by Joanne Pence
She didn’t believe him. “That’s bollocks.” She felt anger building. “You’re making fun of me because of my former ‘news’ articles. What are you really doing here?”
“That’s it.” He sounded befuddled by her dismissal of his explanation.
“Well, if that’s it,” she scoffed, “you should consider leaving this crazy daimyo and taking care of Rachel and the people back in Salmon.”
“But—”
She was irritated. “Look, Rachel, the Sheriff, and I went out to the place where there were once supposedly some Egyptian pillars—impossible though that is to believe. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to convince the locals that there’s bad mojo happening all around them. People are scared, including the sheriff. They seem to think you would understand the situation more than most people. But instead of helping them, you’re here playing exorcist to a wealthy nutcase. People in Salmon, God help them, want you to go there. I suspect, with a little hand-holding, they’ll come around.”
Now it was his turn to scoff, his tone filled with mockery. “Do you really think that all Rachel and the others need is hand-holding?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “If the right hand is doing the holding, yes.”
A sleepy voice came from the doorway. “Holding what?”
After a startled glance at each other, both turned to see Rachel enter the kitchen.
“Michael was telling me about a descendant of a daimyo who lives here and fears he’s possessed by demons,” Ceinwen said in a velvety yet bemused voice, very different from the sharp tone she had been using. She busied herself making Rachel a cup of coffee as Rachel joined them at the table.
“It seems there’s a lot of that going around,” Rachel murmured.
“Would you like eggs for breakfast?” Michael asked, sounding equally pleasant.
“No, thanks. I’ll just have a little toast. Or is there still no electricity?”
“Afraid not.”
“The scones are great,” Ceinwen said.
As Rachel ate, Ceinwen faced Michael. “So, can we meet your ‘ailing’ daimyo friend?”
Michael gave her a quick glare, but dropped it before Rachel noticed. “I’ll introduce you to Lady Nakamura, and let her know you two might be visiting here a day or two. Then, it’s up to her.”
“A day or two?” Ceinwen said. “You mean you aren’t giving us the boot?”
“I wouldn’t inflict you two on Japan,” he said with a straight face.
“Oh, ho! Listen to him, Rachel,” Ceinwen said.
Rachel's gaze darted from one to the other.
“And why do you call your landlady ‘Lady’?” Ceinwen asked Michael.
He shrugged. “You can call her Mrs. Nakamura if you'd like. I don’t find that lofty enough for this family. If you meet them, you’ll see what I mean. In Japanese, they use an honorific, Nakamura-sama. It best translates as Lord and Lady Nakamura—a kind of feudal system.”
“I don’t know that I want to meet anyone who thinks he’s possessed by demons,” Rachel said.
“You may be right.” Michael's demeanor filled with concern as he faced her. “To meet him could be dangerous.”
“Good lord!” Ceinwen couldn’t hide her disdain any longer. “You can’t believe such nonsense. Demons! Hah!”
“You don’t?” Michael asked.
“Of course not!”
“So then, they can’t possibly exist?” Michael folded his arms, an eyebrow cocked. “If a tree falls in the forest and you aren’t there to hear it, it has no sound?”
She could all but feel steam pouring from her ears. “Thank you, Bishop Berkeley. What I’m saying is that in every case of possession, there’s been an underlying reason the person under attack is acting up.”
“Ceinwen,” Rachel said, “you saw what happened north of the Salmon River. The creatures Jake and I saw were real.”
“I saw that you two were scared,” Ceinwen admitted. “But since I saw nothing beyond that, and you didn’t see the same thing as the Sheriff, it was a psychological phenomenon, not a physical one.”
Michael looked interested, but before he could ask about it Rachel spoke up. “Michael, about the young daimyo—has he seen doctors?”
“Many, throughout the world. It’s a sad situation. I wish I could help, but I don’t see how.”
“And I imagine doctors can’t help him,” Rachel said. “How terrible.”
Michael eyed her. “Are you agreeing he might be possessed?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I often feel the same way.”
