C&C is greatly appreciated. Please C&C publicly, or to
matthew@kingdomofmel.com
This is a sequel to "Okaeri, Kaori-chan!" If you haven't read
it, I suggest you go to http://www.kingdomofmel.com/cafe-pierrot/
and read it there. This story doesn't attempt to avoid spoilers
for that story, so be forewarned!
Enjoy the story!
--Matthew
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"I don't know if I can ever let you in. I'm sorry." With
that, Kaori turned, and began walking back to her dorm room.
Over the next three days, as they packed and lived and finally
traveled home, Satoru felt himself crumble from the inside.
She showed no signs of reversing a decision it looked like she'd
made the second another had taken what she'd been saving.
Throughout the next portion of their lives, one soundtrack
played to distant hearts. That music of synchronicity set them
on a path together, even as they tried to stay apart.
With their loss of innocence came a clarity of vision.
The music of love lingers...
...resonant hearts beat as one.
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* * * *
G A N B A T T E, K A O R I - C H A N !
(Do Your Best, Kaori!)
Part One
* *
"Ganbatte, Kaori-chan!" (c) 2000-2001 Matthew Johnston.
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters
to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
* * * *
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November 28, 1997
10:17 PM.
'A misty-eyed look at something lost
The reflection of water in your eyes
My hands go to touch the tears
But you push them away, turning away.'
Hands.
The word shot at Kaori like a spear. She'd written it
down, just one word among so many others. That it caught her eye
after the fact disgusted her; she was writing a love song. But
there it was, glaring back at her, piercing her brain.
She clenched her eyes shut.
"Get a grip," she muttered. But as she spoke the words,
her mind's eye began to open, spewing imagery.
Hands on her body. Pushing inside her. One finger, then
two. Kaori could hear herself screaming; she could feel the
pain. The image pushed against her harder, penetrating her will
as she shook her head.
"No," she whispered. But it kept pushing.
The hands were on her neck now, strangling her. She wanted
them to. Maybe if she died in this one, it would end. She felt
the breath trapped in her lungs, her throat slowly collapsing
under the pressure of thumbs. They let go before they were
finished. But it was too late; her throat was crushed, and she
lay there on the kitchen floor, cold tiles on her naked body,
clutching at her throat.
"NO!"
She heard herself screaming aloud.
The image flashed off, like a television changing channels,
and she was back inside herself, looking into the blackness of
her shut eyes. Kaori opened her eyes slowly, the brightness of
her desk lamp unwelcome. The worst of it had passed, but she
still felt her breath tight in her lungs. She looked at her
hands and saw them white-knuckled in fists. They hurt as she
opened them, aching muscles and joints, burning marks from her
finger nails. She spoke to herself softly.
"Just keep calm. Mom didn't hear. It's okay. Look at
your room. Look at your bed. Just look at it all. It's just
how you left it. It's just how you wanted it to be when you got
back. Everything is in its place. All the stuffed animals and
posters and your CD's back in their rack and the boxes unpacked
and everything back where it belongs. Everything is back."
Kaori could hear her breathing slow, and finally return to
normal. She hated this. She felt a creeping wave of nausea,
her stomach gurgling angrily.
"And now for the last act of this little drama." It passed
over her like a steady layer of tar, a black thick lava. She
closed her eyes, and felt it again. His hands. That was all it
took this time. Her throat tightened, and she tossed her head
to the garbage pail beside her desk. She vomited nothing,
heaving the acid from her stomach, her vision black and
sparkling.
'It's getting worse,' she thought, wiping her mouth. 'It
only took hands.' In the clarity of her body's shaking
weakness, she frowned. 'It's getting much worse.'
She wanted to do something to keep her mind off of all of
it. She wanted to do something other than think. But there was
nobody she knew who didn't know why she came back. Kaori cursed
herself for focusing her friendship so much on Satoru.
"Maybe if I'd kept in touch with other friends after high
school, I wouldn't be in this mess," she grumbled, her voice
hoarse from the acid. "I wouldn't be puking in a wastepaper
basket because of a pair of fucking hands."
It wasn't fair. Satoru loved her and it wasn't fair.
Satoru went to college close to home and had friends who did
things. Hell, even Masao did things.
