Clocktower

by C. A. Valentine

  “Don’t touch her,” Johnny managed as he struggled back up to his knees.

  “It’s a shame,” Finch said, ignoring him. “I thought that she would make an appearance in some shape or form. But I guess Ayano was wrong.”

  He brought a hand up to his chin and scratched it in thought.

  “I guess there’s only one thing to do then.”

  “Stop!” Johnny protested, finally pushing himself back up to his feet. He took a tentative step forward, but it was too late. Finch had already taken Mari’s body in his arms, and began walking toward the cliffside.

  His legs were heavy. The shoes on his feet, tight to the point of suffocation. Johnny knew he could not make it, but he lunged forward all the same. He put every last ounce of strength into gaining momentum until he was nearly sprinting.

  “Goodbye, little Miss Mishima,” Zachary Finch said. He held her limp body over the edge, and without a moment’s hesitation, dropped it into the sea.

  “No!” Johnny cried as he crashed into Finch, sending both men tumbling to the ground. He tried to keep his grip on the teacher as they rolled, but it was a vain attempt. His momentum had been too great, and he continued rolling for seconds after Finch had already stopped.

  Despite this, it was Johnny who rose to his feet first. He took another dive at a still-dazed Finch, this time tackling him down and smashing his head against the rocky cliff edge.

  Enraged, Johnny showered him with blow after blow, never stopping to notice the uptick in his clockwork heart. Within moments, the wheels inside Zachary Finch’s chest spun again. Bruised and bloodied as he was, he was far from defeated. With each wheel’s revolution, his defense became quicker and quicker, until Johnny felt as if his arms were everywhere at once, blocking each strike as it came.

  Finally, Finch launched his counterattack. A lightning-quick punch to the ribs that struck with enough force to launch Johnny through the air. This time, however, Johnny was prepared. Something in the movement Ninomiya had installed was incomplete. A quickening pace had to be balanced somehow, and Finch’s penalty was quick to come. As he jumped up after Johnny, his movements suddenly slowed once more, leaving him helpless to a swift elbow to the nose.

  A stunned Finch dropped down on his knees, cursing in anger. It was only now that Johnny saw it. A glinting reflection off of the wrist, unmistakable even in the dark of night. The Rolex watch his wife had given him, the watch that had sat stopped for more than five years, ticking away on the forearm of Zachary Finch.

  Johnny twisted his wrist to get a better look at it, causing his enemy to cry out in agony.

  “I’ll be taking this back,” Johnny said as he undid the buckle and removed the timepiece.

  “I’ll get you for this,” Finch spat. But Johnny only twisted his wrist further, until it was nearly at its breaking point.

  “Seems you’re out of steam,” Johnny said. “Which is good, because I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  He slid the watch into a waiting pocket, then turned his attention back toward the teacher. “You might not be able to die, but luckily for me, you can still feel pain quite keenly. So I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you don’t answer me, I’ll start breaking fingers.”

  “Go to hell,” Finch said.

  “I’m sorry, I believe I didn’t give you permission to speak yet,” Johnny said. He grabbed Finch’s pinky finger and bent it backward until he heard a snap. Finch yelled out in pain, tears streaming down his face.

  “Why did you give Mari the knife?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he screamed in reply.

  Johnny moved to the ring finger, and gave it the same treatment as the pinky.

  “Please!” he begged between tortuous screams. “I don’t know how the bitch got her own knife!”

  “You lie,” Johnny said, placing his hands on the next finger.

  “Wait!” Finch begged. “Ayano only asked me to give her one! She said it was my punishment. I handed it to her just after class that day. She told me, she told me I was to watch. But I couldn’t!”

  “What are you talking about?” Johnny yelled. “The other knife was clearly marked with the first roman numeral. It was taken directly from Ayano’s house. Are you telling me that someone else brought it and gave it to Mari?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “How did Ayano find out about you and Mari in the first place?”

  “I don’t know!” Finch screamed again. “Someone must have told her, but I don’t know who!”

  Johnny gripped his middle finger tightly, but something stopped him. A seed of truth in the tormented screams. In a split second of hesitation, he loosened his grip, letting Finch have the only moment of reprieve he needed. In one movement, he snatched a small knife from somewhere on his side, and plunged it into Johnny’s abdomen.

  Johnny looked down at the knife sticking out from him, then back at Finch’s mangled hand.

  “That was a bad idea,” Johnny said, grabbing his remaining fingers and snapping them backward. Finch cried out once more, but as Johnny moved to send him over the edge, his strength began to fade, and he collapsed backward, helpless.

  Finch’s cries began mixing with intermittent laughter. “That’s how it is!” he yelled as the wheels in his chest spun up once more. One by one, his broken fingers set themselves back into place, and the blood pouring from his nose ceased.

  “It’s too bad,” Finch said, wondering at his own recovery. “Ayano told me not to kill you, but I guess I’ll just have to apologize for it later.”

  Johnny’s body began to tremor, and his vision blurred. His pistol was on the other side of the clocktower, and he had no other cards left to play. With one last sigh, he closed his eyes, resigned to his defeat.