Ceinwen was stunned to hear Rachel say that, and even Michael appeared taken aback. “Be ready in one hour,” he said. “We’ll all go up to the manor and I’ll introduce you both to Lady Nakamura.”
Chapter 28
Lady Nakamura eyed Rachel and Ceinwen with skepticism but then gave her assent for them to meet Seiji.
The young man sat up against a multitude of pillows, but he looked so weak, Michael doubted he would have had the strength to remain upright if the pillows were taken away.
The women’s eyes were wide as they took in the understated opulence of Japanese high society. Natural materials and carefully selected time-worn rustic objects that showed perfection in their placement, gave the room a Zen-like calmness. They followed Michael as Seiji’s retainers scrambled for two more floor pillows for them to sit on.
“How do you feel today?” Michael asked.
“The same. Who are these lovely newcomers you have brought?” The man’s voice scarcely rose above a whisper.
Michael quickly introduced them.
Seiji’s eyes were red and watery as he faced Rachel. “Why are you here, Miss Gooding?”
Rachel looked startled by the question. “I came here to talk to Doctor Rempart.”
“About?”
She shifted. “Some … something back in the States.”
“And have you?”
Michael answered for her. “She’s just arrived. We’ll have a lot of time to reminisce later.”
Seiji turned to Ceinwen. “And what about you, Miss Davies? Why are you here?”
“I’m Rachel’s friend. I hope to help her.”
“And nothing else?”
Ceinwen raised her chin. “What could be more important than that?”
Michael didn’t like the answer, and he noticed, neither did Seiji.
“Many things, in fact.” Seiji replied. As he studied Rachel, curiosity filled his eyes. “Do you, Miss Gooding, believe in demons?”
Rachel glanced at Michael. He remembered that, despite the craziness around them, she and the others had never spoken directly about such issues. But then she said, “I don’t need to ‘believe in’ them because they are a fact, as real as the floor beneath me, or the walls surrounding us.”
Seiji winced. His back arched and one hand went to his chest as if something was hurting him. His other hand reached outward as if searching for a way to ease his pain. Without thought, Rachel grabbed it, and held it tight in hers. The young lord turned his head toward her and their gazes seemed to lock.
But then Michael heard Rachel gasp, saw her eyes grow wide and frightened. She tried to pull free. Seiji’s hand clamped hard, holding her tight. Michael was about to intervene when Seiji’s spasm passed and he let Rachel go. He dropped back against the pillows.
After a moment, he faced Michael. “She is strong,” he whispered. “Perhaps, with her strength …”
As his retainers rushed to check on Seiji, his pulse, his heart, Rachel cast a worried glance toward Michael, as if she realized Seiji was putting hope in her—hope that she could help him. Now, Michael guessed Rachel could understand the dismay he felt over a similar hope the young daimyo placed in him.
Michael also noticed that Ceinwen was contemplating Seiji with suspicion. He didn’t know what to make of her. She was attractive and carried herself with proud self-assurance. During their contentious breakfast conversation, he found himself so foolishly attracted to her animated
, expressive face it was difficult to look anywhere but at her. She was irritating and quarrelsome, but with a fiery disposition and boldness that was fetching and rare. Too bad she was a mystery, and that he didn’t dare trust her.
He drew in his breath and tried to concentrate on anything but Ceinwen Davies.
Seiji’s eyes shut, and his retainers stood to signal it was time for the visitors to leave. The men gave Michael and the two women harsh glares, then bowed their heads and kept their gazes on their young lord. Michael could see the despair in their faces at his illness.
“Michael,” Seiji called, barely able to speak. “I’m weak today. Perhaps tomorrow you will return? All of you?”
“Of course,” Michael said.
Seiji smiled and slumped deeper into the pillows as he whispered, “Good.”
They left the house, and when they were on the street leading down to Michael’s place, Ceinwen took Rachel’s arm. “What happened to you back there? You reacted so strongly, I feared you would topple over and we’d be setting you up on pillows like our young daimyo friend.”
“That poor young man," Rachel murmured. She hesitated, then said, “I saw it.”
