(Summary from previous chapter: Shyba turned himself in to Dustin thinking it would solve the problem of Dustin wanting revenge. Shyba was beaten and tortured then Dustin forced alcohol into his mouth when he noticed Shyba seemed averse to it. This seemed to cause a mental break with Shyba, him remembering things from the Domain, and as he blacked out he could hear screaming and a loud crack.)

Kiara—

My heart has not stopped racing since we found out Shyba was missing and as the hours tick by with no sign of him, I find myself becoming restless also. He can’t leave like this. Not when he thinks he did something wrong and he has to.

Even as the clouds cover the sky and the sun sets, we don’t find him. Perhaps what Jeremiah said is true and he really did leave town. I’ll never see him again. The thought pierces my heart. We were starting to become friends, at least I thought so.

I slump against the window of the truck as we slowly roll down the street, losing hope. Neither of us says a word, knowing our effort has most likely gone to waste. However, I just can’t help but worry. He barely knows how to read English right now. How is he going to survive?

As we pass the buildings downtown, I continue to stare out the window. Then something catches my eye. “Hey, stop,” I say quickly, sitting up.

Jeremiah stops. “What is it?”

I look closer and feel my spirits begin to lift. “It’s Shyba’s bag!” I shout, throwing the door open, the rain soaking me instantly.

Nearly slipping, I run over to the alleyway and grab it, looking inside. Sure enough, the snacks Mama had made are still there along with a set of Shyba’s clothes and his sunglasses. I quickly glance around, but there is no sign of him. He must not be far then if his bag is here. I peer down the dark alley, my heart beginning to race.

This is Dustin’s territory. My heart leaps into my throat. What if Dustin got him? That could be why we can’t find him. I drop the bag and before I know it, I am running.

“Kiara wait! That’s Dustin’s alley!” Jeremiah shouts from the truck.

“Shyba could be in trouble!” I shout back.

As my heart races faster and faster I sprint down the alley, splashing mud. If he’s in trouble I need to get to him as fast as possible. Though I’m not sure what I could do. If there is anything, even something small that will help him I’ll do it.

I get to the lot, but no one is there. Perhaps they went further down the alley? I know their base is in that old building down the way. Without another second’s delay, I am racing toward the building. The rain is cold against my skin, but I press on.

Several seconds later I get to the cross alley where I need to turn. Once I turn the corner, I notice a figure close to the wall, stumbling toward me. They look as though they are about to fall over, their only support being the wall. For a moment I am hesitant about moving forward, unsure if they are drunk or what as I can hear them mumbling.

I take a few steps closer and recognize the long black hair. “Shyba!”

He lifts his head a bit and I can see one of his eyes peering at me through the dark. The way he is holding his body is off. He’s hurt. I rush toward him, nearly slipping on the wet ground again. As I approach, he retreats, and I stop.

“D-doko ka n-ni itte!” he says.

My heart lurches. What is going on? “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but let me help you,” I say, moving closer.

He trips and falls back, grasping at his leg with a cry. I gasp and run over. He shuffles back, hitting the wall of the building behind him. Does he not recognize me or something?

“It’s okay, it’s me. It’s Kiara,” I tell him, slowly approaching. Then I notice the blood all on his face and tears well up in my eyes.

I quickly pull my jacket off, kneeling before him. He tries to cringe away as I put it over his head. At least this will help keep the rain off him a bit. Then he freezes and stares at me like a deer caught in the headlights, breathing heavily. I can faintly smell alcohol and my heart aches. What did they do to him?

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re okay,” I tell him. Then I look down at his hurt leg, reaching over. “Let me see.”

He silently watches as I gently pull the pants leg up though I hear his breathing become more uneven as he cringes back further. His calf is severely bruised and swollen. However, I can’t tell if it’s fractured or not. If only Mama were here.

I look back up at him and notice fresh blood drip off his brow. Quickly, I pull my button-up shirt off, revealing my camisole and reach up to wipe his face. Once again, he cringes back, pressing into the wall as much as he can, and his breathing becomes more uneven.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” I whisper gently, moving a bit closer. “Let me help you.”

Slowly, I reach up and brush the bangs from his eyes. Blood is dripping from a gash on his forehead, so I press the fabric to it. Then with my other hand I take one of the sleeves, gently wiping his face.

“Don’t worry, okay?” I mutter. “Everything will be alright.”

As I clean his face he slowly seems to relax, gazing up at me once again. Then his brows arch. “T-tasu…kete…” he whispers, his voice almost breaking.

I wish I knew what he was saying. Why is he only speaking Japanese? What should I say? I know he’s trying to tell me something important. I can only imagine how much pain he must be in. What was that translation from the phrasebook?

“Da…daijoubu,” I mutter slowly, looking at him.

