Whee! The revised First Half! And the second half should be there now, or
in a few seconds.
REAL BIG IMPORTANT MAJOR NOTICE!!!!!! - There are intentional cutoffs
in the following story. These are done for effect. There is nothing wrong
with the message. Please return to your homes and stay calm. Thank you.
I feel it only fair to warn people. This is not a humorous story. It
has a couple scenes that I can only classify as ugly. If you don't
like that sort of thing, or you have a rather weak stomach, don't go
any further.
That said, I'd like to impress upon people that this ISN'T intended
as a tragedy. It has far more in common with "Money" than "Lies" :
a dark tone is used, but as the motivator for the plot, not the plot
itself. And there's at least a decent chance of a happy ending.
Thank yous go to Harvey Griffin, for his information on the use of
a certain object, and Matt Trotter, cuz he dedicated one for me. Bet
yer sorry now, eh Matt?
Author's notes appear at the end, so as not to give anything away.
As always, I love getting C&C, and it's especially important for
this one. I'm just not cut out for gloom. ;-)
S M O K E A N D M I R R O R S
by Mike Loader
based on characters and backstory by Rumiko Takahashi
Howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones!
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so
That heaven's vault should crack...Lend me
a looking-glass....
- King Lear, Act V, Scene 3
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create....
- T.S. Eliot, Prufrock
Morning. The sun slowly climbed across the sky, as night
reluctantly made its exit. Birds, feeling the warmth of a new day,
burst into triumphant song. Lights on the corners flickered, then
died, as if realising that they couldn't compete with the father of
illumination. Windows were unfastened, doors flung open. The buzz
of humanity, that murmur of noise and movement and purpose and
life, rose, swelled, and established itself for another day.
Morning in Nerima.
To the casual observer, the Tendo Dojo seemed to be a tranquil
place. The gardens and archetecture, seen by the newborn light,
gave one an impression of serenity. An island of calm in a bustling
city.
This, of course, is a very stupid thing to think.
And yet, that morning, the thought seemed almost justified. The
precise lines of the garden were unmarred by a dueling boy and
panda. Shouts of "BAKA!" and "KAWAIIKUNE!" failed to be heard. No
one was causing any kind of a stir at all.
The casual observer would smile, and enjoy the sense of order
and calm the dojo brought about.
Anyone who knew the dojo would realise that something was
horribly wrong.
* * *
Ryoga winced.
Dr. Tofu noticed his discomfort, and chuckled. "If you two keep
fighting the way you do, you can expect this kind of thing to
happen." He finished the stitching, and began to pack up his bag.
Ranma had been observing the whole proceedure with
uncharacteristic silence. "We'll be more careful, Doctor."
"It talks!" Tofu studied the boy. Normally he would have taken the
Ranma's unusual lack of energy as a sign of guilt at having hurt his
friend. Yes, Tofu thought, friend, though neither of the two would
ever admit it. Despite Ryoga's melodramatics and Ranma's baiting,
they now fought more for the sheer enjoyment of it than anything
else.
While Tofu had often seen the two bruised and battered as a
result, Ryoga's current wound was a bit more serious. The boy's
shoulder had been ripped open, requiring stitches. Strange, though -
it wasn't a knife wound, and you didn't get that kind of cut from a
punch... And Ranma didn't seem apologetic so much as worried.
Ryoga gingerly moved his arm, grimacing as he did. "Thanks,
Doctor. You did a good job on it."
Ranma pointed towards the kitchen. "Why don't you have Akane
get you something to drink? Kasumi's gonna get back from her
seminar today." He gave a knowing grin. "I'm sure she'd be glad to
see you."
Tofu's professional demeanor melted like an ice cube in a blast
oven. "Y-you think so? Me? See me? Her?
"The kitchen, Doctor," Ranma said gently.
"Kitchen! Yes, Kitchen. See me?" He wandered out of the room,
glasses already beginning to show signs of fog.
"Thank you," Ryoga whispered, "for waiting until he was done to
tell him."
Ranma gave a short bark of laughter. "Kasumi's nice and all, but
to have that kind of affect..." He shook his head. "You can find
copies of her in homes across Japan. Dutiful, hard-working, kind,
dull."
"You forgot oblivious."
"I think that's unique to her." Ranma's face darkened. "Are you
sure you're okay?"
