Clocktower

by C. A. Valentine

  “Listen,” Johnny pleaded. “This is a little bit of an emergency. Why don’t you just go back to your business and let me go about mine.”

  “I understand, sir, but access is restricted to staff only. If you would just let me escort you to the normal elevators . . . ”

  “He’s not here!” one of the men shouted. “Search every room! Find him!”

  The young man stopped himself, then looked up at Johnny. “You . . . are you a criminal? Are you running?” he said, backing away.

  The bell of the service elevator chimed, and the doors opened. Johnny stepped through and mashed the button for the lobby.

  “Help!” the young man shouted. “He’s here! He’s here!”

  There was more shouting, but it was muffled as the doors closed in front of him, signaling the beginning of his slow descent. Johnny paced back and forth, only stopping when he heard an oddly familiar ticking sound.

  “You’ve caught me at a bad time, Mari,” Johnny said.

  “Are you going to kill them?” she asked pointedly.

  “I’m going to try not to,” Johnny answered. “What do you want?”

  Mari stepped forward. “There are two of them on the first floor. One by the front lobby, and the other guarding the rear entrance. Either way you go, you’ll have to fight.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “If they capture you, they’ll take you downstairs. Then I’ll be alone.”

  He turned to her, taking a deep breath as he did. “Well then,” he said, setting a reassuring hand on the top of her head. “I’ll just have to see to it that I win.”

  She looked up at him just as the elevator slowed to a stop. “I’ll be watching,” she said. She took a step back, and vanished just as quickly as she had come.

  There was no time to dwell on Mari. The doors opened, and Johnny shot out of the elevator into a long, white-tiled kitchen with no less than four chefs busily preparing meals and desserts. He took a moment to scan the room, finding a green-lit sign pointing the way to the back exit, then squeezed his way through the confused kitchen staff and into a short hall that ended at a pair of double doors.

  Johnny pushed through into a narrow back alley lit by a single orange-hued light. Just as Mari had said, a lone opponent was waiting for him as he exited.

  “She told me this is the way you would run,” Mr. Yama said. He was less than twenty feet away, barring the only path out to the main road.

  “I don’t suppose she told you that I’d come quietly, did she?”

  Yama chortled and shook his head. “No,” he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a narrow, cylindrical item. He flicked it downward with a snap of his wrist, extending a retractable baton that measured almost two feet.

  “I did give you fair warning, Mr. Tokisaki. But here you are, caught outside in the storm. Ready to be swept away.”

  Johnny began to approach him. The other two men who had broken into his fourth-floor room would certainly be close behind, and he couldn’t afford to wait and be surrounded.

  The first blow was predictable. A swipe to the head with his metal baton. Johnny held his fists up on either side of his head and let the weapon crash against the back of his wrist before dashing in for a counterattack. He threw a quick jab at Yama’s chin, but Yama jumped back, avoiding it.

  Distance was Yama’s advantage. Muscle was Johnny’s. He had to press the attack.

  He managed to duck through a series of swings, only to be caught by a quick kick to his stomach, pushing him backward. A follow-up attack swiped across Johnny’s left cheek, putting him on the defensive.

  Yama was quick, but with each successful attack he grew more wild and overconfident. Johnny weathered blow after blow, until Yama’s face was the picture of bloodthirsty glee. In his haste, he drew his arm back and went for a crushing overhead strike. This was Johnny’s chance. He caught Yama’s arm mid-stroke and leapt forward, pinning him to the ground.

  The scuffle that followed was short. Unable to overcome Johnny’s weight advantage, Yama moved to try to protect his head from the shower of strikes, but his wrists were thin. His bones were brittle. After a few blocked punches, Johnny landed one straight down on Yama’s nose, breaking it and disorienting his opponent completely.

  In his own anger, Johnny raised his fist once more, but was interrupted by the sound of the double doors opening behind him.

