“Me too,” Miho said.
“Are you going to be okay? When are your parents coming?”
“Not for a few days. But I won’t be alone. Sakura will still be here, and Kara too. And we’re going to have some teachers with us, I think, until we’re all gone.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you soon,” he said, hurrying past them down the stairs.
Miho watched him go, and then the girls continued up the stairs.
“So Sakura’s still out,” Kara said as they reached the third floor and moved toward Miho’s room.
“She has to come back eventually,” Miho replied. “I hoped we both could talk to her, but I can do it myself. Hopefully she’ll listen.”
Kara shushed her. They were passing by Ume’s room and slowed to a stop. In the otherwise silent dormitory, they could hear Ume’s voice very clearly.
“You don’t understand,” came the slightly frantic voice from the other side of the door. “I’m afraid. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. I need to come home today. You’ve got to come and get me. I’ll meet you in the city if I have to. I could leave my things here until I . . . No, please listen . . .”
Miho tapped Kara on the arm and gestured for them to continue walking. Kara was reluctant to go, but she didn’t want anyone to see her eavesdropping, so she continued down the corridor.
Though it had occurred to her that Sakura might simply not have answered Ren’s knock, Miho’s dorm room was empty. They entered and Miho locked the door behind them and turned on some music. Given how clearly they’d been able to hear Ume, this seemed a very good idea.
“She must have been talking to her parents,” Kara said.
Miho nodded, brow furrowed in contemplation. “Yes. And she seems much more frightened than the other students we’ve seen.”
“You don’t think she knows about the ketsuki?”
“I can’t imagine it. But Ume knows what really happened to Akane. She had to have been there. She knows the connection between the people having the nightmares—”
“Except for me.”
Miho nodded, leaning against her desk. “Yes. Except for you. Anyway, she knows Akane is the link between Jiro and Hana and Chouku, too. She’s afraid she’s going to be killed.”
“She’s a bitch,” Kara said, “but she’s not stupid.”
“Agreed,” Miho said. “All right, back to you. What I was saying outside is that Kyuketsuki . . . I mean, let’s just not bother talking about whether Kyuketsuki is real, okay? I think we have to believe right now, and if it turns out we’re crazy, at least we’ll be crazy and you and Sakura will be alive.”
“I’m with you,” Kara told her. The room felt awfully cold and she rubbed her hands together, then slid them into her pockets. The light, hooded blue sweater she wore under her jacket was not thick enough to warm her, but right now, it was possible nothing would do the job.
“If the folktales about Kyuketsuki come from something real, let’s think about the story. Maybe Kyuketsuki could be summoned in those days by sacrificing a cat, but she doesn’t just prey on the killer or abuser, she also kills the ones who summoned her. In the story, they share the blame, but maybe that’s part of the price of calling her up. Part of the sacrifice.”
“But I didn’t call her up!” Kara protested.
Even as she said the words, though, she could picture the cat slinking through the photos and flowers that comprised the shrine for Akane.
“You were there,” Miho said. “I guess that was enough.”
Kara saw it all unfold again in her mind, the red and copper fur of the cat emerging from the shadows and the flowers. She went to the window and gazed out.
“The shrine’s the key,” she said. “Think about it. Kyuketsuki gathers up the grief and anger of people who are mourning a murder victim and creates a ketsuki out of it. All of those notes and pictures and flowers, the stuffed animals, what are they except grief? Add Sakura’s grief and her rage . . . I mean, that’s the spot where Akane died. The shrine drew Kyuketsuki there.”
“Yes. It all makes sense,” Miho said, in a way that made it clear that she wished it didn’t.
“But what about the cat? I mean, I didn’t sacrifice it. The thing just walked across the shrine and dropped dead. Okay, maybe Kyuketsuki has the power to reach through and kill it, but the cat just happened to be nosing around the shrine while someone was standing there?”
