Parts -- one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve
Connor Lewis was a douche bag. He was twenty-five percent racist, twenty-five percent chauvinist and held a full fifty percent of general intolerance in reserve just in case he were to ever encounter a situation the first fifty percent didn’t cover. He had few friends and was constantly in a foul mood. The simple fact was this: Connor Lewis did not like people. There were plenty of people he could “tolerate” when he had to, but overall he’d rather just keep to himself.
Connor wasn’t always like this. He was never an overly cheerful man, but he was happy once. He enjoyed going to work everyday. He loved his job and didn’t dread the activity that occupied the majority of his day. He had a genuine talent with technology. Computers and other complex devices seemed to behave like a well trained dog at his command. It wasn’t long before employers and co-workers alike noticed his little gift or talent or… whatever. A few favors here or there became lots of favors here AND there, which turned into entire days when he found himself doing other people’s job. His name became synonymous with solution and he never knew peace again. His workdays approached with dread and found he could not wait for them to be over. Being miserable nearly thirty-eight percent of the time you’re awake is no way to live. This misery spills into the rest of your day affecting relationships, sleep, digestion and perception. Connor used to think bunnies were cute. Not anymore. There is something terribly wrong with a world that destroys your ability to perceive the cuteness of bunnies.
And so, today would be no different. His special talent was in demand once again and he found himself on an airplane headed to Tokyo and in business class, no less. Business class offered just enough proximity to people to make the twenty-two hour flight as uncomfortable as possible. He wondered what Die Hard movie would play first? He hoped it was the one about planes crashing.
“First time on a plane?” an old, shaky voice asked. He turned to his right and seemed to notice the little gray-haired Japanese woman for the first time.
“No. Unfortunately.” He said. She looked directly into his eyes and smiled. Her characteristically tapered eyes seemed to disappear into her face like a cartoon character who had just taken off their glasses.
“You no like planes?” she asked. Connor’s annoyance was rising. He had no particular problem with the Japanese that he could remember, but old people really bothered him.
“Planes are just fine.” He said.
“Ah. You no like me then.” She stated without a hint of being offended. He immediately felt she was being smug.
“It’s… I… I just don’t want to be here,” he said. Connor looked at the little grandmotherly lady and hoped she would just go back to her knitting or reading or whatever it was that old people do.
“You are where you are because that’s where you’re supposed to be.” She said, hiding her eyes again.
“Please,” Connor said, “spare me your ancient wisdom. I don’t really want to engage in conversation. I’m hoping these next twenty-two hours go quietly.”
“These next twenty-two hours will go how they go.” She said.
“Okay, then.” He said making a little ‘thumbs-up’ gesture.
The cabin darkened slightly as a young, male flight attendant smiled into his microphone.
“Tonight’s in-flight movie will be Live Free or Die Hard,” he said cheerily.
“Oh!” The old lady said. “I love a Bruce a’ Willis! He is a sexy man!” she tapped his leg excitedly.
“Oh God.” Connor mumbled as he covered his face with his hand and slid down in is seat.
“Bruce a’ Willis, too? You a hard man to please, I tell you.”
Connor flagged down a passing attendant with a frantic wave.
“Alcohol.” He said.
“What kind?” the dusky-skinned, brown-eyed woman asked.
“Beer… just the first thing you grab.” He gestured nervously toward the service cart staging area. He tried to come across angry, but he was obviously nervous. He always was around women he found attractive, doubly so around the one’s that weren’t his ‘kind’.
“Okay.” She said shaking her head with a slightly bemused look on her face. She continued down the aisle taking drink and food orders.
“Pretty lady.” The old woman said without taking her eyes off the movie. “She makes you nervous? I would be nervous if I were to meet Bruce a’ Willis, I suppose. In my younger days, I’d be on him like a tsunami on India, I tell you.”
Connor almost laughed. He didn’t know if it was the candid honesty or the insensitive comparison of her sexual predication to an event that killed thousands.
“I see you warming up to old Camellia.” She said as she slipped her headphones back over her ears.
The flight attendant, her name tag said ‘Marcy”, came back with his beer. It turned out that the first thing she grabbed just happened to be the most expensive one the airline carried. He handed her ten dollars American, of which he got none back.
“I’m… Sorry, um, for earlier if I, uh, seemed rude. I get… nervy.” He blushed.
“That’s fine. First flight?” she asked.
“No.”
“Oh, well, if there is anything I can do for you just press my button.” She pointed to the little attendant button between the air vents above his head and smiled her practiced smile.
Camellia shook her head disapprovingly. Connor opened his beer and removed a valium from a small, tan prescription bottle. He used to get nervous to the point of being sick when he had to go to the dentist. His dentist prescribed him a convenient chemical remedy. Sometimes he considered that he may be taking too many, but then he would find himself stuck on a twenty-two hour plane ride in business class with a crazy old Japanese woman and he knew he was taking just the right amount.
Connor finished his beer slipped into a deep and warm, drug aided sleep.
Connor woke slowly and sticky eyed to the light of a full moon shining through his little window. His neck and shirt collar were wet with drool. His body ached. Long gone were the days he could fall asleep in any position and still be able to function immediately. He glanced causally toward Camellia’s seat. His hope that she was imaginary died.
“Awake again. You sleep good long time, I tell you.” Camellia said without looking up from the book she was reading.
“How long have I been asleep?” He asked.
“Ten hour. I though you had died but, then again, I think you maybe died a long time ago. It would just be silly to do it again.”