  “Stop him!” one of the two men who had pursued him shouted. They each drew their own baton and began a frantic sprint in Johnny’s direction.

  Battered as he was, Johnny had no choice now but to run. He pushed himself off Yama and made a dash for the main road ahead.

  The other two men were less than ten feet away as he hurtled himself into the blackened streets of Sonnerie. He made a sharp left north toward The Lugs, but the asphalt under his feet was still slick from the day’s long downpour, and the sudden turn caused him to slip and tumble down hard.

  Johnny felt a hot sting of pain shoot through his hand and forearm as he tried to catch himself. Before he had a chance to come to his feet, his assailants were already upon him.

  “You’ll stay down if you know what’s good for you,” the larger of the two men spat.

  Johnny tried to pick himself up again, but only managed to crawl toward the sidewalk. His energy was spent.

  Just as he began to embrace his own defeat, however, he heard the screech of rubber on asphalt from somewhere to the south. Johnny whipped his head to the left just as a black Cadillac plowed straight through his two attackers, sending them flying.

  The car screeched to a stop, then reversed back toward Johnny, it’s passenger-side door swinging open as it did. Johnny lifted his arms up to guard his face, not knowing what to expect, but lowered them just as quickly as the identity of the driver became clear.

  Gabriel Itsuka, the school principal, was yelling at him.

  “Pick yourself up, Johnny. Get in. We don’t have much time!”

  Bewildered but still lucid, Johnny exerted the last of his energy and threw himself into the car. Gabriel didn’t wait a moment longer than he had to. As soon as Johnny was secure, he floored the gas pedal, and in a matter of seconds the two men were off the main road and headed toward Sonnerie High School.

  Twenty-Third Movement

  Heir

  They kept the lights off during the short drive, and within ten minutes, they had arrived at the school. Gabriel helped Johnny out of the car, and the two entered the main building from the rear.

  “You’ve dislocated your finger,” Gabriel said as they arrived at the nurse’s office. He sat Johnny down on one of the beds, then quickly retrieved a first aid kit and pulled up a chair in front of him.

  “Can you fix it?” Johnny asked. The adrenaline had since worn off, and the pain in his hand was excruciating.

  “Yeah,” Gabriel said, looking over the deformed middle finger. “But it’s going to hurt. A lot.”

  “Do it,” Johnny squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath.

  “Okay,” Gabriel said. “Here we go.”

  He counted to three, and Johnny screamed.

  “You’re okay,” Gabriel reassured him. “You handled that well.”

  Johnny nodded a few times and tried to catch his breath.

  “You’re lucky you got away with as few scrapes as this,” Gabriel said. “And you’re even luckier that we keep finger splints around here.” Gabriel produced a metal splint with a blue padded inlay, and gently set Johnny’s finger in it.

  “Baseball team. Happens every year. One of the boys tries to bare-hand catch a ball or pull some stunt that jams a finger. Always have to be prepared.”

  “How’d you know?” Johnny asked as his breathing began to settle.

  “About the attack?” Gabriel unscrewed a small bottle of disinfec
tant and began cleaning Johnny’s wounds. “I didn’t. I was in my office, planning to call you. That’s when I saw the lights go out. I knew they would be coming for you. The rest of us, they can intimidate into forgetting what we saw. But you’re an outsider. An uncontrollable variable. Far easier to make you disappear than try to discourage you via other means.”

  “Is that what Ayano and Yama came to do earlier today?” Johnny asked. “Threaten you?”

  Gabriel pulled back, puzzled.

  “I followed them to Mei Goto’s house, overheard them talking about going to the school after that.”

  “I see.” Gabriel lowered his head. “Is Mei okay? Were you able to speak with her?”

  Johnny shook his head. “I didn’t have time, but I doubt it. When I spoke to her on Monday, she was out of her mind. Speaking in riddles and nonsense.”

  Gabriel finished cleaning the blood off Johnny’s forehead and began taping a bandage to his open cut.

