Ink (29 page)

But the words didn’t come. He shook, more and more violently, and then something glinted in the darkness, sparkling like a jewel. Ink shimmered on the ground where it had oozed out of his duffel bag, out of the corner of velvet that lay torn at the mouth of the zipper. And then something reflected off Tomohiro’s hip. The glint grew darker, more encompassing and thicker. Ink dripped from under his cream jacket, spreading in two swirling clouds around him like the glittering dust that had trailed the wagtail.

When the ink clouds touched the ground they curled upward, like waves encircling him in slow motion. The ink from the kendo bag sprawled upward and joined them, trailing up his spine in slow motion and spreading out at his shoulders.

His fists shook violently. The men holding me swore and released their grip as they watched.

“What the hell?” Sunglasses shrieked.

Ishikawa’s face was pale, as papery as anything Tomohiro had drawn. He fell to the ground, scrambling backward until his back pressed against the scratchy stone of the bridge.

Tomohiro moaned as the inky clouds swirled around him.

There was a vague shout gathering on the air, but it wasn’t coming from him. I could hear it rattling around in my head, but there was no sound in my ears. The traces of the voice grew louder and louder until it was yelling in my head. I put my hands over my ears, but the sound seemed to come from inside. An icy breeze blew along my neck, racing toward Tomo hiro as the clouds glinted and spread.

The ink feathered into monstrous black wings on his back.

Two streams of ink spread upward, taller than Tomohiro—

seven feet, then twelve, taller and taller like great spiraling horns. The goons had backed up now, and I should have run to Tomohiro—or run away—but we were all frozen by the horrible apparition.

The ink carved itself into a jawbone, cheekbones, deep-set eyes. Four sharp horns grew from the top of the smoky ink as it towered over us.

Ishikawa screamed as the ink assembled a horrible, demonic face that laughed gleefully the harder Ishikawa shrieked. I was glad I couldn’t see its features from behind Tomohiro; I’d never seen Ishikawa act like that, so paralyzed with horror.

He stared, his own face whiter than his hair, and my blood ran cold watching him.

Suddenly the ink fell like a waterfall. It splashed downward, Tomohiro collapsing with it, the ink splattering everywhere like blood. It sprayed against my face, warm and tingling on my skin.

I stumbled forward, snatching my
keitai
off the ground and shoving it into my pocket as I ran.

I knelt over Tomohiro; he was unconscious.

“Tomo!” I cried. The ink that pooled around him began to trace paths along the cement, reaching toward me like grasping fingers.

“It’s you,” Ishikawa said, and I barely heard him.

“Tomo! Can you hear me?”

“You’re the key to all this, aren’t you?”

“Can you shut it?” I shouted. “He needs an ambulance or something!”

“The ink. It reacted to you. There wasn’t a drop until you got here.”

Shut up,
I thought, but I was shaking.

Because he was right.

Chapter 15

I grabbed Tomohiro’s shoulders and shook them.

“Tomo!” I shrieked, but his head rolled from side to side as I shook. He coughed, and ink spilled out of his mouth.

A meaty pair of hands grabbed me and yanked me backward.

“Forget it!” I heard Ishikawa say. “Let’s just get out of here!”

“Screw you!” yelled Sunglasses. His thick fingers cut into my arms as I struggled. “You gonna let a freak that powerful just walk around? He’s gonna hunt us down. Let’s deal with this now.”

“No Kami, no pay,” said Cigarette. He reached over and pulled Tomohiro off the ground.

“Let go!” I screamed. Cigarette hoisted Tomohiro over his shoulder, bracing himself under the weight. He headed toward the unmarked truck I’d hidden behind, and threw the doors open with a sour metal clang.

Ishikawa got to his feet, his hands squeezed into fists. His face was pale and he stumbled as he moved forward.

