Rain

8

Tomo and Ishikawa were chatting by the change-room door when I came back out.

“Katie,” Tomohiro said, rushing up to me and resting his hands on my arms. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said, “but I’d really prefer you didn’t try to pound me into a pancake.”

“Greene,” Ishikawa said, running a hand through his white hair, “close one.” So suddenly he cared what happened to me? Between him and Jun, the lines of friends and enemies were blurring way too much for me to understand.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at home on bed rest?” I said.

“Yeah, I am.” Ishikawa started unbuttoning his shirt, and I threw a hand up like a visor over my eyes.

“Okay, I don’t need to see that.”

“No, stupid. The wound.” He pulled the side of his shirt back to reveal a mass of bandages. “Still hurts like crap, but they managed to dig the bullet out, so I guess I won’t be setting off any metal detectors.”

Tomo tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and Ishikawa looked away, I guess because we both felt awkward. “So you’re really okay?” I knew Tomohiro hadn’t been himself when he attacked me, but still—I needed time to digest what had happened.

“What gives?” I said. “You’ve lost control before, but never toward me. I mean, the drawings, sure, but not...you.”

Ishikawa piped up. “I’m thinking this isn’t the best place for a discussion. And I’m hungry for something that isn’t konnyaku soup.”

“Oh no, konnyaku,” I said, rolling my eyes. “The tortures of being shot.”

“How about okonomiyaki?” Tomohiro said.

“Fine, let’s go,” I said, and we twisted down the hallways toward the genkan to get our shoes. I couldn’t believe I was going for lunch with Ishikawa.

But he had saved me just now. Maybe he was a changed person or something.

In the genkan, Tomo and Ishikawa headed over to the third-year shoe cubbies. I watched, feeling like I didn’t fit in with the two of them. Ishikawa’s occasional attempts at tolerating me were only because of his friendship with Tomohiro, anyway.

We headed toward the okonomiyaki place and sat across from each other, a giant black square griddle between us. I grabbed the menu, staring at the kanji for each item. A lot of the ingredients were in katakana, the Japanese system used for foreign words. Hamu. Cheesu. Bekon. I was tempted to order a ham, cheese and bacon version just to show them I was literate.

I stared at the ingredients I wasn’t so sure about. But before I could decipher everything, the waitress had arrived, and Ishikawa was rattling away our order.

Damn. Literacy was still out of reach.

Ishikawa leaned back, his arms folded across his chest. “So what the hell happened back there, Yuuto?”

“I blanked out,” Tomohiro said, looking at me. “I couldn’t focus. It was like being in a dream, where you can’t really control what you’re doing or thinking. You know something’s wrong, but you can’t fix it.”

The waitress came back with the ingredients in a large bowl. Ever the chef, Tomo grabbed the bowl and started stirring.

“Well, it has to stop,” I said. “First the roumon and now in kendo practice. Why do you think you’re losing control so much lately?”

“Wait, this has happened before?” Ishikawa said.

“Yeah, including when your goons tried to grab him, Ishikawa.” I sighed. “Remember the giant demon head and the ink wings and the way his eyes got huge when he drew that gun? And since when are you in on this discussion anyway?”

“Mou!” Ishikawa said, lifting his hands toward me. “That’s enough! Jeez. Of course I remember those, but I didn’t know they were all linked to the weird eye thing and losing control. Yuuto never tells me anything.”

“Which turns out to be a good decision on my part,” Tomo said. “You sold me out, Sato.”

“And I’m sorry, okay?” Ishikawa said. He grabbed the bowl from Tomo and poured the contents onto the griddle, where they sizzled and steamed. “I thought the Yakuza could offer you a good life. Make you rich, protect you, you know. I mean, you were already helping me with my jobs anyway.”

“Not helping,” Tomo said. “Just making sure you didn’t get your face bashed in.”

“Which is helping.”

“Helping you, not the Yakuza, okay? I don’t want that kind of life, Sato.”

I grabbed one of the metal paddles on the side of the table and started flattening the ingredients as they fried. I breathed in the smells of cabbage, bacon and noodles.

“I know, okay?” Ishikawa said. “I just thought— Never mind.”

I had no idea what he’d thought. The idea was so twisted. Had he been jealous of Tomo? There was no way he really thought life would be better with the Yakuza, was there?

“How did you possibly think that was a good idea?” I said.

