Half-Sight

13 | scar

13. SCAR

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IN MINUTES, REN digs out an old screen from beneath the stack of bedrolls in the closet, moves aside the pot of medicine, and sets it before us on a little table. As blue bleeds into pink outside, he runs a search on Nozomi Abe's death.

"Shibuya suicide of Nozomi Abe..." Ren reads under his breath, scrolling down. The words fly past my vision. "You're right."

I lean close eagerly. "About Abe?"

"Nozomi Abe was working as a brawlery collector for Minami Brawlery before abruptly boarding a train to Tokyo. Sources say she was..." He stops reading.

I try to get a read on his face. "What?"

A new heaviness sinks into the air. "...She was close to Eiji Tanaka," he answers. "He was the bartender, she took the bets. It says she was presumably heartbroken over his death and left to start a new life in Tokyo. The reports say she shot herself in an alley in Shibuya District with an untraceable handgun. Alcohol in her blood. No food or water in her system. She had cuts."

I pause. "Cuts?"

"On her arms, some on her abdomen. They reported them as self-inflicted."

A beat of silence passes between us. I have flashes of myself wading through the chaos of otou-san's crazy brawleries, being jostled back and forth like a twig whipped by wind. Lights melting like neon paint before my eyes. Eye-watering smoke. Sweet alcohol. Somewhere in that blur, I remember the distinct figure of a muscled woman, helping me haul my father out into cold night air when he went too far. She had a plate of notes in one hand and a fire in her eyes.

"I knew her," my mouth says.

Ren stops. The screen flickers dark, and in the haze of dusk I feel his eyes meet mine, startled. "You did?"

I recall pelting rain, bitterness in my mouth, and a voice thick and smooth as oil. Hey, I get it. Even the best men can't help a shitty day. But that's the way of survival, right, Hina? The memory of her voice, low with that sandpaper-scratch, echoes with the weight of an unwavering drum. Nozomi had nerves of steel.

"Daizo killed her." My voice trembles. "I'm sure. Daizo killed her, framed it as suicide, and walked away. Which means," I go on, pulling in a breath, "that Daizo's blood got mixed up in the fight, and the antibiotic compound was his because he survived Red Lung. He was the only survivor. And he's gotta know it. He's gotta know that what everyone's looking for is him, in his body." I think of Daizo's dry sneer. That impatient roll of his eyes. The flip of his knife. "He's confident because he has leverage."

"Himself," finishes Ren.

I nod, my eyes wandering to his. He's close enough for me to see his expression, clear as day. My fear mirrored there.

"He left me an address." Ren tugs out wrinkled paper from his pocket and flattens it for me to see. "Twenty miles north of Kita District. He had me chasing my own tail into a room in the Castle."

I draw close to the paper, squinting to see. Some scrawls are blurred, but the address heading is written in thick, black ink.

WELCOME HOME BROTHER