The Devil Inside (14 page)

“What?”

“What I do, the way I look, these marks on my body. What do you think it means, Adele?”

“You told me yourself,” I shrug. “You were mixed up in some bad shit. Who am I to judge? I know what kind of men get tattoos like yours. I think I know what it all means, Kaito. Deep down, ever since that night you beat up those two mob guys, I’ve known. That doesn’t stop the artist in me from appreciating your amazing ink. I don’t care what you’ve done in the past, how you’ve come to be here. I see something beautiful in front of me and I can’t let go of it.”

Kaito laughs, a low, bitter sound. “That’s the first, and probably the last time anyone’s ever going to describe me that way.” I’m surprised at the shadow of self-loathing that crosses his features. He hides it so quickly I almost miss it. “Self-preservation isn’t your strong point, is it?”

“That’s why I’m with you.” I take his warm hands into mine. My hands look small and delicate against his long, rough fingers. “You’ve saved my ass twice now.”

Kaito quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not as honorable as you make me out to be. I have selfish motivations when it comes to you.”

The kettle starts to boil, steam rising into the cool air. Kaito disengages from me to retrieve a set of teacups and a tin of tea. “You’re mine, Adele. Nobody else is going to touch you. I’d kill them.”

He pours boiling water and green powder into the cups. His expression is fierce, his hard features shadowed in the low light. I accept a cup of steaming tea, inhaling the rich, aromatic scent. I’m not quite sure if Kaito is serious or not. I half believe he would be very capable of killing someone.
 

“What happened to it?” The question pops into my mind, and I blurt it out without thinking.
 

“Happened to what?”

“Your finger.”

Kaito raises his eyebrows in surprise, curling his left hand into a fist. It’s an unconscious, self-conscious act. I find it endearing, a sign that under the smooth exterior, he’s all too human. It’s almost as if he’s shy. He hesitates.

“Go on,” I encourage, softly. Kaito takes a deep breath, and sighs.
 

“The first job I ever had was as a debt collector. I was seventeen, and probably the worst fucking debt collector in Tokyo. I used to be soft on the people who owed us money. They were ordinary people; low paid workers, parents, sons and daughters. People like me. Like my mother. People who couldn’t borrow from regular banks. I’d give them extensions, sometimes wipe the slate clean. A few times, I even paid off their debts from my own pocket. After a while, my boss figured it out. He was furious. Makes the organization look bad. He thought I was taking the piss out of him. Said if I wanted to live, I needed to apologize the right way, and never let this kind of thing happen again.”

“So you gave him your pinky?”

“That’s how we apologize. It’s supposed to be the honorable thing to do. After that, I never collected debts ever again.”

“So after that, you left, um, whatever it was you were a part of?”

Kaito snorts with dark amusement. “If only it were that easy. Nah, I went on to do other work. Things that were better suited to my temperament.”

“What kind of things?”

“It’s not important.” Kaito looks up from his tea, shutting me out of his inner world, his face blank. Gone is that little window of vulnerability I glimpsed. It’s as if he’s let me in a little, then shut me out. “I’m going to be busy for a few days, Adele. I won’t be able to see you for a while.”

I open my mouth to speak, but Kaito gets there first. “It’s work. Don’t worry about it. It’s just a for a few days. I need to see you again. You have no idea what you do to me.” He sets his tea on the gleaming countertop and wraps his arms around my waist, reaching under my jacket, so I feel the warmth of his bare skin. Suddenly, we’re kissing again, and I’m drowning in an ocean of colorful, swirling tattoos, dark eyes and suggestions of hidden violence.
 

Adele

The day after I spend the night at Kaito’s apartment, I don’t turn up to work. There are missed calls on my phone from Rei and Mama-san, but I ignore them.

He’s deserted me in the early hours of the morning, slipping out of his apartment without a trace. I wake up in an empty bed, and roll over to find a stack of hundred dollar bills on the bedside table. They’re arranged in neat, perfect wads.

I stuff the cash into my purse and get dressed, taking a cab home. When I arrive, Dio’s sitting in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. He looks at me with raised eyebrows, but says nothing. I greet him as if nothing weird has happened, as if I haven’t spent the night elsewhere. He’s home for the day, programming or coding, or whatever it is that he does.
 