“It could be coincidence,” Miho said. “Or maybe not. Most people don’t believe in demons anymore. Not really. Not even in Japan. They don’t even perform this Noh play anymore. Maybe Kyuketsuki has to find other ways to fulfill her purpose. Maybe she influenced the cat, drew it to her so she could create a ketsuki.”
Kara was about to argue, but then she thought of the other cats she’d seen, of the dreams she’d had in which so many gathered around the dead one, the ketsuki.
“Maybe,” she allowed.
The two girls were lost in thought for a few moments. Then Kara pulled her hands from her pockets and turned to Miho.
“How do we make it go away?”
Miho took a breath and then shrugged. “Take away its power? If grief and anger drive it, we’ve got to make those things go away to weaken it.”
Kara stared at her. “Meaning we have to get Sakura to let go of those feelings? That’s not going to work.”
“If we can’t figure something out—”
“You don’t have to convince me,” Kara interrupted.
“We could start by destroying the shrine,” Miho said. “Sakura would be so hurt, but if it means her life and yours, I’ll risk it. That might weaken it a little.”
Kara nodded. “Maybe enough for us to hurt it.”
“We have to do it just after dark. Hopefully no one will see us.”
“My father is never going to let me out, even if I’m with you,” Kara said.
Miho paled, face slack with sudden fear. “I can’t go alone.
I just couldn’t.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’ll find a way. I’ll sneak out. But then I have to go back. He’ll know if I’m not there at bedtime.”
“Which leaves me to watch over both Sakura and Ume tonight.”
Kara frowned. “Ume?”
“I don’t like her either, Kara, but we can’t just let the ketsuki kill her.”
“You’re right. I just wasn’t focused on her.” Kara pushed her fingers through her hair, thinking. She knew what this all meant but didn’t want to admit it to herself. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave you to do this alone.”
“You can’t sneak out all night,” Miho chided her. “Your father would notice. Not only would you be in trouble, but he’d come looking for you, and then he’d be in danger, too. No, we need someone else to help.”
Kara threw up her hands. “Yeah, that’d be nice. But can you think of even one person who wouldn’t think we were both insane?”
“Miss Aritomo?” Miho suggested.
“You saw her today. It’s only a story to her.”
“Ren might have believed me, or at least gone along with it because he’s a good guy, but he’s leaving.”
Kara smiled.
“What?” Miho asked. “This isn’t the time to tease me about guys.”
“I’m not,” Kara said. “But you just made me realize there is one person who might not think we’re crazy.”
Hachiro opened the door to his dorm room looking like he’d just woken up. He held his iPod in his left hand, one ear bud in place and the other dangling past his cheek. His Boston Red Sox cap was perched on his head, somewhat askew and a little too small for him.
Kara smiled. He looked ridiculous and adorable at the same time.
“Took you long enough,” she said. “Did I wake you up?”
The big guy gave her a sheepish grin. “I was listening to music. I didn’t hear—”
“Can I come in?” Kara interrupted.
Hachiro blinked. Girls weren’t allowed i
n boys’ rooms, but the school faculty had more things to worry about these days than kids breaking a few rules. Apparently, Hachiro felt the same way as Kara because he stepped back to allow her to pass him.
When she went in and sat on the edge of his bed, however, he left the door open. Apparently his sense of rebellion only went so far. But she needed the door closed.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, getting up again. “I thought you might have left.”
Kara glanced into the hallway and shut the door, then turned to him. Hachiro raised his eyebrows curiously.
“My father is coming tomorrow. I think the teachers are going to make those of us whose roommates have already left double up tonight, so nobody is alone,” he said, studying her, obviously wondering what she had in mind. “But I wouldn’t have left without saying good-bye to you, Kara.”
Despite her fear and nerves, she felt a few butterflies in her stomach. The sensation was very pleasant.
“I’m glad.”
“I wish you didn’t have to stay here,” he went on, then shrugged. “I’ll worry about you.”