The look on his face sends an arrow into my heart, like he had been waiting to hear those words. Then he cringes, losing breath. I pull his head onto my shoulder as gently as possible, noticing as I look over his shoulder large tears in the back of his shirt.

My heart twinges and I feel a lump in my throat. Why did they have to be so cruel? I hear footsteps running up behind me and look to see Jeremiah. He sees Shyba and his eyes widen.

I glance up, tears in my eyes. “He’s really hurt. I don’t think he can walk.”

“Dammit. Let’s get him to the truck,” he says, coming over.

As Jeremiah hoists Shyba up he struggles a bit, mumbling incoherently again, but it’s like he doesn’t have any energy. I call Mama telling her where to meet us as we hurry back to the truck. My heart races and I can’t take my eyes away from Shyba’s face. We get back and wait for Mama, who is only a few minutes away. Jeremiah sets him in the cab, and I try to keep pressure on the wound on his head. However, he’s still acting strangely, looking around like he doesn’t know where he is.

“What is your name?” I ask, trying to gauge if he has a concussion or not.

He remains silent and his brow furrows. “N-namae…? Akai…ri... Ie,” he mutters. “Ano…n-nani…?”

My stomach churns. “Do you know where you are?”

“D-doko…desu ka? Shin…j-juku… D-domain…” he mutters while glancing around then he quickly looks up with a slight gasp. “Ah! Cahrifohnia!” His accent is rather heavy, which is unusual for him.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Do you remember my name?”

He looks at me and for a second is silent. “Ki….Kiara,” he mutters, the ‘r’ coming off almost like an ‘l’ sound.

My breathing eases, but then his eyelids droop and he starts to lean.

“No bro, don’t go to sleep. You have to stay awake,” Jeremiah tells him.

Does your head hurt?” I ask him. He reaches up, touching his head and nods once.

I hear a car pull up and look over, seeing Mama’s red sedan. As she jumps out, I hear her telling the girls to stay in the car then she is running to us with her first aid kit. Jeremiah moves aside and as she sees him the look on her face is like she had been the one beaten.

“He was limping when I found him and I think he has a concussion,” I tell her as she goes into her examination. “He remembers where he is and my name, but he doesn’t remember his name. He says his head hurts.”

She looks him over, shining her pen light into his eyes. “What is the last thing you remember?” she asks him.

“Unn…warai…” he mutters and pauses, his brows furrowing. “Ah…laughing.”

I notice her pause before she leans in closer to him. She sniffs and leans back with wide eyes. “Did they make you drink?”

His gaze drifts from one side of the cab to the other and it’s almost like he can’t keep his head up. Jeremiah and I glance at each other, not knowing what to say. Mama’s brow furrows. She has him follow her finger with his eyes.

“Shyba, repeat this sentence for me. ‘Sally went to the market to buy apples’,” she says.

“Shally…wen to zah mahket to buy…eto…” he mutters slowly, his eyelids drooping again, “ringo.”

“Ringo?” Jeremiah mutters.

“I guess it means ‘apple’,” I say.

Mama is silent for a second. “I think he’s drunk.”

“So, he doesn’t have a concussion?” I ask, watching as his gaze continues to wander.

“He’s responsive to everything I ask of him and his short-term memory seems okay. And given that English isn’t his first language it must be difficult to remember how to say everything right now. I think that’s why his speech is so slurred, and he is having trouble remembering words,” she says. “But just in case I don’t want him to fall asleep yet.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I mutter. My heart burns though. For him to be like this, how much did they make him drink?

Mama starts zipping up her bag. “Get him in the car. Kiara, sit with him and make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. Put Jade and Harmony in the truck.”

We do as she says, Nicky taking the girls from the car and bringing them to the truck all while they continually ask questions. Jeremiah helps Shyba to the car, and I get in the back with him. Once we are settled, Mama takes off toward home. 

I manage to keep him awake by having him repeat the alphabet and spell simple words. Once home, Jeremiah helps him into the house while Nicky and I usher the girls to their room, out of the way. The rest of the night is rather quiet.

Mama gets Shyba fixed up and she and I take turns staying with him for a few hours, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep too soon. Surprisingly, he didn’t need stitches again. Then once Mama gives the ‘okay’ we let him go to sleep.

As I curl up in bed though, my mind won’t quit racing. What can we do? They’ll just keep coming after him, but we can’t go to the police. This whole situation is a mess…and I caused it.

Translations:

“Doko ka ni itte!” = Don’t come near me!

“Tasu…kete…” = Save…me.

“Daijoubu.” = You’re safe/It’s okay.

“Namae…? Akai…ri... Ie. Ano…n-nani…” = “Name? Red…dra… No. Um…what…?”

“Doko…desu ka?” = Where?
“Unn…warai…” = “Um…laughing…”

“Ringo.” = Apple