#ch.04

The crisp white coat on Toto’s shoulders was so pristine it almost defied reason. Pants, shoes, turtleneck—everything was white, beaming off the elevator doors as they opened to Hebe’s Hideaway. There was a lot to notice about the new floor—the walls, the lava lamps, the sea of hanging lights—but Toto’s eyes were still and glassy, and he looked at nothing. The Theatre had left him with so many thoughts that they gathered in his head like a mess of tangled yarn, but in the quiet moments he had worked away at them, thought by thought, until the last strings unravelled. He knew now what had to be done.

Music reached his ears halfway down the hall; it was a chipper tune that coaxed him out of his head, and his faraway stare took on some focus. He stopped, turned, saw the word ‘KARAOKE’ flashing on the wall. This, he thought, the corners of his mouth stretching into a smile. This is perfect! Toto pushed open the door, and was promptly greeted by the robot manning the front desk. “Welcome! ♪” it chirped. “Ah, a solo artist! Shall I show you to a room?” “Haha! You’re too cute!” I’ll have that one—the closest one!” “Of course! ♪ If you’ll just follow me . . .”  “I’ll be right there!” Toto called over his shoulder, hands around a potted plant. He lifted it with ease and walked it from the desk to the door, which he propped open. The potted plant proved to be an effective doorstop and, satisfied with his work, Toto joined the robot in the karaoke room. 

“What song will you be singing today?”  “The longest one,” said Toto, taking up the microphone. “I want to sing right away!”

The robot’s lights gleamed blue, and Toto watched as a long list of songs flew past the screen to land on one nine-minute ballad. Just as requested, the music began to play, but Toto’s requests were far from over. 

“Quieter, make it quieter—not me, the music! Make me louder. Louder! . . . Even louder!" Toto cupped a hand over his mic. “This is the loudest it can go, right?”  “That’s right,” said the robot. Was that a note of hesitation in its voice? “Perfect! Ah, you’re lucky! This won’t hurt your ears at all! Haha!”

With the music low and the room humming, Toto brought the microphone to his lips. 

“Everyone? Can you hear me?” The speakers groaned under the deafening volume of Toto’s voice. It was a wonder the television didn’t shatter; instead, it diligently displayed the lyrics to a ballad that Toto would never sing. 

“When I saw how all your faces have changed since we got here . . . I knew I had to do something. So . . . with this announcement, I’m going to help you. I’m going to . . . to pick you up out of the darkness. Because there’s light in enlightenment!”  The microphone screeched in protest as Toto raised his voice, arm splayed out at his side, addressing an empty room of seats and menus and a robot that seemed to stare through him. 

“Vamp and Vi and Blythe and Shepherd, Fairy and Fantasma . . . did you know you can smile for all of them?” His voice brimmed with pride. “Right now, they’re in a magnificent place—the next place, the fully-bloomed world! And we can all go there, all of us, as long as our soul is strong. Haha! Isn’t that great? Do you know how lucky we are?! Listen! The path to that world was closed, for five-hundred years! But now everyone gets a chance! Everyone sharing this world, right now!” One vigorous gesture followed the next. Toto’s words of excitement boomed out into the hall.

“No one ever knew what happened when we left this place. Even now! Even now, there are people . . . people like you!” A note of pain crept into his voice. “Who don’t know anything! But I’ve seen it. I left my body behind to begin my migration, and then . . . then I came back! You know why?” He paused, waiting for a response that never came. “To enlighten everyone else! I had to come back so that everyone would understand. So . . . do you?” Toto’s eyes lingered on the counter on the screen—two minutes left.

“Aaaah, there’s so much to tell you. Do you get it. . .?” Toto ran a hand through his hair, cycling through all the things he had said, all the things he hadn’t. “Come find me,” he said. “I can explain all of it. You can ask me anything. OK?” Toto glanced at the robot, almost as if asking for guidance. The microphone felt suddenly heavy in his hand. “For this announcement, I’ll just sayyy . . .” He fell silent, searching for the right words. When he spoke again, his voice was steady, quiet. “This isn’t the place where everything ends. This is the place . . . where I met you. It’s where we became each other’s friends. And whatever happens, the next world will be waiting, and we’ll meet again.”

Fennec never lingered on failures. When Mrs. Volkov came to him with her satin gown and glimmering pearls and told him of his future—not as her son, but as her staff—he swallowed his resentment and pressed on. Somewhere in that towering paradise there was a broken, battered boy who needed his guidance if he wanted to become a perfect copy.  

After fifteen years, Jackal had discarded that perfection. He had chosen to self-destruct and let Fennec burn with him, and as the theatre-goers filed out of the lounge with their backs to the butler, those flames were still eating away.  Fennec had failed, and the path ahead had shifted at his feet. He saw this one with clarity, just as he had seen all the rest. There was more to be done.

“ . . .” The butler looked down at the contents of his desk drawer—jagged, broken bits of plate had been laid out by size, tucked away since the very first night when he had let that tray slip from his fingers. A missing knife would have been noticed—perhaps even searched for—but there was no longer a need for such secrecy.  When Fennec stepped into the casino with a tray of shrimp cocktail, the kitchen’s carving knife was just beneath its surface, secured by the flat of his palm. It took only a cursory glance of the room to realize that he was not alone, and gliding steps carried him towards his fellow passenger. At either side of him, slot machines whirred and pinged. He summoned his butler’s smile.

Despite himself, Lux was not expecting anything magnificent when he visited the MonoMono Tree. That was not to say he had no expectations. Given their less than favourable surroundings, Lux had a hopeful fire in his eyes that bordered on demanding as he inserted his coin and awaited his gift. What dropped into his hand was a tangled pile of hair.

Lux had long since rejected living at the campsite. He had even found his own accommodations a ways away, a little cabin with walls and a door and some sparse furnishings to complete it. As decent as the ‘Lux House’ was compared to the tent he had been assigned, it was sorely lacking in food. And so, he had returned to the campsite in hopes that his classmates had found something to cook. Lux was disappointed to find the campfire unoccupied. 

Letting out a long, dramatic sigh, he lowered himself to sit by the crackling flames. It was still dinner hour—perhaps his classmates were off hunting and spearing. He could be patient. 

There was a familiar feeling broiling in the pit of Lux’s stomach—hatred. Loathing. It was a powerful thing, so much so that not even the departure of Nori Katsutame could ease his mood. After all of the grating insults she had thrown at him, Lux was quite relieved to be rid of her, but there were still so many pests surrounding him. This past trial had been a testament to that.  Still, as the students were herded into the ‘Kill Box’ once again, Lux had managed to find his vigour. He drew himself up, quickened his steps, and put a smile on his face—a smile that was not so taut with anger.  When he stepped out into their new abode, his expression dropped instantly. 

Tents. Woods. The city was gone.

“...”  Lux visited his tent once, to pick up his supplies, but he had no intention of returning to it. He would not be sleeping there. Luckily, after some exploring, he had found something halfway acceptable—’boathouse’ marked its place on the map. It would certainly need some repurposing. Within the hour, Lux had taken a knife to the boathouse door and carved some letters of his own: ‘Lux House’.  Inside, he had rearranged the logs into a neat little pile, displayed the fishing rods—by colour—in a row against the wall, and spread out all the blankets at the back. It was his bed, for the time being.  He was in the middle of sorting through the tools when he heard the door open behind him. With a delighted grin, he spun around and spread both arms at his sides as if to indicate the splendour of the room.