Midori didn't know what to say.
What could you say? It wasn't as if she was a psychologist, or an expert on children or trauma—she was just a mother who worked for a magazine publisher, with three children who'd just recently revealed their supernatural powers to her in the span of a single week and-
And that was normal, right? Parenting wasn't supposed to be easy. She'd already wanted another kid! A little sister or brother to Ami, now that she'd matured enough to handle it. She'd just never thought her children would be so-
Supernatural, Midori concluded.
She'd never thought her children would be psychic, if that was the way to put it. Or psionic, since 'psychic' wasn't really accurate. Maybe just... exceptional? That was a better word; exceptional kids doing exceptional things.
Of course even being exceptional wasn't enough when you were hurt or lost or scared, and Midori felt that Amu and Utau were all three of those things right now. Her daughter seemed conflicted, her expression a confused jumble, and Utau-
Amu had explained Utau's empathy before. Midori could see it; the girl was leaning against her daughter, eyes closed and face pressed into Amu's shoulder. What was it like, to feel another's emotions the same way as your own?
It probably sucked.
She could feel Utau's emotions herself, a dull sort of despair that was drowning in Amu's affection, and which would have been greatly confusing if Amu hadn't already warned her that Utau did that when she got worked up. As it stood, it just made her want to hold her.
That French girl, Lulu, might be right to say Amu had bad taste in friends. Kana was probably… broken, she thought, though she knew better than to say that where Amu might hear. It wasn't a nice thing to say about a child. What was Kana at this point, twelve? She was... maybe half a year younger than Amu? Maybe a little less, maybe a little more. Kana didn't know when her birthday was.
Midori's hands tightened on the sides of the treasure box.
That first drawing- no. She wasn't going to keep thinking about it; it wasn't good for her and it certainly wasn't good for the two girls. Better to focus on the present.
At least she would be around to see how it ended, she reflected, getting up to straighten out Kana's bed coverings. She didn't like where this had come from. Maybe she'd like where it was going. She hoped she would.
Cleaning her daughter's room was a meditative experience for her, and Kana's wasn't any different. Midori busied herself tidying up what they'd messed with—squaring the pillow, stacking her adventure books, and oh, Kana liked the Moribito series—and generally ignoring reality. In the meantime Amu and Utau sort of shrank into each other, a pile of shared misery.
Twenty or thirty seconds, then she returned to the girls.
"I think I'm proud of you," she told Amu and Utau both, taking a moment to ruffle each girl's hair. Utau would have normally reacted like a startled cat, if she hadn't been too numb for it to bother her. Amu leaned into the touch. Her daughter was shivering.
Nothing for it but to continue. She left her hand on Utau, too. The girl rarely sought warmth, but she didn't dislike it.
"A week ago I'd have thought myself a good parent," she said, "and I don't regret my decisions. But seeing what you two have been through in the last few years, I think I've been blind. Not many people would have done what you just did, Utau-chan. A lesser person would have given up halfway. You've turned into a fine young lady, and I'm starting to see how hard that must have been."
Utau blushed, glancing aside.
"That's not true," Utau disagreed, quietly. "If Amu hadn't been there-" Her voice cut off, and she hesitated. "If Amu hadn't been there," she repeated, her tone heavy. "I wouldn't have been here either. And it wasn't even..." Utau paused again, shaking her head and letting out a sigh. "You're giving me too much credit."
Midori peered down at the blonde girl, realising the depth of that statement—that Utau meant that in a literal sense. She stopped fluffing her hair, instead simply leaving her hand in contact with the girl.
"Regardless," Midori said. "A good friend is hard to find. You've found a great one, Amu."
Amu might have had bad taste in friends, but only if you didn't see who they could become. Kana might be a problem child—there was no denying that—but Amu obviously cared about her a great deal. If Utau were a guide she'd be a close family friend in a couple of years. Midori would bet on that.
And Utau was weak to compliments, especially from people she cared about. She hadn't heard enough of them. Which meant, in this case-
"I'm glad you're here, Utau-chan," she said, then awaited the response.
Utau's blush intensified as she nodded her agreement with the sentiment, glancing at Amu with a mixed sort of expression—there was gratefulness there, and admiration and affection all at once—and Amu gave Utau a bright sort of smile in return that had Midori wondering if there wasn't something a little more than friendship between them already. She elected not to pursue that topic further.
Maybe a movie night..? Utau would enjoy it, she always did, and the girl deserved a reward. Thoughts for later.
