“Well…” Takani sat back on her heels with an expression so baffled it hardly had room for the revulsion and pity lingering around the corners of her mouth and eyes. She made a helpless gesture. “You appear to be dead.”
“Told you so,” Sano mumbled. He hadn’t rebalanced himself enough to say it brazenly as he normally would, but merely that he said it at all was reassuring.
And I was certainly in need of reassurance. “How?” I wondered, trying not to sound as demanding as I felt of the doctor already mystified by this situation. “Why?”
She gave a slight shake of head indicative of continued bafflement and began to count on her fingers. “Very little heart activity, no respiration except when he’s thinking about it, unlivably low body temperature, almost no gut motility or salivation… He has none of the functions of a living body except for…” She threw her hands up. “…being alive!”
None of us knew what else to say. It was medically impossible, yet undeniably present in front of us — for Sano, undeniably present within his own body. And I wasn’t about to confess aloud that, horrified as I was at the concept of his being dead somehow, I was still intensely, overwhelmingly relieved he was alive.
We sat wordless for quite some time. The situation made for a significant distraction from the far more straightforward and comprehensible nature of my own form, but didn’t entirely erase my awareness of pain and difficulty navigating my wounds. But of course Sano’s condition concerned me far more, so for the moment my state seemed an irritant rather than a true debilitation. I stared at him with frustratingly exhausted eyes, simultaneously unable to look my fill at his moving and sometimes breathing figure and trying to solve the conundrum of what had happened to him.
Takani stared too. She’d done all the basic-level probing she was capable of, but, though she’d mentioned more in-depth testing before declaring him dead and falling as contemplatively silent as Sano and I had, she’d made the suggestion without much energy — not, I believed, out of any lack of interest in answers or determination to find them, though the sheer lunacy of the circumstances undoubtedly did present a barrier of sorts, but out of pure weariness. Earlier, when I’d recovered myself enough to seek her out, she’d informed me — with no reproach, merely as an explanation — that she’d only been in bed about an hour and a half after a late call to assist with a difficult childbirth.
And Sano, in as close to perfect seiza as I’d ever seen him, was staring as well: down at his unmoving hands, pale as the death I still wanted to deny, that gripped each other in his lap. How did it feel to hear with functioning ears, to process in an active brain that you were deceased? What was moving under his unusually calm exterior? I realized I wished Takani would go away.
As if reading my thought, she took a deep breath and looked around in a movement very much like shaking herself awake, tearing her eyes from Sano with the manner of one that hadn’t really been seeing what she was looking at anyway. With an effort she turned toward me. “This changes your investigation.”
“It does,” I agreed, taking a deep breath of my own; it aided in transition. “It suggests an explanation for why my opponent didn’t react normally to being injured during our fight.”
“Yeah,” Sano agreed, lifting one of the hands he was so fixated upon and clenching it into an experimental fist. “I don’t feel like I’d react much if you injured me right now.” The faintest touch of a smile appeared on his face. “Matter of fact, I dunno if you could injure me right now.”
“We’ll see about that,” I replied, trying for levity and largely failing.
Takani didn’t appear to approve in any case. “Whatever I can learn about your condition,” she said sternly, directing her words first at Sano and then at me, “may give us more information about the murderer.”
“Nice to know I’m a test subject for criminal investigation now.” Sano too was aiming at casual banter, and succeeding better than I had.
Takani reached out and poked the center of his forehead with a pointer finger. “Understanding what’s happening to you and how to treat it will be a secondary benefit,” she admitted facetiously. Then she yawned.
I took the opportunity to say, “You should go back to bed.”
Her face tightened with extreme reluctance. “It’s you two who should go back to bed,” she mused, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself, “but as long as my patients are asleep, I might as well be too…” Her concern for us both, but for Sano most specifically, and her professional interest in his state were abundantly evident. But so was her weariness, and probably my own — if not my intense desire, after her initial diagnosis, to talk to Sano privately.
“You can examine him further after we’ve all had some rest,” I told her firmly. “In the meantime, I promise to wake you again if anything medically interesting takes place.”
