by Rocco Ryg
In the video, a well-dressed family led their blind daughter to the stage as the gigantic crowd of believers waved their arms in jubilation. Neuhaus placed his right hand on the girl’s forehead and shouted at the top of his lungs, “I command the foul spirits that torment this child of the Lord to come out! In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, free this innocent soul from your evil grasp! Be gone! Let the light of the Lord cure this girl!”
Neuhaus pushed her over, allowing the family to catch her. She held her hands to her face and looked around in complete shock before shouting to the congregation, “I can see!” The crowd rejoiced and praised God for his infinite mercy.
“That stuff actually works?” asked the disbelieving Renka.
“I don’t know. We’ve seen some miracles ourselves.” Gen watched Neuhaus closely, suspecting the girl’s treatment may not have been God’s doing after all.
Chikara turned off the video. “We should talk to Mr. Neuhaus right away. Do you know his number?”
Gen’s resourcefulness never failed to impress. “My sources gave me the number to Allied Baptist in South Carolina. It is 9:00 here, so the American east coast time should be... 8:00 in the morning. We can try right now, if you want to.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“Uh... can I use your phone?” Gen showed a hint of embarrassment.
“Why?”
“I’m broke, and Mom looks at the bills.”
Chikara forced a smile as she handed over her cell phone. “You’re an enigma, Gen-san. You’re so smart, you’re fluent in English, you work after school... you even put up a good fight against me on that rooftop... but you still can’t handle money.”
Gen showed a look of insult. “That’s because my mom couldn’t see the stock market’s future. Now what’s your long distance code?” He dialed the number and waited for a reply. He couldn’t believe he was so close to finally solving this mystery.
“Allied Baptist, this is Ester speaking.” The girl sounded young and Southern, with a certain naiveté in her voice that made Gen doubt she was that bright.
“Hello, Ester,” spoke Gen in his most convincing English. “I wish to speak with Reverend Neuhaus, please.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Reverend Neuhaus is not here right now. If you leave your name and number, I can leave him a message.”
“I really have to talk to him. It’s very important. Can I have his home number?”
“Sir, we can’t give out personal numbers because we get death threats. Now, can I have your name and number?”
“This is a matter of life and death,” begged Gen, who decided to execute Plan B. “It’s my sister, she... she wants to have an abortion.” When he heard the horrified gasp on the other end, he knew he had her. Nothing tugs at an American Christian’s heartstrings like the abortion issue. “She forgot about God and gave into sin. Now she’s scared and confused, and I just can’t convince her to keep the baby. She’s here right now. Are you scared, Sarah?” Gen held the phone up to Renka and whispered, “Say yes.”
Oblivious to what she was agreeing to, Renka nervously said, “Yes” in her best accent.
“I hear Rev. Neuhaus can save anyone’s soul, so I have to talk to him. Please, he’s our only hope.”
Gen crossed his fingers and hoped that his desperate ploy worked. Ester replied back in a trembling voice, “Okay, I’ll tell you. He’s at First Baptist Hospital. I’ll give you the number.”
After he wrote down the number, he asked, “Thank you, but why is he in the hospital?”
“He’s battling cancer. It’s looking very bad.”
Gen’s face drooped in shock. “Th... thank you. You’ve been a great help.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope he helps your sister.”
He hung up and pondered this disturbing revelation. Seeing his glum expression, Chikara asked, “What did you learn?”
“Neuhaus is in a hospital. He has cancer.”
Renka shared the shock she felt from both of her friends. “Just like Chillingworth... and your mother.”
Chikara couldn’t believe this. Three of the people that survived Africa succumbed to cancer, a terrible fact too improbable to be coincidence. What if all of the survivors developed cancer? Worse yet, what if she and her friends did too?
Gen got back to business. “Should I try to call him?”
Chikara could wait no longer. She had to know what really happened in Sierra Leone. “Do it.”