"We should keep moving, then," Midori said, turning back to the door. "After all this fuss I hope we'll find them soon enough, and if there's trouble I'd rather we dealt with it quickly."
Amu hesitated, hanging behind them—Midori paused at the doorframe to look back. The girl was glancing around the room, taking in the disorganisation, before her gaze drifted towards the window—now dark in the evening light—and finally settled on the bed they'd left, and the teddy bear resting there.
"I wish Kana were here," Amu whispered.
Midori didn't know how to respond to that.
Amu gulped, her shivers intensifying slightly.
"Mom," her daughter said, tone remaining quiet. "There's something I have to tell you. Kana did kill people. At least one. Probably more. I think... I think she didn't have to. She enjoyed it, because- because they were people who enjoyed hurting children."
Midori kept silent, but squeezed Amu's hand. Her daughter took a breath. Utau, looking between the Hinamoris—and likely their emotions, the older woman realised—kept her own silence as well.
"That's the part that makes me feel like- well. If she'd been some kind of crazy killer on the streets, or- or like a horror movie villain, then I think I'd..."
Amu paused again, looking down at the floor.
"I'd at least know what to think about her."
That tracked. That made sense for this day.
She took a moment to digest the news. It wasn't as surprising as she thought it should have been.
"And instead?" she prompted, finally. Amu looked at the floor again—and at Kana's bed, and the teddy bear, and Midori wondered if her daughter realised just how transparent her feelings were. She could see the guilt in her expression. Purposeless guilt. A thirteen year old child should never have to grapple with these questions, but that was how life was sometimes. Apparently.
Amu shrugged helplessly.
"When Kana realised what I'd seen, she threw herself at me," her daughter said. "She wanted to show me everything, I think, before I ran away. Everything she was other than a killer. It- it was hard to think about, so I mostly didn't. I… I really like that Kana, Mom."
Midori let her daughter gather her thoughts. Amu closed her eyes, balling her fists and leaning into a sort of half-standing slouch against her—and then she slowly relaxed again. "Kana is-" she said, after a long minute of silence, finally looking up at her again. Midori felt her heart clench. Amu's face, predictably, was streaked with tears. "She's messed up, Mom. In so many ways I can't even begin to understand it all. But underneath that, she's... she's actually..." Amu trailed off, not able to find the words she needed.
Another squeeze of her hand.
"She's a good person," the girl decided, finally. "And I think she wants to be. She just- she doesn't quite believe it. And I can't leave her."
"If you're comfortable with that," Midori answered. She put an arm over her shoulders, pulling her close. "I trust your judgement. Amu-chan," she added. "You're a smart girl, and you've always had a good heart. If Kana is important to you, then- she's important to me too." She hesitated, looking back towards Utau. "And I think everyone should have a second chance. Even children. Especially children."
"Thanks," Amu managed.
They stood there for a little while, letting the moment stretch out. Utau gave Midori a grateful smile, and Midori sent a wink back. Amu leaned into her side, her shivers slowly subsiding.
Finally, though, Midori decided it was time to move on. "Amu?" she said, ruffling her daughter's hair one last time. "Are you ready?"
Her daughter looked up at her and nodded firmly, wiping at her eyes with her sleeves—they were damp; Midori pretended not to notice—and pushing herself upright again. "Sure, Mom."
"Utau-chan?"
"Sure," the girl said. Then, a bit more confidently, "Yeah. Thanks, Hinamori-san."
"Then," Midori continued, more cheerfully. "Let's get going, shall we? We'll talk about this later, once none of your friends are in danger. And Amu, you'll have to introduce me properly to Kana and Yui both—we should make dinner and have a conversation with them, or something of the sort. I want to meet the girl who made her way into that good heart so fast."
Amu gave her a small nod and an uncertain sort of smile—it wasn't very convincing, but Midori could tell the girl was grateful. She kept a careful lid on her emotions. None of what she'd told her daughter was false. She would be civil with Kana until the girl gave her a reason not to be. After that? Well, the jury was out, but she didn't want Amu worrying about it.
Kana needed serious help. Serious, psychiatric, and probably years of it. Midori suspected Utau could have used some too, come to think of it. It sounded like her childhood had been nightmarish, Amu's stories had been- stressful, to say the least, and Utau wasn't the type of girl who opened up easily; at least Midori had never seen her come to her for help, though Utau was slowly learning to accept it if it happened. The fact Amu had become such close friends with either girl was a small miracle in itself—it was a far cry from the Amu she'd known a few years ago.
