by Carrie Asai
Pitch blackness.
Where was I?
I looked around. The light was dim. My head ached. I tried to stand, but my head hit something. It felt like shirts. I reached up and felt a bar. Then I felt hangers. And more shirts. And jeans.
I was in my closet.
I felt like crap. Another stellar move, I thought. Way to go. That’s the way to get out of here sneakily—to beat up Masato. I tried the closet door. It was locked.
Shit.
They’d locked me in the closet?
I jiggled the door again. Apparently they’d managed to lock it from the outside. Great. I took a deep breath. My stomach growled; my head throbbed. I felt disoriented and slow. I knew it was wrong of me to have gone after Masato, but I’d never had an instinct like that before. It was like…it was like a message from God. I knew that Hiro would say, “No, you are just hyperaware—you were reading Masato’s mind. You saw inside his head. You saw what was going on.”
I hoped that wasn’t what was going on. My fists balled up in rage. I curled and uncurled my toes, frustrated.
Footsteps. Was it Kaori? I wondered if she’d get me out. In a way, I didn’t want her to be the one to save me. “Thailand,” I grumbled under my breath. Masato really was insane.
But instead of Kaori, I heard two maids walk into the room. I pressed my nose to the closet door and peered out one of three narrow slats near the top. They held piles of sheets in their arms. At my bed they dropped them on the mattress and rushed to clean up the pieces of china that must have broken when the guards threw me in the closet. “Messy girl,” one of them murmured.
I didn’t know whether to make any noise. They moved around my bed quickly, putting on new sheets, a luxury I hadn’t been able to afford in the States. At Hiro’s, I’d slept on the couch. At Cheryl’s, my sheets had been washed when my clothes were, which wasn’t too often.
“The little princess has crumbs in her bed,” the other maid said, shaking out the sheets.
“She’s probably never learned to clean up after herself,” the first one said.
Okay, half of me was dying to just burst out right now, fists flying, and say, Why don’t you repeat that, bitches? Then I’d kick them both in the jaw so that they’d flip over backward. The looks on their faces would be priceless.
They murmured for a while—they were doing the whole shebang, vacuuming, dusting, even cleaning the slats in my blinds. I prayed they wouldn’t come into the closet. And then they started speaking in lower voices. I strained my ears to hear.
“So guess what Tacho told me,” said one of the maids, a woman with her hair in a bun.
“What?” the other, portlier woman asked.
“He said that he had to make a run over to the Yukemura compound.”
My ears pricked up at Yukemura. Tacho, if I remembered correctly, was one of Masato’s drivers. Yukemura!
The woman in the bun continued. “When he was over there, you know who he saw? Hiro and Kentaro Uyemoto.”
“No!”
“It’s true!”
I felt that one little chunk of pineapple rise in my throat. Did she say…?
“It’s big news, you know, because the son hasn’t been in Japan since he was asked to leave! Four years ago!”
“Is he back for good?”
“Apparently. Rumor has it he is joining up with his father.”
What?
The portly maid giggled. “I always thought he was so handsome.”
“I saw him once,” said the girl with the bun. “He came with his father four years ago over to the compound! He was much younger then, but yes, still handsome!”
I did everything in my power not to make any noise. These biddies were joking and gossiping about Hiro and his father like they were characters on the Sopranos! I doubled over, nauseous. Hiro was back with his father. I wasn’t ready to hear this. I covered my mouth with my hand, afraid my stomach was ready to empty itself.
And Masato’s driver had been there. Meaning Masato must’ve been there, too. At the Yukemuras, like one big happy family.
My head spun even faster than it had when I was in Masato’s office. Everyone was conspiring against me. Kaori. Mieko. Masato. The Yukemuras.
And now it seemed like Hiro was in on it, too.
I had to get out of this closet right now. I didn’t even care if the maids were still in the room. I pulled on the door. Something was keeping it locked. Okay. I breathed in and mustered all of my strength into my arms and legs. I backed up into the denims and the silks and the cottons and took a few steps forward. I raised my arms and shot out my foot. Luckily, my foot had become pretty calloused from all the practice. But the door was heavy and kicking it would be painful.
