Rain

13

Gold Chain went for Tomo, and Tattoo leaped at Ishikawa. Their arms swung as they tangled on the street amid the gasps of onlookers. I could hear the pounding of fists against Ishikawa’s stomach, while Tomo dodged a blow to the face and returned a punch to the nose. It was a flurry of limbs and sounds, all awful. The metallic smell of blood filled the air as Gold Chain’s nose splattered red onto the concrete. Tattoo punched Ishikawa hard in the shoulder and his white shirt swelled with dark red, the gunshot wound reopened. I had to call someone, but it involved Yakuza and Kami, and the police would mean more trouble for us. I couldn’t. I stood there, unsure what to do next. I couldn’t get involved—I had to stay away.

No. I didn’t come back to Japan to stay away. It wasn’t so I could watch Yakuza beat up Tomo while I stood there helpless.

I wasn’t helpless. I was a Kami, too. I could do something.

I stepped forward and then hesitated.

Ishikawa was on his knees, hunched over as Tattoo punched him in the head. His fingers reached into his pocket.

No, Ishikawa. Don’t.

He pulled out the knife, thrusting it at Tattoo who backed off.

“Oh, you’re dead,” Tattoo snarled, pulling a knife of his own.

Tomohiro pushed Gold Chain away, reaching a hand out to his friend. “Sato!” he cried out, and suddenly ink dripped down Tomo’s neck, pooling on the back of his shirt.

“Tomo!” I shouted.

A pair of strong hands pulled me back.

“Da-me,” she hissed. “Stay out of it.”

“Ikeda?” I looked at her.

“The crowd,” she said, her fingers pressing deep into my shoulders. “You’ll only make it worse if you get involved. Yuu will lose control of himself.”

I watched as the ink curled around Tomo’s back, feathering out into the start of raven-colored wings. She was right—it had to stop, but I couldn’t be the one. If I was in danger, something awful would happen here, in front of the crowd. The ink still looked like blood, but any second now, it was going to look like something unexplainable.

“We have to do something,” I whispered.

“I know,” she said, “but we can’t. Just wait.”

Then I heard the voice of the woman constable as the police from the kendo match dashed past us. “Yamenasai! Stop right now!”

In a blur of limbs, the police tackled the four of them, dragging them away from each other as they flailed. Ishikawa’s knife clattered to the ground and he cried out as the policeman yanked his arm backward, his gun wound bleeding down the front of his shirt.

“Katie,” said a warm voice, and then Jun was beside us. “Ikeda. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ikeda said. “I wouldn’t want things to get worse for all of us. It’s bad enough with the attention Yuu Tomohiro is drawing to us.”

I glared at her, and Jun did the same. “Too much,” he said coldly.

She grimaced, releasing my shoulder and stepping away.

I watched in horror as the police subdued the brawl. It was one thing to see them slam Gold Chain and Tattoo up against the wall, but Tomo and Ishikawa...they weren’t criminals. They didn’t deserve this.

“That idiot,” Ikeda said. “He should never have pulled that knife.”

She was right.

One of the policemen grabbed Tomo and shoved him hard against the wall of Katakou School. His bruised cheek scraped against the cement as the cop pressed Tomo’s face into it, looking to see if he had any weapons on him.

Tomohiro squirmed under the hold, his back slick with ink. His left eye was pressed against the wall and forced closed, but the other was open, and he saw me in the crowd.

Tomo. I looked back helplessly. Everything was unraveling.

A police car pulled up and they pushed the two Yakuza into it, slamming the door on them while the woman constable talked into her radio. A second car approached, and they opened the back door of it.

“No,” I breathed.

Tomo watched me as long as he could—as they hauled him away from the cement, as they led him to the car. He stumbled over the curb, but wouldn’t take his eyes off me.

“Tomo!” I cried out.

“Shh!” Ikeda jabbed me in the arm. “Don’t get involved in it now, Katie.”

“Ikeda’s right,” Jun said. “I know it’s hard, but she’s right.”

