Vicissitude Yang Side

by Destine Williams

  I fold my arms. “Not unless it’s the same as her laptop,” I say. “What her lock screen like? Is it one of those connect the dots things, or numbers, or numbers and letters.”

  “Numbers only,” Heaven says. “It’s a four digit code.”

  “Hmm, you could try her birthday. 0523.”

  Heaven gets out her phone to save the code.

  “If that’s not it, then just text me or something,” I say. “Megumi keeps all her passwords, so all I have to do is look for them.”

  “Alright, I’ll try it,” Heaven says, tucking her phone away. “It might be awhile before I call, I’ll be busy this weekend.”

  “Don’t worry about it, but if you do get it open, I want to know if there’s anything that’ll tell us where she is,” I say.

  “I promise you’ll be the first to know before I hand this over to the authorities.” Heaven stands up. “Too bad, I don’t have the phone on me now.”

  I get up too. “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you find it?”

  Heaven’s forehead wrinkles. “Someone brought the phone to me. I wasn’t told where, but the only place it could’ve been was the lab. Because she came to work that day, she just didn’t leave.”

  “Is there anything at the lab that can hurt someone?”

  “There’s something in every lab that can hurt someone.” Heaven shakes her head with a sigh. “Megumi would’ve had to purposely misuse most of what we have to seriously injure herself.”

  And Megumi isn’t the type to take her chances. Hell, we can’t even get her to sip alcohol at home. But if that’s not it, then what is it? “Maybe someone else was?”

  Heaven is quiet for a while. “Maybe. But Megumi was one of the last people who was supposed to clock out that night. Whoever we’re dealing with, they knew she would be there that night. And they stuck around and waited for her.”

  Maelstrom (South Hall)

  Maelstrom: 4-0 'Ah'

  Maelstrom

  1. A situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil.

  “A man of superior virtue is like an empty receptive valley.

  A man of innocence may appear to be disgraced.

  A man of great virtue appears to be deficient.

  A man who practices the Tao and actively achieves great merits may appear gentle and meek.

  A man who follows his true self may appear to be changeable.

  —Lao Tzu

  Many stories are passed and bent by their tellers.