Gen dialed the number and waited for an answer. Finally, he heard a man pick up the phone. “Good morning, First Baptist, this is Chris. How can I help you?”
“Hello, Chris. I need to speak with Mr. Neuhaus right away.”
“Mr. Neuhaus isn’t taking any calls.”
“It’s urgent. Can you tell him it’s about Chillingworth?”
Gen heard a groan from the other side. “Hold on.” He waited there for several minutes, praying harder than before that the good reverent would take his call. Finally, Chris took him off hold and said, “Okay, he’ll talk to you. Be careful, though, he’s a bit grumpy.”
“Renka-chan, do you think you can make me more confident?”
Renka sensed his nervousness. “You got it.” She thought of confident actions and beamed them into Gen’s head, allowing him a needed reprieve from his anxiety.
The other line picked up, and a gruff voice answered, “Hello?”
The now confident Gen went to business. “Good morning. Is this Jeremiah Neuhaus?”
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
“My name is Kagekuro Gen, Rev. Neuhaus. This is very important. I’m calling about the incident in Sierra Leone in 1985.”
“How many times do I have to tell you people? Guerillas attacked us and ran off. That’s all I know.”
“I understand, sir, but I need to know about the other volunteers. Do you remember their names?”
“I’m hanging up. Goodbye.”
With his one lead about to disappear forever, Gen called out his trump card. “Sir, I have Maxwell Chillingworth’s ring that gave to Akasha Mika.” Gen heard a pause, followed by a small, knowing laugh.
Neuhaus coughed for a while, revealing his failing health. “You have Max’s ring?”
“Yes.”
“So I take it you’ve been... doing things people aren’t supposed to do?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your gift?”
“I control darkness.”
“Darkness. That’s a new one.”
“Rev. Neuhaus... Mika gave the ring to her daughter, and she’s been sharing it with me. We don’t know where it came from or how it does these amazing things, but you must know. Please, you’re our only chance to solve this. If you help us, we’ll be forever in your debt.”
Neuhaus chuckled some more, and then concealed his terrible cough. “You know, kid, Mika called me not too long ago. She told me she wrote about everything that happened that day, and she locked it in a safe in her attic.” With that, he started laughing again. “I get it now. She wanted me to tell you.” He sighed and looked at the framed photograph of the old team next to his bed. Mika stood next to Maxwell, Esteban and Shannon, obviously regretting her decision to volunteer. They took the picture right after the discovery that changed their lives forever.
Gen asked, “Do you know anything else, sir? We need all the information we can get.”
“Is Mika’s daughter there?”
“Yes, but she speaks no English.”
“Give her the phone.”
Gen reluctantly handed the phone to Chikara. “He wants to talk to you.”
Chikara took it. “Hello?”
Neuhaus replied, in almost-perfect Japanese, “Everyone who survived Sierra Leone is dead, young lady. I’m the last one, and I don’t have long. We all got cancer from radiation exposure.”
“From what?”
“Here’s some advice. Take a boat into the Pacific Ocean and throw that ring as far as you can. God help you.” With tha
t, he hung up. Chikara closed her phone and thought about his suggestion. With everything that had happened the past week, she wanted to agree.
“What did he say?” asked Gen and Renka at once.
Chikara stared at the box containing the ring. She finally understood the purpose of the lead casing. If Gen and Renka found that they had exposed themselves to a radioactive stone, they would never forgive her. “Nothing. What did he tell you?”
“He said your mom wrote about the incident and hid it in a safe in your attic.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Chikara walked out of her room and led her cohorts upstairs.
***
Meanwhile, Michiko told her mother about her plans to win the Prom Queen’s crown. Nyoko promised to help her in any way she could. She suggested making colorful campaign signs and hanging them across the school. Passing out free drinks during lunch time would also be a great idea. Michiko took them into consideration as she walked back to her room and planned her strategy. It involved lots of mind control and gallons of lemonade.
