Sunblind (27 page)

Finally Jess stands up, and she looks even more beautiful than the last time I saw her if that's possible. Her light is radiant.

“And please stop calling me master,” Mr. Dice asks, a trace of weariness creeping into his voice.

“Yes, Masut
,” Jess replies. “I mean, sir.”

Daisuke Takamoto, the man we call Mr. Dice, Two W's newest teacher, isn't a teacher or a mister after all. If he isn't either of those things, what exactly is he?

“How many times do I have to tell you, Jess,” Mr. Dice says, circles of golden sunshine pouring out of his mouth. “I am not your master; I'm your mentor.”

And the blank is filled in.

“Oh my God!” I cry. “So the Hello Kitty keychain wasn't your daughter's; it was a clue!”

“Dom!” Jess cries back. “Show some respect when you're in the presence of a Sarutahiko Okami and use your gentle voice!”

“Excuse me! Would that yelling be
your
gentle voice?!” I snipe. “A Saru-what?”

It looks like Mr. Dice is smiling, but I'm squinting from the sunshine overload so I can't really be sure.

“Dominy,” Mr. Dice or whatever his name is replies, “I'm Jess's guardian.”

Guardian, mentor, master, whatever he is, I'm glad to know for certain that Jess isn't alone in her realm. Now Mr. Dice looks just like Jess, dripping in honey gold, sunlight pouring out of every pore, but there seems to be something else mixed in, a serenity, a calmness that Jess doesn't yet possess.

“Is an Okami like an Omikami?” I ask, trying to make sense of this new knowledge.

“The simple answer is that yes, they're related,” Dice explains. “My spirit is more earthbound, while Jess is part of the celestial universe.”

“That was the simple answer?” I ask incredulously.

Maybe it is that simple because I can see them both clearly now without squinting. Jess is a bit more relaxed and standing in the middle of the black box stage where she spent many hours going over her lines and practicing scenes as president of Broadway Bound. The glare of the light is still strong, so it's hard to see her expression, but I'm guessing that there's a part of her that wishes she were still human so she could put on another show for an actual audience, unlike the show she's putting on right now.

A few feet away Mr. Dice is leaning against the wall, watching her with what I can only describe as fatherly pride. I guess just because you're a supernatural deity doesn't mean you know everything; there's always more to learn.

“So you came here to help Jess find her way?” I ask.

“I'm here to help both of you,” he replies.

Hope and excitement race through my body, intertwining to create a new feeling. Could this be the answer I've been looking for? Could this be the key to unlocking this curse?

“No.”

I'm not sure who answered, Jess or Mr. Dice, but I know what
no
means.

“Then how are you going to help me if you can't break this curse?”

There's way more attitude in my voice then I intended, but I can't help myself. Essie's death is still weighing on me. She's the latest person to die because of me, because she got caught in the crossfire of this feud between Luba and me, so I'm a little testy.

“The world is filled with so much mystery, Dominy,” Mr. Dice explains. “Most of it's good, but some of it's bad.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” I reply.

Mr. Dice smiles at my sarcasm; Jess doesn't.

“You've been handed more bad than good lately,” he says. “So I'm here to balance out the scales.”

Taking a deep breath I realize that it would be foolish not to accept such otherworldly help or to piss off a sun god. “Thank you.”

“So while I'm here trying to show this one the ropes . . .”

“
This one
would be me,” Jess interjects.

“Yeah, I got that, Jess,” I say.

“I'll try to help you as best I can,” Mr. Dice replies.

“But you can't break this curse, can you?” I ask.

“No, I can't,” he answers. “But I know someone who can.”

What?! When will these super-powerful beings realize that the best way to get our attention is to give us the information we crave immediately?! Enough with the hocus pocus and the fancy light show, I mean, that looks spectacular, but I want facts. If he knows who can break this curse, if he knows where I can find this great and powerful Oz, then tell me.

“Who?!” I cry. “Who can break it?”

“You can.”

Chapter 23

“Me? That's what you expect me to believe?”

I don't care if I'm being disrespectful to an elder and in this case probably an elder to the zillionth power, but does Mr. Dice—or is it Okamidice?—really expect me to believe that I have the power to break this curse? He might be like an almighty, all-powerful wizard, but this
isn't
Oz and I'm not Dorothy and I can't just click the heels of my stolen ruby-reds to travel through time and space to break free of the werewolf's clutches. It's like Arla's interpretation of the fairy tale is coming true. Is this wizard as passive-aggressive as Glinda? No, I refuse to believe that it's always been that easy, and I also refuse to allow him to drop a bombshell of Okamian proportions and let him get away with it.

“If I can break this curse, then break it down for me,” I demand. “Show me how I can do it, and don't slip into teacher mode and make it as complicated as all those algebra equations you teach us.”

“I can't show you,” he replies.

“Because you're a liar!”

“Dominy!” Jess cries. “You're like standing at the corner of Blasphemy Boulevard and Sacrilege Street. Whichever way you turn you're still about to enter the danger zone.”