“What do you mean?” The plane bumped sharply and Connor felt briefly weightless. He buckled his lap belt tightly. The plane vibrated for a time before the Captain’s monotone voice came over the intercom.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your Captain speaking. We are experiencing a bit of turbulence at out cruising altitude of twenty-thousand feet as we fly over the Atlantic. This is jet stream turbulence and should subside shortly. After that, the weather looks just fine. Please enjoy the remainder of your flight and thank you for choosing Delta Airlines.”
Connor felt dizzy. He was free of the warm and fuzzy hold that the combination of valium and really expensive beer had brought to him. His head began to hurt.
“Altitude and hangovers. Work well together, they do not.” Camellia said.
“Thanks, Yoda. Confucius say that?” Connor asked.
“Confucius Chinese. I don’t know this Yoda.” She said.
“Wait… You’ve seen all the Die Hard movies, but somehow missed out on Star Wars?”
“No, I see Star Wars.” She said.
“But you don’t know who Yoda is?” he asked. “Which Star Wars did you see?”
“There was more than one?” She asked. “I see the one with Sir Alex Guinness. He a very sexy man, you know when I was younger I would…”
“He’s dead!” Connor almost screamed. He noticed some sideways stares from other passengers and flight attendants. He lowered his voice and said, “Join the rest of us here in the future!”
Camellia turned and stared at him critically.
“You a very angry young man. Do you have a wife?” She asked.
“No. I don’t.” Connor slumped back into his seat.
“Girlfriend?”
“No.” Connor’s shoulders sagged.
“Ah, I see.” She said. “Life is too short to be alone all the time, young Padawan.”
“Yoda!” Conner said excitedly pointing and snapping his fingers. “Yoda was in that one!”
“Do not change the subject.” Camellia said with a stern look.
Conner surrendered. He hadn’t known the old lady all that long, but he knew arguing was pointless.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Conner,” Conner said. “Conner Lewis.”
“Ah, Conner-sann. How very nice to meet you.” Camellia said.
“Yeah, Camellia was it?” Conner asked.
“I’m please you remember my name.” Camellia said.
“Yeah. No problem.”
“So why no girlfriend or wife?” she asked.
“I, well… “Connor thought about his answer, “I don’t, um… I’m not good at relationships.”
“Practice.” She said simply.
“I’m not good with people.” He said. A sad hint of regret made his voice waver.
“You should have been Japanese.” She said, “We tend to keep to ourselves and as a people, we are suspicious of outsiders. We are reserved in our relationships.”
“You,” Connor said, “Are none of those things.”
“Well, as I said, life is short. Besides, the young generation is obsessed with your Western culture. Our traditions die every day.”
“Are you going home?” Connor asked trying to change the subject.
“Oh, no Connor-sann. I live a in New Yorku. I am going to visit my Okaasan… my mother.”
Connor looked at her. A puzzled expression drew lines across his forehead. Camellia was easily in her late seventies.
“Is she sick?” Connor asked.
“No. I just like to visit my mother. Do you not?”
“I don’t see my mother much, since my dad died. She’s still mad at me for not going to the funeral.”
“Why you no go?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t do well at funerals.”
“You are building quite a list of things you are no good at, Connor-sann.”
A flash of anger filled him, momentarily. He really didn’t want to be mad at this little old lady. It had been some time that he’s spoken with anyone for this long.
“I’m good with computers and I can fix almost anything electronic.” Connor stated proudly.
“People and computers no different.” Camellia said. “People follow instructions. Some times these instructions are good, others times bad. Computers are like this, yes?”
“Yes, but people make their own choices.”
“Perhaps. You did not like me when we met. I was forward and unembarrassed with things I say and do. Opposite of you.” She said.
“Well that’s not exactly, I just…”
“Just not good with people. I know this. It was more than that though. You didn’t like me because I am not like you… I am different than you.”
Connor flushed with embarrassment.
“This does not bother me.” Camellia said. “But you, Connor-sann the computer, have been patched with Camellia two-point-oh. You are fixed. I send you bill.”
“Fixed? More like infected with a virus.” Connor laughed.
“Fine, I steal your identity then and use your credit to buy Bruce a’ Willis movie collection.”
Connor laughed again. It was a healthy, happy laugh. The laugh was intoxicating and Camellia joined in. In the midst of all this laughter, Connor realized two things. One, he actually liked Camellia and two; he hadn’t been to the restroom in over twelve hours.
“I have to go to the restroom.” He said, still laughing. Connor unbuckled his seat-belt, got up and headed to the restroom with a smile still on his face. As he walked, he found that he was still a little bit dizzy. Connor made it to the tiny bathroom. He leaned against the cool wall and his dizziness faded somewhat. He closed his eyes and dozed just long enough to splash urine all over. He zipped his pants and made a quick attempt to clean up. He washed his hands and slowly opened the door to make sure no one was watching him make his exit. He stepped out and closed the door behind him when he noticed the crowd gathered around where his seat was. A flight attendant rushed by him with a large medical kit.
Connor moved quickly toward his seat. As he approached, he saw Camellia stretched out in the aisle. He shoved a few people aside and knelt down beside her as the Captain prepared an automatic defibrillator and placed the pads on her.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I’m old, Connor-sann. Don’t look so worried.” She said. “I’ve had a long life… longer than you can imagine, most likely.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Come closer.” Connor leaned closer. Camellia was nearly out of breath. “I have something for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Connor-sann,” she whispered, “I’m over five hundred years old.”
“That’s impossible… Look, let the Captain help you before it’s too late…” Connor pleaded.
“It is already too late. It is time that I move on. Perhaps I can see my mother again, instead of just her grave.”
“I have something for you, Connor-sann. Will you accept it?”
“Yes, but I still don’t understand…”
She reached out then and touched his arm. Confusing images filled his mind. He nearly fell over. Camellia pulled him closer.