I head over to mom and dad’s, stacks of hundred dollar bills in my bag.

When I arrive, mom is in the kitchen, making a fruit salad. Dad’s out back on the porch. Mina’s in school. Mom looks up and smiles. “We paid off the debt, Adele.” She’s quartering and peeling a pineapple. I inhale its sweet, acidic tang.

“What?” I steal a grape from a bowl on the counter. It’s sour. I make a face. “Where did you get the money?”

“I sold it.”

“Sold what?”

“The necklace.”

“Grandma’s diamond necklace?” I almost choke on the grape. “No way.”

“I figured I’m never going to wear it, anyway.” Mom shrugs, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her blond tresses are shot through with grey, her blue eyes calm as a summer sky. I don’t know how mom can stay so composed after all that’s happened to her. “Your grandma wouldn’t have wanted me to keep it in a time of need. She wouldn’t have wanted for me and you and Mina to be unhappy. When I hid it, I was just being sentimental. I was upset.”

“But-“ I open my mouth, but mom silences me with a look. I read pain and anger and understanding in her eyes. Suddenly, she looks a lot older.
 

“Gold and diamonds won’t make me happy, Adele. Your grandma’s memory is what’s important, not some trinket. And when I sold it, I made your dad promise one thing.”

“What’s that, mom?”

“That he go to rehab.”

“He’s not going to go.” Bitterness creeps into my voice. I can’t help it. I’ve heard too many broken promises. “He’s been saying that for years.”

“Don’t worry, Adele, he’ll go this time.” There’s conviction in the way mom says it. A shadow of a smile appears on her face, just briefly, but there’s sadness in her eyes. “I told him I’m leaving him if he doesn’t do it.”

“Whoa.” I rock back on the bar stool, surprised. It’s the first time mom’s ever said that, despite everything she’s been through. She’s not one to throw these kinds of things around lightly. “What changed?”

“He hit you, Adele.”
 

I touch a hand to the skin around my eye. It’s mostly healed now, with just a faint trace of shadowing. I don’t need to cover it with makeup anymore.

“He’s never laid a hand on you girls before, but that night, I knew he’d gone too far. This is his last chance.”

“You’re a saint, mom,” I murmur, in awe. This is a side to her I haven’t seen in a long time. Now, she’s in control, and there’s a kind of serenity, a self-assurance in the way she’s standing, slicing golden chunks of pineapple as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I don’t agree with the way she’s too tolerant with dad, but who am I to judge? Love is such a hard thing to understand, to define.

I should know; I get the feeling I’m falling for someone who’s no good for me.

I fish the stack of hundred dollar bills from my bag and slap it on the kitchen bench. “I know you’ve already paid, but I got you the money anyway. Make sure he goes to rehab. Make sure Mina finishes school.”

Mom’s eyes go wide. “Where did you get all this, Adele?”

“I got a commission, for my art,” I say wryly.
 

“That’s wonderful.” Mom looks at me with something like awe. “I”m so proud of you.” Her quiet amazement is touching. She was the one who encouraged me to study art. My father always wanted me to do something where he thought I would get a secure job, like become a cop, or a nurse.

Mom always told me to do whatever felt natural.
 

For the most part, that’s how I’ve lived my life, so far.

Ignore the fear. Do what feels right. That’s what I do with Kaito. So far, my instincts haven’t been wrong. I push the stack of bills towards mom. She pushes it back. “I can’t take this, Adele.”

“Yes you can,” I insist. “After everything that’s happened, you need it. I don’t care what you do with it. Take a vacation to the Bahamas. When was the last time you had a vacation?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” My mom snorts. I bet she thinks it’s a wild idea. I don’t think she’s had a vacation since I was in diapers. I shake my head and push the money back.

“Take it.”

The back flyscreen door creaks, causing me to turn. Gavin appears, silhouetted in the bright afternoon sun. He looks different. He’s clean shaven, his hair trimmed neatly. But his eyes are tired, and there are deep, dark circles under them. He looks thinner, and when he unclasps his hands, there’s a small tremor there.

“Adele.” He nods, unsure of himself. For the first time, I see my father as he really is, an old, vulnerable man. Without the drink, he’s empty. He needs to find himself again. He needs to be the father I lost, the proud, easygoing cop who sat me on his lap when I was a kid, who let me play with his handcuffs, who drew pictures with me at the kitchen table.

