The boy—

My head is cloudy and I feel immense pain in my back between my shoulder blades. Like something is ripping out of me. Light breaks through the blackness and the pain gets worse as the light intensifies. Then it is gone. Someone is singing. My vision is blurry but getting clearer little by little.

Window above me. An exit just a few meters away. A lamp on the table that looks heavy enough to bludgeon someone. There is also a decoration on the wall that looks sharp enough to serve as a weapon. Perhaps also the vase that holds various flowers if I were to break it.

The singing is clearer and I realize it is coming from a girl sitting beside me with long auburn hair ending in slight curls. Her skin is so pale, like porcelain, with light freckles across her cheeks. Am I dreaming? She looks to be in deep concentration as she sews a lump of fabric in her lap. What it is I cannot tell, but I do notice the scissors next to her on the desk. 

Then my eyes wander up to her eyes. Suddenly, I am lost in her sky blue eyes. What a fascinating color.

Then she looks at me, her brows lifting in surprise. Our eyes are fixated on each other, neither having seen such distinctive colors gazing back at them before. But I suddenly remember the very reason she must be so engrossed in my gaze, and I reach up instinctively to cover my eyes. 

She calmly sets her work down and smiles, saying softly, “Oh, hello… or um… Konnichiwa.”

I frantically start to look for my hood, however my coat  is gone. Then I realize my chest is mostly bare, only covered by bandages. My heart leaps into my throat.

Before I can think, I grab the scissors from the desk and then I am up against the wall, wrapping the blanket around me and covering my head. My body is wracked with pain at the sudden movement, and it takes everything not to buckle over. I pull the blanket down to shade my eyes yet still able to see her. I suppose it is pointless, she has already seen my eyes.

Her eyes are wide and her brows draw together as she gasps. “Those are fabric scissors!” she exclaims. “Don’t you dare mess them up!”

Fabric? What is this word? And why does she seem more worried about the scissors?

She pauses and holds up her hands, her eyebrows arched. “Uh,” she mutters. “W-watashi wa Kiara desu… Um…o… What is it again?”

Hastily, she grabs a book sitting on the desk and begins flipping through it. Her eyes rove over the pages. She went through this much trouble to talk to me?

“O…onameey wa…nan desu ka?” she mutters and looks up.

 Her accent is awful. “Oh-nah-mah-eh,” I sound out.

“Onamae?”

“You want say the name,” I mutter slowly. My English is pretty rusty, so I guess I can’t judge her for her feeble attempt at Japanese. 

“Oh! Onamae… Sorry,” she says, her face turning red. Her eyes shoot open. “Oh, you speak English! That’s a relief.” She laughs nervously. “I’ve been trying to memorize phrases all day.”

 This is the longest I’ve had a semi-normal, pointless conversation with someone. Or is she trying to hide her repulsion of my eyes with small talk? 

“How do you feel?” she asks.

I cringe, the pain shooting through me again, and look around the room. Everything is so...western. Maybe they are an American military family stationed in Japan. Shit. I do not want to get involved with the American military. 

“Where is... here?” I ask. Yokosuka? Misawa, maybe?

“On the coast of California, we live outside of a small town,” she says.

It takes me a few seconds to register. “California?”

“Oh, in America.”

America? That explains a few things, like why I am not in handcuffs for one. But it poses so many more questions. How did I get all the way across the ocean? Is this real? What has happened since...? Then I remember the moments after I was tranquilized. How am I alive? I need more information.

“How long I am sleeping?” I struggle to ask.  My voice is still not fully functional.

She pauses. “Well, I don't really know exactly how long, but we found you on the beach yesterday.”

Found me on the beach? This does not make sense. The pain gets a little worse and I pull the blankets tighter. My vision is still somewhat fuzzy, and my head is killing me.

“Does it hurt? I’ll bring you some medicine.” Without waiting for a response, she exits the room.

A moment later she comes back in with a glass of water in one hand and a small cup with a pill in the other. She sits back down in the chair and extends them toward me. I remain unmoving.  I question her hospitality. What is that pill for? 

“Do you not want them?” she asks, seeming hurt.

I remain silent. She appears so calm, but I cannot trust her. And even if she is legitimate, do I not frighten her? She must be uneasy just being in the room with me. 

She silently sets the stuff down on the desk. “When you’re ready it’ll be right there,” she says.