"Fine. The bullet just grazed me." Ryoga's eyes belied his casual
attitude. "You think it's connected to...?"
"Of course," Ranma replied. "Unless you know of anyone else who
would send a sniper after us." He glanced around, the tension he
was feeling being to show. "Damn them. If it were a fair fight,
open, man-to-man, that would be one thing. But this underhanded
stuff is something else. I've been imagining a gunman on every roof
since last night. It's this waiting, not knowing was they'll do next;
hell, not even knowing _who_ they are. "
Ryoga shrugged. "It they try again, we'll be ready for them. At the
very least," he said, fatalistically, "we should take a few of them
with us."
Wonderful, thought Ranma. He didn't learn anything from last
night. When the next attempt comes, he'll charge into the fray,
waving that stupid umbrella. Only next time they might have better
aim. "Ryoga, I don't WANT to take anyone with me. I don't wanna go,
period. If it looks like we're outclassed, we run. It's that simple."
In the background, the doorbell rang.
"Okay. I see your point. But if I get ju
* * *
Akane's morning had been eventful. First Ranma and Ryoga came
charging in at three in the morning, Ryoga with a huge cut of some
kind. She had tried to find out what happened, but they both just got
all serious and insisted it was nothing. Right, nothing. They had
been jumping at shadows ever since they got back.
Then Doctor Tofu stopped by. He said that he had just come to
tend to Ryoga, but he had asked her a few times about when Kasumi
would be back. Akane had done her best to give uninformative
replies; the last thing poor Ryoga needed was to have Tofu in a
blissful fog. Kasumi is lucky, she thought with a trace of
bitterness. I wish I had that affect on certain people.
And here he was, stumbling into the kitchen with his glasses
misted. Someone had probably informed him of Kasumi's imminent
return. Akane slumped a little. Lord knows Ranma would never act
like that at the mention of her name. Not, she thought hastily, that
she'd ever want him to.
The doorbell pealed. Akane stood up, and began to walk into the
hall to answer it. Maybe Kasumi had gott
* * *
Nabiki awoke, the faintest trace of a smile lighting her face. She
had dreamed about _him_, and the memory of it was still fresh in
her mind. It was going to be a beautiful day. Photos to sell, deals to
make - she paused, the smile becoming broader - and a dream to
make reality. One of these days.
She climbed out of bed, stretching and rubbing the sleep from her
eyes. The doorbell rang, probably Kasumi getting home from her
seminar. It had been a while since Kasu
* * *
Ukyo skipped along the road, humming to herself. This was a great
idea, she mused, going over to Ranchan's. With Kasumi gone, Akane
will probably be cooking breakfast. And that, for all of them, is a
fate worse than death. Ukyo grinned happily. And then I show up,
and offer to cook breakfast. Ranchan will be sooo grateful.
She couldn't understand why he hadn't gotten sick of Akane. The
girl couldn't cook, yelled at him, actually HIT him. If she really
cared about him, she should be more considerate. I would never hit
him, Ukyo firmly decided. I would rather cut off my hand.
She sighed, her good mood fading. Ukyo could cook, she
appreicated him, she didn't abuse him. Why did he seem so drawn to
Akane, for whom the exact opposite was true? Maybe she was doing
this wrong. Maybe playing hard-to-get was what worked on
Ranchan. If so, this visit probably wasn't such a good plan.
No, she thought. This was the only real chance she had. Hard-to-
get is fine, but she doubted she was that good an actor.
Looking up from her reverie, she realised that she had passed the
dojo. Feeling mildly embarrassed, she walked back along the street
and up the front walk. At the door, she paused, adjusting her
clothing. After making sure everything was in order, she rang the
bell. Ukyo hoped he liked the dress; she ha
* * *
Saburo enjoyed his morning walk. He had a set route, and followed
it with unfailing regularity. He did it for many reasons; the
exercise, the fresh air, the scenery. But the main reason for his
walks was that he loved being in the middle of Nerima's bustle.
Take the Tendo dojo. He loved this leg of his walk, he was
virtually guarenteed an interesting sight. Mostly it was just a fight
between Ranma and the old guy (his father?), but other days a more
unusual occurance would unfold. Saburo chuckled; after one
particular day, he had needed to make an effort not to stare at
Akane when he passed her in school.