I fell to my knees as the police slammed the car door and got in the front. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. Would they charge him? Would they connect Ishikawa’s and Jun’s injuries? And worst of all, would Tomo keep the ink under control?

The crowd muttered around me, watching the drama unfold. Behind me, I felt Jun’s hands rest on my shoulders, hesitantly at first, only awkward ghosts of fingertips. But then he curled them around my shoulders and sighed, his breath warm against the back of my neck.

Tears blurred in my eyes as the cars sped away. I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing I could do. Maybe if I hadn’t humiliated Tomo inside, maybe he wouldn’t have left, and then...

I squeezed my eyes shut. “It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not,” Jun said. “The Yakuza were waiting for him. I told you—they never leave you alone.”

“Is this what they did to your dad? Waited for him?” The tears spilled over, leaving cold trails on my cheeks. I felt Jun’s hands tense. The smell of the falling maple leaves on the momiji trees swirled on the breeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “That’s not what happened.”

I stood shakily and stepped onto the road. “Where are they taking him?” I didn’t even know where to look.

“Local police box,” Ikeda said. “Which for our area is probably the station by Sunpu Castle.”

I had to go. Maybe it was stupid, but I couldn’t just stand here gawking like the rest of the crowd. I had to do something.

I started running.

“Katie!” Jun shouted, and I stopped, looking over my shoulder. The wind was colder outside than I’d expected; I wasn’t dressed for it with my bare legs and short sleeves. “At least let me drive you.”

I nodded and we raced toward the bike racks and his waiting motorcycle.

The street whirred below us as Jun drove to the police station. I clung to him, the feel of his hips familiar now after all the rides. The wind held such a bite, and I wondered when exactly the summer had faded away, when the fall chill had taken over. Maybe just today, when I wasn’t paying attention.

The horizontal traffic light changed to yellow, and Jun sped up. He darted through traffic carelessly, and if it wasn’t him, I would’ve been worried. But I’d seen the way he moved in his kendo matches. It might look careless, but each move was carefully articulated. I bet his driving was the same—designed to intimidate, but he was always in control.

He parked in front of the police station and I tugged my helmet off, hanging it over the handlebars of the motorbike before Jun even cut the engine. He followed behind me, up the stairs of the dark glass police station.

I hesitated at the front doors.

“You going to march right in?” Jun chuckled.

“It’s not funny.” My throat felt dry from the cold wind that had battered against us on the drive over.

“Come on,” he said, and he leaned his whole body against the door. It reminded me of the way they’d pushed Tomohiro against the wall—his face squished, his bangs covering one eye. Jun’s blond highlight looked black against the shadow of the door. For once, his eyes didn’t look so cold.

“Thanks,” I said and followed him inside.

It was a blur of activity and artificial lights inside. Someone behind the desk wrote important-looking notes, and police milled about looking busy. But I saw Tomo and Ishikawa right away, the two of them sitting with Gold Chain on benches near the desk. Tattoo was missing—interrogated first, maybe, or whatever it was police did.

I opened my mouth to call out for Tomohiro, but Jun grabbed my shoulder, shaking his head no. His earring glinted in the fluorescent lights as his head shook back and forth.

“Stay calm,” he said, “so the ink stays calm.”

I nodded. “Tomo,” I said, my voice wavering. He looked up, his eyes wide and surprised. Ishikawa looked up, too, his shirt a stained mess. There was blood trickling from the corner of Tomo’s mouth, and I wanted to wipe it away. He was looking at Jun now, and then me, but he didn’t speak.

“Sumimasen,” shouted a policeman, and I jumped back, startled and grateful for Jun’s reassuring grip. “Can I help you?”

“He’s my brother,” Jun said smoothly as he pointed at Tomo, and I blinked, my eyes huge. He was lying to the police. Oh god. We were in so much trouble. “I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

The policeman smirked. “You think I don’t know you, Takahashi? I watch kendo. I saw you in the nationals last year.” He lowered his voice. “And I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me. I’ve been to your house twice to interrogate you.”

