Chapter one: The girl in the mirror
CHAPTER ONE: THE GIRL IN THE MIRROR
The light above the sink had been dying for six days.
Nobody had fixed it.
Every few seconds, the fluorescent tube flickered hard enough to plunge the bathroom into darkness before buzzing itself back to life. Mikoto Ishida had complained about it twice. The first time, one of the guards told her maintenance had already been notified.
The second time, he told her to shut the fuck up.
So now Mikoto brushed her teeth beneath a light that sounded like a trapped fly and tried not to think about how badly she wanted to smash it.
11:47 P.M.
Thirteen minutes until lights-out.
Not that lights-out meant much in juvenile detention.
The hallway lights stayed on.
The security lights stayed on.
The little fluorescent strip outside her cell stayed on.
Every door opened with a buzz. Every set of keys announced somebody coming. Somebody was always coughing, crying, arguing, flushing a toilet, kicking a wall, whispering through a vent, or yelling down the tier for somebody else to shut the hell up.
There was no such thing as quiet in this place.
There were only different volumes of noise.
Mikoto leaned closer to the stainless-steel sink and aggressively scrubbed one of her back molars.
The toothbrush was terrible.
Everything here was terrible.
The toothbrush. The toothpaste. The gray soap that smelled like a hospital floor. The thin towels that somehow scratched while absorbing absolutely nothing. Even the toilet paper seemed specifically manufactured to punish criminals.
She spat into the basin.
“Fucking hate it here.”
“You hate everything.”
Mikoto glanced toward the doorway.
Nia Brooks stood there in an oversized gray detention uniform, bonnet pulled low over her forehead, arms folded.
Mikoto pointed her toothbrush at her.
“I don’t hate everything.”
“You said the pancakes pissed you off this morning.”
“They were wet.”
“They’re pancakes.”
“They were wet inside, Nia.”
Nia stared at her.
Mikoto stared back.
“That’s not how pancakes work,” Mikoto said.
Nia shook her head and disappeared into the hallway.
“You got problems, Ishida.”
“Good night to you too.”
Mikoto turned back toward the sink.
She looked like shit.
There wasn’t a nicer way to put it.
Her brown skin had gone dull beneath the fluorescent lighting, and shadows sat heavily beneath her eyes. Her dark curls had been dragged into a loose knot at the back of her head, but several thick strands had escaped around her temples.
She hadn’t slept properly in three nights.
Maybe four.
Time got slippery in here.
She’d fall asleep and wake up standing beside her bed.
Or she’d dream she was walking through the hallways.
Sometimes she’d hear people talking from rooms she had never entered.
Once she’d woken up knowing that two girls had been fighting in the laundry room on the opposite side of the building.
She hadn’t known how she knew.
She’d assumed she’d overheard it.
Then there were the headaches.
The nightmares.
The weird floating feeling.
And lately, the mirrors.
Mikoto stopped brushing.
Something had changed.
She couldn’t immediately tell what.
The bathroom looked the same.
Six sinks.
Three toilet stalls.
Two shower stalls behind plastic curtains.
Pale green tile halfway up the walls.
A drain in the center of the floor that always smelled faintly like mildew no matter how much bleach the janitorial staff dumped into it.
Nothing moved.
Still, the hairs along Mikoto’s arms slowly lifted.
Her stomach tightened.
She raised her eyes toward the mirror.
Someone was standing behind her.
Mikoto stopped breathing.
A girl.
Maybe fifteen.
Maybe younger.
It was difficult to tell.
She stood near the entrance to the bathroom wearing the same gray uniform as everybody else, except Mikoto didn’t recognize her.
That alone was strange.
There were forty-three girls in this unit.
Mikoto knew every face.
Not necessarily every name, because she didn’t care that much, but she knew who belonged here.
This girl didn’t.
Her head was lowered.
Long, dark hair hung around her face.
She wasn’t wearing shoes.
Mikoto slowly removed the toothbrush from her mouth.
She turned around.
Nobody.
The doorway stood empty.
Mikoto frowned.
“Okay.”
She looked beneath the stalls.
Nothing.
“I’m tired.”
She turned back toward the mirror.
The girl was closer.
Mikoto’s entire body went rigid.
She was standing directly behind Mikoto now.
Close enough that Mikoto should have felt her breathing.
Except the girl wasn’t breathing.
Her face was visible now.
There were tiny burst blood vessels around her eyes.
Purple bruising circled her throat.
Her lips had a faint blue-gray tint.
And her eyes…
Her eyes were cloudy.
Not looking at Mikoto.