The door opens and I pull the blankets tighter around myself. An older woman with a round face comes in, her red-brown hair pulled up in a bun. Her green eyes observe me closely and I avert my gaze. She walks over and I feel the bed sink a bit as she sits at the end. Does she not fear me either? 

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

 I dodge her question. I can’t be vulnerable to these people. “Where are my clothes?” 

“They were completely ruined,” the young girl says. “We had to throw them away.”

“R-Ruined?” Another unfamiliar word.

“There were holes and tears all in them,” the older woman says. “I will get you some new ones though. Don’t worry about that right now.”

That is not good. If I return having lost my coat, there is no telling what would happen. Would Master care about such a thing? Not to mention I need my hood. 

Suddenly, there is a loud growl throughout the room. I realize quickly that it is coming from me, or rather, my stomach.

The older woman smiles gently. “Kiara, will you bring up some of the stew I just made?”

She nods and quickly leaves the room. Once she is gone the woman leaves the bed in favor of the chair. She clasps her hands together and for a moment is silent. I watch her every move without lifting my head.

“I’m Reba, Kiara’s mother,” she says. “Do you remember what happened?”

I make a split-second decision. “No.”

It is not exactly a lie. The last thing I remember is being in Bando’s estate. I have no idea how I ended up in a completely different country.

“Well, when we found you, we thought you were dead, to be honest. I had to stitch up a large wound on your side and one on your arm and leg. I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re already awake and able to sit up.”

I remain silent and she pulls a small jar from her pocket.

“I also pulled these pieces of metal from your arm and leg. I think they might have been from a plane, and it crashed. Do you remember where you were going? Or what flight you were on?”

I shake my head once. “I do not know.”

Where were they planning to take me? What happened when the plane crashed? I wonder if they survived as I did.

“What is the last thing you remember?” she asks.

“I was in Tokyo,” I tell her.

She lets out a long breath. “So, you don’t have a visa or passport? If you don’t have one, then you are here illegally.”

I feel my pulse quicken. If I am caught, I could end up in an American jail and they will find me. They will think I ran away. Just the thought of what would happen sends a chill down my spine and I feel my breath grow sparse.

Reba seems to notice my tension. “We don’t have to worry about that right now though. You just need to take your time and heal up.”

What happens after that though? Will she turn me in? I cannot let that happen. I will have to leave as soon as I can. My stomach churns. Where would I go? I know nothing about this country. How will I survive?

“Is there someone we can contact in Tokyo? Your parents perhaps?” 

“No,” I reply shortly.

She pauses for a moment. “What about other family?”

I grip the blanket tighter, turning my head away. “… no.”

“Friends? Coworkers?” she presses. My silence gives her the answer and I hear her let out another long breath. “How old are you?”

For a moment I ponder. When was the last time I even thought about it? How much time has passed? “Sixteen… Seventeen… I do not remember.”

The room becomes silent for several seconds. “Do you… want to go back?”

I try to find the words, but my mind reels. I have to return. It’s not my choice. 

The door creaks open. In comes the young girl carrying a tray with a bowl sitting atop, steam wafting out of it. A warm aroma fills the room, unfamiliar yet somehow enticing. She brings the tray over to the desk and sets it on top.

Everything is silent for a moment before the girl looks at me. “You go by your family name, right?”

My heart twinges. “I do not have one.”

Her brows draw together. “Well… uh… what would you like to be called then?”

What should I tell her? When was the last time I had been called by name? I ponder for a moment, trying to decide what to tell her.

I glance down and slowly mutter, “Shyba.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Shyba.”

Nice? Her smile almost proves her authenticity. 

Reba stands. “If you want more, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll have Jeremiah bring you a shirt to wear later. Also, the bathroom is the next door to the left,” she says and leads the young girl out the door. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Just rest, Shyba.”

She closes the door and I sit motionless for a moment. I know she was trying to reassure me, but I cannot trust anything she says. I unveil my body to evaluate the damages. There are bandages wrapped all around my torso and some on my arms. I can also feel a couple on my legs and around my head. Was this really from a plane crash? Why can I not remember?

Then I realize something is missing. Where is my gun? I glance around the room once again, but it is nowhere to be seen. Did I not have it when they found me? Surely, they would have asked me about it if it was. Perhaps it was lost during this supposed crash. My stomach tightens. There is no telling what Master would do knowing I lost my gun.  I rub my temples with my hands. Everything is going so wrong. 

