Martin and Serika followed suit, leaving rice and fruit on the altar. Their fathers then approached the altar and made offerings of their own as representatives of the two families.
The bride and groom completed the ceremony by exchanging rings.
“We thank the gods Izanagi and Izanami for this union,” the priest said, invoking the names of some of Japan’s earliest gods.
Martin and Serika kissed. They then turned around to be presented to their families who erupted with cheers and applause. Martin drank it all in; his life was absolutely perfect and he would live happily ever after. He didn’t use to believe in fairy tales, but damned if he wasn’t living one.
Serika took his hand. He knew she believed in the dazzling future ahead just as much as he.
15
To say things were good for Martin McDonnell would be an hilarious understatement. He had been made happy beyond his wildest imaginings. He slowly began to accept the teachings of Shintoism, and they increasingly etched their mark on his soul.
However, it later seemed to him like he had racked up a bill at the world’s best restaurant, and eventually it came time to pay up. That all happened one particular night in October.
He came home to their apartment. Something bad had happened, and as he drove home, the sense of outrage had only grown.
“Welcome home,” Serika said as he walked through the door. She came over and kissed him. For the first time, the affection was not returned. “What’s wrong?”
He took a look around. For a while the apartment had been filled with sick and injured animals, mostly cats and dogs she was taking care of as practice to become a full-time vet.
“Are these things still here?” He had never spoken to her coldly before.
“Yeah,” she said.
He spoke again, his voice verging on a growl. “It’s against the rules. We could get in a lot of trouble. You think I like the stink of all these sick animals, some of whom have shitty bladders?”
He almost never swore and she picked up on it. “What’s wrong?”
The rage continued to grow. “I can’t stand all these animals! I want them gone!”
But Serika McDonnell had never been excused of being stupid. “What’s really going on? Something happened at work, didn’t it?”
He dropped onto the couch and massaged his temple. “You work hard at a job you need to support your family. Then one day they say to you, ‘Sorry, we have to lay someone off and you’re the weak link at this company, so goodbye.’”
“I’m so sorry.” She sat down beside him and tried to embrace him, but he pushed her away.
“I… I can’t right now,” he said. One of the cats started crying and it set him off again. “Shut up!” he screamed.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I know this environment isn’t good for you right now. I’ll do something about the animals in the morning.”
“Lot of good that does me right now.”
She frowned. He thought she was losing her patience, but she shouldered on. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I have a headache. Get me something for it.”
She grabbed her keys off the wall. “I’ll head to the pharmacy right now. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
* * *
An hour passed with no word from her. The pharmacy wasn’t far from the apartment. He wondered if she was angry with him and cooling off somewhere. He didn’t blame her; now that he had had time to calm down, he realized how terribly he had treated her. Once she came back he would apologize and show her the love he had denied her.
There was a knock at the door. He opened it, and a black man in a police uniform stood there. “Hello?”
“Martin McDonnell?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Officer Stephens from the Oklahoma City Police Department. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.” He calmly explained the love of Martin’s life had been hit by a truck and was dead. Martin didn’t believe it; he thought Serika had put someone up to this to get back at him. But the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. She wasn’t the type to do such a thing, and Stephens assured him that wasn’t the case, however much he wanted to believe it. That only left one chilling possibility.
People often say bad news hit them like a punch to the gut. A cliché for sure, but in that moment, Martin became a grim believer. Such trauma can’t be described; it can only be experienced. Martin had never experienced such desolation, such hopelessness, before. Even as they raced to the morgue, he tried to convince himself it wasn’t true, but something in the back of his head told him the bill of his life was now due.
* * *
The morgue was a cold place, sterile and metal. Macabre chambers lined the walls like mouths feeding on the dead. Martin prayed to the various Shinto deities he wouldn’t find Serika in here.
They were met there by a man in a white coat named Dennis whom he took to be in charge. Dennis took him over to one of the chambers on the wall and pulled it back, revealing a figure covered in a white sheet. “I’m only going to show you a little bit,” Dennis said.
He pulled back the sheet, revealing an achingly familiar face. Martin reeled back, overcome by revulsion and another punch to the gut. Half of Serika’s face was gone, replaced by a crimson mask. “No! That’s not her! It can’t be! She’s not…” He broke down and let the tears have their say.
“I know it’s hard—” Stephens started.
“What do you know!? Huh? Have you ever lost anyone?”
Stephens ran a nervous hand through his hair and looked away.
Martin collapsed to the floor, both hands over his face trying to keep the world out and the tears in. He failed at both.
“We’re still investigating. Don’t worry; we’ll find the bastard that did this,” Stephens said.
Martin didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the fact his entire world had just been destroyed. No matter who they caught, it wouldn’t bring Serika back.
* * *
The next week was spent in a drunken blur. Martin was only sober when he had to help plan the funeral. Serika’s parents had to have noticed, but they didn’t say anything.