Looking through her.
Mikoto stared.
The girl stared back.
The fluorescent light flickered.
Darkness.
Light.
The girl’s head was tilted slightly farther to the left.
Mikoto’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
She turned around again.
Empty bathroom.
Back to the mirror.
Still there.
“Absolutely not.”
The girl’s hand slowly rose.
Her fingers reached toward Mikoto’s shoulder.
Mikoto watched them approach in the reflection.
One inch.
Two.
Three.
“Bitch, what?”
The girl’s fingers stopped.
For one strange second, neither of them moved.
Then the light went out.
Mikoto whipped around.
“Yo!”
The fluorescent tube buzzed back to life.
Empty.
She looked into the mirror.
Empty.
Mikoto stood there with toothpaste foam drying at the corner of her mouth.
Her heartbeat had accelerated despite every effort to pretend otherwise.
“Nope.”
She spat into the sink.
“Nope. I’m not doing this.”
She rinsed her toothbrush, splashed water into her mouth, and grabbed the tiny plastic cup sitting beside the faucet.
“I don’t know if it’s the food, the medication, lack of sleep, or this building got asbestos in the fucking walls, but I’m not doing ghosts. That’s where I draw the line.”
She paused.
“Actually, I draw the line at wet pancakes, but ghosts are close.”
A voice crackled from the hallway.
“Ishida!”
Mikoto rolled her eyes.
There it was.
Officer Miller.
“Bathroom time is over!”
“I heard you.”
“Then move!”
Mikoto stepped into the corridor.
The girl’s unit occupied one long rectangular wing of the detention center. Cells ran along either side, painted cinderblock boxes with narrow reinforced windows and heavy doors that locked electronically at night. Cameras sat inside smoked plastic domes at every intersection.
There was nowhere to be alone.
Not really.
Even taking a shower required pretending the camera positioned outside the stall didn’t exist.
The detention center had been built sometime in the late seventies and apparently renovated exactly once since then. Everything was beige, gray, pale green, or some depressing combination of all three.
During the day, the place smelled like cafeteria grease and disinfectant.
At night, it smelled like bleach, concrete, and forty teenagers trapped together against their will.
Mikoto had been here for five months.
Five months, twelve days.
Not that she was counting.
She was absolutely counting.
Officer Miller sat behind the control desk at the intersection of the residential wing and administrative corridor.
He was a thick-necked man in his late forties with a stomach pressing against his uniform shirt and a permanently irritated expression that suggested teenagers had personally ruined his life.
Mikoto didn’t like him.
Miller didn’t like Mikoto.
Their relationship worked beautifully.
He looked up from his paperwork.
“You got a problem following instructions?”
Mikoto kept walking.
“Nope.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Miller’s chair creaked.
“Ishida.”
Mikoto stopped.
She slowly turned around.
“What?”
“Lose the attitude.”
“Where?”
“What?”
“You said lose it. I’m asking where.”
From one of the cells came a muffled snort.
Miller looked toward the sound.
“Everybody shut it down!”
The tier went silent.
Mikoto pressed her lips together.
Miller pointed down the hall.
“Cell. Now.”
Mikoto raised both hands.
“Going.”
She turned.
“Smart-ass,” Miller muttered.
Mikoto heard him.
She kept walking.
Three more months.
That was what her public defender kept telling her.
Keep your head down.
Stop fighting.
Follow the program.
Three months, maybe less, and they could petition for placement somewhere less restrictive.
Mikoto had asked what less restrictive meant.
Apparently another group home.
Fantastic.
She’d already been through four of those.
Five, technically, if you counted the one she ran away from after eleven days.
She shoved her hands into her pockets.
Somewhere behind her, metal scraped against tile.
Mikoto stopped.
She looked back.
Miller was still at his desk.
Nothing else moved.
Then she saw her.
At the far end of the hallway.
The girl from the mirror.
Standing beneath the red EXIT sign.
Mikoto’s stomach dropped.
The girl turned a corner.
“Hey.”
Miller looked up.
“What now?”
Mikoto pointed.
“Who was that?”
“Who was what?”
“That girl.”
“What girl?”
“The girl that just went around the corner.”
Miller stared at her.
“Ishida, get in your room.”
“You didn’t see her?”
“I don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing tonight.”
Mikoto looked toward the empty hallway.
Something cold crawled along her spine.
“Right.”
She walked faster.
She reached her assigned room and pushed through the doorway.
Her roommate, Jasmine, was already curled beneath the blanket with her back toward the door.
“You awake?”
“No.”
“Helpful.”