She tilted her chin upward and replied with mock haughtiness, “I don’t know if you would recognize ‘medically interesting,’ officer.” But it was only a joke, and she pushed herself to her feet the next moment. Neither of us rose with her, so she looked down imperiously as she added, “But make sure you do call me if anything changes.” At the exit she glanced back with a pensive, worried expression, clearly unsure she was doing the right thing in postponing further exploration… but eventually she did depart, closing the door behind her and leaving us to each other’s company in the brilliance of all the lamps she’d lit for her examination.
Slowly, in a movement almost as reluctant as Takani’s had been if probably for different reasons, Sano too finally got up, and went to deal with the obtrusive lights. I watched him carefully, unsure exactly what to say. His movements were fluid, easy, even natural, but there was something about them that made me feel cold. And his face, when he turned toward me again, appeared pensive but nothing worse, yet I shivered. He simply could not be as detached from this as his outward aspect suggested. I wasn’t certain how best to inquire, but between my wounds and the emotional battering I’d taken tonight, I was too hurt and exhausted to come up with any circumspect way of asking what I needed to know.
So I opted for bluntness. “How are you feeling?”
He paused in extinguishing the last lamp, visage averted from me and stillness uncanny. And the forced cheerfulness that emanated from him as he replied was like a blow. “I feel great, actually! I feel like I could run five miles without breaking a sweat. I mean,” he added with a stiff chuckle, “obviously I’m not really sweating right now, but the point is, I feel… probably better than I ever have. I don’t get it–” he shrugged as he put out the final light– “but it’s not bad.”
Still blunt, but finding it easier to make this specification in the darkness, I said, “I meant emotionally.”
For another moment he stood still, and I realized I’d neglected to draw Takani’s attention to the new and preternatural luminance of his eyes. I’d only noticed it vaguely myself, caught up as I had been with other concerns; now I focused on it, not as something I particularly liked or drew interest from, but as essentially the only object on which my own eyes were willing to settle and proof that he was looking at me as fixedly as I was at him. And in fact it was this topic, rather than any response to my question, he chose to bring up next: “I can see a lot better in the dark all of a sudden. It is really dark in here, right?”
“It is,” was all I could say. I didn’t have the heart to tell him his eyes were glowing, to add the question of what that might mean to the ever-expanding list. Not yet.
His black silhouette and those two points moved toward me, footsteps remarkably quiet across the floor, and I sensed him fall to his knees beside my futon. “Megumi was right: you should get some sleep.”
Though my body cried out in agreement, I refused to lower myself into a prone position just yet; I knew that when I did, unconsciousness would not be long in coming, and there were things needing to be said first. “Sano,” I insisted. “Are you all right?”
After the longest silence yet — so long, in fact, with that utterly motionless figure beside me, I might have believed I’d dozed off and missed his answer — he finally took one of the profound preparatory breaths I was already beginning to associate with speech rather than a need for oxygen with him. He probably didn’t require quite that much air, though, for the brief whisper he gave: “No.”
I sat up more fully and reached for him, and he came willingly into my arms. It shocked me all over again how cold he was, and the contact between us still hurt, yet I drew him against me and held him firmly. Apart from the chill, his body felt nothing but hale and strong, giving no indication of whatever turmoil lay within, but all that did was give me reason to cling tighter as if trying to get at that hidden interior.
I didn’t know whether it was the new closeness, or the intensity of my embrace, or my anticipatory wordlessness, or the concealing darkness around us that allowed him finally to elaborate. “I’m so fucking scared right now, Saitou.” He continued to whisper, as if any more volume might attract the attention of what he feared. “My body feels just fine — better than just fine — but I’m still dead. What if this is just… putting off really being dead somehow? When’s it gonna catch up with me? Am I gonna drop down dead all of a sudden — for real this time — without any warning? I don’t know what the hell’s going on, and I don’t really think Megumi can figure it out.”
The light of his eyes disappeared as he buried his face in my shoulder, and I felt my own body trembling as I held him. I couldn’t muster the energy, this time, to tell him he wasn’t dead; I couldn’t even tell myself that anymore. I did, however, have a train of logic I could use to reply to his primary concern. “The man who did this to you — Shibue or whoever he is — has been murdering people for months without any sign of weakening or dropping down dead all of a sudden. I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
“That’s… a good point,” Sano allowed shakily. “I have at least a couple of months, then.”
