Epoch Augmented

Volume III - The Forgotten Lure

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Muse

By: Juki

The scent of withering roses dotted the air with an intriguing presence of death - a vulgar sweetness that dampened her senses like six feet of gravel. Her fingertips traced the sluggish pace of pending demise in the form of ebbing discolouration across the wilting flower. Blackened and frayed petals paved her night table like gravestones; their lifeless cadavers brittle against the destructive surge of time. Despite her meticulous vigilance, not a single part of the rose escaped the touch of decay.

Sorrow is a parasite which thrived on doubt; there is something strangely cyclic and infectious about it. This vile infection takes the heart hostage; it slowly seeps into the core, shedding gradual doses of poison along the way. Is there not a cure for sorrow? Usagi mused with grey pensiveness. An unshakable heaviness plagued her since she had last spoken to Ami. It seemed that their small talk carried more than an exchange of onus secrets. Usagi had probably been inflicted by that cancerous parasite through the oral transfusion of their minds.

With a wistful smile, Usagi turned her eyes toward the pillars of moonlight scattered across her room. She's happy now...that's all that matters. That notion brought about a bittersweet comfort; Usagi would gladly bear her cross if it rekindled the joy back in her smile. Ami's revelation was dishearteningly true: there was nothing glorious behind heroism, only sacrifice and shame. A stream of moonlight fell upon her night table like a thick, delirious dream - feathering the fringes of the blackening rose with silvery wings. With a reticent quiver, the rose shed yet another petal, which fluttered down onto the opened envelope tucked underneath the vase.

In a hesitant impasse, Usagi's hand suspended in reaches of the envelope. A shrill contrast of fear and yearning pulsed densely through her veins, causing her hand to tremble. Another petal sauntered down and fell to a rest on her knuckle - a sickening tribute to her uncertainty. With feverish impulse, her fingers snapped forward and enclosed around the envelope. The flap of the covering, wrinkled with usage, flared open with brazen enticement. The unfolded letter exuded an eerie fluorescence under the pale illumination of the moon. Smoothing the paper out against her lap, she hoisted the flattened letter up into the light and stared into its vast, white emptiness.

An influx of distinct peppery cologne, permeating from the opened letter, condensed the sombre tone of roses in the air. There was something peculiar about this unique arrangement of rich, dark woods paired with waning beauty. It immediately invoked the impression of a symphony with resonant bass accompanied by a blare of cacophonic notes strung through a violin. Its provocative allure soothed and agitated her all at once; the clashing aromas conjured a brash awareness of the forsaken abyss in her heart. Strange, she thought - how trivial shifts in the air could imprint such a vivid effect on her.

Intoxicated by a rush of emotions evoked by that lingering mirage, the peripheries of reality blurred and eluded her altogether. Usagi jolted in full alarm when a brilliant flash of light chased away her fleeting reverie. Hirata Aiko excused herself with a curt bow, equally startled with Usagi's jerky reaction. Usagi flushed with embarrassment as she quickly tucked the blank letter back into the envelope. Aiko smiled and placed her tray down on the foot table of the bed; she picked out a tiny white paper cup with an assortment of colourful pills for Usagi.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted," Aiko said, handing the paper cup to Usagi followed by a tall glass of water.

"I was just looking at the letter..." Usagi explained with a mouthful of vitamins tumbling around on her tongue.

"In the dark?"

Usagi swallowed the pills, downed the glass of water and handed the empty glass back to Aiko. "I'm a bit confused myself..." Usagi began, sliding her feet into her slippers. "Just a week ago...I received this blank letter along with a rose." Usagi said, nodding her head in the direction of the night table.

Aiko rearranged her tray, "Blank letter? Do you know who sent it?"

Usagi's lips thinned at the question; it was something she had known all along but never bothered to acknowledge. It was, after all, his signature mark - blood red roses suspended in mid blossom. "I think it was my boyfriend..."

"I see." Aiko picked up her tray, "how would you like to join me in my round?"