“Ahghh!” I screamed, putting all of my strength into the kick. Amazingly, it worked. Wood splintered and I heard something recoil and snap on the outside. Pieces of the closet door went everywhere. And suddenly I could see my bed again.
I looked around. The maids were gone. There was no sound anywhere. No one had heard me.
I sat down on the bed and put my head in my hands. Anger had gotten me out of that closet. Now tears of anger ran down my cheeks. I was a prisoner in this room, I was a prisoner in this house, and my time with Hiro had been a setup. Nothing, and I mean nothing, was real anymore.
Kaori found me lying like an X facedown on my bed. “What happened to the closet?” she said, looking at the mess of splintered wood. I didn’t answer.
“It’s like the Incredible Hulk was in here or something!” she went on.
I’d had just about enough of this. I was going to make a break for it. Tonight. I felt that I finally had my wits about me. I wasn’t going to tell anyone. There was just one thing I needed to do before I left.
That diamond necklace. The one sitting on Masato’s desk. I had to get in there and take it. I could pawn it when I was out.
“Why haven’t you eaten anything?” Kaori asked, looking at my breakfast tray.
“I don’t feel well,” I said, even though that wasn’t exactly true. I was famished. I was way past the point of being blood-sugar crazed. I was ready to eat the sheets. I didn’t want to eat what they were bringing me. If they could slowly poison my father, why wouldn’t they want to slowly poison me, too?
“I brought some episodes of E! True Hollywood Story,” Kaori said, holding up the DVDs. “I think I have Drew Barrymore, Cameron Diaz, and—”
“Let me guess,” I muttered. “Lucy Liu?”
“How did you know?” Kaori said, grinning. “Want to watch?”
I shrugged. “Whatever,” I said. We didn’t speak through the entire Cameron Diaz episode. The only other noise that echoed in the room was the growling of my stomach.
One episode in, I faked sleep. I snored louder than a buzz saw, and every time I let out a grunt, Kaori jumped about a mile in the air. Finally I felt her weight lift off my bed. I opened my eye a crack. She left the room and shut the door tight. I heard a sharp click of a key—she’d locked it from the outside.
Shit.
As soon as she was gone, I sat up. Eleven-thirty. I ran to the window. That idiot. She’d locked me in here, but the window was wide open. I paced back and forth, waiting for a little time to pass. I didn’t want Kaori to check on me and find me gone.
After a few hours I slung my bag over my shoulder and looked back at my room. Hasta la vista. I wiggled out the window and hung by my hands from the bottom frame. I looked down—a video camera eye slowly rolled over to me. I flattened my body up against the house in the shadows. I am invisible, I repeated to myself.
I kicked out to a large tree next to the window and slowly shimmied down. I had a problem with heights, so the view made me a little nauseous. I needed Spider-Man webs so I could stick to surfaces and not fall.
On the grass I took a deep breath and ran into the house through the back patio door. It was still open. The downstairs lights were off, but the hallway was lit by blue night-lights. I crept close
to the wall until I found the door to Masato’s office. Locked. I rooted around in my bag for a lock pick—Hiro had taught me how to pick locks once, explaining that in some situations it was necessary. I inserted the metal rod into the doorknob, felt the lock, lifted it up, and twisted my wrist. I tried the door again, my breathing shallow. It worked. I was in.
Masato’s computer was off, but all the video cameras were on. I could see him sitting on his bed; I could see Kaori sleeping on the couch in the room outside mine. I ducked down as soon as I saw them, staying close to the floor. If there was a camera in Masato’s room, there definitely could be a camera in here.
I grabbed the necklace as quietly as I could and shoved it into my pocket. I slunk down to the carpet again and wormed my way to the door. Something about even this room made me feel uneasy. It was as if Masato’s chi filled it up and made it evil.