“Where the hell do you think I've been living for the past year, Jess?” I scream, at full volume, not even caring if I attract a crowd including Dumbleavy. Let him see who he's hired to teach his impressionable students. “I've been forced to relocate to the danger zone, so if Dice here can help me move out, I'd like to know about it now and in full detail!”

“I understand your frustration, Dominy,” Mr. Dice says, his voice a stark contrast to my yelling. “But as Jess has already explained to you, beings such as ourselves are limited.”

Again! How many times do I have to hear about the limitations of the Omikami?! “What's the purpose of such great power if you can't use it?!” I bellow.

“Our power may be great, Dom,” Jess says. “But there's a higher power above us and another power above that and probably some more layers that I don't even know about yet, and each power has incredible abilities that you can't even imagine. They're the ones who call all the shots, not us. Did I not already explain to you about balance?”

Why is she asking me questions? Why isn't she answering mine?

“Remember?” Jess asks.

Think, think back
.... Yes, yes, I remember what Jess said about balance. The world needs to be filled with opposites; it needs to be filled with both good and evil, or else it'll tilt or freefall or careen out of the solar system into some other galaxy, and we'll all crash and burn. Like that would be any worse than what I'm going through!

“Yeah, balance must be maintained,” I spit.

“That's right,” Mr. Dice replies. “So if a higher power gives all of its knowledge and secrets to a student, then how will that student learn? How will that student complete his or her own journey?”

“If the
her
you're referring to is me,” I say, “then it means I'll be able to complete my journey a whole lot faster than I'm doing right now.”

“And you will have learned nothing!” Jess screams, clearly forgetting her mandate about speaking in a gentle voice. “And you will bring nothing with you to the next level, the higher level, except your same bad attitude!”

“I've
earned
the right to have a bad attitude, Jess!”

“AND SO HAVE I!!!”

When Jess screams I stumble backward and don't stop until my back hits the wall. Her cry is filled with such passion and intensity and anger that her words turn into flames that shoot out of her, making her look like a sun-drenched dragon. The flames—a multitude of yellows doused with a hint of orange and even red—flicker wildly until they disappear. They look so real I wasn't taking the chance that they were just an illusion, just the typical byproduct, the expected trail of sunshine when Jess speaks or waves her arms or floats around. This display of power wasn't benign; it was meant to warn. And remind me that I've been acting like a selfish child. The one big difference between me and Jess is that I'm the one who's still alive.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “To both of you. I know none of the questions I'm asking come with easy answers, it's just that . . .”

“The easy way out can also be the most attractive,” Mr. Dice says.

“Exactly.”

“Well, Dominy, trust me when I tell you,” he says, “attractive isn't always best.”

One glance at Jess and I know her anger is gone. And I know that she doesn't agree with Mr. Dice. Extraterrestrial Guidance Counselor or not, there is no way that she will believe what he just said is a universal truth. I may be separated from Jess by some giant dimensional divide, she may be physically altered, but some things never change. Jess will always be just a little bit superficial.

“Sometimes he can get carried away,” Jess whispers.

The small room is suddenly filled with Mr. Dice's laughter, which spreads out like a cool breeze, each note dancing in the air like a golden snowflake. I was wrong; there isn't an ounce of darkness on him or in him. He meant what he said: He's here to help. And he's a man of his word.

“There are some amazing things that we can do,” he says. “Things that I'm teaching Jess.”

When an Okami uses a word like
amazing
to describe his talents, I take notice; he must have quite an impressive list of tricks up his sleeve. “Like what?”

“Shall we, Jess?”

Mr. Dice holds out his hand, and Jess floats toward him, resting only when her hand is firmly in his. “Of course,” she replies. “C'mon, Dom. Don't be afraid.”

But I am. I've been in this position before. I've given up my power to allow others free rein to make me travel to the past and bear witness to memories that should have remained unseen. I can't go through that again.

“I don't want to take a trip to the past,” I state.

“No, we're not taking you on a journey to the past,” Mr. Dice says. “Or the future.”

“Then where are we going?” I ask.

“Inside your brain.”

 

The moment I felt Jess's and Mr. Dice's hands in mine we were transported through a tunnel of sunshine. The trip took only a few seconds, but I wished it had lasted longer. I felt like I was flying in the sunlit sky, not surrounded by thick globs of silver fluid, and most important I felt like I was leading the way. I wasn't being pulled someplace I didn't want to go, someplace from which I knew I would only have to make the return trip with an even more damaged mind. Now that we've landed, I'm not sure the destination is any different than it was during the trip I took with the Psycho Family, despite the improved travel accommodations.

I'm standing in between Jess and Mr. Dice behind a high row of thick bushes, which is the only thing that separates us from an open field. I hear a rustling in the trees on the other side of the clearing that stops only when the noisemaker makes itself visible. It's a deer.

She walks calmly into the center of the field, knowing full well that she's on display, knowing full well that she's walking onto a sacrificial altar, walking to her death. But she isn't scared; she knows her fate is to die within the next few seconds, when my father pulls the trigger.

“Daddy!”

Jess and Mr. Dice are now gone and in their place, my father is standing next to me, looking like the adult he was when he died, but carrying the gun he used to kill as a teenager.