“You now have time. Use it wisely. You will begin to understand. But beware; what I’ve given you is both a blessing and a curse.”
Camellia coughed and let out her final shuddering breath. She lay still and looked very much at peace.
Connor Lewis passed out.
The acrid fumes of a small ammonia ampoule slapped Conner back to consciousness. This was the second time in less than a day that he woke up unpleasantly. It seemed like an unsettling trend was forming. He looked over to Camellia’s now covered body. ‘She seemed so full of life and then suddenly she was gone. What could have happened?’
“You okay, buddy?” the captain asked. The flight attendant administrating the ammonia to Connor placed the small tube in a plastic bag with a pained look on her face.
“I’m fine.” Connor said trying to stand.
“Slow down there, champ. You whacked your head pretty good when you passed out.” The captain said. “Did you know her?”
“Her name was Camellia. I didn’t know her before this flight.”
“We don’t have a record of her on the passenger list. Any idea where she was going?”
“What? That’s ridiculous! How could you have no record?” Connor paused. “She was going to Okinawa to visit her mother’s grave…” He wondered how he knew that. She had mentioned the grave, but Okinawa he was pretty sure she never mentioned.
“You sure you’re alright, pal?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I just need to sit down.” The Captain and a couple of passengers helped him to his seat. They lingered for a moment for the off chance of catching some emotional outburst. Dis-satisfied, they made their way to their respective seats. The male flight attendant with the high, effeminate voice helped the Captain pick up Camellia and place her body on a bright orange, ‘body’ board. The young man looked about ready to pass out himself. They carefully carried her body to the rear of the plane and through a thick door to the storage area.
“I’m sorry,” the dusky skinned flight attendant said, “You seemed to be getting along so well.” She handed him a beer, one of the expensive ones, and gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. She turned and walked back toward the front of the plane. Part of him was offended at her show of sympathy. Another part of him, however, was drawn to her. He found himself watching her until she disappeared behind the thick curtains that separated him from the important people in first class. He shook his head, incredulous of recent events. He slouched in his seat and his head began to pound.
The remainder of the flight was more like the private misery he was accustomed to. There was a kind of security in being emotionally cut off from the rest of the world. Connor’s distance from the human race settled back on his personality like a dark cloud. Still, he missed Camellia. For some reason, beyond the repertoire they had developed, he still felt a connection to her. She had affected his life in a way that he had ignored for a very long time. He missed his mother. He hadn’t seen her, heard her voice, shared stories or just shared company with her in such a long time that his memories of her felt superficial. Camellia had instilled that longing in him again. He forced himself to quell the emotion rising in his chest. He slouched in his seat, again, and stared absently at the wing of the plane through the small window. Dark clouds surrounded the plane. It began to rain. He felt very tired, despite the fact that he had slept more in the past eighteen hours than in a week.
Connor drifted into a deep and troubled sleep.
Connor’s fitful bouts with rest ended in the worst case of jet-lag he had ever experienced. His plane landed in Tokyo, on time, in the bright morning sun. The combination of cramped seating, poor sleep and the annoyingly beautiful Japanese morning made him very, very disagreeable.
Connor walked down the jet way weaving through the crowd of people he had just spent an entire day with. Occasionally, he would catch one or the other looking over at him. He would meet their look and it would be as if it never happened. He hurriedly exited the jet way into the waiting room. A fire-code violating throng of people sat or milled about waiting for their flight.
A young Japanese boy running with his sister, slammed into Connor. He took a bad step against the impact and fell backward onto concrete hard carpet. Connor’s already pounding head hurt even more now. He hurried, slightly embarrassed, to his feet.
“Watch where the hell you’re going!” Connor shouted. The murmur of the crowd went silent, or rather noticeably quieter. The young boy’s eyes went as wide as his sister’s and they ran off, back into the crowd. He felt like he was covered in the bright red dots of laser sights… all attention was on him and he could feel people staring at him. Connor picked up his laptop bag, left the secure area and headed toward baggage claim. He left the hard stares behind and made his way to the shuttle boarding area. He sat/fell heavily into a one of those seats organized into rows. Connor missed the shuttle twice. Once because he dozed off in his chair and again as he tried to explain to a man that he didn’t have the time and that he, in fact, did not want to buy a watch. Connor resigned himself to walk to the baggage conveyor. He wondered if his “day” could get any worse. Then he discovered that his luggage was missing.
“But Australia isn’t even close to Japan,” Connor said trying to express just how hard it would be to confuse the two places either by name or location.
“I am sorry, Mr. Lewis.” The dark eyed Japanese girl said from behind the counter. Her English was not perfect, but very legible. Connor found her to be very pretty. She reminded him of a manga character and he imagined that she ran around in a pair of cat ears and a tail in her spare time.
“Alright. When can I expect to see my luggage again?” He asked.
“Probably, three days. No more than a week.” She said.
Connor slowly placed his forehead on the countertop.
“What am I going to do for clothes, in the mean time?” he said, rocking his head side to side, eyebrow to eyebrow and not really expecting an answer. The cool surface of the counter relieved his aching head somewhat.
“I am sorry, Mr. Lewis.” She said again. The new employee training videos did their job well.
Connor stood up, fought back a useless burst of outrage and handed the young lady his card.
“My card,” he said. “Please inform be when my luggage arrives.”
“Of course,” she smiled. Connor could have almost believed that it was a flirty kind of smile, but he was never good at picking up on subtle, well, anything. He kind of half-smiled back and gathered what was left of his well thought out packing job. He headed out front and waited for the hotel shuttle.
