Ink and Ashes

by Valynne E. Maetani

  Nicholas thrashed in agony. Blood streamed above his heart and blanketed his shirt in a bath of red. I moaned pangs of anguish, still shivering uncontrollably.

  “Please don’t let him die!” I cried. “Don’t become my father. Just kill me now, but don’t let him die. Let me go. Please. I need to get to him. You wanted revenge on my family, not his.”

  The Japanese man froze. “Revenge? This much more than revenge. If I want revenge, I would have killed your whole family and all your friends. Dis,” he said, gesturing with the gun, “is about bringing back my family honor. Dis is for the months your father shamed me. And when he kill my daughter, he send message dat I am weak and cannot protect her.”

  He shifted his eyes to the ground.

  “Look at me!” I screamed. “Is this what you wanted? Please don’t let him die! Don’t become the kind of man my father used to be. Please.”

  I pulled against the rope as hard as I could. My hands broke free, but I kept them behind my back as if still bound. A fiery pain burned my wrists where they’d been tied, but I readied myself.

  Arakaki-san collapsed to his knees and began to sob. Large tears splashed to the ground. “Gomen nasai . . . Gomen nasai, Kimiko!” he howled. “Please forgive me, my Kimiko. I could not save you. Please forgive me.” He lifted the gun and pointed it at my head with a trembling hand.

  “Don’t do this,” I said.

  He closed his eyes and bowed his head, gun still pointed in my direction.

  I leaped up, my feet still tied to the chair, and knocked the gun from his hands, then delivered a punch to his throat. He put his hands to his neck and crumpled over, fighting to catch his breath.

  The punch threw me off balance, and I fell over. I reached down and slid the rope and my legs off the chair. The metal feet scraped against my calves. I screamed and wiggled and kicked until my legs were free, then planted the chair over his face.

  He raised his head, hands at his throat. My eyes met his. I lunged to reach the gun. He grabbed at my ankles, but I kicked his face.

  He rolled onto his back, cradling his nose. Blood streamed through his fingers.

  I picked up the gun and forced my tired legs to stand. I aimed the gun at him. “Don’t move,” I said. “Or I will shoot.”

  The gun trembled in my hands.

  He rolled over onto his knees.

  “I. Said. Don’t. Move.” I steadied my hand with the other.

  He looked up and trained his dark eyes on me.

  All the terror he had put me through made anger storm inside me. I pictured Parker’s limp body on the floor at home, and Forrest as he lay broken on the stairs. Nicholas writhed on the ground next to me, still bleeding.

  I wanted to hurt this man as much as he had hurt me. I could kill this man right now.

  Without guilt.

  He stood up slowly. Rage coursed through me. My finger tugged at the trigger, the gun ready and aimed at him, but stopped at the last second.

  He hurled himself at me, clasping my hand holding the gun. We crashed to the ground, the gun firing on impact. The bullet hit a metal tank, causing it to explode. Balls of fire lit the air. A rush of heat blew across my face. The force sent us flying across the concrete floor.

  When I glanced up, Arakaki-san’s body lay still on the ground ten feet away. The flames started to catch across the room slowly, but moving inexorably nearer.

  I ran to Nicholas and ripped the gag from his mouth. He yelled in excruciating pain. I searched through my pockets but couldn’t find my phone anywhere, then remembered it was in the entry at home, lying in pieces.

  With as much speed as I could manage, I untied his hands and legs. The rope was unrelenting. The bindings were tight, and his hands and feet had started to swell and turn purple. I bit at it to loosen the knots.

  “Nicholas, stay with me. Don’t leave me.” I held his face. “I need a phone.”

  “Back pocket,” he said. His voice was feeble.

  I fumbled around, wet and cold. But there was nothing in his pocket. Arakaki-san must have taken it from Nicholas when he tied him up.

  “No one’s going to find us,” I cried. And then I remembered the disk Fed had given me, sliding along the chain of my necklace. I squeezed it hard and hoped Fed could help the police locate us in time.

  IN THE BACKGROUND, Arakaki-san started to groan. For a second, I caught his face.