Michael and Ceinwen exchanged glances. “The demon?” Michael asked.
“I felt as if it looked at me. Is that possible?”
“When?”
“When I held Seiji’s hand. When our eyes met. At first I saw the sadness in him, and I was filled with sympathy. But then, it seemed a mask lifted and his look turned evil. Pure evil. It scared me. I tried to pull my hand free, but couldn’t. He was strong. But as quickly as it came, the evil look vanished and Lord Nakamura was back. I don’t know how he bears having such a thing inside him.”
“He fights it, and it seems it’s killing him for doing so,” Michael murmured.
“Yes,” Rachel said. “I believe you’re right.”
Michael added, “His retainers told me never to touch him. I haven’t. I saw them jump when you took his hand, but they let you. You being a woman. I wonder if you surprised even the demon.”
Rachel thought a moment, and said, “If I did it once, perhaps I can again.”
Once back at the Hearn house, Rachel felt tired and went off to take a nap, while Michael said he was going out to his office to read some books that Lady Nakamura had lent him about Japanese history.
Ceinwen decided she wanted a proper, Western-style shower, even if it meant going into the sanctum sanctorum of Michael’s bedroom.
Once there, her journalistic curiosity took over, and she found herself looking through his drawers and closet trying to get a sense of him. After all, she was staying in his house. If he was a criminal, some kind of madman, or a sex pervert, she ought to, at minimum, know about it. Be prepared was her motto. And don’t trust anyone.
She found quite a few notebooks and papers that had to do with archeology. Did he always work? Then she turned up some old handwritten papers that seem to have to do with Japan, and a green leather-bound journal. She flipped through it. A diary? Did he keep a diary? Did any man she ever knew keep a diary, come to think of it?
She put everything else back into place, sat on the bed, and opened the diary to learn it wasn’t his, but belonged to someone named Jane Addams.
Her curiosity ran rampant now as she wondered who the woman was, and why Michael would bring her diary all the way to Japan.
She read it quickly.
When she finished, she took a deep breath and then put it back where she found it. Her heart had ached for Jane Addams Rempart, and she wondered if Michael's mother was still alive and still married to William Claude.
One thing was certain, reading about his parents, about the house he had grown up in, explained a lot to her about the way Michael Rempart was now.
That evening, Michael stepped out onto the veranda. He saw Ceinwen sitting under a loquat tree reading a paperback. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail as if she couldn’t be bothered with it. Her face had the bone structure that could handle such severity, and in fact showed how lovely she was.
She put the book down as he approached. She gave him an odd look—not filled with the hostility he had come to expect around her, but softer, almost gentle. In fact, he found those large green eyes disarming. Maybe because he had no idea what she was thinking or was about to say.
“Our dinner has arrived,” he announced.
“Our dinner?”
“The Nakamura family sends a dinner to me each day.”
“Breakfast and dinner. I’m impressed.”
He grinned. “Tonight, we've been sent a big meal. I think the one impressed was Lord Nakamura.”
Her brief chuckle was a bit husky. “Or he realized that Rachel and I ate nothing but airplane food trying to get here and took pity on us.” As she walked toward him, he couldn’t help but admire her long-legged, curvaceous figure. He drew in his breath; his thoughts really should not go there.
Yet, as she changed her outdoor zori to indoor slippers, he took her arm to steady her and then led her to the main room. There, two women knelt on the tatami by the dining table. They had placed several small bowls filled with soup and various tidbits onto the table, followed by a platter of sukiyaki.
Rachel stood waiting for them. She had been lying down since returning from the Nakamura manor.
As they sat on zabuton, the servers poured them tea and sake and then bowed and shuffled out of the room, shutting the shoji screens behind them.
“Look at this food! How nice to be a daimyo’s guest,” Ceinwen said, once they were alone. She wielded her chopsticks to put food on her plate. “I could get used to being treated this way.”
“It looks delicious,” Rachel added. She struggled with the chopsticks but stuck with them.
As they ate, Michael said, “Tell me about Salmon, Rachel. You said something is wrong there.”