Half of Kaori's mind suddenly smiled; the other half shook
its head. 'Oh no,' she thought. 'You're not going to mess with
him again, are you?' She remembered the party too well to smile
outwardly. But that wasn't his fault. She had really put the
moves on him, after all. If she didn't know better, she'd think
he liked her.
The protesting half of her mind tried to gather some
friends. She remembered every insult he ever threw at her.
Only because, she mused, everything he said was important enough
for me to remember. Kaori stood slowly, her legs still shaking.
"I'm so weak," she noted with cool indifference.
She went to the bed, and flopped down. If there was one
thing she missed the most it was her bed. The university had
such hard beds. She felt it in the pit of her stomach again,
that black tar, as she thought about lying on a bed.
"Okay, Kaori," she muttered, looking for her address book.
"Maybe you put it down." She found the book in the back of her
nightstand drawer, next to her broken Mickey Mouse wristwatch.
She flipped through the book, chuckling at how haphazard
everything had been written. When she reached Masao's address,
she realized why she'd written it down in the first place. A
large scribble: "Mailbomb the bastard!" accompanied by an
overly cute doodle of something with fangs and horns flipping
off an imaginary Masao.
The handwriting suggested this was one of the first
entries, from back when she bought the book. That was fifth
grade; she hoped the phone number was still good. At the very
least, she hoped she could track him down.
Kaori paused, considering her newfound determination to
talk to Masao. 'He probably hates me for what I did at the
party, anyway.' But, she looked at the phone, and back at the
number, and felt something different in her stomach. That
feeling, the opposite of what she'd felt for so long now. She
couldn't quite describe it. Not simply excited or happy,
because it was neither in full. Not entirely nervous, because
she'd dealt with him before. She could take him or leave him,
she decided. It was like those feelings, but different.
Her hand shook as she picked up the receiver and dialed.
After three rings, she could feel her pulse quickening, and her
breath held fast in her lungs, barely squeaking as she asked the
maid if Masao was in.
"I'm sorry, miss, Master Ishiki is currently on campus."
"Oh." Kaori didn't know whether to be relieved or
disappointed. "Umm..." Her conscience divided again, half
screaming for her to stop. She ignored it guiltily. "Umm, do
you have his number on campus?"
"Yes, miss." She recited the number slowly, and Kaori
wrote it down, scrawling nervous pencil marks below the entry in
the address book.
"Thank you very much. Goodbye." She hung up quickly, and
exhaled hard, falling back on the bed. Rolling over on her
stomach, her knees on the floor, she looked at the entry in the
address book and circled the new number.
"Here we go." Kaori picked up the receiver again, and
began to dial.
Satoru stretched as he lifted his head from his Discrete Math
homework. It was simply too much. Even with all this time to
think it through, all the problems just came up again, the same
as when he tried to figure them out the first time, only worse.
"I just don't get it," he sighed.
Ichiro smiled, looking up from a book he'd been reading.
"Don't worry about it. You've got an 'A' in the class anyway.
One assignment won't kill you."
"It's not that... say, why are you still here, anyway? I
thought the pizza had disappeared an hour ago." Satoru lifted
the lid of the pizza box resting at Ichiro's feet on the bed,
just to be sure.
"I know you went to a lot of effort to get a dorm room to
yourself, but..." He left the rest of the sentence go unsaid.
"Anyway, you were going to vent about Kaori. Please, continue."
Ichiro let his eyes fall back to his book.
Satoru chuckled, "I'm that predictable, huh?" Ichiro
nodded and closed the book, resting his gaze firmly on Satoru.
"All right. I just thought... I don't know. I thought maybe
it'd work out, you know? I thought maybe we'd be able to get
closer. I mean, no one can say they know how she feels, but we
all know she's letting this get to her more than she should.
And I thought..." He sighed again. "I thought maybe being her
friend for so long would count for something when it mattered.
She's making me feel like we're just acquaintances."
Ichiro nodded solemnly, but didn't say a word. There was a
palpable silence between them, weighing the air down with a
seriousness very unusual for a room so often the nexus of
everything light-hearted within the tight group of friends
Satoru had grown close to.
"I'm sorry." Satoru slid his office chair away from the
desk, shaking his head slowly. "This math homework is giving me
a headache anyway. Let's do something."