  “Kimiko! I’m so sorry, Kimiko,” he said. “Forgive me. I bring shame to our family.” He tried to stand, but his left leg collapsed beneath him, blood blooming on his pant leg.

  The flames rose to the ceiling along a wooden beam. I had to get Nicholas out of there before the roof caved in on us. I leaned my weight against the cart, but looked back. Arakaki-san would never make it out of here on his own. After all he had done to terrorize my family, I was under no obligation to help him. But if I left him here . . . I would be the one condemning him to die.

  I ripped open Nicholas’s shirt with shaking hands and found his chest covered with black powder and reddish-brown splotches, a sight that would forever stain my memory. Arakaki-san’s hoodie lay on the floor. I ran to retrieve and used it to press against Nicholas’s wound. Nicholas shrieked in pain. Blood ran everywhere, even though I applied pressure. I pushed his side, listening to his deafening shrieks as I lifted him enough that I could see blood spill from underneath. The bullet must have gone through.

  I raced to the door where I’d seen some airplane passenger seats. Flames lapped up the beams and started to reach the room. One of the seat belts wasn’t connected to the seat, and I tore it off. The others were sewn into the seats or glued. I wasn’t sure.

  We were running out of time, and one seat belt wouldn’t be enough for what I had in mind. I found a metal pipe about eighteen inches long and used Arakaki-san’s hoodie as a hot pad. I held one end of the pipe close to a flame by the wall about six feet away, and when it glowed, I placed the hot end of the pipe on the seat belt, close to where the belt was attached. After several quick repetitions, I was able to singe the seat belt enough to remove it.

  I brought the hoodie and the seat belts back to Nicholas, coughing from the smoke. To connect the straps together, I used the seat-belt buckles, and then wove the strap underneath Nicholas, lifting one side and shoving the strap as far under as it would go, then running to the other side, lifting him, and pulling the strap through. Sounds of fire crackled loud in my ears. I wrapped the hoodie around Nicholas’s body on the side of the wound, top and bottom the best I could, and used the straps to hold the hoodie against his body, pulling the belts as tight as possible. Each movement caused Nicholas to wail.

  Once I had taken care of Nicholas, I rushed over to Arakaki-san, beads of sweat streaming down my face.

  I bent down, lifting and tugging at his arm until it was around my shoulder.

  He moaned. “Leave me.”

  “I can help you out. Here we go.” I pushed off the ground with my legs, screaming as his weight pulled at my shoulders. He forced himself to stand, and we were able to hobble and limp to the cart.

  “Hang on to the handlebar for support,” I said.

  Slowly we pushed the cart to the door. Nicholas’s long legs dangled off the end and scraped the floor as we moved, but we reached the door and pushed. I was right—this had been a hangar of some sort. The door went directly outside. A trail of blood snaked behind us in two trails—one from Nicholas and one from Arakaki. Using me as a crutch, Arakaki helped me push Nicholas, and we fought our way out.

  The air outside was even colder. A gust of wind cut through me. As it blew, the flames devoured the warehouse, spiking higher in the snowy air. I followed the silhouette of the mountains. We had to be somewhere west of Salt Lake City.

  Nicholas moaned. For a brief moment, he stared at me, but his deep-set brown eyes had a hollowness behind them.

  The icy wind whipped across my face. The heat of the fire had only dried my shirt a little, and the wetness turned to frost against my
skin.

  The old man lifted his head, terror in his eyes. “Gomen nasai,” he said. “I’m sorry. I will repay my debt.” His tears turned to sobs. He bowed his head. “Gomen nasai. Gomen nasai. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” Using my elbow, I delivered a blow to his temple.

  He dropped to the ground.

  Little rivers of blood forged through the fresh snow around the cart where Nicholas lay. His face had lost all color. I pressed down, applying as much direct pressure as my weak body would allow.

  “Nicholas, don’t leave me,” I said. My words sounded clumsy. “I love you. We’re family. Stay with me.”

  He moved his lips to speak, but was only able to utter my name before he began to lose consciousness.

  I clutched his cheeks tighter between my hands, but my fingers were numb. “Nicholas! Please! You can’t leave me.”

