Aragami

by Scott Kinkade

  Come to me, Martin. Itsu made mo.

  Saturday

  18

  Stephens came to see Martin the next morning. Unfortunately, Molly was already there in the hospital room in front of Martin’s bed. She would undoubtedly make things difficult for him.

  “Tell me you have good news,” she said to him. “Tell me you got a confession out of that bitch.”

  Stephens considered lying, but thought better of it. “We did.”

  She nodded with grim satisfaction. “That should make the case a slam dunk.”

  Martin, who was sitting up on the bed with his feet hanging over the side, didn’t look as pleased. He just sat there silent, staring at the floor.

  “May I speak to Martin in private?” Stephens said.

  She turned her face up in indignation. “Anything you have to say to him, you can say to me.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “It’s fine,” Martin said. “I’d rather have her here with me.”

  Stephens sighed. This would not be an easy day. “Here’s the thing. Miss Sodatrino keeps changing.”

  “What do you mean, ‘changing’?” Molly said.

  How the hell would he even explain this? He doubted the words even as he spoke them. “Her personality, I mean. One minute, she’s polite, cooperative—albeit extremely confused. The next, she’s rude, arrogant, a completely different person.”

  “The bitch is crazy,” Molly said as if that explained everything.

  “She’s sick. She needs help.” Stephens wasn’t even sure how much of that was true, but he believed it as much as a person in his position could.

  “She needs a few years in the hole,” Molly said. Stephens guessed she’d seen one too many prison movies.

  He ignored her, deciding instead to plead with Martin directly. “She was your friend. Don’t you think all this is suspicious?”

  “Well… yeah. But… what does it mean? Does she have a split personality or something?” Martin said.

  He honestly had no idea. “Let’s let a doctor figure that out.”

  “Bullshit!” Molly said. “Don’t listen to him, Martin.”

  “Miss McDonnell, I understand you’re upset—”

  She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You don’t understand anything. That psycho tried to murder my brother. Repeatedly. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

  He didn’t.

  She continued. “I don’t care if she’s crazy. You don’t mess with my family. I say we send her to prison forever.”

  He couldn’t help but respect Molly McDonnell, even though she could possibly have been on the wrong side of this. If he were in her position, he’d probably say the same thing.

  Nevertheless, he had to get through to Martin. “Please, just wait until we have her examined by a psychiatric professional before you press charges.”

  She put a reassuring hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Think, Martin. What if Serika were here? Wouldn’t she want you to do everything you can to protect yourself?”

  “I…” He shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

  Martin’s doctor came in and announced everything looked good and he was being released. Martin just sat there in silence, and his sister remained in a huff. Stephens thought someone should say something, so he said, “Thank you, Doctor.” Then, to Martin, he said, “We will, of course, continue to keep an eye on you. We don’t know if Miss Sodatrino has any more accomplices. But hopefully, with the ‘mastermind’ behind all this in custody, whatever insane plans they had will fall apart.”

  Molly glared at him. “You’ll have to forgive me, but you haven’t exactly inspired confidence so far. The other day your guys left my brother alone and he disappeared.”

  Stephens nodded, accepting full responsibility. “I sincerely apologize for that. You have my word it won’t happen again. There will be an officer on your brother 24/7.”

  She said nothing for a moment. Finally, she turned to Martin. “I want you to come stay with us in Crescent.”

  Stephens said, “We can, of course, arrange a watch of your house with Crescent PD.”

  Martin lethargically shuffled off the bed and onto his feet. “No thanks. I want to be alone. I’m going back to my apartment.”

  Molly shook her head. “That’s a bad idea. Your so-called friend knows where you live. Who knows who she might have told.”

  “I don’t care,” Martin said with a distant voice. “I don’t care about anything anymore.”

  He slinked out of the room, his head down, posture nonexistent. He might as well have escaped from the world’s most depressing zombie movie.

  “Talk to him,” Molly said to Stephens. It wasn’t a request.

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t do any good. I’ve seen this before. When someone gets into that frame of mind, they won’t listen to anyone.”

  Molly opened her mouth for a silent scream before storming out.

  * * *

  Despite popular mortal belief, the afterlife did, in fact, have weekends. This meant Serika was currently free to do whatever she wanted without having to worry about nosy co-workers.

  She currently sat in her quarters spying on Martin. Everything was going perfectly. Regardless of whether Betty Sodatrino was tried for his attempted murder, everyone believed she was guilty. Even Mary had no choice but to accept the “confession.” After all, a mortal trying to murder another mortal was outside the Bureau’s jurisdiction.

  Best of all, Martin was depressed, despondent, without hope. It wouldn’t be long before he killed himself. No more murder attempts were necessary at this point. All she had to do was sit back and wait for the good news.

  And yet, a certain part of her hurt to see him suffer so much. It was all for the greater good, naturally, and ultimately unavoidable. But that knowledge did not entirely assuage her guilt. Every time Martin survived an attempt on his life, more than just rage surged through her. She ached each time because that meant his suffering would continue. If she believed in any god worth believing in, she would pray for his quick release.