After about twenty minutes, the hotel shuttle arrived. Conner was relieved to see the English version of the kanji script. ‘Intercontinental Hotel and Suites’ the sign read.
Connor picked up his laptop shoulder bag and headed to the shuttle.
“No more?” The shuttle driver asked as he hurried around to load Connor’s missing bags.
“No. Lost.” He said and boarded the little bus.
The little man regarded Connor with an odd look.
“What?” Connor asked.
“You a’ look familiar,” he said, “You come Japan, before?”
“No.”
“Must be the face.” The driver said.
Connor wanted to sleep again. He felt unnaturally tired. Jet lag was a monster chewing on his nerves and sleep was the only way to hide from it. Held climbed the short steps and sat down in the first available seat. About ten other people of various nationalities boarded the shuttle with him. The driver boarded the shuttle after loading and securing the last of the luggage—other people’s luggage—in the cargo area in the belly of the vehicle. The driver was a really happy man. He laughed and joked with a few of the passengers before taking his seat at the wheel. Connor half expected him to yell ‘BONSAI!’ as he drove out of the airport. Connor was jolted, hard, as the shuttle ran over a speed bump just a little too fast.
“Eh, sorry folks,” The driver said smiling. Conner shook his head and tried to relax in the hot faux leather seat. The bus hit another speed bump and Connor abandoned the fantasy that was “relaxing”.
The steady drone of the engine and the hum of the wheels on the pavement, mixed with the low murmur of people talking turned out to be more effective than prescription drugs and alcohol for inducing sleep. Connor rested his head lazily against the taut shoulder strap of his seat belt.
The drive to the hotel took nearly seventy-five minutes through the dense morning rush. The ridiculously efficient roadways were barely able to contain the blanket of cars and motorcycles. Connor woke up just as the shuttle pulled under the canopy at the hotel entrance. The driver got out and began unloading luggage.
Connor made his way into the line of exiting passengers and moved to the exit. A blonde woman, a full foot shorter than Conner, walked just in front of him. The faint smell of lilacs and cigarettes drifted from her. Connor suddenly felt hungry.
“One for you…” The driver said to the first passenger to pass him. “One for you…” he said to the next. “None for you,” he said as Connor passed. He scowled and moved out of line, heading to the entrance.
Connor checked, uneventfully, into his room. He boarded the elevator with polished steel walls. Random abstract paintings were hung irregularly opposite of the sliding doors. He stared, curiously, at one brightly colored painting. A nagging feeling of familiarity held his attention on the delicate, seemingly chaotic brush strokes. He felt strangely relaxed.
“You know the best thing about art?” A man’s voice said in an American accent. “They hang them in galleries with lots of room where douche bags won’t stand gawking at them from the doorway.”
Connor realized that he had stopped in the path of the sliding doors. They would start to close and then re-open when the sensor detected an object, him, in the way. Connor stepped in the elevator fully and moved to a back corner.
The American continued mumbling angrily. Connor distinctly heard the word ‘asshole’ several times. Anger rose in Conner. He had a pretty bad day and just wasn’t in the mood to take anything from this man. Connor moved forward and pulled the emergency stop button. The elevator stopped at once, jarring the two men. Connor stood very close to the man now.
“I’ve got to tell you that I’m just more than a little tired right now,” Connor said. The man started to say something, but Connor crossed his lips with the universal ‘Shhh… say no more’ gesture. “I’ve had a bad day. A friend of mine died on the plane fight. The airline sent my luggage to fucking Australia. I spent two hours on a shuttle bus to come to a hotel and finally get some rest, but instead I have to listen to the clever stupidity of some douche that seems to think he has a right to be an ass because he had to settle for a blue Mercedes instead of a silver one.”
“How did you know…” the man started.
“Pardon me,” Connor said, “I’m not done.” The man went quite again.
“Now at this point,” Connor continued, “Some people would be beating your ass right now. Clearly, I’m not built for it. I work with computers. I’m very good with them. I know how to do things to you that would make you welcome a good ass-whipping.”
Connor waited for a response. The man said nothing, but tried very hard to stare past him. Connor stepped back and pulled the emergency stop button allowing the elevator to move freely once more. A few moments later, the elevator made a welcome ‘ding’ as it arrived on Connor’s floor. Connor stepped out into the hallway. Just as the doors began to close, he turned around and made a “peace-sign” with the index and middle fingers of his right hand. He brought these two extended fingers quickly to his face and pointed at his eyes. He then, just as quickly, turned his hand and pointed a single finger at the puzzled man in the elevator. He repeated the motion a couple more times for good measure as the doors slid shut.
Connor could not, to the best of his ability, stop smiling. Two days ago, he would have rode in silence and never confront anyone about anything. He would be angry, of course, but was not likely to say anything just to avoid confrontation and would take his frustrations out on some video game or hapless delivery person or counter clerk. In a word, Connor was proud of himself. This particular feeling had eluded him for some time. Connor found his room and went inside. He closed the door behind him and followed his ritual of turning the bolt, closing the hasp and pull testing the door. He turned on the light. When he turned back to the now lit room, he could see the neat, perfectly placed furniture, the crisp lines of the bed and two Japanese men (one sitting and one standing) in expensive-looking suits. Connor stopped, his laptop bag hanging from the strap just above where he was about to set it down.
“I’m sorry, I must have the wrong room…” he said checking the envelope his key-card came in.
“Connor Lewis?” The sitting man asked.
“Yes,” Connor said. “Who are you?”
“I am of no consequence.” He said. “You knew Camellia Chi-yo. I believe, Mr. Lewis that you have something that belongs to me.”
“I’m… Um… What?” Conner stammered.