Usagi looked up, mildly surprised.

"Oh, well I figured you could use some exercise and practice." Aiko blurted, almost defensively.

"I could use some practice." Usagi agreed, rising to her feet.

"Besides...it's a gruelling job...I thought I could use some company." Aiko admitted with a strange aloofness in her voice. "So, how is your walking these days?"

It had been a while since Aiko had accompanied Usagi to physiotherapy; in fact, Usagi had not seen much of Aiko lately, besides running into her in the cafeteria once in a while. "I think I'm almost fully recovered."

"That's good to hear. It's always nice to know that at least some people are getting better." Aiko muttered, monotone.

"Well, isn't that always the case?" Usagi uttered, her words drenched in childish denial. Quickening her steps, she caught up to Aiko. "I can't imagine how anyone could get worse?"

"But there are." Aiko kept her gaze forward at the unwinding corridor ahead - the same, dark, archaic path countless wandering souls have treaded in uncertainty. "There are some unfortunate ones. People with their days numbered."

Usagi shuddered at the thought, at the vile taste of mortal fragility.

"Well, here we are." Aiko sighed and paused in front of a door marked 209. With a soft tap, Aiko opened the door and slid into the murky darkness of the room.

Usagi hesitated and remained outside. Unsure of her invitation, Usagi supposed it would be safer to stand guard here. She could hear Aiko's muffled voice through the dense strata of gloom seeping out of the gaps in the door. Petty anxiety gripped Usagi's heart: boorish concepts of airborne contagion dreamed up by fear. It was an instinctive human precaution - an intrinsic withdrawal of the body before the mind. It's hard to radiate grace in the face of sickness, for pity is so often mistaken for humanity. Aiko was painstakingly aware of the ambiguity surrounding the tender subject of mortality; it was better not to visit that vulgar reality.

The tiny paper cups on Aiko's tray began to wane, with one cup remaining; Aiko paused in mid step and turned to Usagi. Pain. The unmistakable look of pain gripped Aiko's delicate features; her sapphire eyes clouded over with inexpressible memoirs. "Could you come in? This time?" It wasn't a question, but a desperate plea - the last mindless thrash before drowning. All at once, Usagi felt ashamed and overtly human. She could only nod, unable to speak, unable to untangle the knot suspended in the back of her throat. Words she had spun out to Ami rebuked and underlined her own hypocrisy: so long as you can live with yourself... Usagi grimaced at her self-assessment; the answer was a resounding no. It was easier said than done. It's so easy to love someone you know... She realized, and that thought persisted, blossoming into the callous truth that love for a stranger required something greater than herself.

They strode in silence, minds entangled in a viscous web of clumsy insight; all that resided in Usagi's head was the pestilent prick of guilt. Where was that natural and effortless quality of compassion she once possessed? She nearly ran into Aiko, so consumed with remorse - fully aware of her own self-indulgence. Usagi searched for that window of pain in Aiko, which had swung open so abruptly a few moments before. To her chagrin, they were sealed shut now with an unexpected onslaught of indifference. A stony indolence cleaved over Aiko's face, voiding all traces of emotions.

"Her name is Ayakashi Satoko," Aiko announced, lifting the tiny cup in one hand while she set her tray down on the ground with the other.

"Ayakashi..." Usagi scrunched her nose at the familiarity of that surname, as it rolled off the tip of her tongue.

"She's been diagnosed with leukemia. There aren't any matching donors and she's in critical condition" Aiko recited, as if she had said this a thousand times. "There's nothing anyone can do for her now...save ease as much of her pain as possible. These are sedatives, but its effect is starting to wane because her body's building a resistance. Just thought you'd like some background information before we go in. Chances are, she's not even awake...she scarcely is nowadays." Aiko's tone drifted with bitter resentment.