  “I was her teacher, you know,” he started. “Before I became principal. I taught chemistry. Young Mei Goto was always one of the bright ones. Her parents had been killed in a car accident while visiting family outside of Sonnerie. It must have been hard for her, but she was always in good spirits. She had a real flair for the sciences, too. Whenever I’d go on a tangent about some postulate of the elements or the natural world she’d stand up and say, ‘You’re boron us, Mr. Itsuka!’ and everyone would laugh.”

  There was pain in his voice as he spoke from his memories, and Johnny could offer nothing to help.

  “I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “She didn’t deserve this.”

  “No. No she didn’t.”

  Gabriel finished patching up the last of Johnny’s cuts and began cleaning up after himself. Johnny watched him move back and forth until he finally returned to his seat and let out a sigh of exhaustion.

  “I don’t mean to sound unappreciative, Gabriel, but why did you help me? I’m not exactly fluent in Sonnerie’s inner politics, but I imagine you’ve just painted a giant target on your own back.”

  “Sometimes you have to do what’s right, no matter the consequences,” Gabriel said. “That’s what I’d like to say, anyway. But the truth is, I have my own reasons for seeking your help.”

  Johnny stood up from the bed and walked to the window. The nurse’s office was on the first floor, with a view of the inner courtyard and the athletics field further on. There wasn’t much to be made out in the dark, but he gazed outward all the same.

  “Ayano showed it to you, didn’t she?” Johnny asked. “The so-called ‘Holy Escapement’? The catalyst of her resurrection, buried in her chest.”

  Gabriel leaned back in his chair and began scratching a thumb against his chin. “How much do you know about the device?” he asked.

  Johnny turned around and shook his head. “Nothing more than the name, sadly. Mutsumi Baba was gracious enough to share it with me after I witnessed Ayano at the cathedral this morning.”

  “Hmph,” Gabriel scoffed. “It’s not even the right name. They stripped that from it just like everything else from the Fifth when he was expelled.”

  “The Fifth Index? I heard he’d resigned.”

  “Resigned? Who told you that?” Gabriel stood up, but didn’t wait for Johnny to answer. “The Fifth Index was a horological savant. His place among the Twelve was that of head watchmaker. He designed timepieces of complexity the likes of which the outside world has never seen. It’s said that he could communicate with the angel, Sonnerie, directly. That it was she who inspired his grand inventions.”

  Gabriel reached into his coat pocket and produced a box of Seven Stars. He lit two and offered one to Johnny, who accepted.

  “At the peak of his career, he began experimenting. He would disappear into his workshop and sometimes not emerge for months at a time. He worked like a man possessed. And maybe he was. Before we knew it, the whole of the Indices had become equally obsessed with his work. Ninomiya proclaimed that a new dawn was coming. That our time had finally come.”

  Gabriel stopped and filled his lungs before letting out a long stream of smoke. Johnny followed suit, and waited for him to continue.

  “A machine so complex that it could be melded seamlessly with flesh. A movement that could elevate us beyond the shackles of this mortal coil, and into the realm of the Gods themselves. But as fervent as his followers were, there were some who opposed this new creation. Chief among them was the Eleventh Index, Joji Shimotsuki. They bickered and argued about the morality of creating such a machine, and within a few short years, the Indices had been split right down the middle. Six in favor of it, and six against.”

  “Shimotsuki,” Johnny repeated the name. “The one that fell into the sea?”

  “You’ve been reading up on our history.” Gabriel gave a wry smile. “That’s right. During the earthquake in 1971, Shimotsuki and his entire temple were dragged into the rocks and waves below. While this tragedy shook the town for some time, what most people didn’t see was the imbalance that it created. Outnumbered, the Fifth’s opponents were quickly silenced, and the project continued.”

  “Hard to believe a man with that much support would have such a sudden fall from grace,” Johnny observed. “What’d he do?”