“Mr. Lewis,” the sitting man leaned forward and said with no hint of accent, “You were seated next to Camellia Chi-yo on Delta flight thirteen-twenty, were you not?”
“Yes. She died on the flight.” Connor stated sadly. “Are you family?”
“Indeed.” Connor knew that this man wasn’t related to Camellia, but his answer hinted to just what ‘family’ he was a member of.
“She didn’t give me anything that I can remember.” Connor said.
“Memory is exactly what we are talking about.” The sitting man said.
The standing man crossed the room to Connor and stood close.
“This is Honozai. He is going to help you remember.”
Connor was not afraid. The standing man’s stance betrayed the next moves he would make. Connor imagined the man’s right hand coming up for a grab, while the left would come in low for a body blow to the stomach. Connor split the difference and threw a straight finger punch the standing man’s throat. The strike was automatic and efficient and very, very painful to Connor’s hand. He was nearly certain he had broken a finger. Distracted by his vast new knowledge of the martial arts, he did not notice that the—once again standing—man had recovered.
I know Kung-fu. He thought in his best Keanu Reeves just as a hard fist smashed him into yet another unnatural sleep. Clearly knowledge of fighting plus a desk jockey physique does not a martial artist make.
Connor woke sometime later, with a headache, with his arms and legs bound with duct tape. His mouth was quieted with a short strip of the stuff. Conner was a little disappointed. He was in Japan, for crap’s sake, surely there were more sophisticated ways of binding someone.
He turned his head to one side trying to catch a glimpse of his captors. He saw Honozai kneeling in front of the mini bar and helping himself to an Asahi. The sitting man was still sitting.
“Welcome back, Mr. Lewis.” The sitting man said. “I’m thinking that we got off on the wrong foot, as it were.”
Conner made a sarcastic muffled sound.
“Indeed.” The sitting man said. “Honozai, please remove the tape from Mr. Lewis’ mouth… roughly”
Honozai smiled wide with golden teeth. Conner was sure he heard a ‘Bling’ as they caught the light of the dim desk lamp.
Honozai gently lifted an edge of the duct tape with a long, manicured fingernail. He then violently ripped the tape from Connor’s mouth. Through watery eyes, Connor could see that Honozai was a little disappointed that it hadn’t hurt more.
“Now, Mr. Lewis,” said the sitting man, “You may be tempted to call out for help. Do not. Honozai will slip a knife into your lung if you do.”
“Okay.”
“I am Nao Sasaki.” Said the sitting man. “I believe you know Honozai.”
Honozai smiled again. He made a fist in front of his face and then pulled his elbow sharply down in the classic ‘Yes!’ motion.
“Now that our introductions are out of the way, we should really get down to business.”
“Okay.”
“Camellia Chi-yo, she gave you something,” Nao said, “and I want it.”
“I say this on pain of unconsciousness,” Connor said, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Connor twisted, slung his feet off the bed and came to a sitting position. Honozai took a step back. Connor was surprised to see that Honozai was cautious of him. Conner surmised that punch to the throat was still fresh in his mind.
“I believe you do. Surely you’ve noticed little differences in yourself. Do you believe you would have ever gotten a strike in on Honozai, before today? He has studied some form of martial arts for most of his life. He has been instructed by some of the best around. Do you actually think you could pose any kind of threat to him before today?”
“Well…” Connor started to say.
“No. The answer is no, Mr. Lewis.” Nao stated. He continued as if Connor had answered no, like he was supposed to have done. “And yet look at him. You are bound and he remains cautious of you. One could assume that he is compensating for underestimating you on your first encounter, but it’s more than that.”
Honozai was beginning to look absolutely angry. It was clear that his integrity was being brought into question and, therefore, his honor. He glared at Connor. The look in his eyes told Connor that he was eagerly awaiting another chance to prove himself. Connor did his best to look helpless.
“I still have no idea what you’re asking me to give you!” Connor exclaimed in a voice filled with incredulity.
Nao reached in his coat and pulled out a gun. It was slender, black and deadly with a long thick silencer screwed on the end.
“What I want, Mr. Lewis, is immortality.”
The pistol barrel looked at Connor and whispered softly to him. The thudding impact in his chest was louder than its quite voice. Warm blood sprayed on to Connor’s face and into his gaping mouth. The saltiness reminded him of his mother’s tears where he kissed her on the cheek when they got the news of his father’s death. Connor fell back on the bed. His body bounced lightly on the comfortable mattress. A warm feeling washed over him. He could feel his consciousness fading. He smiled a little. If it weren’t for the dying, he would have sworn he was about to get the best nights sleep he ever had.
“Dead?” Nao ran a hand through his thick black hair, trying to pull the puzzled expression from his face. “What do you mean dead?”
Honozai pressed his fingers against Connor’s neck and shook his head critically. Nao covered his eyes with his hair combing hand and shook his head slowly.
“How the hell is he dead?”
Honozai lifted and dropped Connor’s arm, experimentally, a few times.
“Well,” Honozai said in a small voice that was completely out of place in his large frame, “You shot him.”
“I know I shot him!” Nao yelled. He stood up and paced the floor at the foot of the bed where Connor’s body lay. He stopped and looked down at the duct tape bound and lifeless body that was Connor Lewis. He scratched the side of his head with his pistol and sat down on the bed, braced his elbows on his knees and rested his faced in the palms of his hands with the pistol hanging lazily on the index finger of his right hand. “I was sure it was him.”
Nao coughed. It was a nasty, dirty cough. A bit of foamy blood hung at the corner of his mouth. Honozai quickly pulled an embroidered cotton handkerchief from an inner pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to him.