Per Shinto tradition, twenty tasks had to be performed for the funeral and burial rites. Deviation was not allowed. Martin, in his fugue state, was only aware of a few of them. The body had to be cared for in a very specific way, the apartment had to be purified, offerings had to be made, a wake had to be held, etc., etc. In an ironic twist, they got the same priest who had performed their wedding to do the miserable business at hand.
Serika’s body was cremated according to Japanese custom. Martin had to pick the bones from the ashes with chopsticks and give them to her parents to be put in their own urn. He got wasted for that one because he just couldn’t deal with it otherwise. The idea of picking through the ashes of the person you loved more than any other made him physically ill. Later on, he realized this was probably sacrilege, but it was the only way for him to deal with it.
Shinto tradition declared all this had to be done quickly, and so it was. Everything was finished in less than a week. They had the funeral service within a few days. It was nice, based on what little Martin could recall of it. In the present he was ashamed of himself for having been so weak; Serika never would have been that desolate and miserable. He had failed her in both life and death.
Once everything was done, he thought he actually had some hope of moving on. That all changed when he got the autopsy report. His stomach twisted in disgust and horror. What Serika had gone through on the night of her death would stay with him forever. There was no escaping, no forgetting, what happened to her because of him.
He was right about to stop reading when his eyes fell upon a certain paragraph that stopped him cold. It mentioned a fetus, about two months old, that died with its mother that night. Martin was a father and he’d had no idea. He lost all control of his tears as he dwelt upon the family that
would never be.
* * *
“And now you know,” Martin said.
For a moment, they sat there in silence. Finally, Betty said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Weren’t you listening?” he asked. “I sent her out to be killed. Her death is on me.”
She shook her head vigorously. “You’re wrong. It’s all the hit and run driver’s fault. You had no way of knowing what was going to happen.”
He sighed. “A lot of people have told me that since she died. Maybe they’re right. It does sort of line up with what’s been happening recently.”
“What do you mean?”
He took a drink of his beer. “You asked me how I knew everything would be all right. It all has to do with Serika. I used to think she hated me for that night. But now I think she’s protecting me. She stopped my car and shielded me from that explosion. It means she forgives me, still loves me.”
“Oh,” Betty said. She sounded disappointed.
“I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
She tossed her bangs aside. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve liked you for a while now.”
“I like you, too.”
Betty shook her head again. “I don’t mean just like. You’re kind and have an amazing strength you don’t like to show. You trudge through each and every day, but you never let it overcome you. You’re like a superhero.
He rolled his eyes affectionately. “Heh. A superhero. I don’t know what to say to that.”
She checked her watch. “Crap, it’s getting late. I have to go. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Sure,” he said.
He walked her to her car. When he came back inside, his mind was racing with the possibility of what might happen in the near future. Could this be…? Did Betty actually have romantic feelings for him? Could he actually become happy again?
Despite his best efforts, for the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope.
* * *
A giddy Serika returned to Yomi. Daniel Fargas had been successfully processed and no one was the wiser as to his true cause of death.
In her quarters, she gleefully thought back to the punishment she had inflicted on him. She had experienced an epic orgasm during the bastard’s ordeal which rocked her to the core. So that’s what it takes now, she thought. What would Martin think if he saw me? She wouldn’t need to ponder that much longer; she already had her next assassination attempt planned out. This one would destroy him for sure. Upon returning to Yomi, she had spied on his conversation with Betty. Serika then realized the bitch was the key to ending Martin’s life on Earth once and for all.
All it would take was one visit to the library.
Friday
16
For the first time since this all began, Martin slept soundly that night, confident Serika was watching over him from the afterlife. The killer would surely strike again, but Serika would be there to safeguard his life. They would not win.
As he did every morning, he began the day the Shinto way. He awoke early, washed his face and rinsed his mouth in order to purify his mind and body. This enabled one to start the day feeling pure.
In addition to the butsudan he had erected in memory of Serika, he had a proper Shinto shrine (called a kami-dana) above it. This consisted of a shelf high up, and on the kami-dana was a small circular mirror which acted as a sacred object called a shintai which housed the kami chosen by the worshipper. Martin could never decide which kami to worship, so he just imagined all his ancestors in there.
On either side of the shintai were little lanterns and a sprig of sakaki which he had imported.
And, finally, running above and across the shelf was a straw rope (shimenawa) with paper pendants.
Martin placed a small bag of rice as an offering before the shrine, made a slight bow, followed by two more substantial bows. He then offered a silent prayer: I pray for the soul of Serika. May she find happiness in the afterlife. He made two more deep bows, two claps at chest height, one more deep bow, the slight bow again, and then he was done.
Thus finished, he headed to the kitchen area for breakfast.