“What makes you think we can control him, huh?” Ishikawa said. His eyes were wild and full of fear. I’d seen him scared before, but not like this. I could see his fists shaking as he struggled to keep them balled. “I know Yuuto. He’ll leave us alone if we leave now.” Cigarette slumped Tomohiro across the floor of the truck, then hopped in behind and dragged him by his shoulders into the darkness.

“Tomo!” I yelled. I kicked my shoes into Sunglasses’s legs over and over, but it was like he couldn’t even feel it.

“Having second thoughts, Satoshi?” Sunglasses said. “You know what we think of cowards like you.”

“It’s not like that,” he said. And then Sunglasses yanked me over to the truck. “Shit, man,” Ishikawa said. “Leave Katie here.”

“So she can report us, you mean?” said Cigarette. “She’s the missing piece, if you didn’t notice. She’s the freaking ink magnet. The inkwell.” He emerged from the shadows, lighting a new cigarette and holding it between two fingers.

Fear rattled down my spine and spread its icy grip to every limb. I knew I was kicking, but I couldn’t feel my legs moving anymore. The darkness of the truck loomed closer and closer, until Sunglasses threw me into it. I skidded across the metal floor, cold and studded with metal bolts that caught and sliced across my finger. My shoulder ached, but I sat up as quickly as I could, lunging toward the doors Cigarette was closing.

“Greene!” yelled Ishikawa.

I saw Sunglasses turn around and slug Ishikawa in the jaw, and then the doors slammed in my face.

“Let me out!” I banged my fists on the doors over and over. The sound of a metal bolt sliding into place echoed in the emptiness of the truck. I hit the door again.

Footsteps, the driver’s door opening and banging shut, the engine roaring to life.

“Shit!” I shrieked, hot tears blurring in my eyes. My cut finger burned as I slammed my fists into the metal over and over.

The truck lurched and I tumbled backward, half on top of Tomohiro.

I cried out in panic for a minute, Tomohiro’s limp legs pressed against mine. I screamed at my brain to think.

My
keitai.

I grabbed it out of my pocket and f lipped it open, the LCD screen illuminating the darkness of the truck. I dialed 911, pressed the send button and squeezed the phone against my ear.

Come on, come on…

A strange beeping noise and a recorded woman’s voice babbling in Japanese.

What the crap? I dialed again.

How can the number not be in service?

And then it dawned on me. The emergency number in Japan is not 911.

But what the hell is it?

I stared at my phone, willing myself to know the number to call.

But I didn’t.

I stared down at Tomohiro, putting my hand on the small of his back and shaking him gently.

“Tomo?” I said, my voice trembling.

The wings were still there, feathers of ink sprawled over him and draped onto the floor. There was a gaping hole in the wings where my hand touched his back. I lifted my fingers; the ink felt greasy and warm as it dripped down my hand and over the blood from my cut.

“Tomo.” I shook him gently. But he was out cold, and the truck was driving us farther and farther into trouble.

My
keitai
screen blinked out suddenly, the truck dark except for a faint candlelike glimmer around the ink melting off Tomohiro’s back.

I scrolled through the names in my address book, thinking who else I could call. Diane was in Osaka and I didn’t have a contact number with me. I stared at each name as it illuminated on the screen.

There weren’t many of them to choose from.

Then
Tanaka
flashed up on the display.

I mashed the buttons and pressed the phone to my ear.

It rang and rang. The truck lurched to the left and picked up speed. The ink and blood dripped off my wrist and onto my
keitai.
I switched hands and rubbed the gunk off on my jeans, making a big, ugly splotch.

“Moshi moshi?”
said the voice on the phone, and I was too shaken up to realize it didn’t sound familiar.

“Tanaka,” I blurted out, “call the police. These Yakuza attacked us and we’re in a truck and I don’t know where they’re taking us.” I choked up and started to cry.

And then I realized from the confusion on the other end that something was wrong.

“Katie?”

It wasn’t Tanaka. It was Takahashi.

I’d hit the wrong button and got the wrong name. But it didn’t matter, because anyone could help us.