  Nicholas tried to focus, but his eyes fluttered and closed. He didn’t open them again. His head lolled away as if surrendering. His body fell limp on the cart. I pressed my head to his chest and held his hand, the memory of my father’s heart attack beating down on me. Stubbornly, I kept pushing on his wound to stop the blood flow. I was no longer shivering, but my fingers stopped working. Everything stopped working. “Don’t die. Don’t die,” I wanted to say.

  I heard faint sounds all around me. The weight of my body was too much. And it was so cold. I climbed on the cart and curled up next to Nicholas with my head on his chest and the weight of my shoulder pressing down on his wound.

  Thick, heavy clouds settled in my head. Different experiences danced in front of me—past occurrences, flashes of what could have been. Mom. Dad. Parker scoring the winning goal on the soccer field, and Avery slaying someone with a one-line quip. Fed. Nicholas. How could Nicholas be in front of me, when he was right next to me?

  “Look, Nicholas,” I whispered. “Everyone’s here. Even you. And it’s not cold anymore.”

  Forrest approached me, dressed in his dark suit and tie. His sandy-blond hair reflected the light of the full moon in the clear sky, and he lifted me from the ground until we rose to the ceiling of the warehouse. A stream babbled, and the pitter-patter of quaking aspen leaves rippled in the air. In the far distance, sirens sounded. He smoothed my hair with his hand, closed his ocean-blue eyes, and then he kissed me.

  His lips sculpted softly around mine. “I would see only you,” he said.

  When he let go, I floated in the halls of the courthouse. The statue of Lady Justice pointed her double-edged sword at me—not in a threatening way—but as if she was beckoning me to follow her.

  Her white robe swished and waved, caught in a gentle wind, but before I could take a step in her direction, I saw my father—my real father—standing underneath the blue-domed ceiling, smiling, arms outstretched to receive me. The tattoo of a Japanese carp, a koi, representing perseverance, bled through his sheer shirt.

  He opened his mouth to speak. “Look Claire. The rings. They’re gone.”

  But I only caught a glimpse, and before I could express how happy I was for him, before I could say anything, he disappeared.

  Only five black rings remained in the place where he stood.

  “NICHOLAS!” I GASPED. The pounding in my head throbbed so much I thought it would explode. The air felt cool, the smell familiar. I raised my heavy eyelids.

  Mom and Dad rested on the couch by the window and rose when they saw me awake. Forrest sat in a chair next to my hospital bed, like a bad case of déjà vu.

  “Nicholas is going to be all right,” Forrest said, sporting a cast in a sling and a couple of stitches across his forehead. He scrambled to my side.

  “Forrest.” I reached for him. “You’re alive. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

  He grabbed my hand and kissed it. His hands trembled around mine. “Ditto.” He leaned down and left a gentle kiss on my forehead.

  I glanced over at Dad. His eyebrow was raised, but he didn’t say anything.

  I shifted my focus back to Forrest. “When I saw you on the stairs . . .” Tears pricked behind my eyes. “I can’t imagine—I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I couldn’t live without you either.” He squeezed my hand again. “Good thing you’re so indestructible.”

  I swallowed more tears before they could escape. “Is your arm okay?”

  Forrest shrugged. “Well, it’s not going to be as cool as Nick’s scar, but I’m hoping the cast will draw some sympathy from a certain attractive girl because I might need someone to kiss it better.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Did I mention she’s smart and athletic too?”

  “Who is she?” I said. “I’m going to punch her.”

  He laughed.

  “Can you take me to see Nicholas?”

  Mom got off her chair and walked over. She pressed my shoulder so I would lie flat against the bed. “You might have suffered another concussion, so the doctor wants to monitor you a little bit longer. Not to mention the hypothermia and your other injuries.”

  Forrest spoke in a quiet voice. “I think you should listen to your mom and take it easy.”

  “I’m fine,” I said even though I wasn’t. Everything ached. From what I could see and feel from where I lay, my wrists and ankles still bore the marks of being bound. Bruises decorated my skin everywhere—even if I couldn’t see them, I could feel them. And there were stitches under my chin and on the back and side of my head.