Just to be on the safe side, he always walked on the opposite side
of the street from the dojo. Like most of his schoolmates, he had no
desire to get caught up in one of the endless battles Saotome and
Co. always seemed to be engaged in.
Today, he seemed destined to be disappointed. The dojo was quiet.
No screams, no fight, no...
Wait a minute! Saburo spotted Ukyo Kuonji, the owner of that new
cafe, approaching the dojo. She was looking rather distracted, not
to mention a bit nervous. He grinned ruefully; everyone knew that
she had her heart set on Ranma Saotome. A pity, that. He'd made a
few attempts to flirt with her, back when she first arrived. Strike
one, two, three, look somewhere else.
She was adjusting her dress, probably more as a way to mentally
brace herself than anything else. Saburo thought it looked good on
her, blue was definately her color. Ukyo rang the doorbell, and
Saburo idly wondered who would answer it. He'd be halfway down
the block before anyone did, probably...
The world exploded.
Saburo was only dimly aware of the wave of sound and heat that
hit him with the force of a sledgehammer, throwing him through
the air like a wet rag. He landed hard in a bush, and blacked out for
a few seconds.
Holding his head, he feebly struggled to his feet. The wave of heat
struck him again, and he staggered, moving his arm over his face to
protect his eyes. He stood there for a few seconds, and then,
slowly, turned to stare at the other side of the street.
The dojo was a seething mass of flame and rubble. Bits of
board and concrete lay strewn across the street, along with a few
pieces of blazing, mangled furniture.
This is a bad dream, Saburo though numbly. This kind of thing
doesn't happen here, only in the Middle East, or America. Not
Nerima. Something wet and sticky ran into his eyes, and he
cuirously wiped at it with his hand. I'm bleeding, he thought, seeing
the red stain on his palm.
A low gurgling noise from the bushes to his right drew his
attention. He stumbled across somebody's lawn, now looking like a
scrap yard, and peered around the hedge that the noise was coming
from. He stopped dead.
Ukyo Kuonji lay there, arms and legs flung at an impossible angle.
The dress that Saburo had admired was no longer blue, but a
nightmare of black and grey and slowly spreading crimson. Her face
and arms had been charred by the blast; blacked and peeling skin
covered her. A milky white fluid slowly made its way down from
one eye in an obscene trickle.
The gurgling, though, was the worst. It meant that she was not
only alive but conscious.
Saburo stared, aghast, and then doubled over and began to vomit.
In the distance, sirens began to be heard. He prayed that they would
get here soon, oh God, please let them hurry. The notion that he
would have to go a different way from now on meandered into his
thoughts.
His stomach empty, he forced himself to approach the smoldering
body. "You'll be fine," he stuttered, aware of how uncertain the
words sounded the second they left his mouth.
Ukyo twitched, and the gurgling grew louder. Saburo stumbled
back, an irrational desire to somehow silence her building within
him. He would be hearing that noise in his dreams for the rest of
his life, he knew.
He turned and walked away, slowly at first, then quickly. The
dojo was still burning, although the flames seemed to be dying a
bit. I hope no one was inside, he thought. He knew there had been,
though.
A crowd had begun to gather at the end of the street. Saburo could
see the first of the ambulances turning the corner, followed by a
police cruiser. He waved his arms frantically, relief washing over
him.
* * *
"You didn't see anyone else around?"
Saburo sighed. They had been asking him the same things over and
over, while the paramedics and firemen sifted through the rubble.
Ukyo had been quickly rushed to the hospital, but the ambulances
were still needed.
They were bringing out bodies.
Saburo wanted to leave, to go home, to go anywhere else,
somewhere where he didn't have to carefully avoid looking at the
horror in front of him. He had gotten a brief glimpse of a leg being
carried out, and had again been violently ill.
"No. I told you, I had just arrived, all I saw was Miss Kuonji walk
up to the door. That's it."
"And what were you doing here?"
"I was taking my walk. I do it every morning. Please, can I..." He
stopped. Someone was pushing their way through the crowd, moving
towards the dojo. A woman, it looked like, in an yellow dress.
Kasumi Tendo. She must not have been inside. Oh God, the poor girl,
he thought. Pushing past the policeman, he ran to where she stood,
staring at what had been her home.
"Miss Tendo, please, don't look," he said gently. "Come with me."