“Go to sleep, Mikoto.”
Mikoto sat on the edge of her narrow cot.
She rubbed both hands over her face.
Maybe she really was losing it.
That possibility bothered her more than ghosts.
Her caseworker had already asked about hallucinations.
Depression.
Anxiety.
Trauma.
Nightmares.
Drug use.
Whether she heard voices other people couldn’t hear.
Mikoto had answered no.
Mostly because the quickest way to make adults stop listening to everything else you said was to tell them you saw things that weren’t there.
She kicked off her sneakers.
Then she heard it.
A whisper.
“Mikoto.”
She looked toward Jasmine.
Jasmine hadn’t moved.
“Mikoto.”
It came from the hallway.
Mikoto stood.
“Fuck me.”
She stepped toward the door.
The corridor was empty.
The strange girl stood at the far end again.
This time she was pointing.
Not at Mikoto.
Past her.
Toward the older section of the facility.
The isolation wing.
Mikoto frowned.
“What do you want?”
The girl remained where she was.
Still pointing.
Mikoto looked down the corridor.
Then back at her.
“What?”
Nothing.
“Girl, what do you want me to do?”
The girl continued pointing.
Mikoto gestured around herself.
“I’m locked up.”
Nothing.
“You see the door? The cameras? The guards?”
Still pointing.
Mikoto sighed.
“I can’t do shit for you.”
The girl stared.
“Go harass another girl.”
Nothing.
“Please.”
Mikoto rolled her eyes.
“Jesus Christ.”
She stepped closer to the cell gate.
Then stopped.
Something felt wrong.
She looked down.
Her feet weren’t touching the floor.
Mikoto stared.
The soles of her sneakers hovered maybe an inch above the linoleum.
Her brow furrowed.
Slowly, she tried pressing one foot down.
Nothing.
No pressure.
No weight.
She pushed harder.
Her shoe dipped slightly into the floor.
Mikoto jerked her leg upward.
“What the fuck?”
She tried again.
Same thing.
Mikoto looked at the girl.
“What did you do?”
The girl stared back.
Mikoto reached instinctively for the bars.
Her fingers passed through them.
She froze.
Her wrist disappeared into solid steel.
Mikoto snatched her hand back.
“No.”
She stared at the bars.
Then at her hand.
Carefully, she reached forward again.
Her fingertips entered the metal.
No resistance.
No pain.
Just cold.
“What the fuck?”
Mikoto pulled back.
The girl remained on the opposite side.
Watching.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Nothing.
“I’m trying to process.”
Mikoto swallowed.
Then stepped forward.
Her shoulder met the bars.
Cold.
And then nothing.
She passed straight through.
Mikoto stumbled into the corridor.
She spun around.
The locked cell stood behind her.
Jasmine was inside.
Mikoto was outside.
“No.”
She touched the bars from this side.
Her fingers passed through again.
“No, no, no.”
Her eyes shot toward the nearest camera.
Then down the corridor.
If a guard caught her out here after lockdown, she was fucked.
Except…
How could anybody catch her if she’d just walked through a locked door?
The girl began moving down the corridor.
“Wait.”
Mikoto followed.
“I’m talking to you.”
Nothing.
“Can they see me?”
The girl didn’t turn.
Mikoto followed her farther down the hallway.
The detention center felt different.
Muted.
The fluorescent lights still buzzed overhead, but the sound seemed farther away than it should have.
Even her footsteps were gone.
Mikoto looked down.
She wasn’t really walking.
She was gliding just above the floor.
Her stomach twisted.
“Nope.”
The control desk came into view.
Miller sat exactly where she’d left him.
Except his head had fallen backward against the chair.
Asleep.
Mikoto approached carefully.
“Miller?”
Nothing.
She moved closer.
“Ayo, Miller.”
Nothing.
“Miller.”
He didn’t budge.
Mikoto waved her hand in front of his face.
“Ayo.”
Nothing.
She leaned closer.
“Do you see me?”
Miller slept.
Mikoto waved both hands.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
She looked at the dead girl.
“Is he dead?”
The girl stared.
“Right. Forgot who I was asking.”
Mikoto reached toward the desk.
Her hand passed straight through it.
She jerked backward.
“Shit!”
Miller didn’t move.
Mikoto stared at him.
Then she reached cautiously toward his shoulder.
Her fingers passed through his uniform.
Through him.
Mikoto ripped her hand away.
“EW! What the fuck?!”
Nothing.
He didn’t hear her.
Didn’t see her.
Didn’t feel her.
Mikoto backed away.
Her breathing grew shallow.