* * *
All Shinigami were expected to begin the day the same way Martin had, but Serika had long since abandoned all forms of kami worship. These were, after all, the same shitheads who had let her suffer an agonizing death. The kami weren’t all powerful, and they certainly weren’t doing what Serika had in life been taught that they do—namely, watching out for people.
Not that she was watching out for people. But at least she didn’t really believe the crap they spouted about compassion. She knew damn well what she was all about, and it didn’t involve strangers. If she didn’t know someone, she didn’t give a damn about them.
No, her morning ritual was different. Upon entering her office, she opened up the small compartment and removed the glowing orb. She could feel it calling out to her. She knew what it wanted.
She stroked it lovingly. “You want to be whole,” she said. “You were denied, but fear not; as soon as I kill Martin, we’ll all get what we want.” She listened intently, half-convinced she could understand it. “Oh, don’t worry. He might be upset at first, but he’ll soon understand why I had to do it. He’ll even thank me. And then this craphole will become a paradise.” She realized her mistake. “Oh, sorry. Language.”
She allowed herself a small giddy laugh before putting the orb back in its compartment.
* * *
In order to carry out the latest assassination attempt on Martin, Serika needed a certain book from the Sekai Toshokan (World Library) located within the Bureau. Unfortunately, it was a highly restricted item, being kept inside a locked case most of the time. Her clearance wasn’t high enough to gain access.
But Mary’s was.
Therefore, Serika waited until Mary’s daily meeting with the higher-ups—which Serika knew would take an hour, at least—before sneaking into her office and swiping the key.
After that, it was just a matter of casually strolling into the library. Nothing to see here, people, just a responsible Shinigami looking to broaden her horizons.
The library itself, despite the name, really wasn’t that big, perhaps the size of a decent city library. It was, however, decorated with Japanese sensibility. It featured a polished wooden floor, paper doors, and the walls were decorated with Shodo (Japanese calligraphy) paintings inked with bamboo brush on rice paper. And, true to the rest of the Bureau, it featured very low tables one had to sit on the floor to work with.
Serika made her way to the back of the library where the locked case was. Her eyes were drawn to the characters prominently displayed above it.
制限された
“Restricted.”
She chuckled at this. Since when had rules ever stopped her from doing what she wanted?
She unlocked the case which contained a dozen dusty, ratted books, and selected the one she wanted: Lost Arts of the Shinigami. She then closed the case again, thankful that the whole thing was basically a windowless black box so a passerby wouldn’t see anything was missing.
Serika slipped the forbidden tome under her robes and returned the key to Mary’s office. She then made her way back to her quarters (it was too risky to have the book in her office) and sat down to read it.
There it was. “Body Possession.” Chapter Four. With this, she could end Martin and no one would ever know it had been her pulling the strings. She suddenly realized she wouldn’t even have to tell him it was her.
She dismissed the thought. No. He had a right to know the truth. Despite everything, she couldn’t lie to him about this. She would, of course, swear him to secrecy on his true killer. He would agree to that for her, no question.
She studied the technique. It was complicated, but nothing she couldn’t handle. It involved a modified form of astral projection into the unwitting host before commandeering their soul. Depending on the willpower of the victim, the hijacking could be very
short-lived. No matter; she only needed a minute to kill Martin.
Once she was confident she had the hang of it, Serika looked over the other techniques. No wonder they were forbidden. All could be used to wreak havoc. A person could do untold damage with just one of them.
She checked the time. Betty would be returning to Martin’s apartment shortly.
For the last time.
* * *
Martin smiled as he opened the door for Betty, hopeful his tragic past would soon be behind him.
Betty smiled as well. That’s a good sign, he thought.
“Thanks for letting me come back,” she said as she walked in.
“My pleasure,” he replied. He felt a bit of his old self returning. His old charming self who loved life and could get along with anyone.
“I really want to talk about… things.”
“Yeah.” He directed her to the couch where they both sat down. He didn’t know exactly how she felt about him yet, so he kept a respectful distance on the furniture.
She stared into his eyes. “I want you to know how I feel about you. I meant what I said yesterday. I think the world of you. I haven’t really been on a date in a while—the selection of men has been… shall we say… subpar?”
“It’s been different for me,” he said. “I haven’t even tried dating since Serika died. I always held myself responsible for her death, even though no one else ever did. Somewhere along the line I decided I didn’t deserve happiness. But recent events have changed my mind. Like I said yesterday, I think Serika’s somewhere looking out for me. She wants me to be happy. I thought if anyone would hold me responsible for her death, she would. But now I don’t think she does. It’s like a massive weight has been lifted and I can move forward.”
Betty nodded. “I’m glad you feel that way. It’s been hard watching you trudge through life like a scarecrow. All that time, I thought, he deserves someone who can make him happy. I can make you happy, Martin. Let me.”
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