jerks, his lashes fluttering.
Are you my baby brother?
She reaches for him, her fingertips padding over his lashes, and she tears out the strings and the thread with her cracked fingernails - tears them out until he is crying blood.
He opens his eyes and she sees that they are red.
No.
-and she's being dragged out of the pool, kicking, squirming, struggling and coughing for air, Midori wet and gasping beside her, his arm around her waist, pulling her to him, clutching her close, sobbing her name against her hair - again and again and again.
"I've been calling you," he explains, as he helps her to the kitchen. The inside of her house is in perfect order, quiet and still.
"I kept getting your voice mail and when I called this morning, the service provider said you were out of service area."
He takes a towel from one of her cupboards and wraps it around her shoulders.
"I knew you weren't; you told me you had a surgery scheduled for today. Mitral valve replacement.
He scratches the back of his head and looks away, a flush creeping up his neck. "I went here then."
She looks up at him standing there by her kitchen counter, and feels a warm rush of affection for him then, this man who has stayed by her, with her - unequivocally, constantly.
She loves him, she thinks.
"All right," she says.
"I'm sorry?" He tilts his head sideways, an endearing gesture of puzzlement.
She smiles.
"Nothing. I'll go make you some tea."
He protests, of course, says she has to rest while he calls for an ambulance. But she is able to persuade him to take a seat, ruffling his hair as she makes her way to the counter. She takes his mug - the chipped one, his favorite one, and fills it with water.
She hums as she measures an exact teaspoonful of powder and pours it into his mug.
She hums as she mixes and hums as she hands it to him.
He takes it and looks up at her with such trust that she loves him all over again, loves him with such a vast, immeasurable enormity, that she will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.
He sips from the rim.
His mug shatters on the floor and he pitches forward, holding a hand to his head.
"I-I'm not feeling well."
"You should go to sleep," she says, calm, rational.
He gives a sharp nod as he staggers up, and she takes his arm and wraps it around her shoulders. He sways on his feet but she is able to lead him across the hallway and up the stairs, past the body of Esperanza, still smiling as she hangs from the banister. She takes him to the library, the closest room.
He groans and collapses on one of the chairs - weak, woozy, murmuring incoherent indistinct words. Around them, all the books are flipped upside down.
The red rubber ball rolls to her feet.
She bends down to pick it up.
"Let's play a game."
Midori tries to reach for her. His arm drops halfway. Behind him, a figure steps out from the shadows; out from the darkness and into the light - his red hair messy, his red eyes bright.
"Hajime?" She asks.
The man shakes his head.
"Kou," she says.
The corners of his lips quirk up.
"I got blisters on my fingers," she sings, and kisses Midori's forehead as she presses the ball against his mouth.
fin.
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