She'd missed out on a lot. Midori resolved to do better in future.
⁂
The first floor also had the kitchen, laundry and the bathroom, but nothing stood out about them. Then there was Naomi's room—Mom hesitated a second at the doorway before nudging the door open and turning the light on; Amu felt her startle when she saw it, and got an odd sense of- not quite worry, but uncertainty, maybe?
She'd never been allowed inside, and had imagined maybe racks of guns. Instead, the room was-
Empty, Amu thought. Or close enough. Naomi's bedroom was bare and impersonal, as if she'd never even moved in; the only things of note were a desk, a dresser and a small pile of schoolbooks next to it, and a single cardboard box with a stack of old clothes inside it, arranged in the middle of the wardrobe. There were clothes, but they were all plain and unadorned—like someone had bought them from somewhere else as spares but never worn them.
Maybe that was just because Naomi wasn't interested in fashion? But Amu didn't think so.
"Hmm," said Mom, inspecting Naomi's desk. "I don't like this. She's supposed to be a young woman, you'd think there'd be... something."
Mom opened Naomi's desk, rooting around in stacks of papers. Amu stared around the room, not really sure what to make of it, other than being sure Naomi wasn't going to be pleased they'd been there.
"I met Naomi," Utau said, quietly. "Once. She was- well. Intense. Hiding a lot of things." She tapped her fingers on the wall, looking back at Amu and Mom. "Reminded me a bit of Ikuto," she confessed. "A lot of secrets. A lot of emotions. Never letting on about anything unless he wants you to see it." Utau considered that for a moment. "Then again," she added. "Ikuto's a good guy at heart."
Mom snorted, and Amu thought Utau was- projecting? That's what the book had called it. A little bit.
Naomi didn't strike Amu as particularly nice. Not... bad? She wasn't sure. But there was just something about the girl that was unsettling, the way she felt when she looked at Kana and Aoi and Yui. Less like they were friends or siblings than possessions. Or tools. Like something precious but expendable, and maybe Amu didn't like Naomi either-
"Could she be the one who created the staircase?" Mom asked. Amu shook her head, feeling uncomfortable.
"Yui," she said. "Almost definitely Yui. Naomi's... she does the cooking, because she can make fire. And because Kana and Aoi are awful at it. But I don't think she's like me or Ami or Utau, she's not..." She struggled to find the word for it. "Flexible. Like fire is the only thing she can do. Kana only does telepathy, and nothing else."
Mom considered that, nodding slowly.
They went back to searching, and after a few minutes they made a discovery. They'd found a locked shelf on the side of Naomi's desk—Amu had unlocked it, this time just barely not breaking the lock, and-
Drugs. A lot of them, arranged into neat little rows.
"Ah," said Mom, pulling out a small bag full of a blue powder. It wasn't a prescription drug; the name was foreign, and Mom had a concerned sort of expression on her face when she pulled it out, examining it. "...I suspect these aren't good for you," she murmured. "Tranquillisers, painkillers... blood thinners? Hmm. These aren't something you can buy over the counter. Naltrexone?"
"What's that?" Utau asked.
Mom pulled out her cellphone to take photos, looking at each of them in turn.
"I'm no expert," she warned them. "But these are something you'd use if you were sick. Not exactly a recommended treatment plan." Mom frowned, considering the desk again. "We'll bring one of each with us. If she's upstairs, she may have been stuck there for days. Some of these..." Mom reached out to tap one of the bottles, trailing off and shaking her head. "I've never heard of. Seigyo-zai? And anti-penumbrals? Might be important."
Amu took another glance at the drawer, stomach churning—if Naomi was using drugs, then she couldn't be very healthy. What was wrong with her?
"Naomi is definitely not a Pretty Cure," Utau concluded, also looking at the drawer's contents. Midori nearly laughed, though it didn't fit in the situation—but Utau still glanced up at her, a small smile lurking on her lips. Clever girl.
"Some of these are missing," Mom noted, running a finger along an empty column in the grid. "Though maybe she brought them with her. In any case I think we've spent enough time here. Let's move on."
The girls nodded; Amu gave Naomi's desk another quick glance before closing the door behind them and following after Mom.
Amu couldn't help thinking this was strange. Naomi had always seemed perfectly healthy to her—surely someone like Kana would notice if she wasn't, right? If Naomi were that sick?
Though... maybe she'd noticed, and wasn't thinking it. Because maybe that was normal.
Amu didn't know what to think anymore.