My heart stopped. We were going to get arrested for lying to the police. Shit! How did I get into this mess?

But Jun just laughed. “I was only having fun, keiji-san,” he said. “But really, he’s our friend. The other guys jumped him, you know.”

“Listen, you know I don’t trust a word you say,” the detective said. “Not back then, not now.” Back then? What did he mean? At the hospital? But it seemed more serious than that. “You’re lucky I don’t haul you into that room and ask you some questions. About your wrist, for one.”

“I fell down the stairs,” Jun grinned, his eyes gleaming. Good grief. He enjoyed skirting danger as much as Tomo did.

“Not with that fracture you didn’t,” the detective grumbled. “And I bet I know who to blame for it, too.” He motioned at Ishikawa, Tomo and Gold Chain on the bench, and my heart flopped over. “I couldn’t lay anything on you then, and I can’t now. But don’t think I’m not watching. Now get the hell out of my station.”

“What are you going to do with them?” I asked timidly. He stared at me, anxious. He didn’t think I spoke much Japanese. I could see that. A gaijin watching police protocol was making him nervous.

“If you mean the two with anime hair, they’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ve called their parents to pick them up when we’re done getting the information we need. The others have a...complicated record. And the rest isn’t your business. Now out.”

“Thanks, keiji-san,” Jun said. He slid his fingers down my arm to grab my wrist; the motion of his warm fingertips made me shiver. “Come on,” he said gently and walked through the doors of the station. Tomo watched us go, his eyes on Jun’s grip on me. The doors shut behind us and Jun collapsed on the first step. I sat beside him and let my eyes glaze over. None of this felt real.

“What the hell were you thinking, lying to the police?”

Jun laughed. “Sumanakatta,” he apologized. “I don’t think much more of the police than I do of the Yakuza. They both let me down back then. Those detectives and I go way back.”

“He said that, too. What did he mean he couldn’t lay anything on you then? When we... When your wrist broke?”

“I’m slippery like a koi,” Jun laughed, looking across the street to the murky moat of Sunpu Park. “‘Back then’ meaning when my dad died. They tried to say I was involved with the Yakuza, too. Bunch of bullshit, of course. I’d never join those bastards.”

So that’s why they’d had such strong suspicions that Jun’s and Ishikawa’s incidents were related—they could both be traced to the Yakuza. And now thanks to this fight, so could Tomo. Jun’s voice turned so cold when he talked about the gang that it was almost frightening. It made me think of the way he’d asked Tomo to draw Hanchi dead.

“You didn’t...you didn’t kill any Yakuza, did you?”

“What?” His eyes were pools of cool black ice. “Of course not.”

“It’s just that you asked Tomo to...to kill Hanchi.”

“Ah.” Jun leaned back on the step, his palms pressed against the concrete. “Well, I would like him dead, yes. He was the one who employed my dad before everything went to hell.”

“Why—” I couldn’t believe I was asking this. “Why didn’t you just do it yourself?”

“Katie,” Jun said, his voice velvet. “Is that what you think of me? I thought if Hanchi would leave me alone, I’d leave him alone. But when he went after Yuu, I realized something. He’s never going to change. He’ll keep exploiting Kami any chance he gets.”

I stretched my legs out, rolling my heels from one side of the concrete to the other until my toes tapped against it, like mini windshield wipers.

“You want to stay, don’t you?” Jun said after a minute. “Until Yuu can leave.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You don’t have to, though.”

“I’ll stay.”

“It could be a long wait.”

“I know.”

I looked out over Sunpu Park. The leaves had turned golden and crimson, ready to be lifted off the branches by the swirling autumn wind.

“Did you tell him yet?” Jun asked.

“Tell him?”

“That you’re a Kami.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, like it wasn’t complicated. “I’m not a Kami, Jun.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I told him.”

“And about Susanou?”

Susanou. Wouldn’t it be dangerous to tell him that? “I didn’t think he was ready to hear it.” Jun nodded. “Anyway, I don’t know for sure. It’s just a theory.”