  But since all gods were shit, she had to do it herself.

  * * *

  That afternoon, Mary paid a visit to OKCPD headquarters in Oklahoma City. This being the weekend, she was supposed to be off-duty, but this matter couldn’t wait.

  She was escorted into Stephens’ office. She shook hands with the detective. “I need to see everything you have on the recent attempts on Martin McDonnell’s life.

  “Certainly,” Stephens said. “Right this way.”

  He escorted her into the well-lit evidence room. Countless rows of shelves greeted her, and on each shelf were boxes, envelopes, plastic bins and whatnot. On the far side of the room was a silver storage locker with a combination lock, and in one corner was a simple metal table.

  Stephens located a box marked “McDonnell, Martin—Attempted Murder Of” and walked her over to the table. He sat the box on it and opened it up, revealing folders. “Each folder is for a different attempt on his life. One for Monday, one for Tuesday, Wednesday, etc. We’ve only just started investigating last night’s attempt, there’s not much there yet.”

  “That’s fine,” Mary said. “Let’s start with Monday.”

  Stephens pulled out the corresponding folder and placed it before her. She opened it and began pouring through it. She had little trouble since she had been a cop in life during the 70’s. This made her uniquely suited to this investigation.

  She was glad the police had done their homework on Robert Simons. She studied the file:

  Simons had been in the Army. He was shot by insurgents in Fallujah during the early 2000s. This left him with brain damage. He was honorably discharged in 2004 and returned to the States. He had been receiving health care but the VA hospital lost track of him. It is suspected his condition got worse and he wandered off.

  “There’s nothing in here about him claiming to hear voices,” she said.

  “That’s right
. Up until a few days ago, no one had had a problem with him. It was mostly headaches and confusion, no violence. Still, a clever enough person could probably find a way to use that to their advantage. Especially if his condition really did get worse.”

  Mary didn’t think she’d find any clues in the report, so she went on to the next one. “It says here Martin’s car was reprogrammed accelerate out of control.”

  Stephens nodded. “That one has me concerned. So far, we haven’t found any evidence that either Robert Simons or Betty Sodatrino have the skills to pull it off. You’d need a highly trained technician.”

  Or a god, Mary thought. Serika had spent enough time with Aogami, and that AI made a SmartCar look like a wooden toy. “So, you think someone else is involved.”

  Frowning, he replied, “Someone or something. Security footage from Martin’s workplace didn’t show anybody come anywhere near the car, and our experts say it had to have been done while he was at work. Someone had to have gotten near that car, but no one did.”

  Part of the reason Mary came here in person was to question him about this herself. “In your professional opinion, how was the car hacked?”

  He sighed. “Our own experts at the manufacturer tell us it’s not possible to do it remotely. You have to get up close and personal, but no one did and the vehicle was never even opened. Unless we’re dealing with the world’s greatest magician, there’s no way it could have been reprogrammed.”

  This confirmed her suspicion it could not have been done by a human. That only left the divine. Nevertheless, it only proved what did it, not who. She needed more evidence.

  She opened the next folder and read the preliminary report on the cabin explosion. “I see the cabin was equipped with a computer system.”

  “That’s right. It monitors everything that happens within the building and transmits it to HouseTech, the company the owner bought it from. HouseTech keeps watch and alerts the proper people if anything happens.”

  The next few minutes were spent in silence as Mary studied the report:

  Only one person was detected in the cabin. That person was later identified as Martin McDonnell, a friend of the owner. At 1:15 p.m., the system registered a gas leak. HouseTech attempted to phone the cabin, but no one answered. At 1:30 p.m., the system registered a catastrophic explosion before going offline. HouseTech subsequently alerted the fire department.

  It is unknown how the gas leak occurred. The system registered the activation of the fireplace, but Martin never came anywhere near it.

  A possible energy signature was detected in front of the fireplace, but was almost too faint to be registered. HouseTech believes it was a glitch.

  Underneath the report was some sort of thermal image which showed a white form in the vague shape of a person. It was, indeed very faint, but unmistakably an entity.

  “What do you make of this?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I think our magician’s been busy.”

  An idea formed in her brain. “Let me ask you something. Is there any place around here that’s equipped with a HouseTech system?”

  “As a matter of fact, Mercy Hospital is.”

  “Is it in every room?”

  “As far as I know. Why? What are you thinking?”

  She put everything back in the box, then turned back to face him. “We need to get the records from Betty Sodatrino’s room.”

  19

  “Depressed” didn’t even begin to describe Martin’s state of mind and he sat on his couch. Actually, it was less sitting and more being slumped over onto the head rest. He hadn’t been this low, this absolutely despondent, since Serika died. His soul was shattered, his heart in pieces, his mind in hopeless disarray. There was nothing left for him. Betty had offered him a second chance for happiness—or so he thought. But that was all a cruel joke; the world would never let him be happy again.

  Before he knew it, he was crying in misery. It wasn’t fair. WHY COULDN’T HE BE HAPPY? Was this all punishment for sending Serika to her death? He thought he could make peace with that as long as he had Betty, but he didn’t. She had tried to kill him.