  “Every step you’ve taken since you entered our city, I’m going to make you regret,” Finch gloated as he stood above Johnny.

  “Our city?” another voice said. Johnny’s eyes immediately shot back open to a look of sheer terror on Zachary Finch’s face. The movement in his chest began to tick and wind erratically, and as it did, fresh blood began pouring from his wounds once more. Behind him was hovering the figure of a young woman, but Johnny could not yet make out who.

  “Impossible.” His voice cracked, and as it did, so too did the fingers on his hand. One by one, his miraculous recovery was undone. In agony, he collapsed to the ground in front of Johnny, who was given his first look at what had manifested.

  It was Mari, or someone so similar that he couldn’t tell the difference. Her face was there, but in place of a school uniform, she wore a long kimono of the sheerest white. On her back extended six great feathered wings, which she used to glide downward until she was face-to-face with Zachary Finch.

  “Please,” Finch sniveled. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t want to do any of it.”

  But Mari’s voice was absent. She spoke only with action; one graceful movement that lifted Finch off of his feet and brought him to the precipice.

  “No, please!” he begged. “Don’t kill me!”

  Johnny used what strength he could muster, and crawled forward as close to the edge as he dared.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Finch,” Mari said. “Your time has come.”

  There was nothing in Johnny’s vocabulary that could describe the dread in Zachary Finch’s blood curdling screams as he began his fall. But he saw something there, past the falling man, in the distant depths of the ocean below. A bubbling, then a stirring of waves. Finally, two lights from the deep glowed back at him as they penetrated the water.

  The last thing Johnny saw of Zachary Finch was the gaping maw of the Catfish God close around him, silencing his screams for the rest of time.

  *

  The pain that racked his body was enormous, but even so, Johnny could not help but smile in a moment of triumph. He rolle
d over on his back, but his head hit against something soft and pillowy before it hit the ground. When he looked up, the face of Mari Mishima was looking back down at him. Her great wings had wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and though she neither smiled nor frowned, there was an everlasting peace in her countenance that Johnny found comforting.

  “Mari?” he asked. “Is that you?”

  “I am, and I am not,” she said. “We are becoming. You may call me that if you like, but I have another name. I am Sonnerie, the Timeless Angel.”

  “Becoming . . . ” Johnny repeated. His thoughts turned to the night they had infiltrated the hospital, and the last moments of Dr. Tonimura.

  “Was that you, then? Who whispered into the ear of the doctor, before she took her own life?”

  “Yes,” the angel answered.

  “I don’t understand,” Johnny said. “Is Mari here? Is she safe?”

  The angel let the smallest of smiles escape her lips. “Your concern for the girl is profound. You watched over her as if she was your own.”

  Johnny shifted, and as he did, the pain of the knife in his side sent shivers through his body. He did his best to hide it, but his discomfort was plain.

  “Am I going to die?” he asked after a long silence.

  The angel shook her head. “Your time has not come. Not yet. I know you are full of questions, but others will be here soon. Rest now, good Investigator. Mari will have need of you again, before the end.”

  Johnny lifted his hand up to touch her, but as he did, his body felt suddenly heavy. In his last waking moments, he thought he saw a brief image of the girl he knew behind the angel she was to become. But before he could reach her, the image faded, leaving him swimming in a dreamless dark once more.

  Thirty-Third Movement

  Recompense

  When Johnny next awoke, it was to early-morning rays of sunlight beaming through a tall, double-hung window. It was the first time in several days that he had seen a bright, blue sky, and the ambient light in the room was enough to cause his eyes discomfort. Despite this, he instantly recognized his surroundings: the extra-firm bed, the white cotton sheets, the myriad tubes and devices sticking in and out of him. It was Sonnerie Hospital.

  His awakening did not go long unnoticed. The heavy groans he let out as he began to test his own arms and legs again caught the attention of his attending nurse, and she soon disappeared out the door, shouting for Dr. Tonimura. Another nurse appeared shortly after, who began assaulting Johnny with questions and medical nonsense, to which Johnny could only reply with, “I’m thirsty.”

  He was brought a small paper cup filled to the brim with water, which he swallowed down in one gulp before asking for another.

  “You’re finally awake,” the doctor said. She tapped the attending nurse on the shoulder, and he quickly bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Johnny turned his head as the doctor approached, and watched as she circled the bed and took a seat at his side.

  “This seems familiar,” Johnny said. “I hope no one comes to abduct me this time.”

  “You’re quite safe here,” she said. “Though I wouldn’t blame you for not believing me after what you’ve been through.”

  “Why Saito?” Johnny asked on a whim.

  She looked down at him and tilted her head. “That’s the first thing you ask me? About my alias?”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said. Was there an old friend? Teacher?”

  “No, nothing like that,” she said. “If you want the honest answer, I hadn’t actually thought to use an alias until we pulled up to your office in Los Angeles that night. Your building has a wall of mailboxes in the front, and the first name I saw was Saito.”

  “Hmph,” Johnny half-laughed. “All of your scheming and subterfuge, and the best pseudonym you could come up with was off a mailbox.”