He took her by the arm, leading her away towards the police
officer. Kasumi made no attempt to resist. She said nothing, and
her face was flickering between expressions, as if trying to find
one that could convey what she was feeling.
They took her into an empty ambulance. It was some time before
she spoke.
Saburo had definitely been surprised whe the first thing she said
was, "Oh my!"
* * *
CORONER'S REPORT--------
NAME: Saotome, Genma
AGE: 46
CAUSE OF DEATH: Crushed skull.
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23
IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Saotome, Ranma
AGE: 16
CAUSE OF DEATH: Severe burns, damage to internal organs
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23
IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Tendo, Soun
AGE: 43
CAUSE OF DEATH: Severing of left torso, massive trauma
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23
IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Tendo, Nabiki
AGE: 17
CAUSE OF DEATH: Massive burn trauma.
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23
IDENTIFIED BY: Dental records
NAME: Tendo, Akane
AGE: 16
CAUSE OF DEATH: Burns, severing of lower body, massive trauma.
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23
IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Ono, Tofu
AGE: 24
CAUSE OF DEATH: Burns, destruction of chest cavity
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23
IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Hibiki, Ryoga
AGE: 16
CAUSE OF DEATH: Massive trauma, smoke inhalation.
TIME OF DEATH: 9:32 AM, 5/23
IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Kuonji, Ukyo
AGE: 16
CAUSE OF DEATH: Severe burn trauma, internal injuries.
TIME OF DEATH: 4:36 PM, 5/23
IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: "John Doe"
AGE: Elderly
CAUSE OF DEATH: Massive burn trauma
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23
IDENTIFIED BY: Unidentified
* * *
Kasumi looked over her new apartment, and tried to smile.
The weeks since the bombing had passed in a blur, hours running
into days with a nightmarish sense of unreality. But the seconds
seemed to last for centuries.
...Walking through the long white sterile unending hospital to the
cold freezer room draped with frost, as the doctor spoke
meaningless sentences. They had pulled out the bodies, one by one,
and she had named them. Nabiki wasn't there, and Kasumi had hoped,
had allowed herself to believe that maybe she hadn't been inside.
But the doctors, so unlike poor dear Tofu, had just pointed toward
two closed metal drawers, and said that they would have to check
the teeth...
...And then the task of confirming Ukyo's identity before they
wrapped her like a package and took out the tubes and turned off
the machines that hadn't really done any good in the end and the
nurses walked off to the next bed saying that it was really too bad
but not really feeling it and then they removed the body and then
they removed the linen and then they removed Kasumi...
...The funeral, standing with a small knot of Hibikis and Kuonjis
and one madly sobbing Ono as the caskets, mercifully closed, were
lowered into the ground. The birds, oblivious to everything but the
warm sun and fine day, had sang their hearts out as the first
shovelfuls of earth was tossed into the gaping holes. She had just
stood there, wishing it were over and yet afraid to go, because that
would mean they would really be gone...
...Listening to the nice polite well-dressed almost sympathetic
young man who told her about the life insurance and, why, it's all
yours, as you are the sole surviving heir, which means you get the
stocks investments property (damaged but insured) money your
father was very thoughtful see how much he left you? She had
taken the money that the almost sympathetic (almost) young man
had given her, but had inside felt angry at him because daddy was a
person not a check of yen but wait he wasn't anymore none of them
were and you're the sole surviving heir and money is money (waste
not want not) and your father would be glad to know you're being
taken care of...
...Saying goodbye to Mousse, Cologne, and Shampoo, who were
going back to China. Poor Shampoo wasn't quite herself, and they
hoped that leaving Nerima would help. For a second the wild idea to
go with them flashed through Kasumi's mind, but instead she
smiled, and wished them well, and hoped to see them again, and
helped them close down the Nekohanten for the last time...
...Shopping around for an apartment, having the managers remind
her that "If you're living alone you won't need as much space,"
finding a four room that she finally has no real reason not to rent.
Kasumi had then bought furniture, heavy pieces that wouldn't break
easily (but there was no reason for them to break now), dishes (but
only a few, for herself and the possiblity of guests who she
supposed might visit one day), a stove, pans, books...
And so now she had everything inside, and my goodness, there
was an awful lot of work to be done.
So she arraigned the furniture, and shelved the books, and swept
the dust from the floor. The work was the key, Kasumi knew. She
had discovered this after Mommy left, that if you did the work the
pain went away. Just sweep the floor, and pick up the messes, and
above all else don't try to think about a certain person who was
gone forever.