Her cell phone interrupted her brainstorm, and she huffed when she saw Kaijin’s name on the caller ID. She answered the call, intent on telling him off. “Kaijin-kun, what is it?”
“Hello, Michiko-sama. I just wanted to hear your voice. I’ve had a bad day.”
“Why? Are you sick? Is that why you weren’t at school?”
“I was really hot, just burning everywhere. You know, I fell asleep in the bathtub and...” he paused to laugh, “...all the water evaporated. Can you believe that?”
Michiko didn’t believe this obvious attempt at catching her interest. “Kaijin-kun, look... I made a mistake with you, and... I don’t want any reminders. I’m sorry, but I just want to be friends, okay?”
He sounded hurt. “But you need me. You said you needed me. I can't just forget that. I need you too.”
She just sighed. “No, I don’t need you, and I don’t want you. Just stay away from me, or I’m calling the cops. Goodbye.” She hung up, wondering if her earlier command or Kaijin’s natural clinginess were to blame for this.
Kaijin held the phone in despair. How could she do this? It wasn’t fair. He needed her like a fire needed oxygen. His sadness turned to anger that boiled in his soul, making him clutch his phone. In a sudden burst of heat, his hand exploded into flame and melted the phone into liquid plastic. He jumped and screamed as the fire raged from his hands. He couldn’t even feel the pain or heat. He ran to the bathroom and turned on the faucet to douse the flames.
His father came up the stairs and saw him on the bathroom floor. “What happened?”
He couldn’t gather a credible explanation. “There was a fire. I don’t know...”
Nokoribi Nobu inspected his son’s room. “Did you burn your phone? You know how much that thing cost?”
Kaijin knew what happened when he challenged his father. “I don’t know what happened. It just... burst into flame! I swear!”
In a fiery rage, Nobu punched the wall and stormed off into his room. “You’re paying for that phone! Stupid idiot!” He slammed the door, leaving his son in the bathroom on the verge of tears.
Kaijin remained curled on the floor, remembering why he hated his life. He hated his father, he hated his mother for leaving, he hated school... only one thing mattered to him anymore. Only one person made him feel significant. She made him feel wanted, but she didn’t realize it yet. He needed to show her.
His tears fizzled and evaporated as soon as they left his eyes. His hands ignited again, but it no longer frightened him. Instead, he watched the flames flicker and dance in his palm so beautifully… so free… like Michiko on the stage. He noticed his beloved’s ring still on his finger. Realizing the source of his transformation, Kaijin smiled. She gave him this gift, and with it came this power… power that only he owned… power that he could control. She really did love him, but couldn’t admit her affection through mere words. He clenched his fist and extinguished the blaze. “I won’t be ignored.”
***
Chikara entered the code into the safe as Renka and Gen watched in anticipation. “I didn’t see anything but the lead case last time I opened this safe,” she said. “I hope he told us the truth.” She remembered the combination. 030285. The third of February ‘85. Clever, Mom.
She opened the door and looked inside, finding nothing else on the shelves. Disappointed, she turned to her friends. “Nothing.”
“Let me have a look.” Gen inspected the safe with his penlight, hoping to find something hidden. “Aha!” He shined the light on a back corner of the safe’s floor.
“What do you see?” asked Renka.
“A tiny hole in the corner.” He turned around and pointed to an old coat rack. “Renka-chan, can you hand me one of those coat hangers, please?” He took the hanger and bent the hook. He then stuck it inside the small hole and lifted the floor as high as he could.
“A false bottom?” Chikara admired her mother’s ingenuity. She looked under the trick floor and noticed a folder. She pulled the hidden item out and opened it, revealing a small stack of papers.
“What is it?” asked Renka.
“It’s the story. It’s everything we need.” Chikara finally had her answers.
“Care to do the honors?” Gen sat next to Renka, eager to hear the tale. Chikara took a breath and began to read...