“Look, the Yakuza aren’t all bad, Greene.” Ishikawa grabbed the other metal spatula and pounded on the side of the okonomiyaki. He winced at the motion and rubbed his shoulder. “Do you remember that huge earthquake in Kobe? And the tsunami? They helped out, you know. Hell, they sent helicopters and volunteers before the government did!”

“Okay, none of this is the point,” I said. “The point is that Tomo is out of control and that, thanks to you, the police think someone went after you and Takahashi because of the kendo competition.”

“Uso,” Ishikawa said in disbelief, his eyes wide. “Is that true, Yuuto?”

Tomohiro gently took the metal spatula from me and the other from Ishikawa. He slid them under the pancake and flipped it over, the smell of the golden-brown batter making my mouth water.

“There’s only one major contender left in the prefecture, Ishikawa,” I said. “And you’re looking at him.”

“Well, shit,” Ishikawa said. “Don’t worry, Yuuto. I haven’t told the cops a word. I can’t for the life of me remember how I got this gunshot wound.” He grinned.

“Can you take this seriously?” I said. “You think it’s some joke. What do you think would happen to Tomohiro if they took him into custody for assault, huh? You want him to go to some mental institution?” I regretted the words as soon as they came out. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tomohiro said. He focused on the okonomiyaki, his eyes unreadable.

“Look, I didn’t mean you’re crazy or anything. I just—”

“Smooth, Greene.”

“Shut up, Ishikawa.”

“Guys, seriously,” Tomo said, slicing the pancake into pieces with the spatula. I reached for the sauce and poured it on while Ishikawa zigzagged mayonnaise over the top. “Off topic. The question is, why am I losing control? And I think I know the answer.”

Me. It’s me. I knew he would say it. We all knew it was true. He lifted a piece of the okonomiyaki onto my plate and I tore a piece off with my chopsticks. The salty noodles and bacon flooded my mouth.

“It’s that I haven’t been drawing,” Tomohiro said.

“What?” I said. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “The nightmares are worse, too. Think of it like a river. Flowing along, no big deal, right? Now plug the river with a dam. You get a buildup, and it’s strong. And finally it’s so strong that don! The dam washes away.”

“So things are going to get worse if you don’t draw,” I said. Tomo’s eyes locked with mine, and I knew he’d only spoken half the problem aloud. The other was us, together. The ink would get worse as long as I was around.

“What do you mean by ‘get worse’?” Ishikawa asked. “Demon faces, dragons, guns, and now acting all spaced-out and attacking Greene. How can it get worse?”

Tomo didn’t even know what I knew, that Jun had said he was like a bomb waiting to go off. That the Kami blood could eventually take over, that he could black out permanently.

“Takahashi wants to use me,” Tomo said. “Like the Yakuza did, but on a bigger scale. He’s building some kind of Kami army and he wants me as a weapon.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ishikawa said, his eyes wide. “You’re in this much trouble, and you’ve never told me? What the hell kind of best friend are you, Yuuto?”

Tomohiro looked away.

“Ishikawa,” I sighed. “Tomo was protecting you, like he was protecting me. He didn’t want us to drown in the aftermath of the dam breaking. He’s the best damn friend you could have, so shut up.”

Ishikawa closed his mouth and picked at his food. I guess it had finally hit him.

“You better start drawing again, Tomo,” I said.

He nodded. “I’m sorry my stupid experiment put you in danger.”

“Well, at least we know now. Not sketching really isn’t an option.”

We finished our dinner and paid at the counter, stepping outside into the chill of the early evening.

“Gotta head home before my mom freaks out,” Ishikawa said. “She punches harder than Hanchi.” He laughed, but I shuddered at the name of the Yakuza boss. I didn’t want to meet him again, ever.

“Catch you later,” Tomo said. Ishikawa lifted a hand to wave, walking slowly away from us. Tomo’s phone beeped and he reached for it.

“Shiori?” I guessed. Who else?

“Yeah,” he said. “She wants to hang out. Just give me a sec while I tell her I’m busy.” He started answering her text and I stepped away to give him space.

I looked up at Ishikawa, walking away. He hunched slightly, his arm hanging funny on the side where he’d been shot. I felt a surge of gratitude to him, seeing him limp like that. He’d saved Tomo’s life that night, and maybe mine, too. And he’d been there for me at kendo practice to stop me from having a limp of my own.

I hurried toward Ishikawa and touched his arm. He hesitated, tilting his head in an unasked question.

“Hey,” I said. “Thanks. You know, for saving me in the gym.”