"That's a suggestion I can't pass up," Ichiro smirked. "Do
you have anything in mind? A rave? A little mid-week bar-
hopping perhaps? Oh! I know! We could get Yumiko's Fashion
club together for a game of strip poker!"
Satoru had to laugh. Normally, he'd never let himself fall
into one of Ichiro's thinly-veiled attempts to drink and
carouse, but tonight... tonight felt a little different. "I'll
leave it up to you."
For a moment, Ichiro paused. With a look of worldly
ambition, only just being held back by worry for his friend, he
grinned. "You sure you want to say that?"
Satoru looked back to his desk. In the corner, half-lit by
a fluorescent light, was a blurry, smiling Kaori. Creased and
warped by sun and too much time since it was taken, it was
itself an artifact of an artifact, a decaying representation of
a Kaori that didn't seem to exist anymore.
"Satoru?" Ichiro leaned back on his heels, biding his time
while his friend considered the worn photo. "Should I call
Yumiko? Maybe a third would stir the old pot a little more,
hmm?"
"I don't know. I mean, we're two single guys, right?"
"...Right. You're right. Two single guys." Ichiro wanted
to slap his forehead. He wasn't helping things. "Alright
then," he started over. "Let's get the train on the tracks,
shall we? I heard there's a party in the second basement of the
chemistry dorm. This crazy DJ from one of the big clubs downtown
is doing a favor for his little sister." He nudged Satoru in
the ribs and grinned. "I know a couple girls in Chem 352 that
would eat you up." He lingered on the last three words as
Satoru gathered his coat and keys, and headed for the door.
As he locked the door behind him, Satoru chuckled. "Two,
eh? I don't know how I could handle just two."
"Oh ho! That's the spirit!"
"So, let's say you said two hundred."
"You, sir, could give Caligula a run for his money.
Provided he was still alive."
"Oh, but of course." As they exited the dorm building,
Satoru felt the bite of winter on his face, and he zipped his
coat up to the top. "I suppose if he were, he'd be a DJ."
Ichiro nodded sagely. "Nobody becomes a DJ for the money
and prestige. It's all about the female companionship. And
those easily-transferable skills."
Satoru chuckled. "Let me guess, good with the hands?"
"The subtle art of bringing an LP to climax has been sought
after by many a young DJ. But, it is a skill best left to the
grand masters." Ichiro led the way, marching confidently
through the maze of streets to the Chemistry dorm building. As
they approached, two large shadows stepped forward to block
their approach.
"I'm sorry, sir," mumbled the first, his voice so deep
Satoru felt it in his chest more than he heard it. "We cannot
let you approach the building without some proper
identification."
Satoru began reaching for his wallet, but Ichiro put his
hand on Satoru's shoulder. "That's not what they mean, I
think." Ichiro grinned and produced a pencil from his pocket.
The other, larger silhouette, handed him a clipboard and waited
as Ichiro quickly scribbled.
"There you go." The larger man retrieved his clipboard and
conferred with his partner. A tense moment passed, and Satoru
began to wonder if Ichiro hadn't blown their chance.
"What'd you write on the clipboard?" he whispered.
"I'll tell you if I'm right."
Another moment passed, the two hulks apparently studying
the clipboard carefully. Finally, the smaller one spoke.
"Him?" He pointed to Satoru.
Ichiro nodded. "Him."
"A month?"
Ichiro nodded slowly, his smile ripped from an old Jedi
knight.
"Dial 1578 at the front phone. Someone'll let you in."
"Thank you, sir," Ichiro smirked. He and Satoru passed
unhindered to the front entrance of the building. At the door,
the low rumble of dance music could be half-felt, half-heard.
"So? What'd you write?" Satoru asked anxiously as Ichiro
dialed the number on the phone keypad. It rang once, followed
by a loud click of the phone being hung up.
Ichiro grinned, and whispered, "It was the chemical
composition of Ecstasy."
Satoru's jaw went slack.
"I told you, this is a Chem department party. Nobody
outside the department is supposed to be allowed in." The front
door clicked as the automatic locks snapped open.
"So, why did they let me in?"
"Simple." Ichiro moved to the door as it opened, seemingly
on its own. "I also wrote the phone number of a guy I know who
has enough of it to keep this party going for a month."
