Ink and Ashes

by Valynne E. Maetani

  Mom closed her eyes. A tear trailed down her cheek.

  “We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die,” Parker chanted.

  “Shut up!” Avery growled.

  Another five minutes or so passed as we sat quietly, each of us in an anxious world of our own. Dad opened the door, startling all of us. His gun had disappeared and his expression had changed from stressed to annoyed.

  “It’s safe,” he said. “Whoever did this is gone.”

  I STOOD UP on shaky legs.

  Parker groaned as he got up. “I just hate when someone lights your tree on fire in the middle of the night as a prank and ruins your beauty sleep.”

  Avery jumped to his feet and gestured to Parker. “There’s not enough sleep in the world that can fix that.” He pointed at his own face. “On the other hand, beauty like this comes naturally.”

  Parker took a playful swipe at Avery, but Dad pulled him back. “Parker, go get the hose and start spraying the tree in the front yard,” he said. He gave Mom a quick kiss after helping her up from the kitchen floor. “Everything’s secure outside. We’re not in immediate danger. You can stay here with Claire and Avery.”

  Parker followed Dad to the front of the house, with me at their heels. If Parker was going, I wasn’t about to be left behind. The large oak tree by my window was a fountain of orange and yellow on the side of the tree closest to the street. Flames lapped up the tree and along the branches.

  The fire hadn’t made it to the house yet but would get there soon if we didn’t do something. A fire like this could light up the whole neighborhood given the right wind conditions. Parker grabbed the hose and turned on the water as high as it would go.

  On the porch below the window to Dad’s office, music blared from wireless speakers and a cheap MP3 player, the song I had heard as I came down the stairs. My hand trembled as I stopped it from playing. Who would know that this song was part of my childhood? A chill pierced deep, down to my bones.

  “Spray the house first, so it’s wet—it’ll catch less easily that way,” Dad said, “and then focus on the flames closest to the house.”

  Parker aimed an arc of water at the roof, but glanced back in the direction of the fire. His eyes shifted to the ground. “Dad, what’s that?” Parker asked, pointing the hose.

  At the base of the tree was a silhouetted lump that looked like a partially charred body. Parker’s face blanched as the realization came over him as to what it could be, then rocked on his feet. “I don’t think . . .”

  He passed out, his shoulder thudding against the grass.

  “Dammit, Parker,” Dad muttered.

  As Dad went over and picked up the hose from Parker’s limp hands to finish spraying the house, sirens rang from down the street.

  I pointed to the body. “What is that?”

  “It’s not real.” He changed focus from the house to the tree, sweeping the hose from side to side, shooting water as high as possible to reach the flames.

  A wave of relief swooped through me. I walked down the porch stairs to get a better look. At the edge of the grass, I crouched and squinted at a mannequin, its feet pointed in my direction.

  “Don’t get too close,” Dad warned. “These branches could fall.”

  Leaves and wood crackled above. The tree had to be over fifty feet tall, its branches shading half our yard. I knew it was just a tree, and I should be grateful nothing more significant had caught fire yet, but seeing the billowing smoke rise from the blaze made me choke up. I’d grown up climbing its branches and playing underneath it. Our garden hose couldn’t put this fire out.

  Though Dad wasn’t able to extinguish the fire, he kept the flames from getting to the house.

  Forrest ran over to me, dressed only in his boxers. He grabbed me by my arms. “Is everyone okay?” His parents stood on their front lawn, and other neighbors had come out of their houses to see what had happened.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” I said, shrugging. I mean, I was physically okay, but tonight my world had shifted.

  Forrest shook his head. “You’re not fine.” He dropped his arms. “What about Parker?”

  “He’s a pansy.” I bent down. “He fainted when he saw this.”

  Mom came out onto the porch and called, “George, what’s going on?” The glow of the ambulance lights as it arrived danced across her face. Her gaze dropped from the fire to Parker on the ground, and she screamed. “Is he dead?” Mom collapsed next to him and cradled his head in her arms. “Parker’s dead!”

  The ambulance screeched to a stop in front of the house. Two paramedics jumped out and ran to where I stood.

  “It’s only a mannequin,” I said. They turned their attention to Parker on the ground. Dad handed me the hose, told me to stand well back and keep spraying. Then he went over to Mom and grabbed her by the shoulders, stood her up, and moved her aside so the paramedics could take a look at my brother. “Parker just passed out,” he said to her. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  Mom disappeared into the kitchen, then came back and started patting Parker’s cheeks with a warm, wet towel. The paramedics kept asking her politely to move out of the way but she took every opportunity to insert herself when possible.

  A minute later, the fire department arrived with a police car right behind them, so I stepped aside. A lump formed at the back of my throat when I saw the same police officers who had been at our house earlier step out of the car. Why did Officer Schwartz have to be one of the officers to respond? Hadn’t we already been through enough? Hopefully he would take this situation more seriously than he had the break-in.

  “You can leave the hose here, just in case,” one of the firemen said to me. I let the hose fall to the ground, and Forrest and I went to sit on the porch swing.