Usagi nodded once more; she didn't want to spew out anymore perfunctory responses. Aiko's hand trembled as she gripped the knob, but with Usagi behind her, she managed to push herself in. A waft of stale melancholy devoured them both as they inched inward. As if a pair of hands had pierced through her chest and wrapped around her heart, Usagi's hands sailed up reflexively over her breast. All traces of joy escaped through the breath in her lungs, trickled out of her lips and dispersed into oblivion. Aiko marched over to the window where she tore open the curtains to let the moon in.

The dark figure in the bed stirred with a soft, raspy groan. The lamenting sight before her eyes rekindled a sense of meekness within - a reproachful awakening of her conscience. A grave reality which transcended the limited circle of her life lay stark and bare before her, unmasked by the moon's indifferent scrutiny. The world seemed like such a cruel, unforgiving place. Feeling impeccably humbled, Usagi counted her blessings and felt the horizon of her heart unfasten. Usagi slowly approached Satoko's bed with her mind filled with a detached sense of clarity. It wasn't up until that very moment did the scale of her perspective amplified, and in turn, penetrates through the dormant winter of her soul.

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Under the deceptive guise of the moon, an illusion flourished before his eyes and seized his thoughts. Usagi. For a split second, Yashinobe Izumi became Tsukino Usagi. Within that fragile frame of time, Izumi's features blurred out of focus and reappeared as an angelic shell of Usagi's face - a close resemblance save for the lack of lustre in her eyes. In that moment, Mamoru's heart clenched with unbearable misery as he clambered to cope with the sudden emptiness within. A subdued piquant taste of irony settled in the back of his throat; there was something oddly suicidal about this self-induced trauma.

Izumi lowered her eyes and blushed under Mamoru's unwavering stare. She admired his chiselled features from the corner of her eye while she reviewed her lab notes. Finding fault in a sudden stray strand of her hair, Izumi slowly tucked the piece behind her ear and angled her face slightly away from him. Izumi shivered at the bluntness of his unravelling gaze, those icy seas shrouded in stormy mystery. She could feel the sudden increase of her heart rate through the insistent pulse of her veins against the tender underside of her wrist. Every little detail became unsettling - yet another manner to obsess over for this avid perfectionist.

Abruptly aware of his vacant stare, Mamoru quickly averted his gaze out the window. "Sorry."

"I-I didn't even notice." Izumi lied, turning the page in her notebook with calculated precision.

"I'm just...too distracted right now." Mamoru muttered half-heartedly and tossed his notes carelessly on the coffee table.

Izumi quickly reached for her mug and concealed her smile behind it. "Distracted? You? Where did you displace that relentless determination of yours?" She remarked before taking a sip of her cold, black coffee.

"I don't remember if I thanked you for those notes you took for me on Thursday...but in any case, thanks again." Mamoru said as he leaned forward, perched his elbows on his lap and folded his hands out in front.

Izumi smiled, "You did thank me...but if you still feel indebted to me...you could always treat me to coffee."

"Those notes saved me from embarrassment today in lab, that's for sure. There's no measurable gratitude for that." Mamoru sighed.

"You seem a bit dispirited these days...if you don't mind me asking, is everything okay?" Izumi reached forward, rested her hand on top of his and squeezed.

"Just...not getting my hours of sleep...that's all." Mamoru glanced over his shoulder at the black umbrella perched against the balcony. The night terrors had not stopped, but only intensified.

"Then maybe we should call it a night." Izumi began to gather up her books. "It's almost 2AM anyway..."

"2AM?" Mamoru sat up keenly, "I-I lost track of time..."

Izumi chuckled, "Me too...listen, I'm free tomorrow night if you want to thank me with more coffee and continue working on our lab..."

"Tomorrow night sounds great. Here, let me give you a lift home...it's too late for you to walk." Mamoru grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

Izumi bit her lip as she packed her bag; the slightest inkling of hope dripped in the back of her mind - the possibility that Mamoru had finally grown fond of her. "Then I accept your offer, oh chivalrous one!"