"You gave them my number?"
"Nah, I gave them Masao's number. He'll probably be
knocking on your door when they ask for Ichiro's friend."
Ichiro paused. "Actually, our two friends back there will
probably come knocking on your door when Masao gives them your
number... does he know it? Ah well. Regardless, you'll
probably be just fine. I'm sure they'll understand it was all a
big accident." With that, Ichiro disappeared into the darkened
building.
Satoru shook his head. "What did I get myself into?"
Jogging to catch up to his friend, he entered the dorm building.
10:45 PM.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Kaori muttered. It was
too late now, she reasoned. She'd asked and he said okay.
There was an undertone in his voice, though, something she
hadn't expected. Something that betrayed his attempts at snide
nonchalance.
Kaori had raced through her closet to find something to
wear. She searched and rejected a number of outfits, most of
which she'd let sit when she moved back home. The whole process
was commented upon; her conscience nagged her as she primped.
Finally, she gave up, and put on an almost-black pair of
slacks and a smart slate gray blouse that hung loosely over her
frame; she noted calmly then how much weight she'd lost over the
last month. Slipping on a pair of canvas sneakers, she felt an
odd, half-familiar satisfaction. She unbuttoned her blouse to
the third button, letting it slide back and off her shoulders,
revealing the straps of her bra. As an afterthought, she rolled
up her slacks to mid-thigh, smiling at how not wearing socks
showed off her ankles.
"Tomboy flirt strikes again," she chuckled. She looked in
her desk drawer, but couldn't see her perfume bottle. She
didn�t think she'd thrown it away, but knew that, in the haze of
the last few weeks, anything was possible. She dug again into
the back of the drawer, feeling the hard plastic edges, and
indifferent rubbers of mechanical pencils and notebooks, school
supplies that didn't have any meaning right now.
As the tips of her fingers came to the cool smoothness of a
glass surface, she knew she'd found it. She wrapped her hand
around the tiny bottle and brought it forward, feeling the
plastics scratch at her knuckles jealously.
She brought the bottle to her nose, and sniffed cautiously.
"I haven't worn this in years," she mumbled. "And now I'm
wearing perfume for Masao?" The perfect irony of it made her
grin a little. "Maybe I should become a novelist instead of a
musician."
She removed the cap and tipped the bottle on a fingertip.
Two quick strokes on her neck, one on each wrist, and one over
her sternum. "Let's see if he gets that far."
She heard the doorbell, and almost dropped the perfume
bottle. Her hands suddenly shaking, she put the cap back on the
bottle, and grabbed a floppy baseball cap from on top of her
dresser. She tried it on quickly, and nodded.
"That'll do."
She descended the stairs slowly, suddenly conscious of the
possibility of tripping and cracking her skull on the tile at
the foot of the stairs. As she neared the foyer, the doorbell
chimed again, a polite reminder that he was actually standing
there, that she was actually going through with it.
"Coming!" she called, a few feet from the door. She took
an extra moment at the door, her heart threatening to leap from
her throat. She two deep breaths, and opened the door.
"Okay, Masao, I'm only going... to... are those flowers?"
She saw them, and in the biting air filling the foyer, could
smell the sweetness. But it just didn't register. "Y-you
bought me flowers?"
Kaori looked up just in time to see the expression Masao
had held for a number of moments. A nervous smile, almost shy.
She watched it disintegrate like a sand castle as he rolled his
eyes and exhaled hard. "No, I bought them for myself. Here."
He shoved the roses into her hands, and started walking to the
car. "I don't know why I got them, so don't ask, okay?"
His back was turned, so she stole a quick inhale, lingering
on the fragrance. She grinned at his attitude; at least he
hadn't changed any, and at least she knew how to deal with him
when he was like that. "Why would I ask that? You probably
stole them, you cheapskate."
The steady thump of his stereo poured from the open door of
the black Alfa Romeo as she opened it, and climbed in. The car
perfectly reflected Masao; she could almost hear the car's
engine talk about itself as if it were the only reason anyone
was born with ears. To his credit, Masao drove reasonably, and
Kaori started to comment on it, but realized her voice was being
drowned out by the rumbling of his stereo.