  But very few fairytales die completely and begin anew

  Like a phoenix rising from its ashes,

  This tale takes flight,

  And it began one strange night,

  Once upon a time…

  ~~~

  All is quiet.

  Trees sway soundlessly in the night. Mute winds ring and weave through the shrine grounds. The ferns shiver. The moon’s pale white facade hides behind a thick cloud like a child that glimpses the face of their most feared nightmare.

  Under the thick canopy of towering cypress, untouched by moonlight and the traffic of worshippers, Little Red Riding Hood stops a woman in white.

  Sweatshirt sleeve torn with gashes as though a bird’s talons ripped through, the woman raises her weapon in defense: a jagged hilt-less blade of white, like a strike of lightning. Breaths ragged, she asks, “Who are you?”

  Amber eyes indifferent as stone, Little Red tips her head. She advances. “Once upon a time, there were four. The White Tiger of the West who knew all things hidden and destinies written in the path of stars. The Azure Dragon of the East who could heal all broken spirits with the depth of her unconditional love. The Black Tortoise who had the wit and charm to seduce his foes. And I…” Like a wolf cornering sheep, she drives the woman into the open before a red torii and its moon bridge to the shrine beyond. “I know you are a sneaky fox in grandma’s clothing, aren’t you Amaterasu?”

  Golden eyes narrow back at the red-caped girl. Despite her strong stance, sweat beads under Amaterasu’s clothes. “I want no quarrel with you. Leave these grounds in peace and tell no one of me.”

  “Mother sent me to find you,” Little Red says dispassionately, drawing forward another step. The back of her cape lifts by its own power, splitting in two. Two vermilion wings fold under moonlight. Sparks jet across feathers.

  Amaterasu points her diviner at Little Red. “Leave. I won’t ask you again.”

  "Neither will I." Little Red lifts her cape from an arm where a red watch rests and presses a button. A blue cone of light projects a hologram of a vermilion broad sword whose blade is severed into pieces linked by a single chord of energy. The hologram solidifies. The blade's pieces snap together until it becomes a full blade. Little Red's hand closes around the hilt. She leaps, wings spreading for flight. In an instant, she's before Amaterasu.

  Adrenaline volts through Amaterasu’s blood. She swings her diviner.

  Their blades clang. They leap apart and drive forward again, whirling counterpoint. Arcing blades reflect in the river.

  Amaterasu staggers, but Little Red does not tire. Will she ever? The sun goddess ducks a swing and jumps back.

  Little Red lashes out, her blade extending like a whip. It snares around Amaterasu’s diviner, yanking it from her hands.

  Amaterasu’s heartbeat roars in her ears. Flee! Change! She turns and bolts, her human form melting. A bear-sized, nine-tailed fox bolts to the darkness on the other side.

  Little Red soars overhead, a reaping angel fixed on her prey. The darkness swallows them whole.

  Amaterasu’s paws thud against the ground. Her heart is loud. Legs burning.

  Wingbeats thunder behind her. Lightning whips through the shadows.

  A heartbeat of quiet wreathes the forest. Then a loud whip crack.

  Hot pain snags Amaterasu’s right hind leg. There’s a hard yank. The whole world flips. Everything goes black.

  A pair of amber eyes shine above her in the dark.

  “Mother says it’s time for all of heaven’s children to come—”

  “Will you shut up with that?” An identical voice snaps. “Gods, you sound just like that anime, Masah.”

  Masah’s insides smelt like newly-smithed ore. She frowns, then sighs through her nose to reign in her already worn patience. Is it not bad enough that she gets roped into her sister’s antics? Does Mura have to criticize her too?

  Mura steps out from behind a tree, arms folded and amber eyes thin with contempt. She kneels down beside the fallen Amaterasu, holding the white fox down with a hand as if her sister didn’t even speak. “So, you’re the famous Amaterasu, huh? Not all that great.”

  Pressure surges within the hooded twin’s body. Masah glares at her sister’s back. And how would you know, liar? Mura didn’t even lift a finger to fight! But Little Red supposes that maybe it’s for the best that her sister did not. Mura’s power, though the same as hers, is much more unpredictable. Mura could’ve very well have killed Amaterasu, if she’d been the one to do this.

  “Woah, she’s bleeding a little bit. What happened, Masah?” Mura squats on the ball of her heels and looks over her shoulder. “It’s not like you to…” Her voice trickles to a stop, seeing Masah’s glare. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why did you lie to Mother?”

  “Lie?” Mura scratches her head.

  “About the phone.”

  Mura shrugs. “I don’t know. It was in the moment, Masah. I didn’t want Mother mad at me. I panicked.” She stands up. “Besides, why are you bringing it up now? That was forever ago.”