He snorted. “I didn’t do it for you, Greene.” He looked across the road to where Tomo was hunched over his phone, his bangs covering his eyes as he rapidly pressed the buttons. Ishikawa’s eyes shone, and his voice was soft. “I did it for him.”

My hand slipped from his arm and I stared at him for a minute, watching him watch Tomo. Then he snapped out of it, giving me a lopsided grin and a light smack on the shoulder as he walked away.

I watched him go. The look he’d given Tomo... I’d looked at Tomo like that before, too.

“Katie-chan,” Tomo said, and I turned, pushing the thoughts aside. He wiggled the phone at me. “I’m finished. Let’s go.”

I nodded, and we turned toward the station. “Shiori okay?”

Tomo sighed. “I’m starting to wonder if she exaggerated the bullying. The last few times I went to help her she was just lonely.”

“I’m sure it’s stressful being pregnant and alone,” I said. The sun was setting, the streets golden around us. “Heading home, then? Or possibly somewhere else?”

“I have entrance-exam homework,” Tomohiro said.

“Ah.”

“Which I plan to blow off. I have more important things to do, like making it up to you for almost braining you in kendo.” He grinned, his bangs scattered in front of his eyes.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the shiver that ran through me. “Are you going to be okay for the entrance exams?”

“Are you going to be okay with your kanji?”

“How did you know about that?”

“The way you studied the menu,” he said. “Just guessing.”

“Suzuki-sensei threatened me with international school.”

He looked concerned, brushing his fingertips against mine before he took my hand. His fingers were warm and soft, and I loved how mine curled inside his.

“Do you want some help? I could study with you.”

“Yuki and Tanaka are helping me at lunch every day,” I said. “But I could always use some extra help.”

“Of course. But...I need a favor from you, too.” He took a slow breath, his eyes distant. “I have to start sketching again. I don’t want to put you in danger but—”

“But you need someone there in case you lose yourself,” I said. “Are you sure I can pull you out of it? I couldn’t today at kendo practice.”

“But you did at the roumon gate. And if you’re there, I know I’ll fight harder to be in control. I’m sure of it.”

I nodded. “Okay. But no ink bottles, okay? And no dragons.”

He grinned and nodded in agreement. “Let’s go.”

This time we took the bus directly from the station, which was a shorter trip and made Nihondaira a feasible new choice over Toro Iseki. We crept toward the clearing behind the hotel, near the gigantic bonsai-looking tree and the two ponds.

Tomohiro sat down under the tree and I followed. By now the stars were coming out, and the view from the mountain was spectacular. Fuji was just a shadow in the distance, and we could see Suruga Bay, the little lights from ships blinking on and off, and the lanterns strung along the shore by the strawberry farms.

“It’s beautiful at night,” I whispered.

“Like I said.” He grinned. “I’m glad you got to see it.”

I texted Diane that I’d be late at school studying kanji with Yuki. I felt guilty lying again, but there’s no way she’d let me be out with Tomohiro this late at night in a place this remote. Her aunt-turned-mom senses would be flaring.

Tomohiro reached into his bag for his notebook. Despite the danger we were in, the frightening way he was losing control, my heart still jumped to see the black cover of the notebook. Maybe there was a dangerous Kami lurking in Tomohiro, but there was beauty living in him, too. His sketches left me breathless sometimes. That dark cloud of butterflies for one, the wagtails and plum blossoms, and the furin chimes. I would never forget the sound of the furin in the sweet early-summer breeze.

Tomohiro opened the cover of his notebook and a stack of loose pages fell out. He gathered them up, shoving them into his bag.

“What are those?” I asked.

“Just stupid drawings.”

I frowned; why did his voice sound off? “Let me see.”

“They’re all scratched out anyway,” he said. “I’ll draw something new. I think my sketches will be more powerful after the hiatus.”

“Should I stand back?”

“I’ll just draw something contained. Something harmless,” he said. He reached for the pen clipped over the notebooks pages, pulling the cap off with a snick.

“Harmless?” Everything he drew managed to be harmful. Flowers had thorns; glass wind chimes had glass edges you could cut yourself on. But he was already drawing.

It was harder to see the dark lines as they swept across the page in the dark. But then suddenly I could see a little better, and everything was brighter.

Specks of silver light blinked into existence around me as Tomohiro drew. They sparked everywhere in the darkness, like disconnected fireworks, hovering in the air, blinking in and out of view. Some of them burst into being like tiny explosions.