Temper and stress only served to aggravate his condition. Nao breathed deeply and relaxed as he took the handkerchief and wiped away the blood.
“Thank you, Honozai.” Nao said with a degree of forced calm. Honozai accepted Nao's thanks with a slight nod. It had been a very long time since Nao thought of Honozai as anything but an employee. To do so could, potentially, compromise his position in the family by allowing another avenue through which to manipulate him. Honozai has been at his side since he learned of his condition… without question. For a brief moment, Nao acknowledged his younger brother as family.
“What now?” Honozai asked.
“I need to get to my doctor, I think.” Nao said.
“Well,” Honozai said, “If we're going to see your doctor, maybe you should put the gun away.”
“Connor-sann.”
“Yes?”
“You are okay, you know.”
“I know... Why didn't they know?”
“You were convinced, so they were convinced.”
“I don't understand.”
“That's okay, you don't have to.”
“It would be nice for a change.”
Connor lurched a few times before he was able to sit up. The duct tape's tacky grip still held his arms, wrists and ankles tight. His back and the bed were soaked with his wet, sticky blood. He looked around the room for some sign of the voice that had just spoken to him.
“Camellia?”
“Well, its not Bruce a' Willis.”
“Where are you?”
“Did you ever see a' Fight Club?”
“Yeah...”
“That's where I am.”
“Okay.”
“Just hop over to a mirror.”
Connor stood up—wobbly—and shuffled—wobbly—to a large mirror near the television.
“You see...” Connor nearly fell down when he heard Camellia's voice, but saw his mouth moving in his reflection.
“Why the hell are you in me?”
“I'm not, exactly.” Connor said as Camellia. “Part of the gift I gave you is my memories and experience. While there is something of me that is a part of you, its more like you have a split personality and your mind is using the information given to you and coming up with answers for you.”
“So I'm insane.” Connor said. “Why do I hear your voice?”
“Your mind is coping. I am familiar to you, so you get old Camellia's voice. I'm like a GPS but for life instead of streets.”
“I had a GPS once. It had Darth Vader's voice.”
“Your obsession with this Star Wars worries me.”
Connor hopped to the bathroom. Considering how freaked out he was, he felt like he was taking the whole situation pretty well.
He searched the bathroom—as well as his bonds would allow—and came to the conclusion that hotels did not have nearly enough sharp objects in them. He leaned over the sink and shoved his hands over the nozzle, forcing it between his wrists and the duct tape. He pried forward using the leverage to break the tape from his wrists. With his hands free, Connor had the remaining tape broken and removed an a few minutes.
“Some of my ingenuity is rubbing off on you.” Connor/Camellia said.
“Technically, that was all me.” Connor said. “This gift... Is it like Nao said? Is it immortality?”
“It’s more than that. We are the culmination of our experiences. I was born on the twenty-second of May, fifteen-o-nine.” Connor sat on the toilet as he spoke Camellia's words. “I have given you the gift of everything I have learned in five hundred years and the gift of time.”
“So what you're, I'm, uh...”
“It’s best to forget that you’re talking to yourself.”
“Okay. So what you're saying is that I have immortality and all of your experience?”
“Yes. I believe I did just say that.”
“So, how does it work... immortality?” Connor was starting to feel a little more silly than crazy. “Will stuff just grow back? Like if I lose a finger or a leg or something?”
“No. If you lose a leg, it’s gone. You will heal very fast, but you can die if you take enough damage very quickly. Time, however, will never touch you.”
“Are there others like me?” Connor asked.
“Yes.”
Connor stood up. He suddenly felt the urge to leave the hotel and go—though he did not know where—somewhere else. He started taking off his shirt but stopped three buttons into it feeling a little self conscious. He shook his head and smiled at the silliness of it. He took his shirt, placed it in the sink and turned on the water. Blood stained the water as the sink filled. Connor added the contents from a small shampoo bottle to the water and vigorously squeezed and twisted the shirt in the water. He emptied the sink and refilled it with clean water and repeated the cleaning. He did this several times until he was satisfied with the cleanliness of the water. He squeezed as much excess water as possible from the shirt. Connor took two towels down from a silver rack above the toilet and laid them flat on the counter top. He flattened his shirt out on the towels and rolled them up tightly. After a few times of this, the shirt was clean and relatively dry. The only out of the ordinary now was the two bullet holes and a few small patches of adhesive from the tape.
Connor looked back at the mirror and rubbed his chest where the fatal bullet wounds should have been. There wasn't a mark to be found.
“So, these others,” Connor carefully avoided making eye contact with the mirror, “Who are they?”
“Over the years they have gone by many different names.” He explained to himself. “As you can imagine our longevity has spawned many legends.”
“If you tell me I have to drink blood, I’m jumping out the window.”
“No. You do not.” Connor was relieved.
“Why did you die?” Connor asked.
“I was ready. The burden of losing everyone I grew close to became too much for me to bear.”
“I understand the curse part now.” Connor sighed. “Will I always run around talking to myself like a madman?”
“Your mind will eventually come to terms with what has happened and you will simple know the information you now possess.”
“Who is Nao? How does he know about the immortals?”
“Undying. We are known as the Undying.”
“Okay. How does he know about the Undying?”
“Nao is my son.”
Rabalazuri was an enigma. He was the son of a French-Cajun father and a Japanese mail-order mother. He was raised in La Rose, Louisiana and spent most of his youth skipping school and building forts in cane fields. At fifteen, his father was killed in an offshore accident and his mother moved them back to Japan to live with her father and mother.
Until he was twenty-five his grandfather instructed him in the family martial art... ninjitsu.