CHAPTER 8
THE NOMOLI
In the winter of 1984, I joined the United Nations’ International Hunger Relief program. It was a spur of the moment decision. College bored me, my boyfriend dumped me and I got tired of cold winters. My parents begged me to stay in school, but I needed to get out of Japan for a while and explore the world. Besides, with the economy doing so well, I reasoned school could wait.
They assigned me to a small village in Sierra Leone, an impoverished West African nation with a starving population. Tensions with the government had brought the country to the brink of civil war, with rebel groups like the Sierra Leone United Militia (SLUM) rapidly gaining influence, but my reckless thirst for adventure made that all the more exciting. I boarded the plane, unaware that the journey would change my life, and the world, forever.
When I reached the village, I stared in awe at the living conditions. Huts made of plaster and mud bricks provided unsafe shelter, the smell made me want to vomit and the brown water made dehydration preferable. The huge mosquitoes quickly took a liking to Japanese cuisine, forcing me to submerge myself in insect repellent. If I hadn’t taken malaria suppressants before I arrived, I’m sure I would have died. I immediately wished I had thought this through better.
After signing in, I met the other volunteers that I would be working with. They came from all over the globe and shared my desire to help the less fortunate. Shannon O’Malley from Ireland joined after hearing the popular UK song “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” The pretty redhead was always singing the song, and she wasn’t half bad. Next, I met Esteban Soto-Mendoza, a muscular man from Chile who wanted to get away from the despotic Pinochet regime that dominated his country. He carried a huge stack of wooden beams to a hut, putting his strength to good use in the construction effort.
I then met Mary Gawanas, a native to the village. The young, coal-skinned girl acted as a translator for the villagers who spoke the Krio language instead of English. I later learned she was the chief’s daughter and dreamed of attending university in England.
Jeremiah Neuhaus introduced himself in the medical center, a roofless, make-shift hospital made on the cheap. The aspiring American doctor wore a small golden cross around his neck to show off his strong Christian faith to the whole world. He told me he became interested in Sierra Leone because a group of South Carolinian blacks he knew, called the Gullah, descended from the country. He also said God had called him to help the less fortunate, which made my reasons sound selfish. He treated a young villager with hydrogen peroxide and wrapped his bruise with gauze before sending him on his way back to digging ho
les.
After meeting the other villagers, who impressed me with their friendliness, I met the head of the relief project. The young, handsome American, surrounded by five armed guards, shook my hand and said, “You must be Ms. Akasha. Nice to meet you. I’m Maxwell Chillingworth.”
I gazed into his mesmerizing gray eyes and replied, “Hello. Please call me Mika. Why do you have guards?”
“It’s just for protection, Mika. There’s talk of SLUM gaining steam here, and this village could be in danger. Here, let me show you to the food court.” He took my arm and walked me to the outpost where they served meals. Chillingworth instructed a villager named James to show me around the kitchen. Before he left, Maxwell shook my hand again and said, “I’m sure it will be a pleasure to work with you, Mika.” He then bowed down farther than he needed to and got back to his work. Despite his clumsy imitation of Japanese manners, I felt rather charmed.
I would spend my days serving food to the villagers. They mostly survived on a diet of spicy rice, but we provided many different selections that kept them full. After breakfast, the men would go to work on the other side of the village. I stayed behind and helped the women with house maintenance and other chores. The extended polygamist families were very tight-knit, forming a community where the people took care of each other. The women would talk to me about their traditional animist religion, which had much in common with my Shinto upbringing.
I shared a hut with Shannon and Mary. During the nights, Shannon would play David Bowie, Phil Collins and Sting on her Walkman. Luckily for me, she brought along some Jimi Hendrix cassettes too. We would talk about life in our countries while Jimi would work his magic on the wah-wah pedal. Shannon told us Irish legends, Mary would recite African fairy tales, and I would tell them about samurai, dragons and youkai. These conversations made me feel better for coming to Africa. Despite our cultural differences, the three of us found common ground and became as close as sisters.