Si Vis Pacem

AFTER

She's gotten so quiet.

Sarah blinked and looked away from the bright lights below. "Yes?"

"Oh, nothing." Her mother smiled faintly. "How was the meal, dear? Filling?"

She's been eating less, too. I'm worried aboout her.

She's right, you know. You have been eating less. You're starting to look like a scarecrow.

"Oh, shut up."

Her mother's smile tightened. "I'm sorry?"

Sarah shook her head. "Sorry. It wasn't... directed at you."

What was that?
Telepathy.
Since when could you read minds?
Since we started to descend.

Sarah returned her gaze to the window. The bright lights were starting to resolve into skyscrapers and apartment buildings, whipping past at warp-speed. Soon, they gave way to an enclosed asphalt maze. The jet descended further, impacting the tarmac with a jolt that made Sarah's teeth chatter. Behind her, her father cursed as his whiskey spilled. How had she known that he'd been drinking whiskey?

Telepathy.
Oh, shut up.

Sure. Telepathy. Why not? Nothing could faze her anymore.

Sarah glanced out the window again. Floodlights bathed the runway in harsh illumination, the staff scurrying to and fro like rats. She could just barely make out an emaciated silhouette on the runway, its crown of eye-stalks undulating gently. As she stared, it raised one gnarled hand and waved. Smoke poured off its frame with no discernible source, heavy, billowing and black.

"- done," her father said, coming down the row with her brother in tow. "About time. It's raining, so there's a few guys coming with umbrellas to bring us indoors. After that, it's a short walk to the car." Gingerly, he patted Sarah's shoulder. "You alright? Need the toilet?"

"I'm not an invalid, Dad."

You've sure been acting like one.

Sarah glared at her brother. He didn't meet her eyes. "I don't need the toilet."

"Okay. Good. Good."

When the stewardess appeared, they gathered their things and went down the staircase. Sarah watched her step; it was slippery. They boarded a small buggy and set off for the sheltered confines of the terminal. "Our luggage will come along later," her father said. "Anyway, most of the furniture is already in. Our beds are all set up. That's what's most important."

It's funny how he rambles when he's nervous.
Please stop talking about my family like they're a zoo exhibit.
What can I say? I'm fascinated. It's been, what, four months, and it still hasn't gotten old.

BEFORE

Sarah wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and stared down at the box in the pit. The sun shone down through the leaves above. Birdsong filled her ears. It was still autumn, but there was a chill running down her spine nonetheless.

"Okay," she said out loud. "You're a creep. You know that, right?"
Sure. But at least now you know I'm real.

Sarah bent down and brushed her fingers over the dirt-covered lid of the box. A crude heart had been carved into the metal. Grunting, she leaned forward and hauled it out of the hole. She tilted it to the side and found that it was locked. "What's the passcode?"

Your birthday.

Sarah ground her teeth. The combination lock popped open. There was a pistol inside. Fifteen bullets.

9x19mm Parabellum. Designed by Georg Luger in 1901. Luger was Austrian, you know.

"Shut up," Sarah said, bloodshot eyes fixed on the pistol. Her hands were clammy. Black spots danced on the edges of her vision. Deep breaths, she thought unsteadily. Deep breaths. Five things I can see. Okay. Five things.

Red box. Pistol. Cartridge. Shovel. Hole.
"The red box includes the pistol and cartridge. Idiot."
Technically, you could fill your quota by just counting the bullets.
"Just shut up."
Hey, you can't blame me for being excited. Never thought I'd get to see you dig it up. It's like a dream come true.
"What even was your plan here, huh?"
I thought it'd be romantic.

"In what way," Sarah began, her voice on the verge of a shriek, but cut herself off before someone heard her. "In what way," she resumed, quieter, "is that romantic? In what way, shape or form could that possibly be romantic?"

I dunno. It made sense at the time. What are you going to do with it?

Sarah looked at the pistol. "The Japanese banned guns in, like, 1952."

They can't confiscate what they don't know exists. Do you think they'll actually search your bags?

"So you're saying I should keep it in my handbag," Sarah said, hating the familiar edge of hysteria in her voice. She'd been hearing it too often lately. No thanks to him. "A gun. That could kill me. In my handbag."

What's the worst that could happen?

AFTER

"Welcome to Japan," the chauffeur said in accented English, tipping his cap as he held the door for them. Sarah acknowledged his courtesy with a polite nod and boarded the car, squeezing in the back beside her mother. As she turned away to stare out the window, her mother reached for her hand and gave it a tentative pat. Something landed on the roof.

"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"

It's just me.
Since when could you do that?
I'm starting to like Kageoka.
That's not an answer.

A train trundled overhead. Sarah stared out at the halogen lights as the neon adverts whizzed by. The characters made her head swim. Or maybe it was just the jet lag.

Kageoka is special.
Okay?
I can feel myself becoming more real. More tangible. I'm not just a voice on the wind anymore.

Sarah swallowed her horror as a single spindly hand reached down and tapped smartly on the window. She turned to her mother and saw that she had slipped on her eye mask and was now snoring softly.

So what now?
I dunno. I've never been to Japan before. Maybe I'll explore the city. Pop by that mall your mother was talking about. Twilight Plaza, was it?
Good. I hope you get run over.

She hated that laugh.

Oh, Sarah. You're not getting rid of me that easily.

BEFORE

- imagine why. He's so up his own ass I can practically -
"Dashiell's a decent guy."

Sarah sat up straight, nerves frayed. For the first time in a long while, her bedroom was silent. Then the same nasally voice whispered out from the corner, faintly overlaid with the sound of static.

And finally she acknowledges my presence. To defend her ex.
"He wouldn't be my ex if you hadn't killed yourself in front of us!"
Tough.

There was a knock on the door. "Sarah? Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, Mom. Go to bed."

You know he broke up with you because you wouldn't let him get to third base, right?
"Because you wouldn't stop commentating. And also because I'm moving. Because of you."
I'm doing you a favour. Who in their right mind would give that douche their virginity?
"What makes you think I'm a virgin?"
Quiet, traditional girl like you must be saving herself for marriage.
"You're such a freak."

There was a low phgelmy noise from the corner. Talk dirty to me.

"What's wrong with you?"
Nothing. I'm just basking in the sound of your voice.
"I just want to sleep."
So do I. But it's dark here. I can't see anything. I can't taste anything. I can't touch anything. I don't even think I have a body anymore. All I can do is talk.

Sarah flopped back onto her bed and listened to her clock.

Good night, Sarah. Sweet dreams.

AFTER

In Virginia, they lived on the edge of the forest in a sprawling house. The new house was more of an apartment. Sarah didn't mind it. It reminded her of Singapore, a bit. And the view was to die for.

I think I can touch you now.
"Please don't."

A cold nub brushed against her back. Sarah whipped around and swung blindly, but her balled fist passed through nothing. She overbalanced and narrowly avoided toppling onto the floor. A phgelmy, gurgling noise echoed from above. I think that's the limit. I can't even lift the Parabellum.

"I don't think I want you touching a gun ever again."
Don't be a killjoy.

Sarah scooted away from the silhouette standing in the middle of her room. "Why do you look like that?"

It glided over the floor to her full-length mirror, eye-stalks pivoting to stare into its depths. Like what? I don't have a reflection.

"Never mind."
No. I'm curious now. Can't you draw? Draw me.
"Not today. I'm tired."

Sarah stared from her bed as he climbed onto her desk and slipped through the window. He didn't cast a shadow.

Sweet dreams.