"Let's try the stairway to space," said Mom.
They took a few minutes in the entrance first for a second report to Dad.
⁂
Utau, in the lead, felt hesitant to Amu's senses as they stepped onto the bottom stair. A bit wary; not frightened, but aware of how impossible this was meant to be, and Amu didn't blame her for that. There was no denying it was weird—just looking up the stairs was enough to make her feel queasy, as if reality warped above them in ways her brain was having trouble comprehending. She focused on Utau's presence, though, and that helped.
Not all the way; the stairs still felt a little off, with gravity twisting every few steps and a mist that tugged at her mind—it wasn't mist, it was some sort of mental fog thing, and Amu would have loved to have a word for it—but Utau's presence kept her grounded.
Though maybe that was more literal than it sounded.
"Keep your feet on the floor," Utau suggested. "Amu, you're floating."
Mom looked at her feet with alarm. Amu glanced down—yep, they weren't quite on the stairs anymore, and as she pressed down on them gravity did its job and pulled them back to the floor where they belonged. She hadn't quite meant to float; her thoughts were all tangled up with the fog and Utau's presence. It was- hard to describe. It made her mind feel like a balloon trying to fly up in the air.
She would have described it as Utau being an anchor, but the girl was her best friend and soulmate and anchor-thing enough even though-
She nearly lost her balance as Utau forcibly dragged her downwards, pushing away thoughts of romance with a force of will that could have flattened a city block and driving her to focus on what was in front of them instead.
"Amu," Utau began. "Focus."
"Sorry," said Amu, ducking her head in shame. Utau glanced back at her; she wasn't smiling, but Amu felt her amusement all the same. But Amu wasn't feeling quite herself. Something about this place felt weird, and the emotions she felt from Utau and herself were just a little bit more than-
"Amu," warned Utau again.
What was happening to her? She'd never thought like that before.
Her feet were off the floor. Amu felt a flash of annoyance, a sense of pulling herself together—she'd never had trouble controlling her powers before! But before she could react Utau had taken her hand in her own—not even turned around—and that helped settle her down, literally. Her feet landed on the stairs, while Mom sent a slightly worried glance at her.
Utau pulled her to the floor. "Focus," she repeated. "Before you fall and break something. Do you-?"
'Need to go back?' Utau thought, but didn't say.
Once again her feet tried to float away—this time Amu caught herself in time, and traced the errant impulse back. Not to Utau, who by now looked alarmed. The fog itself—part of it was singing to her, like a lullaby or a children's nursery rhyme that-
'Amu?' Utau said, this time in Amu's mind instead of out loud, and Amu blinked and caught her foot again when she almost lifted off the stairs once more. She hadn't even realised she'd done it.
"I think I'm okay," she told the two of them. "Just need to get the hang of it. This place is weird," she said, stating the obvious.
She knelt down, pressing her hand against the steps below them. Nothing. The weirdness was- the fog. Not the stairs, those felt almost normal.
"Just a second," she said, when Mom made to move towards her. "Let me check something."
The fog felt... alive, in a way she couldn't quite describe—almost sentient, in a way that had nothing to do with being possessed but something else, and it wanted Amu to stay inside it, with it, just like Ami wanted to eat her pancakes but in a much more literal sense. It had a flavour; not a taste but a feeling, a presence, and-
It was warm. It was scared. It was curious. It was alone. Not the way Amu sometimes was alone. The way mountains were alone.
There was a part of Amu that wanted to join it, to drift away from her body and give in to the warmth that it thoughtlessly promised, like a child drawn in by candy and bright lights. Another part of her wanted to hold it, to bring it home with her, like a stray pet or a lost sibling—and she imagined giving it blankets and pillows and toys, wrapping it up in her own presence and embracing it like a precious treasure. She had to keep a tight hold on herself, stop herself from letting go and drifting away like it wanted—but as long as Utau was there...
Wait.
'Are you alive?' Amu asked the fog, reaching out with her thoughts. She wasn't sure what she was talking to or even if it would respond. Was she just talking to herself? Did the fog understand at all?
It didn't reply in words, but it did tighten around her, invisible to everyone but Amu. A wave of longing hit her, and with it an impression of distress. Longing and distress, over and over, in rhythmic waves that lacked anything she could call a will. Amu watched it billow around her, uncertain of what it implied. 'Do you want me to stay?' she asked, reaching out with her hands to touch it as she had the stairs—it felt cold and sticky and vaguely unpleasant, but somehow familiar too.