Enraptured by the wind in her hair, the relentless pounding of her heart and the subtle waft of his cologne, Izumi closed her eyes and tightened her grasp around Mamoru's waist. She had been fatally attracted to him since the first day they met in their joined laboratories; she was determined then to win his heart, and it seemed all of her efforts had not been wasted. He had always kept his distance whether in his limited availability or his air of aloofness...until now, until tonight. He had called her out tonight to study, but it looked as if he didn't achieve much of that due to his distraction. Lastly, Izumi reasoned, he had never offered to drive her home before, no matter how shamelessly she had hinted at it...until tonight.

For a fleeting moment, the aching void in his soul ebbed. It felt as if they were racing against the currents of time, fleeing back to simpler times untainted by fear. It felt like home. Home was such a foreign term to Mamoru, a word that alluded to a darkened room. He had never experienced the nurturing intimacy of a real family or the rooting sense of belonging that came hand-in-hand with it. Yet, he recognized the unforgettable ache in his heart every time Usagi gazed into his eyes; it was not so much an ache but a yearning - a heart bursting with sentiment. Here, riding in the steadfast clutches of the night with Izumi, he could imagine that it was Usagi instead. He realized his selfish gestures but did little to suppress it; a desperate man resorts to all kinds of means for refuge.

They came to a rolling stop in front of a tiny flat in the outskirts of Ebisu. Izumi attached her helmet back onto the tail of the motorcycle and reluctantly dismounted. She bowed and thanked him for the ride and reminded him about tomorrow night. Mamoru nodded his head absentmindedly; he waited until Izumi disappeared behind the decorative hedges of dogwood lining the front entrance before he shot into the darkness like a rapid bullet. With the wind screaming next to his ear, deafening the wretched crack of his heart breaking, Mamoru found temporary reprieve from the sound of his own thoughts. There was something sickly merciful about the numbing December air; the sharp twinge of frostbite against his body made the heartache seem almost bearable.

With the open expressway lying before him, the prospect of endless possibilities taunted him - a false sense of invincibility brought on by an unobstructed road. Mamoru sped up, as if slowing down meant his fears might catch up with him. A perplexing dilemma surged in the chaotic canvas of his mind: one part of him longed to open Pandora's Box in pursuit of solace, while the other wanted nothing more than to banish the memory. Mamoru shook his head and accelerated, unwilling to address the problem as if denying its existence would absolve him of its consequences.

Off in the distance, the low hum of an approaching motor caught his attention; his sacred solitude was suddenly being threatened by the growing presence of that car. Longing nothing more than to shed its existence, Mamoru accelerated. The hum of the car persisted, gaining momentous audacity as it closed the distance between them. Mamoru glanced over his shoulder before racing a few inches ahead to merge lanes. The sleek, ebon Audi remained relentless, nearly kissing the rounded fringes of his motorcycle's exhaust.

Smelling a losing battle, Mamoru finally yielded and shifted to the outer lane. Peering through the window, he did a double take and nearly lost control of his bike. As if he had been struck by a sleet of ice, Mamoru's head felt light. Unable to believe his eyes, he sped up until he reached the driver's side window once more. The driver glanced at Mamoru quickly, acknowledging his presence with detached interest. For a fraction of a second, they locked eyes - muted heliotrope with inquisitive cobalt.

That man. Flashes of the umbrella man flooded his mind; the resemblance was too great to be of coincidence. In elevated speed, Mamoru risked loosing control over his steering should he pressed to go faster. Knowing his limitations, he cursed under his breath and watched as the elegant vehicle weaved through three lanes and exited through the Minato-Ku intersection. Gradually lowering his speed, he found himself trailing the car as if catching up with it could mean salvation. By the time he reached the inner district, the car was nowhere in sight. Parked by the side of a road, Mamoru rested as his mind churned in fervent motion. He had not mistaken, the driver of that car had been the very same man who plagued his dreams. Considering the implications of that encounter, Mamoru took in his surroundings to find himself situated outside the junction by her home. Knowing a long day stretched ahead, Mamoru relented and turned homebound, but not before casting a longing glance at the familiar blue shingles of her rooftop.