“And you should have more faith in Takani.” I was grasping at straws here trying to comfort him, but I supposed it was better than nothing. “Imagine what she’d do to you if she knew you didn’t think she could keep you alive. Or whatever we’re calling this.”
He gave a reluctant chuckle. “She might kill me.” It was dark humor, but it was humor. Something in him had eased a little — I couldn’t tell how I knew — so I was satisfied for the moment.
I pulled at him. “Lie down here with me. You may feel better than fine, but you could still do with some rest.”
He drew back a little. “But I’m freezing cold.”
“You’ll save the clinic on ice, then.”
He gave in, clearly craving the closeness, and stretched out against me, as comfortably as we could render the arrangement, on the futon not really intended for more than one person. And he was freezing cold, but my half-joking rejoinder also held true: though the pressure remained uncomfortable, the chill of his body felt actively good against my strained muscles and bruises. If I could fall asleep while a doctor rubbed ice all over me, I could fall asleep like this. I didn’t know whether he would be capable of it, and I didn’t like to abandon him in his current state no matter how much I’d managed to comfort him with my logic and weak humor, but I was about at the end of what I could handle for the night.
And in fact I very soon lost consciousness, and did not awaken for how many hours I couldn’t tell. My dreams during that time wrenched at my heart, appalling and tragic, half remembered and quickly fading upon awakening though they were, and it was with renewed poignancy and relief that I found Sano still in my arms, still cold and unbreathing and unmoving at my side, when I opened my eyes.
Clearly having roused before me, if he’d slept at all, Sano recognized my wakefulness immediately, drew aside, and sat up as if he’d been waiting to do so. The room, an interior chamber removed from sunlight by multiple filters, was only a little brighter now that it had been when I’d gone to sleep, but I thought I could make out the expression on his face: bleak, haggard, wearier than last night if that were possible, and reflecting deeper troubles.
“Did you sleep?” My question came a little hoarsely, and I had to clear my throat.
Sano shook his head, those newly glowing eyes swinging from side to side like carriage lanterns at a sharp turn. He pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them, appearing childish and forlorn and as if he wanted to ward off reality with this defensive posture. He inhaled, perhaps to speak, then merely let it out in a sigh.
I struggled upward more slowly than he had done, feeling my way through my injuries. I thought they were diminished somewhat since last night. I wanted to clean my teeth, to visit the toilet, to find some breakfast… but all of these needs paled beside that of attending to this wretched-looking Sano of mine. I would have reached out for him, inviting him again into my arms, if he hadn’t just pulled away from an embrace that had lasted presumably many hours already. So as it was, I watched, waiting for him to speak.
When he finally did, it was in a fainter voice than I’d ever heard from him, it too almost childlike in its uncertainty: “He broke my neck. He took me by surprise and hit me so hard…” He raised one hand to the back of the organ in question exactly as he had last night. “I couldn’t move. I was just paralyzed on the floor. I think something else was dislocated too, but it kinda didn’t matter right then.”
I merely continued to stare at him. There would be no purpose in commenting that his neck appeared unbroken and nothing on him seemed dislocated.
“He drinks blood,” Sano went on desolately. “That’s what happened to all the murder victims.” Now his hand crept from the back of his neck to the front where the two puncture wounds — long suspected to be the point where our unknown killer had drained the blood from the bodies — stood out copper-colored against the unnatural whiteness of his skin. “He bites you right here and sucks the blood right outta you.”
“But none of the other murder victims…” I had no adequate way to describe what had happened to Sano, so I merely gestured at him to indicate what I meant.
“That’s because I drank his blood too.” Now Sano hid his face between his knees, and the supreme horror of this part of the night’s story sounded strong in his voice. “I thought it was a dream, but… that’s how he made me like this: he drank my blood, and gave me his blood to drink in exchange. My injuries healed up completely, and now I’m like this. Because I drank his blood.”