“Okay.”
She looked around.
“Okay.”
No.
Not okay.
She looked at the girl.
Then at her own hands.
Then back at the girl.
“Oh my God.”
Her voice dropped.
“Did you kill me?”
Nothing.
Mikoto’s eyes widened.
“Am I fucking dead?”
The girl didn’t answer.
“No.”
Mikoto turned.
Her room.
She needed to get back to her room.
Now.
She ran.
Or floated.
Or whatever the fuck she was doing.
She shot down the corridor, rounded the corner and passed straight through the bars.
Then stopped.
Jasmine was asleep.
And so was Mikoto.
Her body lay exactly where she’d left it.
Dark curls spread across the pillow.
One arm rested over her stomach.
Her chest rose slowly.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Mikoto stared.
Every thought in her head disappeared.
“No.”
She stepped closer.
Her sleeping face didn’t move.
Mikoto reached toward it.
Her fingers passed through her own cheek.
She recoiled.
“No.”
She looked at the dead girl.
“You.”
The girl stood beside the bars.
“What did you do to me?”
Nothing.
“Put me back.”
The girl stared.
“Girl, I’m serious.”
Mikoto pointed toward her body.
“I don’t know what the fuck you did, but put me back.”
Nothing.
“Do something!”
The girl didn’t move.
“Why are you just standing there?”
Then Mikoto felt it.
A tug.
Deep beneath her ribs.
She stopped.
Her hand went to her chest.
“What was that?”
Another tug.
Harder.
Her entire body jerked backward.
Mikoto stumbled.
“What the fuck?”
She looked at the girl.
The spirit hadn’t moved.
Another jerk.
This one dragged Mikoto backward.
“Yo.”
She tried planting her feet.
They passed halfway through the linoleum.
“YO.”
The pull came again.
Hard.
Mikoto snapped backward.
She grabbed for the bars.
Her hands went straight through.
“Oh, COME ON!”
Another violent jerk ripped her through the cell gate.
Mikoto flew backward into the corridor.
“WAIT!”
She twisted desperately.
Tried grabbing a doorway.
A wall.
Anything.
Nothing worked.
Everything passed through her hands.
The invisible force pulled again.
Harder.
Mikoto shot backward.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!”
The corridor blurred.
Doors streaked past.
Lights stretched into white smears.
She flew past Miller’s desk.
Through a locked security door.
“STOP!”
Another gate rushed toward her.
Mikoto covered her face.
She passed straight through it.
Cold ripped through her.
“OH MY GOD!”
A concrete wall appeared.
“No, no, no, NO!”
She flew straight through it.
And suddenly the building was gone.
Night opened around her.
Mikoto shot across the detention grounds backward.
Floodlights flashed beneath her.
The recreation yard.
Basketball court.
Fences.
Razor wire.
Guard towers.
Everything disappeared almost as quickly as she recognized it.
Then trees.
Nothing but trees.
And whatever had her was dragging her directly toward them.
“HELL NO!”
She tried to turn.
Tried to stop.
Tried to grab something.
Nothing worked.
The sensation was bizarre.
Like being tied behind a speeding car without the road.
Branches rushed toward her face.
Mikoto covered her head.
She passed straight through them.
Cold shuddered through her.
Tree after tree.
Branch after branch.
The detention center disappeared behind her.
“WHOEVER IS DOING THIS, I’M GONNA BEAT YOUR ASS!”
Then the pulling stopped.
Mikoto dropped.
Her feet hit moss.
Or at least they looked like they did.
She stumbled backward and immediately spun around.
Trees.
Nothing but trees.
The detention center was nowhere in sight.
The dead girl was gone.
Mikoto’s head moved constantly.
Left.
Right.
Behind her.
Every sound mattered now.
A branch shifted.
Mikoto whipped around.
Her hands came up automatically.
Ready.
“Who’s there?”
A figure moved between the trees.
A woman stepped into the moonlight.
Dark hair pinned neatly away from her face.
A long fitted black coat embroidered with delicate silver patterns.
Gloves.
Perfect posture.
And in one hand, a narrow silver-handled umbrella.
It wasn’t raining.
The woman stopped several feet away.
She didn’t approach.
Her gaze moved over Mikoto.
Then toward the distant detention center.
Then back.
“I wasn’t entirely certain that would work.”
Mikoto stared.
“What would work?”
“Bringing you here.”
Mikoto went still.
“You did that?”
“Yes.”
“You just pulled me out of the building?”
“Yes.”
“Through the fucking wall?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to speak with you.”
Mikoto stared at her.