Out on the lawn again, I had to go a direction that wouldn’t set off Masato’s alarms. I looked right and left and then got the feeling I was being watched. And not by a video camera.
I swung around. There was the figure in the bushes. A tall figure—a thug? Shit. I bit my lip. I braced my body for contact.
But when I tried to assess who it was, thug didn’t come to mind. Something else did. Something warm and nervous instead. A feeling of electricity washed over me.
The figure stepped partially out of the shadows.
“Get back,” I whispered, fingering the heavy jewels in my pocket. “I’m armed.”
But then he stepped completely into the light. First I saw his hair, then his shoulders and torso, and then, completely in the light, his face. My mouth dropped open.
It was Hiro.
My father comes to see me two days after the tea ceremony with my mother. This is our second important talk. During the first one we went through all the major players: the Yukemuras, the Kogos. Various other families. I asked him casually about what I’d heard about Heaven. About her past. I was looking for confirmation of the truth.
My father is no longer a laborer but a businessman. He has not been a laborer for a long time, of course, since back before he built up his company from nothing. But he still has the strong, rough hands of a man who knows what real work feels like. He always used to say this to me. Know the weight of real work, son. It will make you grateful and humble.
Now he wears business suits of the most expensive caliber. He carries a mobile phone. He is gray at the temples and wears little glasses. I try to imagine him in a lumberman’s uniform, and I can’t.
“I will forgive you,” he starts, “for your past mistakes. And I see that your coming home has meant you finally want to join the business.”
I nod slightly. I feel weak, but I need money. L.A. is not providing me with anything anymore. I have given up, in a way. I feel empty without Heaven. These last two days I’ve paced moodily around my room, trying to figure out what to do. How could I get her back? How could I get in good stead with my family? There were no answers. I was floundering alone in L.A. Losing my family was one thing, but losing Heaven weakened me to the bone. I have no resolve now.
But in some ways the fact that she rejected me makes me angry. Why does she have the right? How dare she get mad at me for admitting that I come from the same background that she does? How dare she get mad when I tell her the truth—that I am tempted, sometimes, to go back to that life, at least for the security? Why didn’t she let me explain what kind of life I was talking about? Instead she just bulldozed ahead, assuming the worst, and hung up on me.
Why does she think that I’m as pure as snow? That I’m not like any other man? That I’m free of weakness?
My father clears his throat. “Two things. One, the initiation is set for tomorrow night. I assume that is fine with you.”
The initiation. I gulp.
“And two, Masato has a favor to ask of you. Has he discussed it with you?”
I nod.
“Do you understand why it must be you who does this?”
I nod again, this time even more slightly than before.
“What if I say no?” I ask softly.
He chuckles. “Son, what will you do? Say no? And then what? Where will you go? You had no money to get back here—why would you have any money to go anywhere else?” He smiles smugly.
“And besides,” he says. “It is the aim of samurai children to fulfill their filial duties. Honor your parents. An ancient sage once said, ‘Look for loyal ministers in homes with filial sons.’ ”
“This hardly concerns the samurai way,” I reply. “This is about something else.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “If you do not join with me and do what Masato says, your life is out of my hands.”
I say nothing.
“It’s settled, then,” he says, standing. Before he leaves, he turns and smiles. “Ah, I forgot to tell you. Dinner is in an hour.”
Like a good son, I thank him.
Hiro
5
“Don’t come any closer,” I said. “This place has about a million guards. You’ll be dead in seconds.”
“And what are you doing out on the lawn, then?” Hiro asked. “I’m not here to hurt you; I’m here to help.”
“Yeah, sure!” I said. “What do you take me for?”
“Keep your voice down,” he said. “You’re talking crazy. I came to get you. You’re not safe here.”
“Stay away from me,” I said. “I mean it. Who ordered you to kill me? Was it Mieko? Or maybe Yoji Yukemura? I heard about your meeting today.”