I was simply out of consolation to offer, words or gestures. What could anyone say in response to that? With an inward steadying of self I tangented to the logistics of our situation. “How long have you remembered all of this?”
“It’s been coming back to me ever since I woke up in that shed out there.”
“But you didn’t tell me any of it last night.”
“It took hours to put all the pieces together.” Finally he raised his bright eyes far enough to look at me again over the curve of his kneecaps; I couldn’t read their expression. “Besides, I figured if I told you I drank some guy’s blood, you’d never get to sleep.”
That startled an “Ahou” right out of me, by which I meant — though I couldn’t say it in so many words — “I was supposed to be looking out for you last night, not the other way around.” It was very much like when he’d tried to comfort me in that desperate moment in the dark when we’d first entered this room; it was unfair that he, after what he’d suffered, should be the one to feel the need to offer support. It was just like him.
Now he lifted his face farther, high enough that I could see the slight smile on his lips. “More like ihou now, isn’t it?” — a terrible pun having to do with a relic of a dead person.
“Stop that,” I commanded, glad to find I could still feel irritable even under these circumstances; it normalized things somewhat.
His smile widened into a grin, the first real instance of that expression I’d seen from him since he… died. Finally he let go of his knees, stretching his entire body out alongside mine once again and staring up at the ceiling with a sigh. “Not looking forward to telling Megumi about the blood thing.”
“As eager as she is to find out more about your condition,” I reminded him, “you’re under no obligation to tell her anything.”
“Well, but she’s involved in all of this now; I feel like I owe her that much. Besides, it’s like she said last night: the more she can learn about me, the more we’ll know about the guy who did this.”
“Do you remember anything about him?”
Sano raised his arms to pillow his hands beneath his head in a gesture almost shockingly casual under the circumstances. “Not a damn thing, except what he did: nothing about what he was actually like.”
A long silence followed, less miserable and uncomfortable than any that had gone before. Sano was strong; despite his fear and uncertainty and disgust at what had happened and what might happen, he was recovering his confidence and presence of mind. I felt almost as much relief at this as I had at finding him alive in the first place, and touched to no small degree by the realization that it seemed to have been interacting with me that had helped him take this step. It seemed we really could get through this together, trite as that sounded.
Eventually I voiced something that had been on the periphery of my awareness since last night: “We can’t stay here. He was able to target you on your way across the back yard; our continued presence puts everyone in the clinic at risk.”
Sano nodded. “Maybe I really won’t have to tell her about the blood, then. She’s not gonna like it, though.”
“No.” I chuckled darkly. “Even if she weren’t already concerned for our health as a doctor and a friend, this will be a blow to her scientific curiosity. But it can’t be helped; we wouldn’t want a repeat of last night.”
He shuddered, the most human physical reaction I’d seen in him for a while. “Fuck, no,” he muttered.
Not particularly looking forward to rising and moving around, I stirred and said, “We should let her know as soon as possible, and then leave. We’ll go to my house.”
Sano turned a lopsided grin toward me. “Your house, huh? I guess that’s something to look forward to.” Then he added, “As long as you don’t mind having a blood-drinker under your roof,” in a tone that reminded me very much of the one he’d used once upon a time to confirm that I was married: would-be casualness barely masking a deep concern. I realized he’d mentioned the blood-drinking more frequently and more pointedly than he probably would have if he hadn’t been sounding me out for a reaction I hadn’t yet given.
The truth was, we had a lot to consider and discuss relating to Sano’s attacker and how the events of last night changed my perspective on the murder case and my professional plans — but postponing such discussion until a more private, secure, and leisurely setting still seemed the wisest course. So I wasn’t thinking about the seemingly perverted and decidedly unsettling answer to our long-standing question, ‘What does this murderer want with so much blood?’ And I was trying not to think about the ghastly scenario Sano had mentioned, of his having been forced to partake in our enemy’s gruesome predilection. But it appeared I needed to think about it, at least briefly, in order to reassure him.
“I don’t mind having you under my roof,” I told him firmly, “regardless of what some maniac with sharp teeth did to you.”
