The Waking (24 page)

“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 in 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.

“I know how awful what we’re doing is. But we’re not doing it to hurt Sakura. We’re doing it to save her and to keep anyone else from dying.”

Miho and Hachiro both stiffened.

Hachiro reached for her hand again. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“Tell that to Chouku. Her roommate was right there. Slept through the whole thing. The ketsuki gets what it comes for.”

Kara wiped her tears away and managed to stop more from coming. She steadied her breathing, but her heart still fluttered in her chest.

Hachiro glanced back toward the school and the road, then looked out toward the water, making absolutely certain no one was watching them. If anyone noticed them from the windows of the school, they would be caught and vilified by other students disgusted by their actions.

Miho stepped forward first. She dragged her feet the way Kara always did when her father raked leaves in the fall, moving through the candles and dying flowers and pictures in a path of destruction. With her heart in her throat, Kara joined her, and at last Hachiro helped out as well.

Quickly and quietly, they scattered the pieces of Akane’s shrine along the grass and among the trees. It took less than two minutes and when they were done, Kara felt sick.

“We have to get back,” Miho said to her.

Hachiro looked at Kara. “
You
have to get back.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Miho shook her head. “No. Hachiro has to walk you.”

“Yes. If it’s . . . I mean, the ketsuki has already come after you at least once,” he agreed.

Kara frowned at Miho. “What about you?”

“It hasn’t visited my dreams. I’ll be fine.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Go,” Miho told them. “Hurry.”

Kara nodded. Hachiro took her hand and she liked the way their hands fit so easily together. Miho started across the grass back toward school and the dormitory beyond it. After a few steps, she broke into a light run.

“Come on,” Hachiro said. “She’ll be all right.”

Kara watched her go, then glanced one last time at the wreckage they had made of Akane’s shrine, sick with guilt.