'It's just as well you don't say anything,' she
rationalized. 'Save your ammo for when it counts.' She sat
quietly in the middle of a hurricane, and wondered where it was
taking her.
"Don't worry." Masao's voice was suddenly clear, and it
took her a second to realize he'd turned off the stereo as he'd
started talking. "I'm not... going to try anything stupid."
Kaori looked at him with a sudden curiosity. He stared at
the road, the light traffic blinking red and glowing white in
the other direction. She felt almost anthropological, but
caught herself before she started staring too badly. "I--"
"--Let me talk." His voice regained it's normal knife-
edge. He turned his head, expressing an apology Kaori never
expected. She looked down at her flowers and tried not to feel
guilty. "I'm sorry, Kaori."
"It's okay." She managed a whisper, and considered it a
victory.
"No, I mean, I'm sorry for everything."
Kaori found herself wishing it'd rain, so she'd have
something to look at on the windshield other than traffic and
the city. She felt suddenly dry in the mouth and cold in her
extremities. "Masao... stop it, please."
"No, it's time I told you--"
"--Stop it, Masao." Kaori looked out the window, shifting
her body as if she were trying to push herself through the door.
"I don't want to hear it, especially from you."
She heard a tiny 'click' followed by the familiar pounding
of Masao's subwoofer as he cranked the music back up. She felt
herself push back into the bucket seat as he sped down the on-
ramp to the outer line.
"I feel like blowing off some steam," Masao commented
coolly above the music. "If you don't mind. You don't mind, do
you, man-thing?"
Kaori smiled; he was mad, but at least he wasn't feeling
sorry for her. "I don't mind at all, half-wit." She glanced
over, and thought she saw Masao smile a little as he stamped on
the gas pedal.
It was like descending into an earthquake. Taking the stairs to
the second basement, Satoru and Ichiro stepped more cautiously
as the music threatened to rumble the ground from beneath their
feet.
"Now I can see why they have these underground," he
commented, louder than he normally would have to, to Ichiro.
Ichiro nodded in reply, his grin evident even from behind.
"Nothing beats a good all-nighter. You'll be pleasantly
surprised, I think." His voice rose above the din, barely
audible as they approached the second basement door. A
terrifyingly large man, one who would dwarf the two guards
outside, stood in front of it, arms crossed. Satoru pulled
Ichiro aside for a second.
"This isn't right, Ichiro. What's with all the huge
guards?" He spoke plainly, and his voice floated like a
battered whisper through the noise.
"Well..." Ichiro looked only slightly embarrassed.
"There's a little thing about getting caught. If we do, we're
expelled. No bones about it. Everyone in the room will get
written up and tossed out."
"WHAT?!"
"Don't worry! That's what our hired muscle is for."
"What if our hired muscle gets paid more by the faculty to
shut us all down?" Satoru was feeling the early stages of
panic. 'Run, you fool,' he thought. 'This is insane!'
"Ah, but, the faculty can't conjure up perfect chemical
substances like creatine or anabolic--"
"--forget it. I don't want to know any more than I need
to. Let's just do this."
"Trust me. I won't get you expelled."
Satoru smiled suddenly; it surprised both of them. "I
know, Ichiro." He patted Ichiro on the back, and started towards
the hulk, who nodded like a monk and slowly opened the door.
"Let's have some fun with this tonight."
The blast of saturated air flushed Satoru's face, and he
was already sweating by the time he took off his jacket for the
girl running the closet. She handed him a ticket and winked.
"First time?" She yelled with a certain control Satoru had
never heard before. He nodded dumbly and motioned to Ichiro.
"I'm with him."
At that, the girl laughed once, silent in then raging force
of the dance music, but easily visible. "Watch yourself with
that one," she grinned. "He'll get you into trouble so fast,
you'll never know what hit you!"
Satoru grinned back, hoping he looked cool. In the swirl
of colored lights, he finally saw her outfit. His jaw went
slack as his mind processed the fishnet and semi-sheer fabrics.
Before he could fully recover, she gave him a look somewhere
between self-conscious and flirtatious.
"I'll take that as a compliment, kiddo." She turned to
take another coat, and disappeared into the darkness of the
make-shift closet.
"Let's go, my virginal friend," Ichiro slapped Satoru on
the back, and pushed him gently along. "It is time to earn your
wings!"
