Quiet

Chapter 24 - A Prayer for Cynthia

It's okay to tell Joel where I am. I probably won't stay much longer.

That fragile sandcastle feeling grabs hold of me like icy water sliding down my back. Tears spill from my eyes, because I'm alone. But no matter what roils inside me, Cynthia has it worse.

Without dropping my phone, I dab at my eyes with my fist. My tears attract attention, as does my green one piece dress. Some kind, some sympathetic, some creepy.

After a deep breath, I lift my chin, not just to prepare for various weirdos, but to think.

I scan the ceiling for the demon. If you really like me, help me. Help.

It doesn't speak in my head, and I don't imagine its presence anymore. Maybe it was never here. A man gazes at me, as if licking me with his eyes. I scoot away, circling around the ends of several long lines of commuters until I'm sure he isn't following me.

Damn Makiko, be tough. Don't be so jumpy.

After commuters board another train, I notice a message from Cynthia. Or the Cowboy. For a second, I don't open it, but I can't help Cynthia if I don't. To help, I have to deal with reality.

He freed me, Makiko. I don't know why.

I reread it and call. "Cynthia? Hello?"

"Hello!"

"You're free?"

"Yes." She gushes like a prom queen wannabe, but I don't want to be fooled by forced acting. Would she fake this much happiness? "He was going to meet you, but changed his mind and let me go."

I should be happy, but I'm confused and suspicious. "Okay... record video in front of your house, could you? Can you? I have to know you're safe."

"I will, I'm almost home-"

"Wow, I'm glad, I'm so happy, but I can't talk long. Cynthia, are you okay?"

"Yes. I'll tell you about it another time. I just want to get home."

"Okay." I'm not going to ruin this for her by crying about my situation. In fact, I feel stronger already, hearing she's free. I stay behind my pillar though, even though I should check what's going on in the coffee shop. "I'll look for a video from you and talk later, okay? I'm so happy. As soon as possible, we'll talk. I'm so happy, but send a video."

As soon as we end the conversation, I scoot along the platform to the next pillar. It has a good view of the coffee shop too, without being directly across from it. When I raise my phone to call Alan, a different bald man in the coffee shop catches my attention.

Nobu wasn't there before. Alan picks up. "That bald man near you is Nobu, the Yakuza." Alan doesn't look out the window at the platform, but he frowns. In order not to look at Nobu or out the window, he narrows his eyes. Nobu senses something, or something else happens, and looks up at me, at my pillar. In a panic, I close my phone and duck away.

Can Nobu zero in on me through the window and glare and darkness and crowd? No! Unless he's the demon. Cynthia's free, so I step into the open, just half of me, and flip him off. I'm so stupid, because he is looking right at me, and I flip him off.

According to the arrivals sign, two minutes go by. My heart counts each second with a boom. When the next train arrives, I jump aboard. Passengers press against me. If Nobu sent a Yakuza to the platform, he's probably stuck in another car. No one can walk through a train this densely-packed.

I'm so stupid for flipping Nobu off. Stupid and happy and scared. Stupid and happy and dead?

To get my mind away from that, I maneuver my arm around enough to look for Cynthia's short video on my phone. It's so unlike her not to make sure I'm okay, but she's been through a lot and is excited to be free. She must be too exhausted and too relieved to realize I could be in danger. With a press of my finger, I like her video as if it's a normal day. I share it with Alan and add a message. Cynthia's home. He set her free. Maybe he hopes to follow her to me?

I rest my phone against my chest. After I asked the demon to help, Cynthia was freed. Instantly. Unexpectedly. Did it do that? Can it?

Another message. Get away from here, Alan writes. We'll lose Nobu and check on Cynthia.

I'm already gone, I write and send, while noticing that there are no new messages from Joel. Maybe I'll hear from him when he can't find me at Nakameguro station.

Instead of going straight to Yoga, I'll do something evasive while Alan makes sure Cynthia's alright. My train is an express, but I have enough time to watch Cynthia's video again. I look for signs it's fake, but nothing looks wrong. I also get off the train at every stop, just in case the Yakuza is following me. At the last moment, I leap back on, hoping that's evasive enough. No one else gets on and off like I do. Not even once.

At Jiyugaoka, I get off the train in the same evasive way. At the last moment, I jump again, but not into the train. If that's not evasive enough, I may have to get tough, because I'm no match against a Yakuza, unless he can't run or I get in a lucky kick. I play volleyball. If necessary, I will hit or kick a ballsack into the sky.

Since I was nine or ten, I've walked between Jiyugaoka and Yoga many times. There are streets where I can easily hail a taxi. It's my territory. Full of houses. Full of busy streets and quiet ones. I can reach Yoga in forty-five minutes or an hour from here, but I'll huddle in some nook for awhile, so Alan gets to Yoga first. By the time I get there, everything will be fine. Everything settled.

I burst through the turnstiles at Jiyugaoka station and dash across the plaza. This is a very safe neighborhood. It's past ten, but a lot of people mill about because of the restaurants and bars in the area. Even though Cynthia and I are both safe, the Jiyugaoka atmosphere of fun doesn't sweep me up. The sandcastle feeling sinks in as soon as I reach a street out of sight of the station. It makes me weak and nauseous, distracting me like hundreds of tiny, cold fingers touching me.

To survive like Cynthia, to be strong, I need to pull myself together.

Before I set off across this part of Tokyo, I write another message to Joel. Are you looking for the demon now or me? (Sorry, I left Nakameguro.)

Okay, okay, the last couple of chapters have included a lot of messaging back and forth. Is it too much?

Seriously, thanks for reading! Seriously, thanks for starring!