  “It’s what he didn’t do,” Gabriel said, taking a seat once again. “Despite what you might think, the Fifth and the Eleventh were quite close. They had known each other even before being sent to Manzanar. But you know what they say. There’s no more bitter enemy than an old friend.

  “It was around this time that the wife of the First Index, Hanekawa, fell gravely ill. It was determined by the Twelve that she would be the first to receive this new movement, saving her from death and ensuring the eternal future of Sonnerie. But after losing Shimotsuki, the Fifth began to doubt his path. And when the time came, he refused to save Hanekawa’s wife. He told the others that Shimotsuki had been right, that this kind of power should not be theirs to wield. And when they came for his prototype, he burned his workshop down to ashes.

  “Hanekawa’s wife died only days after the fire, leaving him alone with a young Ayano. So strong were his feelings of betrayal that he moved to have the Fifth exiled—or, as we say, sent downstairs. But his motion was narrowly defeated, and instead it was decided that he would be stripped of his rank and would live the rest of his days shunned by the very people he once served.”

  Johnny put up a hand to stop him. “Gabriel,” he said. “How do you know all this?”

  “Because,” he answered. “The man who threw it all away. The man who chose to live in disgrace instead of putting to use the very thing he had created. That man is my father. Akira Itsuka. And it is his invention, the Itsuka Movement as it should rightfully be called, that breathes new life into Ayano Hanekawa’s body as we speak.”

  Johnny took one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and smothering it. “So what are your motivations here, Gabriel?” he asked. “No matter which way this goes, I don’t foresee an outcome that restores your father’s good name and strips your family of its shame.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “I have no interest in my father’s legacy, nor have I ever desired anything more than what I already possess. I love this school. Its staff and its students. And though my father lives with his indignity, I do not doubt for a second that he was right in his decision to destroy the movement he created. That is why I seek your help. This technology should never have been pursued. And I would see this mockery they have made destroyed.”

  “And Ayano along with it?” Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

  “The girl has already died once. That . . . abomination that walked into my office this morning was not Ayano. And if destroying the last fruit of my father’s madness means taking her life once more, I would gladly do the deed myself.”

  The subtle anger in h
is voice made for more than an idle threat. Johnny did his best to silence the pain that still racked his body and focus on Gabriel’s every word. There was no doubt in his mind that he was doing the right thing. The just thing. But Johnny had no interest in one man’s zealotry.

  “I’m not here to engage in any kind of moral crusade, Gabriel,” he said. “I was hired to do one thing. Find out what drove Ayano and Mari to murder each other, and nothing more.”

  “But don’t you see?” Gabriel said, walking over to Johnny. “You’re part of this now. Those men Hanekawa sent? They won’t be the last. They’ll be searching for you. What will you do? Where will you go?”

  “I’ll do my damn job. What happens to this city after I leave is none of my concern. I sympathize with your position here, Gabriel. But if I’m being frank, if someone gave me the power that they gave Ayano, I might . . . ” He paused. The image of the hospital invaded his mind again. The screaming from the end of the hall. The door he could never reach. The corridor that never ended. He felt a sudden rush of acid and bile bubble up his esophagus, but he swallowed it down just as he had done a thousand times before.

  “You can’t bring back the dead, Johnny. That machine might make blood pump and limb move, but the spirit is not so easily coerced back into its fleshy prison.”

  Johnny’s mind turned to Mari. Was she truly dead? Had Itsuka’s device captured the essence of her soul, and sent it cascading through some hellish limbo? He paced back and forth, grasping for reasons that Ayano had returned while Mari had not, but came up empty-handed.

  Yet someone had designed this new movement. Someone out there who might have knowledge on how Mari could be saved.

  “Gabriel,” he said at last. “I understand your anger, but do you even have the first idea of where this new movement is being made, or by whom? Your father burned down his own research once, and yet someone else picked up where he left off. What do you think will happen if you burn down another workshop? Do you really think it will end there? Your father opened a Pandora’s box, and this is the result.”