“Fireflies,” I said, standing. There was a cloud of them, woven through the tree branches like strings of lights, flashing in strange rhythms as they lit up and died out. The whole tree was aglow, Tomohiro’s page flickering with their light as he drew more. “Won’t the people in the hotel see?” I breathed.

Tomohiro smiled. “Tourist season is over,” he said. “Hotel’s closed.”

So that’s why it was so quiet here.

I stepped into the clearing, the fireflies thick in the air around me. If I reached out my arms, I wondered if I could touch them. They fluttered, blinking in and out, always in a new spot when they lit again.

“Beautiful,” I said, “but hardly contained.”

He laughed. “They can’t do much damage,” he said. “But they’re for light. I figured a candle might burn down the whole mountain. At least from my notebook.”

He was right. Drawing fire was way too risky. But fireflies—it was magic, the only way to describe it. Their wings rasped like paper as they hummed in the air around me, and their lights were silver instead of gold or green, but walking through them with my arms outstretched felt like walking through a fairyland. They cast moving shadows everywhere, so that the whole world seemed to light like a carnival.

Tomo gasped, and I turned quickly. “Are you okay?”

“Katie,” he said, reaching his arm out for me. I moved toward him, taking his hand as I knelt in the grass.

“What is it?” I said. I looked at his face as it flickered in and out of the shadowy light. Beads of sweat rolled down from his forehead; his eyes looked strange.

“The voices,” he breathed. He shuddered now, and I tilted my head to listen. I could hear the wind, swelling with sound. “I can’t.”

I squeezed his hand. “You can, Tomo. It’s only because the ink is flowing again. You’re in control, okay?” His eyes held mine as he gasped. The fireflies swarmed into a tornado around us, spinning with an unnatural frenzy. “Do you need to cross them out?”

He shook his head. “Just...just stay with me.” I nodded. A moment passed, our eyes locked as he searched mine for strength. “It’s like swimming in a current,” he gasped. “It’s...wonderful, but...too much.”

“You’re strong,” I said. “I’m here with you.”

He squeezed my hands tightly, and another moment went by. I tried not to think about the part where he’d said it was wonderful. I loved the beauty of his drawings, too, but it was scary to think he took any pleasure in losing control. He must not have meant it that way, I decided. His grip loosened, and he stopped shaking. The fireflies stopped swarming, spreading across the clearing again as if they were real.

“Better?”

He nodded.

“Yatta,” I said, and he let out a short laugh.

“That’s hardly celebration-worthy,” he said.

“How do you feel?”

“Better...and I want to draw something else.” He let go of my hands and took the pen.

“Are you sure?”

“It feels right,” he said, and his pen scratched across the paper. But I worried...was it his own idea or the Kami’s?

Something lit up in the pool.

“What are you drawing now?”

“Go see,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his tired voice.

I stepped forward slowly, cautiously. What if he was drawing something that yanked me into the water? But the silver glow in the water was no bigger than my hand and almost as wide. The shape started circling in fluid patterns.

It was a papery white koi, his eyes jet-black, ink tendrils swirling on his fins. He glowed with an unnatural light, his fins flapping against his sides as he glided through the sleek, dark waters. His black and silver scales gleamed in the firefly light. Beside him, another area of the pond lit up, like a lightbulb gradually brightening, and then there were two koi, circling. Then a third, and soon the whole pond gleamed with fish, making their own firework patterns in the water.

I barely heard Tomohiro as he approached from behind me. His breath fell softly upon my neck as he wrapped his arms around me, peering over my shoulder to watch the koi.

“Dou?” Tomohiro said quietly, his voice at my ear. “What do you think?”

I turned in his arms to face him and saw him looking at me with his deep eyes. The fireflies clung to the spikes in his hair, casting moving light and darkness across his face. He looked like a prince; he looked like a demon. The glow and shadow flickered like candlelight, and I wasn’t sure which he belonged to.

But I knew I wanted him to belong to me.

I raised myself up on the balls of my feet, pressing my lips against his. His arms tightened around me, drawing me closer as he kissed me back. My head filled with sweetness. Every movement of his fingers, everywhere his skin grazed mine, felt like a spark.

The fireflies alighted on his arms, his legs, the waistband of his jeans. They flashed out of sync, like they were broken. They tangled in my hair, too, and on my clothes. I could feel them clinging, their papery wings fluttering against my skin.