“It makes so much sense, though,” Jun said. “I don’t know why I’d never thought of it before.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “Does that mean your Kami cult doesn’t want him anymore?”

Jun’s eyes flashed with hurt. “Hey,” he said. “That’s not fair. We’re not a cult. I didn’t ask to be born into this heritage, but I’m a Kami...it’s my fate.” He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. “We’ve inherited great power, and we can’t ignore it. I’m glad this is who I am.”

“It’s hard to know what to use that power for, though.”

Jun shook his head. “The world is corrupt. Look at those thugs who attacked Yuu just now. You saw the ink running down his back—it was crying out for justice.”

“We have a system for that,” I said. “You’re not supposed to take it into your own hands.”

“The system is broken, Katie. Not just criminals, but the way we treat each other. By now you must have seen the bullying in the schools.” I’d seen a bit, not so different from the bullying I’d seen back in New York. But Shiori...she was suffering, I knew. “Everything is rotting. We need the old system—justice by the hands of the ruling kami.”

“Do you know the kami stories?” I’d done enough internet searches to recognize the similarities with other types of myths. “They’re not exactly model rulers. They’re always throwing dead horses at each other and stuff.”

“That was Susanou—once,” Jun laughed. “And besides, Susanou isn’t always the bad guy he’s cracked up to be.”

I blinked. I hadn’t heard that before. So Tomo wasn’t...evil? “What do you mean?”

“Think way back,” Jun said. “Mongol invasion, a long time ago. They took China—kyu! They took over Korea—zashu! And they’re on boats, coming for Japan.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are the sound effects necessary?”

“And then what happens? Bashan!” More of Jun’s effects, but the sound of this one startled me. He waved a huge arc with his hand. “Huge wave and a giant storm. The rain falls in sheets, and the thunder booms from the sky. The boats crash into the shores, the Mongols drown. Kamikaze, it was called. The divine wind. A kaze sent by kami.”

“Kamikaze means something different now,” I said, which sounded stupid the minute I said it, but too late.

“It still has the same idea, though,” Jun said. “Saving others through your own sacrifice. Susanou saved Japan that day, if you want to think about it that way. Samurai were on the shores waiting to fight the Mongols. There would’ve been hundreds of Susanou’s descendants among them.”

“There’s no way to know for sure,” I said, but I still sighed in relief. Susanou might be evil, but he still wanted to protect Japan. So maybe Tomo’s nightmares were worse, but he had the same goals as descendants of Amaterasu. Which meant there was hope at the end of that storm.

“Maa, ne,” Jun mused. “I guess not.”

The only part we didn’t talk about was how many lives Susanou had taken to keep Japan safe. How many men drowned in the rains that day? Is that what Tomohiro would do someday? Could he really kill people with his abilities?

And is that what Jun thought? Make them pay, no matter who got hurt in the process?

“Yuu and I would make good princes,” Jun said after a minute. “And you would rule with us, Katie.”

I stared at him—was he for real? His lip curled up into a smile, and I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

“Are you joking?”

His eyes gleamed. “Maybe. I guess I have to make it through entrance exams first, huh?”

I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. How much did the thoughts consume him—justice, corruption, revenge? Is that what he thought about as he lay awake at night?

We sat in silence for a bit, sprawled out on the police-station steps. The sun dipped low in the sky and the world turned golden, then shadowy. I wrapped my arms around myself and pulled my legs close.

“Sa-me zo,” Jun said, the tough-guy way of saying It’s cold.

“Un,” I mumbled, a casual Japanese yes. Sometimes it felt easier to fit in than others. But thinking of myself as a Kami...as one of them...I couldn’t picture it.

“I’d give you my jacket, but I’m not wearing one,” he grinned. “Wait there.” He ran around the side of the building, where I could hear the faint hum of a vending machine. When he came back, he placed a hot can of café au lait in my hands. I breathed in the sweet steam, burning my tongue with the first sip. The heat raced all the way down my throat, warming me from the inside.