  Avery strolled through the door with a large stack of hospital bed pads in one arm and a bedpan in the other.

  Mom went over to him and held out her hands to relieve him of the load. “Oh, that was so thoughtful of you, Avery,” she said, “but I don’t know if Claire needs them. I think the nurses have got it handled.”

  Avery pulled his stash closer to his chest. “Claire? I didn’t get these for her. These are for me.” He walked to the loveseat and stacked everything into a nice pile next to Dad, oblivious to Dad’s look of death.

  “Son,” Dad said, putting a hand on the top of the pile. “What do you think you’re doing with these?”

  “I think I’m going to be playing video games a lot longer without needing to leave for a break.” Avery smiled.

  “Avery,” Mom said, smoothing down her hair. “You know, sometimes, you just . . . I—I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “I need to get out of here.” I shifted my legs to the edge of the mattress. “I need to get away from him,” I pointed to Avery, “and I need to see Nicholas.”

  “Claire, get back in the bed and wait until we can get a wheelchair.” Dad stood and folded his arms. “I don’t want you to get hurt again. Nicholas is fine. The police were able to use Fed’s phone and find you before anything too unthinkable happened.”

  Avery tugged at the hip of his skater shorts and postured himself as if he was about to deliver a monologue. “The patient was shot medially, just under the clavicle—where subclavian and brachial arteries and veins are located,” he said in a British accent. “It almost required surgery, but luckily we were able to explore the area without surgical intervention.” He gestured to a chart above the bed. “Fortunately, the patient didn’t suffer any fractures, so we’re hopeful that he’ll avoid long-term nerve damage.”

  Mom and Forrest laughed at his impression. Dad shook his head. I didn’t even know how much of that was true.

  I settled beneath the blanket, skin crawling, and restless. Staying still was almost impossible. Unlike after the car accident, I remembered almost everything and hoped scans showed I hadn’t reinjured myself with another concussion. Enough of me had been damaged already. Forrest held my hand, stroking his thumb against my skin.

  “You’re here,” I said, unable to believe how fortunate we’d all been.

  “I’m here,” he said.

  The events of the past weeks had seemed almost dreamlike. A nightmare I had endured but survived—that all of us had survived. “Dad,” I asked. “What happened to the Japanese man?”


  Dad left the couch and came to sit closer to my bedside. “They couldn’t find him,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.

  “He was on the ground,” I said. “Right by the door. I knocked him out.”

  Mom pulled herself next to Dad, near the side of the bed. “Claire, the man who did this was the father of the last person—”

  “I know,” I said with a quiet voice. “Jiro Arakaki.”

  “Hmmm,” Mom said. Her black hair brushed her chin when she leaned closer. “Do you remember how I told you your father was asked to do something that weighed on his conscience? That something was to take Kimiko’s life. Your father told me he tried to convince the boss that Kimiko’s father deserved a pass.”

  Mom rested her hand on mine. “But his boss was relentless. The yakuza demand unquestioning loyalty and obedience to their superiors, so your father carried out the assigned task, but he couldn’t bring himself to return and continue more of the same actions. He cut off his pinky to show absolution and sent it to his boss before escaping to America. It was the most honorable way to leave, in his mind. When you were born, he insisted we give you the middle name Kimiko, in honor of the person who had impacted his life so profoundly. I’m sure you would have made your father and Kimiko proud.” She closed her watery eyes.

  I melted into the pillow behind me and imagined what it would be like to have my life back. Forrest gave my hand another squeeze, and Parker bounded into the room.

  “Dude, you should have seen what I did to that Arakaki guy, Claire!” Parker said. “Couldn’t even recognize him afterward. They had to check the dental records to identify him.” He flexed in front of the mirror at the sink, and his thick neck disappeared.

  “Whatever,” I said. “The last time I saw you, you were knocked out cold on your floor.”

  Parker ignored me.

  Fed skipped into the room with a look of ecstasy. “Do you guys realize how many different TV channels they have here? It’s like a million, and I don’t know why people complain about cafeteria food. It’s awesome.” He came to my side and gripped the bedrail. “I hope Nicholas never gets released.”