  The fireman talked briefly to Dad while the others attached their big hose to a hydrant. They moved with choreographed efforts, suffocating the fire systematically.

  After what seemed like a long while, Parker started to moan. With the help of the paramedics, Mom took him into the house while Officer Schwartz talked to Dad. Forrest and I sat on the porch in silence, entranced by the colorful glow as the heat blew over us. It took about half an hour, but the firefighters got the flames under control. They continued to spray it, though, to be sure it was completely out.

  Why was all of this happening? How was everything connected? When I considered the eyes and music, I couldn’t help but think this was all tied to my father.

  “Someone broke into my room,” I said in a soft voice.

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? What did they take?”

  Though the break-in had happened only hours ago, it seemed like a lifetime had passed. I gave him the details, tremors forging a manic path through my body and voice as the weight of everything sank in. Forrest reached over and took my shaking hand, tethering me and my urge to run and never look back.

  An hour passed before the fire was completely extinguished. As firemen canvassed the lawn, they found what looked like bits of garbage and part of an aerosol can, which helped them determine the fire was started by a small homemade bomb and fuse. I overheard one of the firemen tell my dad the bomb was most likely supposed to set the mannequin’s head on fire, but the explosion shredded the rope and catapulted the body to the ground.

  I slid my hand out of Forrest’s and stepped down the porch stairs to see what I’d been thinking was a body. On the ground lay a female mannequin wearing a black long-haired wig, sections of it singed to the scalp. She had a rope tied around her neck like a noose, the end of which was black and frayed from the fire, and parts of her plastic face and neck were misshapen and melted, dark smudges all over the body. Above me was the other half of the rope, knotted around one of the charred branches, barely hanging on.

  The round policeman stopped talking to Dad and called over to me in a sharp voice. “Don’t even think about touching anything.”

  Dad’s brow quirked, and the corners of his mouth turned d
own.

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  I didn’t realize Forrest was behind me until I heard him curse at the officer under his breath. I kept my distance from the fake corpse, but walked close enough to get a better look.

  The mannequin lay on its side and wore a white soccer jersey with the word Ravens written across the chest and matching shorts, which matched our team’s uniforms. The back of the jersey was emblazoned with the name Takata, written from shoulder to shoulder, and the number three below it. Both shirt and shorts were marred with burn holes and charred edges. “I guess I know what was stolen from my room.”

  Ice ran through my veins, numbing my body. That mannequin was supposed to be me. Me. All the events and information and questions seemed to slip into quicksand the more they churned in my head, swallowing the thoughts and leaving only thick sludge behind.

  “What the hell is going on?” Forrest muttered to himself more than me.

  It had been too long a night.

  After Dad pointed out the MP3 player, Officer Rodriguez put it in a plastic baggie and wrote something in black marker. Dad invited the police into the office and told me to follow.

  A chill set on my skin. Forrest guided me up the porch steps, his warm hand at the small of my back. I glanced down to where the MP3 player had been. The music haunted my thoughts. Was this only the first song on the soundtrack to my nightmare?

  Not far from where the player had been was something round like the wooden counters used on an abacus. I picked it up and held it in my palm for Forrest to see, but it was just a button. The wood had bright gold and dark brown striations. The grain and patterns looked similar to the koa wood used on my father’s funerary urn. It was common in Hawaii, but a rare wood here and easy to recognize. Most likely it was from one of Dad’s Hawaiian shirts. I put it in my pocket so Mom could sew it back on for him.

  “Since it’s closer to morning now, I’ll probably sleep past noon tomorrow,” Forrest said, “but call me even if it’s for no reason in particular, and I’ll come right over.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Dad hollered for me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Forrest shivered and ran his hands up and down his arms to keep warm. “I’m serious. Don’t worry about waking me up if you want me to come over.”

  I nodded and went inside.

  Dad called for my mom to join us in the study, and gestured for both of us to sit in the chairs when she arrived. The officers stayed by the door.

  “Claire, can you tell us anything about what happened?” Dad asked.

  Before I could ask him why he thought I’d know anything, Officer Schwartz interrupted him. “Sir, we’ll ask the questions,” he said. “Can you tell us anything about what happened?”

  Dad’s face went tight.

  “Is something funny, ma’am?” Schwartz asked.

  “No.” I hadn’t been smiling. Between their accusations earlier that I made my bedroom look like someone broke in, just to get attention, and this guy’s attitude now, I had a feeling he’d dismiss it as a prank, even though it was clearly arson.

  “No nothing’s funny, or no you can’t tell us anything?” He puffed out his chest and adjusted his belt.

  I folded my arms, wondering why they thought I would know who did this. “All I know is the mannequin out there is wearing a soccer jersey stolen from my room, probably when someone broke in tonight. Which you already know happened.”

  “Oh this is awful. Just awful,” Mom said to herself.

  Officer Rodriguez walked to my chair and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Do you think this is a prank? We take arson pretty seriously, especially when it’s this dry.”