“You are the worst student I have ever instructed.” His grandfather would tell him. Rabalazuri was always distracted with one hobby or another and never focused on his lessons. While he was never a star student, he was competent. His various “studies” included many different martial arts styles and he was very good at distilling the martial from the art and became a truly formidable fighter.
Of all his special skills, he was especially good at gaining access to places that people didn't particularly want people to have access to; especially people like Rabalazuri.
He sat at small writing desk in an apartment that belonged to, well, someone. He lifted a pair of impressive looking Nikon binoculars to his face. The powerful optics brought the open windows of the high-brow hotel to him from across the street. He was always surprised at the number of women who would parade nude in front of open windows. He lingered on one particularly attractive woman for a moment—just long enough to not consider himself a peeping tom (legality not withstanding)—before moving on to the window he was here to watch.
Nao Sasaki fired two rounds into the duct-tape bound Connor Lewis' chest. Does nobody close curtains? Connor, as expected, collapsed onto the bed. Connor looked around a for a brief few seconds as the smoke from the weapon dissipated and fell still on the bed. Nao wore a big smile that slowly faded into a angry frown. Honozai moved to Connor's side and checked for a pulse and shook his head slightly. Rabalazuri smiled. Your fingers go higher, Hon me boy.
Nao paced around, sat down on the bed, stood up again and began to cough. Honozai handed him a handkerchief. After a few moments, they left the room leaving Connor—seemingly—dead on the very expensive and very bloody bed.
Moments later, Connor began to move around. He struggled to a standing position and walked out of view. Was he talking to himself?
Rabalazuri got up and went to the fridge. After a bit of searching, he smiled and grabbed a Coke-a-Cola.
A scraping sound came from the door as someone, presumably the owners, slid their key into the lock. Rabalazuri stuffed his ill-gotten cola and his binoculars into a low-profile single strap backpack and slipped it into place on his back. He moved quickly to the window and slipped out onto the fire escape. He took two quick steps and hand-planted into a lazy-vault over the rail. Holding tight to the top of the rail, he turned himself sharply back toward the building. At the last second before landing on the outside of the rail, he let go and dropped to the outside of the fire escape one floor below. Two more drops and he was on the side walk among some fairly confused pedestrians.
“Movie.” he said. The people around him began looking around for the cameras. Rabalazuri pretended to throw something at the sidewalk and ran off toward the hotel across the street.
Rabalazuri entered the luxurious hotel and suppressed an urge to lay down on a carpet that looked more comfortable than his bed. He headed to the elevator, arriving just as the doors opened to Nao and Honozai. Nao had a bloody handkerchief held to his mouth to catch a nasty cough.
“Ya'll a'right?” Rabalazuri asked. Nao and Honozai stared at him. “No com pron?”
“He is sick. We are going to his physician.” Honozai explained in the best English he could muster.
“Bonn chance.” Rabalazuri said with a nod as he entered the elevator. He pressed the fourth floor button and smiled to Nao and Honozai as they continued through the lobby.
“That's right.” He said nodding his head sideways and shrugging his shoulders. “I'm a ninja.”
Connor patted his freshly cleaned face with a soft towel. He rubbed the short, prickly hair on his chin and wished he had a razor. He dropped the towel into a pile of dirty towels just under the sink.
A solid knock on the door startled him. He froze at the sink, staring out of the bathroom door. The knock came again and Connor turned off the light.
“Why did you do that?”
“I don't know... panic?”
The knock came again.
“Maybe you could look through the peep-hole?”
“Or...” he said holding up a finger, “...or I could go out the window.”
Two sharp raps sounded through the door again.
“Windows don't open that wide in a hotel.”
“I should have know that.”
“Technically, you did.”
“Alright. Peep-hole, then.”
Connor quietly walked out of the bathroom and to the front door. He peered through the peep-hole. He saw a man of average height and vaguely Japanese trying to stare through from his side. Oddly, the man looked familiar. Connor opened the door.
The man was poised to deliver another knock. He lowered his hand and smiled at Connor.
“Connor.” He said.
“Hello.” Conner said. “Do I know you?”
“No.”
“Ah.” Connor said.
“We have a mutual father.” Rabalazuri said.
“Excuse me?” Connor said with more than just a little shock in his voice.
“I'm your brother. Let's get outta here and I’ll try to explain… no there is too much, I’ll sum up.”
“I love that movie.” Connor smiled. Despite the strangeness of the situation, Connor felt a strange and sudden kinship to this man.
“Me too.”
They left the room together. Connor stopped n front of the elevator as Rabalazuri continued down the hallway.
“Fire escape is this way.” Rabalazuri said with a grin.
‘Oh boy.’ Connor thought with a sigh. ‘Why is it never easy?’
Connor Lewis never considered himself a lucky man, a good-looking man or a man that people would consider an indispensable friend. His life—right up until his life ended and this odd series of events began—had always been a selfish little existence designed to protect him from the ugly part of human nature that chose to ignore or shove aside those who didn’t share their ideals. Basically, he stopped caring. Well, that is to say, he tried to stop caring. He saw the bad in everything and everybody. Everyday someone was shot, sued, robbed or assaulted; mentally, physically and emotionally. Then, when you least expected to see or experience an act of human kindness in a world filled with people who achieve their goals by walking over others, someone comes along and changes your perspective. Connor’s carefully constructed life was changed the day he met Camellia Chi-yo. Camellia had a profound impact on Connor's life, even before he found out that she was immortal and had passed that immortality on to him. He still wasn't sure he believed any of this was real. Part of him hoped that he would wake up from some fitful bout of sleep so he could start his mundane day and go to his mundane job and hate his mundane co-workers. Another part—a significant part—wanted to actually be walking next to the man called Rabalazuri; the man who claimed to be his brother. 'How can that be?' Connor thought. His father was a small, sensible and emotionally distant man from Maine, not a Cajun pimp who traveled the United States consorting with lonely women.