My stomach growls again and I look up at the bowl atop the desk. I hesitate, considering ways they could have poisoned or drugged the contents, but the more I think about it the more I give in to my hunger. Slowly I pick the tray up and set it across my lap. As I look it over, it is indeed beef stew, though there are smells that are unfamiliar. Tender carrots, potatoes and what looks to be small chunks of beef submerged in a brown broth. There is even a roll of bread on a plate. I stir it cautiously to see if there are any signs of poisoning. I notice it is missing rice.

I take a spoonful of the stew and slowly raise it to my mouth, tasting just a bit. To my surprise, it is good. Really good. As I eat, the room slowly becomes darker as the sun sets, but the moon gives off plenty of light for me. I finish off the last bite and set the tray back on the desk. A calmness washes over me, my belly full and hunger satiated.

Once again, I wrap the blankets around me, my bare skin making me uneasy.  I again try to recall what happened, but keep drawing a blank. All I remember is the feeling of being completely numb, lying on that floor.

My wounds seem to ache more, and I glance up at the pill still sitting on the desk. I turn to look out the window and through it I can see trees as far as I can make out. Not a single light. How strange.

There is a quiet knock on the door before it creaks open. A young man peeks his head in. I pull the blanket over my eyes once again, just enough to shade them yet still able to see him. He cautiously enters the room.

“Uh, hey. Mama said you needed a shirt to wear,” he says, coming closer.  He appears quite muscular, and much taller than me. By looks alone, someone could predict he would be the winner in a match between the two of us. But they would be wrong. “I hope this is okay.”

I just nod once, and he lays a folded green shirt on the bed. 

“I see you liked Mama’s stew. If nothing else, that’ll fix you right up,” he says, smiling. “I’m Jeremiah, by the way. If you need anything else, let me know. I’ll bring you another shirt tomorrow once the laundry is done.”

He picks up the tray and I notice him pick up the cup with the pill. But once he realizes it’s not empty, he sets it back down. “This stuff will help with the pain and keep the swelling down, so you should probably take it. You’ll sleep better.” I continue to observe him as he carries the tray out the door. “Have a good night. Rest easy, okay?” he says before leaving.

Why is this family so concerned about me? I take the shirt, quickly putting it on. It is two sizes too big, but I already feel better now that my skin is covered. For a moment I sit in silence, listening. There are sounds coming from below, people talking and such. How many occupants live in this residence? I try to evaluate the nature of their conversation, but they are calm and jovial. Then I hear crickets chirping from outside.

I look out, watching the trees sway in the breeze. The moon in the sky is bright, illuminating everything. I stare at it for a while. Am I really here? Could this all be just some strange dream?

Kiara—

As I wash the dishes I hum quietly. Jeremiah comes over carrying the tray I had taken up to Shyba. He sets it down and I notice the bowl is empty.

“He ate it all. That’s good,” I say, taking the dishes to wash them.

“Yeah. He’s really skittish though, isn’t he?” Jeremiah says.

I just nod slowly. I had expected him to be surprised and all, but I didn’t think he would be so closed off.

Mama pauses from putting up the dishes. “Well, that may be all he knows how to do.”

I am silent a moment, thinking of all the scars across his body, how he tried to hide his eyes. “What did you find out?” I ask her.

“Not much. He says he doesn’t remember how he got here, that the last thing he remembers is being in Tokyo,” she says. “And there is no one he can contact. He doesn’t even remember how old he is.”

Jeremiah pops open a soda, sitting down at the table. “I’m not sure if I really believe that.”

“It could be true,” I say.

“Yeah, but it seems kind of convenient for him to not remember anything, doesn’t it?” 

I silently scrub the bowl. I suppose he’s right, but at the same time I can’t help but feel like this boy just needs some help.

“That reminds me,” Jeremiah starts, “I asked Nicky to keep an eye out for anything. He said earlier today a couple of fishermen found a big piece of metal stuck in some rocks out past the docks. It looks like it could have been from a plane, but no one knows anything about it. That’s all he heard though.”

I glance up at Mama, but she doesn’t say anything. 

“I’ll try to talk to him some more tomorrow. Tonight, let’s just let him rest,” she says.

Later as I settle in to sleep, I can’t help but think of our surprise guest. What could I do for him? How can I make him feel more comfortable here in these new surroundings?

Translations:

“Konnichiwa” = Hello

“Watashi wa Kiara desu” = My name is Kiara.

“Onamae wa nan desu ka” = What is your name?