  “There’s a guy named Chase Phillips at my school who doesn’t like me, but I don’t know if he did this.” Chase had been at the house, but would he have gone this far just to get back at me? If this was a prank, it seemed too elaborate to be carried out by anyone who went to school with us.

  The police officers asked some more questions and even more questions when I told them about the eyeballs. Why eyeballs? Was there a possibility that someone from outside of the school could have had access to my backpack? When did I notice my uniform was missing? Did the song have any personal significance? What reason would someone have to target me? For over an hour, I answered them the best I could, but exhaustion swept over me, and my eyelids drooped.

  When we finally finished, Officer Schwartz shook his head. “Boy, someone really doesn’t like you.” His mouth released a short whistle. “Well, we’ll investigate, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be an ill-humored prank.”

  Officer Rodriguez held out her hand. “What Officer Schwartz means is that we consider arson, as I said before, a very serious matter. Depending on the damage done, this could be a third- or even second-degree felony, so please let us know if you think of anything later that might be helpful.”

  Mom thanked them and showed them out, but Dad stayed behind. Once we were alone, he shut the office doors.

  “When did you get home?” I asked.

  “I turned around right after your mom called about the break-in and caught a midnight flight straight back.”

  “I don’t know if I think Chase did this,” I said. “He’s the only one I can think of who would even think to do this kind of thing, or want to hurt me, but I don’t know when he would have had the opportunity to break in to my room. And I don’t know if it would cross his mind to draw on Japanese culture to terrorize me, but I guess we should consider everything.”

  “I’m not sure I believe he did it either.” He clenched his hand into a fist, and his eyebrows drew closer. “We used to sing that song to you when you were younger and you had a hard time going to sleep.”

  “I remember.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know if your father ever sang that to you?”

  “I think he did, but—” I sighed. “Sometimes I don’t know if the things I remember are really my memories, or if they’re things I think I remember because Mom’s told me about them so much, or if they’re ideas I make up because it’s what I would have wanted to happen.” I bit at my lip. “Why do you ask?” And how would whoever did this to us know about that song, anyway? There couldn’t be that many kids at my high school who knew the Japanese melody. Not even Fed.

  He gritted his teeth, then relaxed his jaw. “The pieces don’t make sense, but we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  DAD WOKE ME up earlier than usual the next morning. I moaned and pulled the comforter over my head, pleading late-night arson interrupted my sleep. He lifted the blanket off my face, unsympathetic. “Meet me in the garage in five minutes.”

  I grumbled, but I got out of bed and changed into a tank top and shorts, expecting more self-defense practice. I’m sure all the moves we went over every Saturday were beginner’s stuff, but he still insisted we practice.

  In the garage, the cars had been backed into the driveway, and a padded mat had been placed on the concrete. Dad was at the punching bag. His hair might have been peppered with gray, but I was proud of the way he kept himself in great condition. Beneath his white T-shirt and navy jersey-knit shorts were well-defined muscles.

  “Where are the boys?” I asked.

  “I thought we’d spend some one-on-one time.” He stopped punching. “They’re cleaning up the front yard.”

  What he meant: the boys hadn’t gotten boxes like I had.

  We both moved to center of the mat. Dad put his hands on his hips. “What are the parts of the body where you can do the most damage?”

  By now, I knew this as well as the alphabet. “Eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knee, and legs,” I said.

  “What parts of the body are most effective for inflicting damage?”

  “Elbows, knees, and head.”

  He nodded. “Today I want to practice choke holds.” He faced me and placed his hands around my throat. I put my right hand on his esophagus, extending my arm to push off him as I took a step back with m
y left foot and twisted my body in the same direction to break free.

  “What’s another way you could break the hold?” He put his hands at my throat again.

  In one continuous move, I swung my right arm up and across both of his arms and used the momentum to keep rotating counterclockwise until my back was at his chest. Then I was able to direct my left elbow backward to his face. “Good,” he said. “Let’s do that a few more times, and then we’ll practice a choke hold from behind.”

  “So where were you?” I asked as we went through the moves.

  “Phoenix.”

  “What’d you do there?” I swung my arm and broke his hold.

  “Same old stuff,” he said. “I had to check out an international antiques distributor to see if it’s a worthy investment.”

  I raised a brow, unable to stop curiosity from beating out reason. “What’s the name of the distributor?”

  “The Copper Cactus.” He dropped his arms. “What are you really trying to ask me?” His eyes narrowed, and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  “I don’t understand why something like that would be such an emergency,” I said and twisted my body. “Seems like you’ve been gone more than usual lately.”

  “That’s the job sometimes. When it comes to finance, everybody’s in a hurry. And when you’re dealing with people who have a lot of money, they expect you to be on their schedule even if it’s not during usual business hours,” he said. “Okay, let’s practice some from behind.”

  Throughout all my questioning, he had answers for everything even when I thought I might catch him off guard. He never flinched. I realized I probably had been paranoid over nothing and let the subject drop. I would, however, check my GPS app later to make sure.

  We practiced the same moves over and over again until Dad was satisfied.