A faint hissing intake of unnecessary breath and its release with a more appeased sound was the only indication he gave of the relief I believed he felt. And after a moment he sat up again and turned away from me, apparently toward the clock on the wall; I couldn’t make out its hands in the dark room, but evidently he had no trouble telling the time. “Should be late enough to wake kitsune up by now,” he mumbled. In a fluid movement that illustrated just how hearty and strong he still felt physically, he jumped lightly to his feet. “I’ll go get her.”
Much more slowly and painstakingly, I moved to follow. “First walk with me to the outbuilding.”
In accepting the hand he offered to help me up, I couldn’t but sense his strength. And in the light from the hallway that spilled over him as he opened the door, I couldn’t miss the unquestionable apprehension in his face. “Bring your sword.”
I didn’t protest, despite how absurd the admonition might have seemed to an outsider, only moved to retrieve the article in question.
The Oguni clinic tended toward quiet and calm at most times of day, I’d already noticed, and hopefully Takani was yet resting; so it was both typical and desirable that we met no one in the corridor on our way. My movements still hurt considerably, but I could feel a definite improvement, and this allowed surer steps with less specific concentration than last night; I appreciated that.
Stepping into the same geta as before, I noticed the hook beside the outer door still empty; presumably this exit had been unlocked ever since Sano had left the building on the same errand that occupied me now. We should have considered that, I reflected uneasily, though admittedly we’d had good reason for distraction.
I gestured, pleased to find the motion not as painful as yesterday. “Do you have this key?”
“Oh, yeah.” As I turned to glance at him, Sano, just behind me, lifted a hand, ready to thrust it into his pocket, and the door slid open under the influence of my own. But his expression instantly twisted, altering horribly, as he gave a sudden unexpected cry of dismay and pain and staggered backward.
Occasioning some serious discomfort in my limbs — though by now I was rather accustomed to it — I hastily followed him the two steps he’d stumbled, heart racing as if to make up for the sluggishness of his and glancing around as if I weren’t fully aware of our solitude and expected to find some newly arrived enemy. Sano was clutching at one hand with the other, holding it so tightly against his chest that I couldn’t see what might be wrong with it; and on his face was a look almost more astonished than hurt, though the pain was evident as well.
“What happened?” I demanded, eyes again darting from him to find the answer. But the corridor was, as I well knew, unpeopled except for ourselves, bright in the sun that streamed through the exit flung open to the morning air.
“The– the light,” he gasped, and his words, like his face, seemed to hold more surprise than anything else. He finally released his tight grip in order to gesture almost desperately with his right hand toward the door and the rays streaming through it, and I was every bit as shocked as he to see what had happened to his left: it was covered from fingertip to wrist, on its outside face, with an angry redness, shining and blistered, a hideous welt at least six inches long. It was what I imagined a sunburn might progress to in a far hotter climate than this; it appeared agonizing, but, more than that, impossible to have happened in the mere moment the direct sunlight had spent on his skin. Impossibility, however, had been thoroughly negated where he was concerned.
Footsteps and voices sounded from different parts of the building, undoubtedly roused by Sano’s cry, but I didn’t know that I wanted anyone but Takani to see him. “Come back into the room,” I urged, taking him by the shoulders, disregarding the open door just as we’d previously disregarded its unlocked state. I couldn’t move him until he was willing to move himself, but that took only a moment; soon we were barricaded against prying eyes again in the examination room that had been my home for far too long, though it was only a matter of time before someone knocked.
Sano held his hand out from his body, wincing and hissing with pain, face screwed up so harshly I expected to see tears that, presumably, his eyes no longer produced. He couldn’t utter a word, he was evidently in such distress. Looking at the boils and flaming redness of his fresh wound, I couldn’t say I blamed him.
The implications of this event were so numerous, and potentially interacted so intricately with the other inferences Sano’s condition had raised about our unknown foe, my head was spinning trying to keep them all in the background where they belonged. I needed to help Sano; I needed to talk to Takani; I needed to get our plans for leaving back on track.
I didn’t need, right at this moment, to dwell on just how close I’d apparently come to losing Sano again, this time to the most innocuous of natural phenomena.