  Masah clenches her empty hand. “When we take Amaterasu to Mother are you going to lie about that too? Are you going to tell her that it was my idea to go get her and injure her so I get in trouble for that too?”

  Mura stands there, staring wide-eyed at her sister. “You’re mad because you lost your stupid computer? Mother said it’s only for a week. That’s not even a bad punishment.”

  “Mother also says t
hat when there’s someone in the family that is a detriment to others, they have to get rid of them,” Masah snaps back, for the first time unable to keep up her stoic demeanor. “Maybe that should be your punishment.”

  Mura’s eyes narrow. “Detriment? You think I’m a detriment? I’ve been looking out for Mother’s safety. What have you been doing? Complaining and watching your anime?”

  Masah scoffs. She jabs a finger at Amaterasu’s body. “What does that have to do with Mother’s safety?”

  Mura’s glare intensifies. “What if we bring her to Mother and she tries to—”

  “There’s no proof that anyone tried to hurt Mother.” Masah’s body shakes. “You went through Mother’s phone. You listen on Mother’s conversations with Bastet when she’s not paying attention. If you’re so concerned about her, then maybe why haven’t you told her that she’s in danger? You’re just afraid you won’t be Mother’s favorite, aren’t you?”

  Mura’s face is unreadable. Masah hopes that maybe some of it will make her sister see sense, but even on a normal day, it’s impossible to tell what’s going on in Mura’s mind. Masah turns toward the bridge and says. “You know, if you told Mother the truth, even if you lied before, I’m sure that she would still love you just as much.” When her only answer is the forest crickets chirping, Masah starts walking.

  “Where are you going?” Mura calls after her.

  “Home. And if Mother asks, I will tell her the truth this time,” Masah says. “You do what you wish with Amaterasu, but I want no part in this anymore.”

  A bolt of lightning whisks past Masah’s head, dissipating in the dirt as a shower of sparks.

  Masah’s breath catches. She whirls around to find her sister with her own Gene Watch active, and a bow in her hand. “Mura! Why?”

  “Don’t Mura me!” She spits, her body shaking even worse than Masah’s was just moments before. “I understand your game now. You want to tell everything because you want to be Mother’s favorite!” Mura’s empty hand crackles with another lightning bolt arrow. “Well, I won’t let you.”

  Masah raises her blade warily. “You would fight me?”

  Mura notches her bow. “For Mother I will.”

  For a few heartbeats, Masah stands there without moving, not even daring to take a breath. Her sister has hit her before, but nothing like this! Masah swallows. Then her face finally assumes it’s indifferent mask once more.

  Some tellers might say that they fought with all their might: rattling trees, stirring the earth, and wreaking havoc. Other tellers might say that this the end of Little Red’s Tale. Others say that it is the end of Mura’s.

  But all tellers agree on one part.

  Only one vermilion phoenix rose from the woods with Amaterasu in her talons that night.

  And all became quiet.

  Hikari’s shaky hands fall lightly onto the piano keys. In return its C minor hum fills the living room. Then C minor again. C minor again. She tries to think of the next chord, but her thoughts are so caged-in like a cat boxed into a trap. Hikari takes her hands of the keys and cups her elbows, casting a glance at the clock. 4:30.

  Jun, where are you?

  The brewing machine gargles mango green tea into a pitcher. As its sweet aroma blooms into the house, Hikari stands up to get her phone.

  No text from Jun. Hikari calls. No answer. That part does not surprise her. More and more Jun has become reluctant to speak to her. But there is a text from Mai.

  Please don’t

  She plows her fingers through her hair with an unsteady hand. Please don’t what? It is not the first “half-text” she’s received from Mai’s “dinosaur phone”. She must’ve been in a hurry.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  That must be Jun. Setting her phone aside, Hikari goes to the door.

  But it isn’t Jun.

  Three red-clad men stand abreast, the word CRISIS-D on their uniform pockets in gold. Masks over their mouth, a sight Hikari would think nothing of if it were spring or winter, but it is the end of summer. Pistols are holstered to each of their waists. Soldiers of some kind, she is sure. And each of them fix their crimson red stares on her.

  Hikari’s blood ices over. “W-who are you?”

  Their leader is the strangest of all: an old man in monk robes. A gentle smile on his visage. “We need to ask you a few questions, nothing more ma’am.” His accent is strange, growl-y as if he is part animal. He steps forward, pressing a hand against the door and let themselves inside.

  A brief flare courses through her veins. What manners! But the pistols at their sides reminds her that their manners are the least of her problems.

  They take seats, surveying the house in silence. The leader studies the family photos on the wall for a long time. Then he says, “We are looking for a girl. Is there a Jun Mei Akiyama in this house?”