The crowd of people filling the second basement was already
dense enough to eliminate any possibility of polite movement.
Every step they took bumped Satoru into one party-goer or
another, even as Ichiro managed to dodge between the tightly
packed bodies.
Satoru looked at the tag he was given. "Number 231," he
repeated to himself. He flipped the tag over, half-hoping the
girl had left her phone number.
"Don't bother with Misia," Ichiro commented, watching
Satoru examine the tag. "She's not your type anyway." He
started walking ahead of Satoru, grabbing Satoru's sleeve to
keep him in tow. "This is where you want to be."
It was like watching a galaxy from the inside. The dance
floor was a dense core of bodies shoved up against each other,
writhing in time to the beat, mingling sweat and skin. The glow
of phosphorescent sticks only solidified the impression in
Satoru's mind.
At the core, the beat reigned; there was no other sound, no
talking, no singing along, only movement and the beat. Satoru
realized as Ichiro dragged him closer to the center that he felt
the beat more than he heard it; it was loud, to be sure, but
after a few minutes in the basement, his ears had closed most of
the sound off. Now, he could feel it rattling in his chest. He
felt oddly impressed with it all.
As he reached the center of the dance floor, Satoru felt
himself being compressed as innumerable bodies dance up against
him. He saw very little from the floor, except the occasional
face, eyes closed, living inside the music. In the darkness and
explosive loudness, Satoru realized he had only one sense left,
that of touch. Slowly, he let the rhythm of the people
surrounding him take over, and he started to dance.
"Enjoying yourself?" Ichiro's voice, a yell at his ear
that sounded like a distant call, brought Satoru's eyes wide
open. Satoru turned to his friend and nodded.
"Great! Now, it's time to meet a nice girl and dance!"
"Umm, what if they're all taken?"
"I'll find you a nice single girl, then!" Ichiro craned
his neck, and looked around. "Wow, look over there!"
Satoru stood on his toes. When he saw who Ichiro was
pointing at, everything seemed to pause for a moment. "Oh wow,"
he managed to himself.
She was dancing by herself next to the DJ's podium, short
haired and lithe, smiling, but definitely alone. 'She looks a
little like Kaori,' he thought, 'back when she was happy.'
Satoru smiled and nodded his thanks to Ichiro.
"Don't give up until you get her number!"
Satoru laughed to himself, and pushed his way towards the
DJ's podium. He felt like he was scuba diving; the podium was
only twenty feet away, but he wasn't tall enough to see over the
dancers, so progress was slow. He paused regularly to get on
his toes and look at the girl, who seemed almost too content
being alone.
"What would she want with me, anyway?" he wondered to
himself. But his pride caught him before he gave up. 'Get her
number,' he repeated to himself, chanting it in his head like a
mantra. With a quick inhale, Satoru rocked back to his heels
and pushed his way to the podium.
11:18 PM.
The oversized engine screamed as Masao pressed his foot
harder on the pedal. Kaori could see the concentration on his
face, and the smooth motions of his arm as he shifted. She felt
the force of acceleration hugging her body to the leather seat,
keeping her captive as the highway blurred in front of her. She
caught in his eye the same intensity she'd seen in jazz
pianists. This car was his piano. Suddenly, Kaori didn't feel
so uncomfortable. She wanted to make conversation again, but
figured talking while he was driving that way wasn't a good
idea. But when she looked at the speedometer, she changed her
mind; he had to slow down.
"Um, Masao," she attempted, "can you slow down a little
please?"
Masao grinned, something in his expression malicious.
"Have you ever been highway racing before?" The road was a wash
of colors, but nothing remained in focus, except for one car, a
, speeding just in front of them.
"You're not going to race this guy, are you?" Everything
on the car in front of them looked customized and extremely
fast. Even the exhaust pipe looked like it could beat them in a
race.
"Yes, my dear Kaori, I am." With that, he turned on the
high beam headlights, and flashed them at the car. The car
pulled to the left half a lane, and Masao accelerated beside it.
"Oh my god." She felt herself smiling as a nervous
reaction, her hands clutching the handle atop the passenger
window.
"Hold on," Masao chuckled. "This could get rough." Masao
gunned the accelerator, and the race was on.
11:20 PM.