It drew away. Something in her broke a little.
"Amu," said Utau, but this time her voice wasn't a warning, it was... concerned? Uncertain? "Is this-?"
She shook her head. "Not sure, but I don't think it's dangerous. Just... give me a minute. I promise."
"We don't have all day," Utau pointed out, but Amu could tell she wasn't truly annoyed or upset and—if anything—just confused. "You're spending time."
"Just a second," Amu replied, smiling up at Utau while the blonde stared back down at her in exasperation. "Just a couple of seconds. Hey... look at that."
There was a small shadow-creature on the stairs above them now, staring down at Amu. It looked... honestly? It looked horrible. Like someone had torn a fox apart and pieced it back together using a couple of dice and the pelt of a bear, then drowned it in ink and given it glassy black eyes that could have starred in a horror movie. Amu would have expected to be scared of it, but instead it just felt familiar; a sibling in her mind, no different from her. Just broken.
Utau gave a curse of alarm at the sight of it, and Amu reached up towards the creature with one hand—it shifted backwards a step, drawing in on itself and looking fearful, but still didn't run.
"Shh," Amu soothed. "Utau, Mom. Don't make any sudden moves. It's scared of you."
"It's scared of us?" Utau spluttered, incredulous. "Amu, that thing is like..." Her voice trailed off. "Amu, it's made of fear. Fear, and tar, and... shadows." Utau took another look at it, her expression troubled. "I mean, it's not doing anything. But this is weird…" Iru mirrored her expression, leaning out from behind her hair. Not even pretending to sleep anymore.
"Amu," said Mom. "Is this-"
"Just a second," Amu repeated. "I've almost figured it out."
The fog curled up around her—she could see it now, a curious wisp that climbed up her arm now that she wasn't drifting off with it—and her eyes were glowing so bright she could literally see them glinting off the floor. The fog was tugging at the part of her mind that was Amu. Just Amu, Ran, Su and Dia not included, and wasn't that curious? It didn't seem to want the rest of her either—it wanted the part that wasn't like it, wasn't like a chara and wasn't hidden inside her-
The fox-thing-
That was like a denser part of the fog. Like a core, but less 'core' and more 'pebble'. A pebble that could have fit in her pocket, or maybe her mouth if she could swallow it whole and if she was big enough to do so—and she was giggling, her mind a little floaty from the strain of holding itself together. If she couldn't, then maybe a core like that would be the best she could achieve. Not a concern for her, not right now.
Should she-?
'I'm not going with you, but you can come with me,' she told the fog, trying to communicate with what might as well have been a rock, regardless of the fragments of not-thought she was getting from it. They weren't words, not really, but the sense of it was clear enough to understand. It wanted her to stay and never leave; she wanted to stay herself, but leaving was non-negotiable. It didn't understand her words, but it reacted to the… impetus, maybe?
The fog-tendril of curiosity had made it to her hair now, twining around strands and climbing higher towards her head. Not for a reason, that was just what it did. It wasn't a person. Wasn't even a fragment of a person. She didn't think she could have built it into one, or would have wanted to even if she could. It wasn't dead so much as fragmented, broken and desperate, like an amputated limb with its body missing.
She almost wished she'd had better news for it, but Amu could only shake her head as she held up a hand halfway to the fox-thing on the stairs above them, trying to think of the best way to do this. She could feel its fear as it moved back a step; though as Utau had said, that was all it was. Fear, tied to teeth, tied to... something. Amu didn't know what. It was scared of her, but also drawn to her.
But...
'Wouldn't it be better if you weren't broken?' she asked it, but it lacked any thoughts for her to work with. She felt its confusion, its hurt and its pain—and the lack of anything else.
Then she extended her arm-
'Shattered whispers of a promise, lingering in silence.'
Amu froze.
Not her thought. Not words. Not a thought. Not the fox's either. The echo of a thought, maybe. Resonance left in the walls.
Not a thought, but it made the fox understand her intent. It edged closer, already coming apart. There was a tar-like substance trying to hold it together.
"Amu!" Utau exclaimed, reaching forward to grab her wrist. "What are you- Amu, this is crazy!"
= = =
Maybe a little.
[ ] "Trust me."
- Let Amu do… whatever it is she is doing. Even she isn't sure.
- Something about bringing the broken fox home. Or its parts at least.
[ ] "Amu, stop. Let's think this through. Back home."
- Don't do this.
- The fox-thing will most likely run away. Though Utau could absolutely take it in a fight.
[ ] Write-in