  Her legs lock rigid, then quiver. Throat tight, Hikari bites her lower lip. It’s them! She is grateful that her shrine robes hide most of her body. They can’t see her fear. “No.”

  The leader’s eyes do not sway from the photos. “Who is this in your family photos? Your daughter?” His tone is unassuming.

  Hikari wrings her hands. Do they already know what she looks like? “No, my…granddaughter. She lives somewhere else.”

  He squints at her, no doubt inspecting her face for signs of age. The leader paces forward in his sandals, windmilling the loop of his lanyard. “Somewhere else?” His gaze returns to her. “All your neighbors say the contrary, Ma’m.”

  Behind him, the soldiers put hands on their pistols.

  Hikari’s heart is banging on her chest. Her gaze darts to the door. Jun, wherever you are, please stay there for a little while longer. Please…

  On the table, Hikari’s phone vibrates quietly, but is ignored.

  The other half of Mai’s message finally arrives.

  open the door

  4-1 'Ah'

  Sunday comes quickly, I drive Tammy down to the airport in my pajamas at the first blip of dawn before returning back to the house to pick up Jin for grocery shopping.

  “Alright, kiddo.” I yawn, pushing the shopping cart past the double door. “Your mom said you could have pretty much anything, so what do you want?”

  Jin, who is thankfully dressed in a normal flannel shirt and jeans (Praise Fedora), looks up at me. "Anything?"

  “Within reason,” I add. “I’m not buying you a beer or anything like that.”

  He frowns. “Okay. Let’s get… fruit first.”

  I park the cart near the green onions, purple onions, corn, tomatoes, packs of fresh garden herbs, and potatoes where I can keep an eye on Jin while I slip a 2-pound bag of russet potatoes, and button mushrooms into the basket.

  A curly-haired senior pulls beside me, adjusting red horn-rimmed glasses on her flat nose. “Excuse me young lady.” She holds up a thin plastic produce bag upside down. “Could you help me for a moment? I can’t quite get this open.”

  Probably because you’re holding it the wrong way. “Sure.” I flip the bag, pinch the top between my thumb and forefinger, and open it for her.

  The woman's gaze strays to my neck. When I'm done, she gives a gap-toothed smile. “Thank you very much.”

  I reach a hand up to bring up the collar of my shirt. “No problem.”

  She ushers her cart away, moments before Jin returns with a bag of honey crisp apples, plums, peaches, and pristine-skinned bananas.

  “Alright, let’s go around to the meat section first,” I say. “Then we can go wherever you want next.”

  Jin nods.

  The meat counter is crowded this morning, which I suppose I should’ve expected on a Sunday. It’s everyone’s off-day. I wish Tammy’s flight hadn’t been today. I could’ve gotten here as soon as A-Mart opened.

  Clad in a butcher’s apron, a man stacking containers of packed marinated short ribs shifts over to let us by with our cart. Cheeks wide and eyes welling up with water, a toddler pesters his saggy-shouldered m
other for fruit snacks, stopping only to stare openly at me, then he bursts into tears. His mother glares at me as if I told him to make her miserable then she proceeds to move so slow in her sandals that you’d think she was shackled to a blue whale. A lanky thick-whiskered man compares the price of shabu-shabu style pork belly to kobe beef, ignorant to the people who have to squeeze in by his basket to get through. Near the squid and sliced cuttlefish, two girls in black Tokaido University crewnecks eye me and Jin, very likely doing the mental math to figure out if he’s really my kid. Or it could be that they’ve just never seen a Pua Moana before.

  I pick up two packs of sliced wagyu beef and stew meat and put them into the basket.

  Jin keeps close to the basket while looking around.

  "Jun?"

  I wheel around an abandoned cart of crab legs, trash bags, and condoms. "What?"

  "I think that lady with the curly hair is following us," Jin says.

  I look over my shoulder.

  The same lady from before is standing beside Short Ribs Man. She points a bony finger to something high out of her range. Short Ribs Man reaches for it and hands it to her.

  I arch an eyebrow. “Or she just needs something in this section.”

  “But—”

  “Even if she was, what would she want from us, Jin?”

  He frowns. “Dunno. But it’s a little weird.”

  “She can be as weird as she wants,” I say. “But she’s not putting any hands on you if I’ve got anything to say about it.”

  Jin glances in the old woman’s direction again. I’m not sure if my reassurance helped any.

  I pick up a pack of ground turkey, short ribs, and chicken wings, then glance up just in case someone else might be looking. But everyone else in the store is minding their own Sunday. We move on.

  Jin fills the basket as we move from aisle to aisle with cookies, buttermilk waffles, bacon, milk, yogurt, chips, pancake and maple sausage sliders, rice balls, mochi, and seaweed. We stop in the cereal aisle where Jin mulls over sugar flakes and corn puffs.