“What?” Hiro said. Then he sighed. “Heaven…” He reached out for my hand, but I pulled it away. “There are a lot of rumors swirling around right now, but anything you’ve heard inside Masato’s compound is definitely double-talk. Who told you I was going to kill you? Who told you I was siding with the Yukemuras, of all people?”
“Someone,” I said, feeling a little foolish that it had just been two gossipy maids. “Someone who knows.”
“Don’t you realize that anything people say in this place is because Masato wants them to say it? I’m betting you heard this from a servant or something; am I right?”
“No,” I said, a little too quickly.
“Don’t you think whoever you heard this from—don’t you think Masato told them this for the exact purpose that it would get back to you so you wouldn’t trust me?”
Hmmm. He did have a point. Believing anything that was said in Masato’s compound was probably idiotic.
“Come on,” Hiro said, extending his hand again. “We have to get out of here before someone sees us. You’re in danger. Masato and Mieko are doing terrible things. You’ll be killed if you’re here for much longer.”
Something about his voice chilled me to the bone. I looked at Hiro, standing there. I hadn’t seen him since I’d gone to jail. His hair was still cut the way we had done it when we’d gone “undercover.” It was much trendier than usual, grown out and spiky, kinda Brit pop, kinda club kid. He looked gorgeous. He also looked sincere. He didn’t look like he was here to kill me. Still, there was something wrong about him. There was something behind his eyes that I couldn’t quite understand.
“Come on,” Hiro said. He started walking to the pool. “I love you, Heaven. I came to Japan for you, not for my father.”
I wavered. I didn’t know what to believe. But I knew for myself that Masato was bad news. A psychopath. If I stayed here, I would die.
“All right,” I said. “But leaving with you means nothing. I was going to leave anyway.”
We crossed the pool silently. I watched Hiro, feeling a little out of it. Suddenly there was a violent shriek from what sounded like my window. “She’s gone!” It was Kaori’s voice.
“Kaori,” I whispered.
“Who?” Hiro asked.
“Just run!” I said. “This way!”
Sirens began to wail. Even though Kaori had yelled out moments ago, she was instantly in front of us, a bo in her hand. Guards a
nd ninjas ran up behind her.
“Get a move on!” I screamed to Hiro.
We tore around to the gate, but somehow Kaori got in front of us again. She jumped in our path, crouching and hissing. She snarled at me like a hungry lion. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said.
Guards were to the back of us. “I’ll take them,” Hiro said. “You deal with her.” He ran off, fists flying. I heard grunts from the guards.
“Where did you get a bo?” I asked Kaori. The thing was almost as big as she was. I tried to grab it from her, but Kaori jumped back quickly, shaking her head. She raised the bo over her head, swirling it around in the air. Huh. Not too shabby.
I placed a kick to her side. She recoiled but kicked me right back. Her footwork was good—she hopped around fast.
Crack. The bo hit me on the shoulder, totally knocking me for a loop. Kaori could fight! I ran up to her and grabbed her around her waist, planting my feet and flipping her over my head. She hit the ground with a grunt but rolled over quickly, scrambling to get her bo.
“Bring it on, bitch!” she screamed, waving her skinny arms around. “Or is that all you’ve got for me, Heaven Kogo?” She beat her chest with her bo and bent her knees. “You think it was fun bringing you back here? If I’d had my way, you would’ve died in Roppongi!”
I turned out my leg and kicked her right in the face. She spun backward, then bounced back. We whirled around for a while, kicking and punching, evenly matched. Every time I landed a punch to her stomach, she would batter me in the chest. I kicked her in the face; she flipped me over her shoulder.
I lay on the ground for a moment. She held the bo over her head, smiling sinisterly. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said again.
I saw a good opportunity to escape. I grabbed the bo, twisted my shoulders, rolled to the side, and brought her down. It surprised her. She landed hard on her back. It knocked the wind out of her. She gasped for breath and looked frantically at Masato’s house. I brought the bo down, cracking it against her head, knocking her out.
I put my foot on her chest. I know, I know, totally Gladiator, but I’d been dying to do it. “That’s for Roppongi,” I said. She was out cold.