Rachel nodded. “I felt it; I dreamed it. And I was right.”
As she spoke, something flashed before Michael’s eyes. A dark funnel shape, whirling round like a cyclone. It was in the room. He shut his eyes a moment, and when he opened them again, it was gone.
“I was having dreams,” Rachel continued. “Nightmares. I’m not sure what they were, but I knew I had to see Jake and Charlotte.” Rachel filled him in on how everyone in the area seemed on edge, ready to argue and fight for no good reason. She also talked about the livestock mutilations and that two men had been murdered, and last they had heard, a third man was missing. Michael listened intently.
When they finished dinner, Rachel and Ceinwen helped Michael bring the dirty dishes out to the kitchen. “I asked that they not wait for me to finish eating,” Michael said, “but to pick up the dinner dishes when they bring breakfast in the morning. That way they can have more time at home with their families.”
Ceinwen feigned surprise. “You mean there are still people who enjoy home and family?”
Michael smiled. “Apparently so.”
“Excuse me,” Rachel said. “I’m tired and going to bed.”
Ceinwen’s eyes were troubled. “Rest up, girl. We’ve got to get you healthy again.”
Michael and Ceinwen got themselves beer and went out to the garden. The night was warm, the air heavy with humidity. A few crickets chirped, and now and then a splash sounded from the koi pond. Michael went to the pond and stared at the water a long moment before glancing over at Ceinwen. She was seated on a plastic patio chair, and he took the chair beside her. He had to admit he found her beautiful. When she smiled at him, he felt a stirring deep inside.
“You know what you need?” she said.
Given his last thought, the question jarred. “What?”
“A couple of big easy chairs. Or even recliners. The ones where you push a handle and the back goes down while a footrest pops up.”
He chuckled. “No kidding! I was glad to find these patio chairs in the local general store. My knees ache with all this sitting on the floor.”
Ceinwen
nodded in agreement. “I’ve often suspected that Japanese people move humongous easy chairs into their homes when no one is looking, along with a big-screen TV and a remote control.”
“You may be right.”
“I usually am,” she said smugly.
“Well in that case,” his expression turned serious, “any idea what's wrong with Rachel? She doesn’t look well at all.”
Ceinwen drew in her breath and then told him about the nightmares and the catatonic episodes. She knew of three of them. The first, at Oxford, saw Rachel rushed to an infirmary and given lots of fluids. It lasted, at most, five minutes. The second occurred at Heathrow Airport as they waited for seats to the US, and the third lasted fifteen minutes, and happened when they were at her parent’s farm in Idaho.
“These episodes worry me, Michael. Rachel once told me she felt as if she doesn’t belong here, even that she feels she’s fading away. She was talking about her life. It was really chilling. What do you think is going on?”
“I don't know,” he said.
“Well, shite!” She blurted out the British euphemism. “Here, we came all this way because you’re supposed to be the expert on such stuff.”
He wasn’t in a smiling mood. “I seem to be disappointing all kinds of people these days.”
Her face fell. “I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t mean that. I have the feeling people put too much of a burden on you. I certainly don’t want to add to it.”
He held her gaze and saw genuine dismay. It surprised him. "It's all right,” he murmured. “This is nothing you should ever need to understand.”
Ceinwen soon said goodnight to Michael and headed to her room, expecting he would like time alone in the house.
Rachel was sound asleep so she tried to be quiet as she unrolled her futon, covered it with sheets and a blanket, and then got under the covers.
Michael weighed heavily on her thoughts—his eyes, his voice, his presence. She didn’t know why he troubled her even as something about him drew her toward him. With the peculiar work she had been doing, she had learned to see the reality behind words being spoken. She had taught herself not to listen so much to what was said, but to seek meaning in the eyes and gestures of the person talking to her. “Tells” were a fascinating subject, and the number of people who made odd gestures with their hands or eyes when lying was astounding. At times, she felt she was carrying on two conversations simultaneously—one with words and logic, the other with eyes and heart. The duplicity she often witnessed was shocking.