Tomo and I were draped in stars, floating among a thousand iridescent wings.

A loud splash startled me out of the moment. We both hesitated, clutching each other as we turned to look.

The ghostly white koi thrashed in the water as if they were on dry land, desperate and frantic. They were all swimming in one area of the pond, as if they were attached to each other.

Crimson blood swirled through the water, thick and black in the moonlight.

I raised my hand to my mouth. “They’re killing each other.”

Tomohiro dashed to his notebook, grabbing the pen and flipping the pages. He scribbled over the fish, slicing lines of ink through their necks and fins. One by one, the paper fish floated belly-up in the water, until it was nothing but a graveyard of drifting koi lanterns.

They melted into pools of black, swirling around the inky blood as they disintegrated into nothing. The ink caught on the wind and lifted like dull gold, glimmering among the silver firefly light.

“Kuse-yo,” Tomo swore in a hiss behind me. “Can’t anything ever go right?”

That’s when I felt the first bite.

“Ouch,” I said, swiping at my neck. My fingers crumpled the firefly’s wings and he tumbled into the grass below, his light dim as he struggled to flicker.

Another bite. “Ow!” Tomohiro still didn’t look up. “What the hell?” I snapped, and then he looked.

“Doushita?” he asked. What’s wrong?

That’s when I realized, yet again, the language gap held me back, even from getting help. Ow and ouch wouldn’t cut it in Japanese—he had no idea what they meant.

“Itai!” I said, swiping at the fireflies on my leg. Tomo looked at me with panic in his eyes.

The fireflies began to gather again, a massive silvery cloud hanging above us. They swarmed like a plague, their lights flashing in unison. The throng buzzed toward me and I screamed, ducking to the ground.

“Katie!” His pen swiped through the drawings in his notebook.

There was a sound like an explosion, hundreds of tiny lives shattered at once.

The firefly stars rained down around me, falling like a firework in slow motion.

The sadness was overwhelming, watching the cloud of lights drop. I reached out my palm and caught the bodies in my hand. They felt lighter than air, empty. Nothing.

I felt faint as I watched them, as their lights blinked out one after another. I didn’t feel right at all.

The world spiraled and I heard Tomohiro shout. Things were moving sideways, like I was dreaming.

I was falling, the dark tree branches rising above me.

I heard the loud thump as Tomohiro caught me, as his arms hooked under my shoulders and grabbed me, lowering me softly under the huge bonsai.

“Katie,” he said, but his words echoed. Above me the stars blinked in and out, floating down.

“The stars are sharp,” I heard myself say. I could feel them cutting into my wrists.

Tomohiro swore and lifted the waistband of his shirt, shrugging it over his head and tucking it around me to cover my bare arms. Then he was gone, and I was left to stare upward at the raining fireflies. Above them, dark clouds rolled slowly toward Mount Fuji’s shadow.

The last of the lights blinked out, and the field was dark again. I breathed in and out slowly—something was wrong with me. I brushed the grass with my fingers, trying to hold on to concrete feelings, to pull myself back from wherever I was.

“Katie,” Tomohiro said, his warm hands smoothing my hair out of my face. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I feel weird.”

He reached out for a can of milk tea and pulled the tab back with a crack. He pressed against my back as I lifted my head a little. The sweetness of the cold drink trickled down my throat.

He put the can aside and leaned over me, trying to lift me onto his lap. His stomach was warm against my cheek, his upper body lean and muscled from kendo training. The moonlight danced along the multitude of scars down his right arm. I reached up and traced along the edges of them, some smooth, others jagged.

It was when my hand pressed against his upper arm that we both saw the blood trickling down my wrist.

The shock of seeing it brought me back from everything.

“What happened?” I said, blinking. I sat up, but dizziness ripped through my head and I leaned back into the warmth of Tomohiro’s skin.

“The fireflies bit you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Katie. Che, I screw up everything.”

“I’m bleeding,” I said, but already Tomo was rustling in his pocket for his handkerchief. The poor cartoon elephant, who’d been drenched in the ink fireworks at Abekawa Hanabi, now sopped up my blood as Tomo gently wiped at my wrists.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “The bites aren’t deeper than papercuts. They’ll sting, but they shouldn’t be serious. Maybe you’re allergic or something.”

He hesitated, his eyes wide.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, wiping at my arm again.

I snatched the handkerchief from him.

“Katie,” he said, trying to pull it back.

My body froze.

I was bleeding ink.