"All right," Satoru spoke to himself, his voice barely
audible in his own head. "You've made it this far." He looked
to his right and saw her, eyes still closed, body still moving
like water to the music. He wasn't sure, but suddenly the bare
beat had been joined by an inaudibly low melody, one that had
sneaked up on him while he was thinking.
"Hey Itoe, how would you like your eggs in the morning?"
Satoru turned; a willow-thin man who must have known the girl
had started dancing beside her.
"Go away, creep." Itoe's first words of the night reached
his ears, youthful and melodic. Satoru smiled; she was just as
strong as Kaori.
"Come on, baby, let's go have a nice cup of tea!"
The dance hall moved in slow motion as the man grabbed Itoe
by the arm, and pulled her to him. The room became suddenly
claustrophobic as Itoe struggled, her eyes making contact with
Satoru's. For a moment, everything was quiet, and everything
was still. He would remember nodding an affirmative, as if to
say "I'll rescue you," but he would never be sure if he actually
managed something so cool, because the memory would seem too
much like a dream to be real.
"Hands off, buddy!" Satoru grabbed the man's shoulder, and
pulled him back, separating him from Itoe by a few inches. He
heard the man cry out in pain, and saw Itoe grinding her heel on
the man's shoe.
Itoe managed to escape her captor's grip, and rushed behind
Satoru, holding on to the back of his shirt. "Let's get out of
here."
Satoru looked back. "Are you okay?" Itoe looked at him,
her eyes wet and sparkling, and nodded. Satoru smiled, and
nodded back. "Okay then, let's get out of here."
He never heard the metallic ring a switchblade makes, nor
did he hear the crowd gasping. But when he heard Ichiro yell
his name, Satoru knew something was terribly wrong.
The blade connected, stabbing into his side as he turned to
face his attacker. He felt the scrape of metal against bone,
and a wave of nausea. His last, blurry vision before he passed
out was of Ichiro and the bouncers wrestling the man to the
ground, and the tears in Itoe's eyes as she kneeled over him,
telling him it would be okay.
Kaori wanted desperately to close her eyes, but didn't dare. 'I
want to see the car or van or truck or whatever we're going to
run into and die because Masao is driving like a maniac racing
some professional with his look-at-me-I'm-really-rich import
sports car!' She felt her lungs tighten, her own mind causing
her to hyperventilate.
Masao looked calm, to his credit. The pro was taking the
curves well, but the Alfa Romeo was hanging with him well
enough. "These races last for only a few miles," he commented.
"If I can beat him to the fourth off-ramp, I win."
"G-g-great. What do you win?"
"I'm not sure, I've never done this before."
"WHAT?!"
Masao laughed and shifted again, the speedometer pegged at
250 kph. The engine was no longer singing, but screaming in
pain as the pro began to pass them. Kaori saw Masao's
expression go suddenly dark, and he leaned forward, as if it
would help speed his car along.
An off-ramp flew by, and Kaori wondered if she should have
called Masao. 'You're such an idiot.'
The pro was half a car-length ahead of them, holding
steady, but still accelerating past them. Masao growled,
strangling the steering wheel.
"Masao, let it go!" He had to stop now.
"That motherfucker!" He started to say something more, but
his voice descended into a growl.
Another off-ramp flew by.
"Masao!"
"Shut up, bitch!" Masao yelled through clenched teeth. He
yanked his arms left, swinging the steering wheel like it was
fighting back. Kaori's eyes widened; her pupils dilated. She
grabbed Masao's arm.
"MASAO!"
She heard the engine, a held note, discordant, for what
seemed like forever. She saw the shower of sparks, like
fireworks on New Year's. They looked beautiful in slow motion,
but somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it wasn't
supposed to be this slow or this enjoyable. Kaori felt the
other car resist them, the shock an arm feels after pushing
someone to the ground. Painful, but satisfying. The world
slowed even more as she watched the pro's car grind against the
guard rail, then suddenly swerve and jump in front of them.
It wasn't until Masao's car hit the pro's car again that
life moved at normal speed. In the split-second between the
motion and stillness, Kaori felt herself wanting to cry. But
she didn't have time. She saw the limp body of the pro, his
head leaning on his steering wheel, a silhouette against the
street lamps, and lost consciousness.
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