“How is it that I am your brother?” Connor asked as he limped along beside Rabalazuri. His 'exit' from the hotel down the fire escape was not as nimble as it could have been and he took a bit more impact on his knees than he should have.
“My dad did your mom.” Rabalazuri said.
“Has anybody ever called you a douche-bag?”
Rabalazuri rubbed his chin, “Not today.”
“I'm serious... My dad was from New England. I've known Mel Albert Lewis all my life.” Connor said.
“Look, all I know is that in the seventies my father, Zach Rabalais, traveled the US and met your mother, Martha, and then some time after that met my mother, Kelanau Zuri in South Louisiana. My mother and father married in seventy-two and I lived in La Rose for fifteen years or so before my father died.
“My mom cheated on my dad? I can't believe it.” Connor was more depressed about this than he expected. The fact that the man he knew as his father wasn't, made Connor feel like crying.
“Well, maybe they met before your mother and adopted father.” Rabalazuri said in his most helpful tone. “You'd have to ask your mother about that.”
“No. I've hurt her enough over the years.” Connor said. He was mad at his mother for never telling him. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn't. She lived with the secret all those years, for the sake of the family. People's happiness depended on how well she kept it and she did keep it no matter how hard she was tried. She kept the secret.
Connor had always felt distant from his father, maybe there was more to that feeling after all.
“Where are we going?” Connor asked.
“We need to get out of Tokyo. I have a house in Kyoto, we should go there. I doubt that Nao will be satisfied that your dead. Its only a matter of time before the bloody bed in your room is found and that will be all over the news. Nao will assume that you walked out under your own power and start looking for you again. He's desperate.”
“Can he take 'it' from me?” Connor asked.
“He seems to think so. Traditionally, it is passed down to family members. Most everyone else in our family was born with it, so the need to pass it on was no longer an issue... until Nao was born. He did not possess the gift. It was believed that the gift passed him over because he was not worthy.”
“I didn't possess the 'gift' either...” Connor said.
“True, but grandmother knew about you and, obviously, saw something in you that convinced her to pass the gift to you.” Rabalazuri explained.
“Why me though? I'm not family, strictly speaking.”
“Maybe you don't have blood-ties to the family but you are my brother and as far as Grandmother was concerned, you are family.” Rabalazuri patted Connor on the shoulder. “Besides, if Nao had immortality... that would be bad.”
“Why did she die?” Connor asked, “I mean she was immortal, right?”
“Immortality isn't all fun and games, Connor.” Rabalazuri smiled, “You have to realize that everyone you meet, know or love will die and you will just keep living on and on. While you never get old, it does. One day you realize that you've distanced yourself from everyone else out of fear of getting attached and then losing them.”
“I've done that for years.” Connor said. “Camellia said she was giving me a gift... time, she said. Now you're saying that I get an eternity to just keep being me?”
“You be who you want to be, Connor.” Rabalazuri said. “How you spend your life, no matter how long it is, is up to you.”
“Honozai and Nao are brothers?” Connor asked. Rabalazuri stopped and looked at him a moment.
“How did you know? Did Nao tell you?”
“I, um, apparently have Camellia's memories and experiences.” Connor neglected (on purpose) to mention the fact that he could hold full conversations with himself as Camellia. “They don't always come to me... especially when I need them.”
“I've never heard of such a thing happening before. I didn't even know it was possible.”
“Not knowing isn't proof that something is or isn't.” Connor said. He shook his head as Rabalazuri stared at him.
“Grandmother used to say that.” Rabalazuri said.
“Yeah, she's very Yoda-like.”
“Honozai and Nao are brothers, yes.” Rabalazuri said.
“Nao hasn't tried to steal 'it' from Honozai?”
“He doesn't have it... anymore.”
“Anymore?”
“Honozai has a daughter. She has, had, a congenital heart condition. She was dying. Honozai gave up his immortality to save his daughter, our cousin, Lao.” Rabalazuri explained.
“And Nao loves his niece more than himself, I assume?”
“He does.”
“And he'd kill me for it.”
“He would.”
Rabalazuri and Connor arrived at the train station. Rabalazuri purchased two tickets to Kyoto. Connor stood outside, staring south at the picturesque mountains. The foggy Tokyo sky cast the landscape in a fuzzy haze.
“Here ya go.” Rabalazuri said handing Connor his ticket.
“How long are we staying there? At your place, I mean.” Connor asked.
“As long as it takes.” Rabalazuri said rubbing his hands together... menacingly.
“What, um, exactly does that mean?” Connor asked.
“Training.” he said. “You are soft, uncoordinated, lack confidence and have little motivation.”
“Wow. And I was starting to like you.”
“With your new 'gift' you will benefit from training in a tenth of the time it would have taken you before.”
“Why?” Connor asked.
“Well, physically, training is a self destructive process that breaks your body...”
“And soul...”
“...And soul, down. Then, your body rebuilds itself stronger than before.” Rabalazuri made a fist and whacked his stomach a few times. “We can train you up in nine days instead of ninety. I bought those new 'P ninety X' DVD's. Those ought'a whip ya into shape! I think they have a computer geek on it.”
“This sounds like its gonna suck.” Connor said shaking his head.
Rabalazuri threw his arm around a grumpy looking Japanese businessman headed for the train. He smiled broadly and pointed dramatically in Connor's direction.
“Looks like somebody needs a montage!”
more to come....