  There was a certain web site and app that let people post six second videos that loop endlessly. Martin was now doing the same thing in his mind with the events of last night. He kept reliving Betty’s sick smile as she attempted his demise. She succeeded in stabbing him, not in the chest, but in the heart. The emotional agony repeated every time his memories did.

  The voice from last night spoke to him again. Give everyone what they want. Inwardly, he nodded. The voice was right; there was only one way out. Time to put an end to all of this.

  He got up and made a grim march to the kitchen. He grabbed a knife from the drawer, his hand shaking maniacally as he tried bringing it to his wrist. He had to fight his own panic, but he succeeded in putting the blade against his skin. As sharp as it was, just a little slice and he would bleed out. “I’m sorry, Serika. I know you would want me to live, but I can’t. It’s too much.” He steeled himself and prepared to do it.

  Suddenly, the phone rang. Martin didn’t know why, but he chose to put down the knife and answer it. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Martin!”

  “Yoko?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, um…”

  “What’s wrong? You sound terrible.”

  He realized his crying had affected his speech. His voice had broken. He pondered this for a moment, then made another fateful decision. Perhaps he wanted someone to hear his story, or perhaps he just wanted someone to talk him out of killing himself. Either way, he chose to confide in Yoko Hitsuji-Evans. “Things are… bad.”

  “Bad? Bad how?”

  “I-I can’t really get into that right now. B-But I’m…” He sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Broken.”

  “Hmm? Broken by what?”

  That was a very good question. “Broken by life, I guess.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Life doesn’t break us. Death breaks us. Life puts us back together. Serika died and we were broken. But we kept living our lives and we had wonderful new experiences, so we were put back together.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Hmmm, how can I explain this? Oh, I know. When Serika was six, she had a dog, Bancho. He was a gigantic thing,with wild fur. You could easily picture him as boss of a gang of delinquents. That’s why we named him Bancho. Anyway, he got run over by a car one day and died. Serika was so upset. She cried day and night, and we couldn’t do anything for her.”

  Martin replied, “The Serika I knew was always happy. Obviously, she got over it.”

  “She did. You know how? Life.” She said the last word like a magician going Ta-da! “Our neighbors’ dog had puppies. We gave one to Serika and she cheered up. Death broke her, but a new life put her back together. You just need to find your new life.”

  The voice said, Don’t listen to her. It’s hopeless. “Is it really that simple?”

  “Of course. Your new life could be anything: hobby, romance, work, etcetera. It’s out there. You just have to find it.”

  “But…” He was going to say, But people have been trying to kill me, but he didn’t want to worry her. Besides, the ringleader had been apprehended. “Never mind. You have a point. I just wish I knew what my ‘new life’ was.”

  “Didn’t you used to have a band?”

  “Well, that was more OJ’s band…” They had sort of drifted away from music to pursue other interests.

  “Doesn’t matter. It made you happy, didn’t it?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, though not nearly as happy as Serika made me.”

  “So, you start small. Have fun. Get your ki flowing again.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But it doesn’t change the fact that… well, I can’t really get into specifics, but someone I thought was a friend turned out to be my worst enemy. There’s no other way to say it; it was devastating. I don’t know if I can trust an
yone ever again.”

  But, Yoko being Yoko, she had a simple answer for that, too. “That’s a once in a lifetime thing. 99% of the people you meet won’t betray you. You just have to take a chance. Did I ever tell you about Serika’s first day of elementary school? She was so scared. She didn’t know anyone and she had no idea how they would treat her. But I told her, ‘You just have to take a chance. Put on your brave face and show everyone who you are.’ And she did. She marched in there and gave it everything she had. She made many friends at that school, most of which did not betray her. You just have to do the same.”

  It seemed a little too simple. “A-Are you sure?”

  “Of course. You’ll never get anywhere if you’re afraid of everyone.”

  He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “You’re right. I have to stop being afraid. Serika wouldn’t want that. She’d want me to live my life to the fullest.” He wanted to tell her how her daughter had been (he believed) protecting him, but still didn’t want her to worry.

  “Good, good. I am happy to hear that.

  “Well, I need to be going. Wade and I have tickets to Lyric Theater tonight. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Goodbye, Martin.”

  “Goodbye, Yoko.”

  He hung up the phone and stood there, basking into the almost electric revitalization that was occurring within him. He balled his fists; he was done being afraid, done being depressed. From now on, it was full speed ahead for Martin McDonnell.

  That meant not just happiness, but forgiveness as well. He wouldn’t press charges against Betty. He would see to it she got the help she needed. He needed to call Detective Stephens.

  But, first, he made a call to OJ. “Yo, Martin.”

  “OJ?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s get the band back together.”

  * * *

  “No, no, no, no, NOOOOOO!”

  Serika had spied on Martin to gauge his current state of mind. He had been mere moments away from ending both their suffering when her mother had called. She loved her mother, but the woman’s interference was now sending her blood pressure through the roof. WHY? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO BUTT IN?