Her smile faded and she took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to begin to explain why she’d come.
Hachiro saw how troubled she was, and his face narrowed with concern. “What is it?”
“It’s everything,” she said. Kara sat back down on the edge of his bed and Hachiro seated himself opposite her on his roommate’s bed. “I need your help.”
He opened his hands like a magician releasing a dove. “Of course. Just tell me what you need.”
Kara only wished it was as simple as he made it sound.
“First, I just need you to listen, and keep an open mind. And I need you to try not to be as terrified as I am.”
Hachiro blinked, taken aback. And despite her warning, he did look a bit frightened. But his eyes filled with resolve as he nodded.
“Go on,” he said.
“Okay,” Kara began. “I guess it starts with Akane.”
And she told him everything, all that she and Miho thought and suspected, all of her dreams and nightmares. When she related the details of the Noh play, she shivered as she recalled the image of Kyuketsuki’s mask. But it was her account of her sleepwalking the night before, of being lured outside, half-awake, and the glimpse she’d gotten of the real thing, that made Hachiro’s eyes widen.
When she finished, she took a deep breath and gazed expectantly at him. He seemed to be waiting for more.
“That’s it,” she said, throwing up her hands.
They exhaled together.
“You’re sure it isn’t just the sleep deprivation getting to you?” Hachiro asked, the question earnest rather than mocking. He asked as though he truly hoped she had been hallucinating.
Kara shook her head. “Miho’s been sleeping fine, mostly. Until last night.”
Hachiro took off his Red Sox cap, clutching it in his hands, working his fingers across the brim. He stared at the floor, brow furrowed.
“You don’t believe me,” Kara said, already trying to figure out how she and Miho could manage tonight without him. “I don’t blame you. If I were you—”
“I didn’t say that,” he interrupted, lifting his gaze. “It sounds like a story, not real life. But Jiro did tell Akane he loved her. And I know how furious Ume was, how much hatred she had in her. I’d never have thought Chouku and Hana and the others would go along with her, but her hold over them was strong. They probably just . . .”
He put aside his cap and ran his hands through his hair, emotion welling up in his eyes and making his voice hitch. “They probably didn’t mean to kill her. I won’t believe that.”
Kara didn’t share his sympathy. “Whether they meant it or not, Akane’s just as dead.”
Hachiro nodded. “I know. Just like I know they’ve all had these nightmares and that Ume’s terrified. Hana killed herself to make them stop. And Chouku . . . if her blood was gone, like Jiro’s . . . I don’t know if I believe you or not. I guess I need to see it with my own eyes. My mother says I’m stubborn that way.”
“But you’ll help?” Kara said hopefully.
“You knew I would,” he said, his voice dropping a bit. “Even if you’re wrong, it sounds like Sakura’s going a little crazy. Someone should keep an eye on her. And if you’re right . . . well, if you’re right, I may scream like a little girl”— they both laughed—“but if you’re right, that means you’re in danger. And I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Kara and Hachiro stood at the same time.
“You’re the best!” she said happily. On impulse, she moved forward and gave him a quick kiss.
Hachiro blinked in surprise, but Kara thought she might be even more stunned than he was.
She got over it.
Her smile faded and she swallowed, her throat dry, feeling suddenly nervous and more than a little shy. But she stepped closer to him, tilting her head back to search his eyes.
This time when Kara kissed him, Hachiro kissed back.
As night began to settle over Miyazu City—its lights glittering and the black pines of Ama-no-Hashidate like a scar across the bay—Kara, Hachiro, and Miho stood in the darkness of the woods that bordered the school grounds.
“We have to be quick,” Kara said, glancing anxiously over her shoulder among the trees. “I promised my father I’d be back by now. He’s going to be worried and angry.”
“And we’re supposed to be in the dorm,” Hachiro reminded her.
“I know, I know. All right,” she said, glancing at Miho. “Let’s get this done.”