“Jun,” I said. “Please help me.”

“Oh god, Katie. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I don’t know!” I said through tears. My throat felt thick and I could barely get the words out. “We were at Sunpu Park.

I think maybe we’re on a highway. We’re moving really fast.”

“Don’t panic,” Jun said, and I felt like smacking him.
Don’t
panic? That’s your best advice?
“I’ll call the police. Katie, did they say why they took you? Was it that Ishikawa guy again?”

“Tomohiro’s here, too,” I sobbed.

“Yuu’s there?” Silence. “Katie, do you know what they want?”

I opened my mouth but clamped it shut again. I cursed silently. I’d almost given away everything. Did it even matter anymore? They might be able to use Tomohiro, but not me.

They’d— Oh my god. They’d kill me.

“Jun, please help me.”

“Katie, I’m going to hang up so I can call the police. Try to keep your phone with you, okay? Put it in manner mode so they won’t find it. I’m coming for you. Hold tight.”

I didn’t want to hang up, to sever the only link I had to help. But I didn’t have to. Jun hung up first and my LCD

dimmed, leaving me in darkness again.

“Tomo,” I said, flipping my
keitai
closed and open again, and resting it beside us. The wings had melted, little pools of black trailing away from him, turning to dust and lifting slowly like dull fireflies.

His eyes were closed, his copper hair lined with sweat and clinging to the sides of his face. There was a dark pool near his mouth and I panicked. I grabbed the
keitai
and put it beside his face, then breathed out in relief.

It was ink dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Creepy, but it wasn’t blood, so I figured he was okay.

I looked at my finger again to see how bad the cut was.

It had stopped bleeding, but the truck was rusty. I hoped it wouldn’t get infected. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a tissue, wrapped it around the cut and pressed my fingers together to hold it there.

I checked Tomohiro again and made sure he was breathing. Then I sat back and stared at the truck, looking for any means of escape.

The
keitai
screen blacked out again, and this time I folded it up, shoving it into my pocket. As chilling as it was to sit here in the dark, I needed to save the battery.

The truck pulled us forward, and I rocked back and forth in the darkness, nothing to do but wait.

“Katie?”

The voice startled me in the darkness, and I shot forward onto my hands and knees. “Tomo?”

He groaned, and I heard the slide of fabric as he pushed himself up. I lifted the
keitai
out of my pocket and saw him hunched over in the dim light.

“What happened?” he said, rubbing his jaw.

“You passed out,” I said. “They took us somewhere. I don’t know where. They killed the engine an hour ago, but no one’s come for us yet.”

He moaned, running his fingers through his hair. Even sweaty, bloody and shoved in the back of a gangster truck, he still made my stomach jittery when he did that. He made a face, lolling his tongue out. “Ugh, my mouth tastes like a pen exploded.”

Okay, a little less attractive.

And then he snapped out of it and looked at me.

“Are you okay?” he said, and my
keitai
blinked out. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” I said, folding the phone and shoving it into my pocket. I felt the warmth of his breath as he moved closer, his palms sliding up my arms to my shoulders. The rough cal-luses from kendo practice scraped against my skin followed by the towellike wristband covering his scar.

“What happened?” he said again, his voice raw. “I remember shouting your name, and then this intense…pain, like I was burning alive.”

“I don’t know what happened,” I said. Even trying to think back to it made me shudder. “There was ink everywhere. It made these…wings, on your back. And some kind of ugly, horned face above your head.”

“Wings? A face?”

I smirked. “It scared the crap out of Ishikawa.”

Tomohiro’s voice was stone. “Good.”

“He told them to leave us alone after that. But they didn’t listen.”

“Katie. You have to get out of here.” His cool fingertips traced down my arms, sending shivers up my spine. They rested on my fingers, hesitated on my makeshift tissue bandage.

“Yeah, because I’ve just been sitting around in this truck for fun,” I said. “Like there’s a way out.”