“Watch this,” he says.

Raising his rifle he places the long, thin barrel in between some branches and rests the butt on his shoulder. He tilts his head slightly so his cheek presses against the rifle's body, and without looking he inserts his finger into the trigger hole. He slides his thumb alongside the trigger guard as he waits for just the right moment to pull his finger back and set into motion my destiny.

Why are they showing me this? I thought they said we weren't going to the past but inside my brain? This is not my memory; it was an unwanted gift! I don't want to remember this. I don't want to see any of this!

“Patience, Dominy.”

My father's voice is soft, and he's peering at me from over the belly of the rifle like he's looking at me from the other side of my crib. Why would he want me to see this? Why would he want me to see him kill? Well, I don't care what he wants. I'm not looking!

When I hear the rifle explode, I close my eyes. Just to make sure I can't see anything at all, I cover my eyes with my hands. They want to play games; well, I can play games too! The only problem is that they're more skilled than I am when it comes to game playing.

I wait for as long as I can, until I know for sure that the deer has been killed, and then I open my eyes. I was wrong. The deer is still standing stoically as the bullet continues to split the air in slow motion. Before I can turn away, the bullet returns to maximum speed and rips through the deer's chest. I can see the bullet travel through her body like a wave, the skin rippling up and down and up and down until the bullet reaches the poor animal's leg and flies out of its body, bringing with it a spray of blood. Like someone filled a sprinkler with red paint.

“No!”

My scream is useless; it can't change anything. It's also pointless. The deer is unharmed. Unharmed? I saw her get shot.

“Keep watching,” Jess instructs.

“And remember, Dominy, every curse has many layers,” Mr. Dice says.

“Like one of those Russian dolls,” Jess adds. “Open up one and there's another underneath.”

“Exactly,” he replies. “You might be able to break one curse, but not all of them.”

“What's the good in that then?!”

Mr. Dice smiles, but there's no joy in his eyes. “You have to figure out which curse you can live with.”

This time the deer's body doesn't vibrate; it doesn't give any warning. One second she is standing there looking straight ahead, and the next she bursts open. But this time there's no blood spray. Her flesh and bones don't clutter the air and fall onto us like shrapnel. This time the deer doesn't die; she simply changes shape. She's like a piñata that explodes, leaving behind nothing but millions of insects.

“Run!”

I don't know who screamed, but I listen to the command. Someone grabs my hand to pull me along, make me run even faster. It's my father. He's not saying a word, but I can see terror on his face. I know I shouldn't turn around, I know I shouldn't waste the time, but I have to see what's chasing us. I have to see what's so terrible that we have to flee as if our lives depended upon it. One glance and I know.

A swarm of bees and butterflies is chasing us, huddled so closely together they look like a large black cloud zipping through the sky. The buzzing and the flapping are deafening. Their flight is creating wind at my back, and I know that they're gaining on us. Soon we're going to be covered and bitten and stung.

“Jess!”

I don't know where she and Mr. Dice are, I don't know if this is real, but I know I have to get out of here.

“Make this stop!”

“You can,” she replies.

Why is everyone telling me that I can stop all of this madness? Do they think I want to live my life like this?! Do they think this is how I want to spend my days? Is everyone completely certifiable!?

“We just want you to see what's right in front of you,” Mr. Dice says.

The only thing I see right in front of me is a bed. A bed? With thick covers that could be used as a shield to protect us from the bees that are already starting to sting the back of my neck and from the butterflies whose wings are already slamming against my ears.

Tugging on my father's hand, I pull him toward the bed. We get in between the covers and hold down the fabric before any of the insects can join us. Inside our flimsy asylum all I can hear is our breathing, all I can smell is our sweat, all I can see is my mother looking over at us.

“Welcome home,” she says.

Her voice is warm. Her smile is bright. Her eyes are filled with love. She reaches out her hands, and I latch onto one while my father tenderly grabs the other. Once again we're a family; once again we're safe. But wait, we're not a family; we're missing one person.

“Where's Barnaby?!” I scream.

“He isn't welcome,” my mother says.

How could she say such a thing? No, wait, she isn't talking. This is my brain; these are my thoughts. Why am I making her say something so horrible? Barnaby is my brother, and no matter what he does or what he's done, I have to protect him and keep him safe. There's no way my mother would disagree with that; there's no way she wouldn't welcome him back into our family. What could he possibly do that would make her want to abandon him?

“He's chosen another family,” she says.

“No!”

My scream causes the covers to billow, and I can hear the bees and the butterflies on the other side of the cloth buzz and flap louder as they try to hold on to the material in search of a worn piece that they can rip apart to squeeze through and attack.

“He's confused.... He's scared,” I cry. “He doesn't know what he's doing!”

My words fall on deaf ears. They don't want to hear anything I have to say about Barnaby. They've already made their decision; they've already disowned him.

I let go of their hands; I don't want to touch them any longer. I don't want to feel my parents' skin on mine. They're cruel and ugly and unforgiving. They're like Luba, and if they don't want any part of Barnaby, I don't want any part of them.