But in a way, Kasumi felt her mother was still around. After all,
everything that she had done still happened, because Kasumi
_made_ it happen.
Daddy and Akane had martial arts, and Nabiki had her deals. But
Kasumi had carried on her mother's work, and had made it her own.
The ease at which she had put aside her grief had amazed her, and
she had suddenly realised, in one of those great strokes of insight
that the preachers and madmen speak of, that as long as the work
was done nothing truly bad would ever happen again.
But it had.
And so she threw herself into the work, moving and arraigning
and sorting, telling herself that she would enjoy it here, trying not
to think about the absence of her family.
They were gone. They were never coming....
Stop it, she chided herself. Look at those clothes, all wrinkled
and untidy! They need to be ironed.
And so she got out her new board, and her new iron, and plunged
into the work. And then the clothes were finished.
Emerging, she looked around the apartment. Everything was in
place, everything was clean. No more work.
"How silly of me!" she said, surprised at how loud her voice
sounded. "I almost forgot about dinner!"
Walking over to the new stove, Kasumi was suddenly seized with
uncertainty. What should she make? All mother's recipes had been
for more than one person...
And the only person she had to cook for was herself.
In the end, she made herself some rice and vegetables. Putting
them in her new bowl, she sat down at the table and began to eat.
The ticking of the clock in the corner seemed to grow louder and
more rapid as she dined, and she paused to get up and disconnect it.
After she had finished, she carefully washed the bowl, dried it,
and put it back on its place in the cupboard.
And then, it was all done.
Kasumi walked, uncertainly, over to the wardrobe she had bought
the other day. Surely there was some arraiging that needed to be
done.
There wasn't.
They were gone. She would never see them again.
Stop that. Don't think about it. The work....
She would never see Ranma and Akane finally do what everyone
but them knew they wanted. Never pick up the dirty plates, or bake
them cookies, or listen to their problems. Never hear them shout
those ridiculous battle crys that they all took so seriously, or
watch them eat the food she made, or listen to the fights and the
arguments and the stammered apologies that were really
something more.
Poor, silly, wonderful Tofu would never try to explain something
in his awkward way. Never tell her what he had obviously wanted to
tell her, and what she had secretly wanted him to say.
No one would call her "Oneechan", or need her.
No one. Never. Ever.
With a cry of pure rage, Kasumi lashed out, sending her foot up in
a whisling arc into the wardrobe, cracking the door. The old
techniques, from before Mommy left, surged up, washed over her,
swept her along. Screaming like a wounded animal, she pummeled
the hard wood, feeling it crack under her blows but not caring.
And then, there was nothing to hit. The wardrobe lay on the floor,
nothing more than kindling. Blinking, panting, her hands raw and
bloody, Kasumi stared with dull eyes at the wreckage.
Then she fell to the floor, curled herself into a ball, and softly
wept.
* * *
She wound up at the dojo, at about eight in the morning.
The constuction crews had yet to clear away the rubble, and the
bomb experts had already gone over the mess with a fine tooth
comb. The sight was roped off, but no one watched over the
property. Kasumi stepped over the rope, and began to make her way
across the rubble.
Every once and a while she would stop to pick something up. A
fragment of vase. A half-melted teacup. A dented pot, the one she
used for making soups and stews.
About halfway across the wreckage, she found something else.
A mirror.
The Nanban mirror.
It lay there, gleaming in the cold dawn, half buried under a heap
of ash and rubble. It was cold to the touch, she noticed, digging it
out. Except for a hairline crack, it seemed to have come through the
inferno in one piece.
How, she wondered. She thought of the answer an instant later: It
was magical. Happosai had certainly proved that. It let you travel
through time and space.
Kasumi regarded her reflection in the mirror, surprised at what
she saw. This couldn't be her, could it?
This couldn't be her home.
This couldn't be.
She turned away. Her purpose was clear. She would succeed. She
had Work to do.
A single tear, the last one she had left to give, fell upon the
smooth, cold surface of the mirror.
"Nanban Mirror, take me to last May 21st, in front of the Tendo
Dojo."
A cold wind swept through the rubble, blowing scraps of wood
and paper across the street. Kasumi was not there to feel it.
_____________
End of Part One