He wasn’t always like this.
 

“Dad.” It’s the first time I’ve called him that in years. I started calling him by his first name when I was fifteen. It was the first of many barriers put up between us. I can’t tear them down, all at once. “Mom says you’re going to rehab.”

“That’s right.” His hands twitch. It’s almost like he’s uncomfortable without something to hold onto. The ever-present glass of whisky isn’t there.
 

We stand in awkward silence, staring at each other. Mom ignores us and continues chopping her fruit, the soft tap of the knife against wood punctuating the quiet. Eventually, she comes between us. “Why don’t you two go sit on the porch? I’ll bring you fruit salad and ice cream.”

Dad and I stare at each other, then nod, like angsty teenagers. I follow him out the screen door, letting it bang shut behind me, noticing for the first time how there’s a little shuffle in his walk. His back is a bit more hunched than I remember.

I plant myself on the daybed. It’s a swing seat, attached to ropes that are older than dirt. They look a bit frayed nowadays. I eye them dubiously as I sit. The seat creaks, but holds. Dad lowers himself into a chair. Finally, he opens his mouth, clearing his throat. “Adele, I’m sorry about-“

“Save it,” I snap. “You should apologize to mom, not me.”

He looks at me long and hard, before lowering his head. “You’re right.”
 

I hide my surprise. It’s the first time he’s ever admitted any wrongdoing to me. If he can learn to apologize, then maybe there’s hope yet.

“You’ve got a chance now.” I lie back on the swing seat, closing my eyes. “Don’t fuck it up, dad.”

Adele

I open my eyes and stretch. It takes a moment for me to figure out my surroundings. I’m on the porch, and it’s dark. There’s a mild chill in the air. I must have fallen asleep on the swing seat.

Raised voices greet me. I drop to my feet and make my way to the kitchen.

Mom and dad turn around as I enter, lowering their voices.

“What’s up?” I look at both of them, in turn. Mom’s eyes are wide with worry. Dad just looks tired.

“Mina hasn’t come home yet.”
 

“What?”
 

“She’s not answering her phone. It just goes to voicemail.”

Dad’s hands are shaking. “You remember that night, when those thugs showed up at our house? They saw your sister. They noticed her.”

“I was there, dad.” My voice is flat. A feeling of dread worms its way into my stomach. “I remember what they said. You think they have something to do with this? Doesn’t she have friends she hangs out with after school? Maybe she’s just staying out late.”

“She always lets me know if she stays out.” Mom slides her hand into dad’s. It stops the damn shaking. He seems to stand a bit straighter. It’s strange to see him without a drink in his hand.
 

“You’re worried.” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. That bad feeling in the pit of my stomach hasn’t gone away. I glance at the clock. It’s eight pm. “Gavin,” I say slowly. “Those people you borrowed money from. Who are they connected to?”

Dad looks away, refusing to meet my eyes. “I don’t know. What’s that got to do with anything? It’s not important who I got the money from.”
 

“Dad.” My words are slow and deliberate. I don’t like his reaction. “Who were those people? Trust me, it’s really important.”

“Gavin.” Mom turns to dad, her expression stiff, her voice pleading. “Who did you borrow the money from?”

“I told you, I don’t really now. Obviously they’re not a legitimate organization. You think a bank would give someone like me that kind of money? You saw them, Adele. What did they look like to you?”

“They looked like mob types, dad. They weren’t nice people.” They looked like the kind of men who would take advantage of a situation, who took what they wanted and didn’t follow rules or laws. My thoughts go back to overhearing their conversation with dad. They spoke about Mina as if she were an object, a commodity to be traded.
 

They could make her disappear from the face of the earth, if they wanted.

I have no doubt they’ve gained many ‘workers’ that way. I shudder. Fear and disgust rises in me, along with a worsening sense of panic. I remember the way they looked at me, with ugly, leering stares.
 

Not good people at all.

“Keep trying her phone,” I urge. “We need to notify the police. Do you know where those people do their business? How did you find them, dad?”

“I know them through a friend of mine.” Gavin’s face twists in self-disgust. “A crooked cop.”