They crept along the tree line toward the bay, watching the looming monolith of the school—only a few lights burned inside—and the driveway that ran out to the main road. Monju-no-Chie School sat slightly askew, facing northwest toward the neighborhood where Kara lived. Its northeast corner jutted toward the bay, and the eastern wall faced the woods. Unless someone looked out from the school itself, or came across the grass from the street, they would not be seen.
Or so Kara hoped.
Her skin felt flushed and her heart raced. A host of childhood images flashed across her mind, walks in the woods with Tammie Bledsoe and Jim Orton when they’d been sure they were being watched from the upper branches or from behind stone property marker walls; heading home after dark from Tammie’s house, cutting through neighborhoods of darkened houses and backyards. At eleven or twelve years old, she’d been certain that things waited in the dark to grab her. As she got older, she had realized how foolish such thoughts were.
Yet now that old certainty had returned.
“This is wrong,” Hachiro whispered.
Kara and Miho exchanged a glance. They were frightened and disturbed enough without Hachiro’s second thoughts. Kara reached out and took his hand, held it in hers as they kept walking.
“It is,” she agreed. “But it has to be done.”
“If you’re right,” Hachiro said.
Kara glanced at him. She really liked him, and it seemed important that he believe her for several reasons. As crazy as she knew all of this must seem, it hurt her to hear the edge of doubt in his voice.
“You don’t have to believe,” she whispered. “But unless you can come up with a better explanation for everything that’s happened . . .”
She let her words trail off, and Hachiro glanced away. They kept walking through the deepening darkness along the tree line, and at last he squeezed her hand. Kara looked up at him.
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Then we’ll have to live with this for the rest of our lives.”
Miho let out a long, shuddery breath. Her eyes glistened wetly in the dark.
In the distance they could hear cars on the street that led away from the school. Kara thought about her father, back at their little house. He’d be looking at the clock now, wondering where she was. Her cell phone felt heavy in her pocket; she’d turned it off, anticipating his call. If she took too long, he might
even start wondering if he’d lost his daughter the way he’d lost his wife, and Kara couldn’t let it go that far. She hated the idea of hurting him like that, felt sick to her stomach. But chances were good before the sun rose again, she would have put him through worse.
Unless she and Miho were just crazy.
But Jiro and Chouku had been drained of blood, and that didn’t happen on its own. Mysteries all had solutions; some of those simply weren’t acceptable to the people hoping to find them.
None of them spoke as they approached the shrine to Akane. No candles burned tonight on that small patch of grass, set against the trees by the bay. They stood in respectful silence for several very long moments. A girl had died there. Been murdered there. People she knew, some of whom she must have laughed and gossiped with, sat next to in class, had killed her, all because another girl’s boyfriend had fallen in love with her.
They stared at the yellowed, curling photos and the wilted flowers—no fresh ones had been placed there in a while—and the messages and stuffed animals. A Hello Kitty had turned brownish gray from the elements.
“Sakura will never forgive us,” Miho said, barely able to get the words out. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Kara thought she had it all together. She thought she had conquered her own fears and ghosts, the grief that lingered in her heart and in all of the darkest corners of her mind. But as she stared at the shrine—so much like a grave marker—and then turned toward Hachiro and Miho, her chest ached and her breath hitched.
“Do you think I don’t understand what you’re feeling?” she asked. Tears sprang from her eyes, shocking her, and her hands shook as she wiped them away. “I look at this spot and I think of someone doing this to my mother’s grave. My mother, Miho. I didn’t know Akane. That makes this harder for the two of you than it is for me. But Sakura talks about her sister coming back to life, and I wish she were right because if she were, that would mean that my mother could come back, too. It doesn’t work like that. This is a shrine to Akane. She died here, yes, but something terrible was born here.”
She covered her mouth with her right hand. Hachiro started to speak but she dropped her hand and continued.
The Waking Page 18