  For the first time since he had known her, she smiled candidly and let out a small laugh.

  “Well,” Johnny said as he pushed himself upright. “There’s no restraints on me, so I can safely assume whoever pulled me out of that nightmare wasn’t one of Ninomiya’s men.”

  “Believe it or not, it was Jack Amano who brought you back here. I don’t know how or why, but it seems Mutsumi Baba felt the need to repay a debt to you.”

  “Is he here?” Johnny asked.

  “No, he left soon after we took you in. Seemed genuinely worried about you, too. You must’ve made quite the impression on the young man.”

  “I see,” Johnny said. “But what of the others? All the other men slaughtered at the cathedral? Ninomiya, Yama, Naka . . . ” He stopped himself, pained at the memory of Nakahara’s last moments.

  “There were a handful of survivors,” she said. “Which was fortunate, because they all told a similar tale: that Ayano Hanekawa had visited bloody death on every person she laid eyes on. I’ll tell you this now, but about three-quarters of Ninomiya’s guards and deacons were completely wiped out. And as he was without an heir, his position is now vacant.”

  Aiko Tonimura folded her hands together and leaned forward. “And that’s not all,” she continued. “The whole ordeal was too much to conceal, and yesterday, Isshin Hanekawa announced his own resignation and summarily went into exile.”

  “Exile?” Johnny asked. “You mean he went downstairs?”

  Aiko nodded. “The rest of the Indices convened, and it was decided that, though there is no apparent replacement for the First and Second, there are adequate replacements for the Fifth and the Twelfth.”

  “The Fifth? You mean Gabriel’s father? They restored him?”

  “Not exactly, no. His father left the position willingly, and as such, Gabriel has assumed his title and duties. He was here yesterday, and wanted to extend you an invitation to his home as soon as you’d recovered.”

  “I see,” Johnny said, still trying to grasp everything he had just heard. “But what does that all mean for me?”

  “Let’s just say that no man named Johnny Tokisaki was ever found in the vicinity that night, and as such all suspicions concerning his involvement have been allayed.”

  Johnny closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The long night had ended, as had the role he had played in it.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I have some questions for you,” she asked.

  “Right,” he said. “The details still feel a bit fuzzy, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

  He started at the beginning, at the cell he had woken up in after his abduction. With each new detail, the doctor leaned in further and further, utterly perplexed by the series of events that had unfolded. But just before he got to the intervention of the angel, he paused.

  “There’s something I have for you,” he said. “If you’d bring me my coat.”

  Aiko obliged, and proceeded to a set of drawers on the side of the room. She took out Johnny’s coat, and with some instruction, found the medallion that Nakahara had given him.

  “This was my father’s,” she whispered. “Nakahara gave this to you?”

  “It was his dying wish,” Johnny replied. “He died in my arms, hoping that I’d live to hand it to you.”

  “He was a good man,” she said. “Every year, on the anniversary of the quake, he would come to my home and beg to speak with me. Such was his loyalty that he believed I had been cheated out of assuming my father’s office, and that I ought to protest.”

  Johnny watched her return to the seat at his side, but said nothing.

  “And he was right,” she continued. “He was right about everything. But I could never tell him. I kept it all to myself—such was my duty as Dr. Tonimura’s daughter-in-law. I could never have told him the truth.”

  “I don’t think he begrudged you your secrets,” Johnny said. “He understood some truths were not for him to know.”

  She brought the medallion to her heart, and a
single tear streamed down her cheek. “Thank you for this,” she said. “I am an Index now, though not the same as my father. My place is here, and though it may have happened much differently than I thought, you have brought some justice upon those who deserved it.”

  Johnny lowered his gaze, and turned his mind back to the events at the clocktower. For her, justice may have been meted out, but for Johnny, something was still terribly missing, and it dug at him like a splinter in the mind.

  “There’s something that still bothers me,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about Mari and Ayano, and the day they killed each other. The night you rescued me from Finch’s front lawn, I visited with Mutsumi Baba, and got a look at the two knives they had used.”

  “What of them?” she asked.

  “The first one was an easy spot. It was an expensive-looking piece, with gold trim along the handle, and the roman numeral I near the bottom. This was clearly Ayano’s, or so I thought.”

  She furrowed her brow, and waited for him to continue.

  “But before he died, Zachary Finch told me that he had not been the one to arm Mari. He said Ayano had asked him for his own knife, and planned to kill Mari with it. But that would mean the knife she used was the dull-looking one.”

  “But that makes no sense. That would mean that someone else would have known of Ayano’s intent beforehand, and had somehow planted a knife in Mari’s bag for her to find. Who could have had such foresight?”

  “That’s what’s eating at me,” Johnny said. “I thought it might have been her father, but he was oblivious to the crimes his daughter had committed. The knife must have come from her home, after all, but who would have access to it?”

  “Yama, perhaps?” she ventured.

  Johnny shook his head. “It’s possible, but something in that rings false. Yama might have been Hanekawa’s loyal man, and certainly would have had access to the house, but what motivation would he have to arm Mari instead of stopping Ayano outright?”