“Thanks,” I said. “You know, you really don’t have to stay.”

“I know,” he smiled. “But I want to be here with you, even if it’s because you’re waiting for him.” He motioned at the doorway with his coffee.

“Jun,” I said.

“I know. I’m pathetic.”

“Not at all. I—”

A car pulled into the parking lot and startled both of us into silence. A man opened the passenger’s side and got out, and at first I wondered who must be driving. A flash from my old life, before I remembered that the right was the driver’s side in Japan. Life in reverse, nothing the way I thought it would be.

It was Tomo’s father, looking like a somber version of his son. He wore a tight-fitting suit with a dark tie, his black hair slicked down neatly and his face hiding any trace of emotion. He walked up the steps with grace and pride, like he was going to some really important meeting, not at all like he was going to pick up his son from the police station. I almost felt sorry for him, except I knew none of it had been Tomo’s fault. His dad must have known that, too. He knew what kind of person Tomo was.

He walked straight past us, not recognizing me in the dark, and through the glass doors. I rose to my feet, hurrying toward the closing door. It was made of glass and we could see through it easily.

His dad stopped at the desk and spoke to the person taking the important-looking notes. Then he waited. They must be getting Tomohiro. Relief pulsed through me. He could go home.

Tomo appeared from the side, escorted in handcuffs by the woman constable I’d seen earlier. Handcuffs—my heart raced at the sight of it. She undid the cuffs and he swung his arms forward, rubbing his wrists with his fingers. The back of his shirt was stained with dried ink in the shape of sprouting wings. I hoped to god it had stopped there. It could just look like blood, right? From here the tiny wings looked kind of like handprints. Maybe.

Tomohiro’s dad stepped forward toward his son. At first I thought he was going to hug him, but I was wrong. He swung his hand back and slapped Tomohiro so hard across the face that I heard the sound of it from outside the glass door. Tomo’s face twisted from the blow, his head falling limp as he stared at the tiled floor. I gasped a breath of cold air; the café au lait burned at my fingertips.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” shouted his dad. “Humiliating me like this! Causing trouble for others. What the hell is wrong with you, Hiro?”

I thought the police would stop him or something. You couldn’t just slap your own child in a police station, could you? But they weren’t doing anything. Tomo’s dad bent over in a deep bow, his face as red as if he’d been the one slapped. “Moushi wake gozaimasen,” he shouted, which I knew was a super-formal apology. After a moment he yanked Tomohiro’s arm and pulled him into an awkward bow. Tomo didn’t say anything at first, so his dad smacked him across the back of his head.

I winced at the impact, and Tomo raised his hand instinctively to rub the spot, but he didn’t say a word, not even that it hurt.

“Apologize properly!” his dad shouted, and Tomo bent over, his face a map of black and blue from the fight, a new pink bruise forming on his cheek and a lump on his head. I saw his lips move, but I couldn’t hear him from out here. He was apologizing, though. I knew.

“It’s late,” one of the police said. “Get him home and get some rest.”

His dad bowed his head sharply and then turned toward the door. Jun and I backed up as he came through, his face flushed pink.

Tomohiro followed. I could smell the sweat and dried blood, the stale air from the police station. I knew his skin would be warm from being indoors, and I longed to reach out and touch the bruises on his face. I wanted to run my fingers over them, to wish them away. Tomohiro looked at me for a moment, and then his eyes flicked away, down to the ground.

“Tomo,” I said, but he walked right past Jun and me, following his dad down the steps. He got in the driver’s side—no, the passenger’s side here—and the car rumbled to life, its headlights as bright as the ghost-white koi Tomo had drawn.

Jun curled his fingers around my elbows, but I was glad, because I felt like I was going to collapse.

I felt like I’d lost something, like everything had come undone.

Across from us in Sunpu Park, a maple leaf broke from the tree and drifted into the murky, cold moat, spinning lightly as it swirled on the surface.