“You couldn’t walk inside?”
“I did.”
That caught her.
“What?”
“I was inside earlier.”
“When?”
“That isn’t important right now.”
Mikoto’s eyes narrowed.
“Who are you?”
“Lady Miura.”
Mikoto waited.
Miura didn’t elaborate.
Mikoto glanced at the umbrella.
“It isn’t raining.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you have an umbrella?”
“I happen to like it.”
Mikoto stared.
“Okay.”
Somehow that was the least concerning part of the evening.
“Where’s the girl?”
“Nearby.”
“You can see her?”
“Yes.”
Mikoto’s attention sharpened.
“You can see me.”
“Yes.”
“You know what’s happening to me?”
“I do.”
“Then tell me.”
Miura studied her.
“You’re astral projecting.”
Mikoto frowned.
“I’m what?”
“Your spirit has separated from your physical body.”
Mikoto’s eyes shifted.
Miura continued before she could interrupt.
“Your body is still inside the facility. It is alive. You are alive.”
Mikoto went quiet.
“My body’s okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
Mikoto looked down at herself.
At her feet hovering over the moss.
“So I’m not dead.”
“No.”
“Then why can I walk through shit?”
“Because what you’re looking at isn’t your physical body.”
Mikoto flexed her fingers.
“My soul.”
“If that makes it easier to understand, yes.”
Mikoto swallowed.
She looked around again.
Then at Miura.
“Can you put me back?”
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
“I will.”
Mikoto’s eyes narrowed.
Miura remained where she was.
“But first, I need you to listen to me.”
“I don’t know you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“I know.”
“My body’s sitting in a jail cell without me in it.”
“And it is safe.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I need you to understand it.”
Mikoto’s jaw tightened.
Miura’s voice remained calm.
“I understand you’re angry. I understand you’re confused. And I understand you have a complicated relationship with authority.”
Mikoto stared.
“That’s a nice way of saying it.”
“I thought so.”
“But right now, I need you to listen for a few minutes. Then I will return you to your body.”
There was no teasing in her voice.
No threat.
Mikoto remained tense, eyes moving occasionally toward the trees.
But she stopped arguing.
“Talk.”
“I came to that facility tonight looking for you.”
“Why?”
“Because I intend to have you released from state custody.”
Mikoto’s expression changed.
“What?”
“I came here for you, Mikoto.”
Silence.
Mikoto studied her.
“Who sent you?”
“No one.”
“You my lawyer?”
“No.”
“Social worker?”
“No.”
“Then how are you getting me out?”
“I have the means to arrange it legally.”
Mikoto stared.
Miura continued.
“You have no reason to trust me yet. I’m aware of that.”
“Good.”
“But before I can do what I came here to do, I need a small favor from you.”
Mikoto let out a breath.
“There it is.”
“There it is.”
Mikoto folded her arms.
“What do you want?”
Miura looked past her.
Mikoto followed her gaze.
The dead girl stood between the trees.
Mikoto’s shoulders tightened.
“There she go.”
“She won’t hurt you.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because I’ve already communicated with her.”
Mikoto looked at Miura.
“You talked to her?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
Miura stepped toward the spirit.
She removed one glove.
The girl watched her.
Miura held out her bare hand.
After a moment, the spirit approached.
Her fingers settled into Miura’s palm.
Miura closed her eyes.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then her posture tightened.
Barely.
A small breath passed through her nose.
Something dark crossed her expression.
Then it disappeared.
Miura released the girl’s hand and replaced her glove.
Mikoto watched every movement.
“What did you just do?”
“I can communicate with spirits through contact.”
“You saw something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Pieces of her memories. Her emotions. Parts of her life.”
Miura looked toward the bruises around the girl’s throat.
“And enough of her death to know something is wrong.”
Mikoto’s eyes followed hers.
“You know what happened to her.”
“Not entirely.”
“But you know something.”
“Yes.”
Mikoto looked between them.
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Find out who she is.”
Mikoto frowned.
“Find out what happened to her.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I could investigate myself.”
“Then do that.”
“But you’re already inside.”
Mikoto stared.
Miura gestured toward her.
“And now you know you can leave your physical body.”
Mikoto looked down.
“Walk through walls.”
“Yes.”
Miura continued.
“You can move through locked rooms. You can listen without being seen. You can observe places that would otherwise be inaccessible to you.”
“You want me to spy on people.”
“I want you to investigate.”
“Same shit.”
“For our purposes, perhaps.”
Mikoto looked at the girl.
“What exactly am I looking for?”
“Her name.”
Miura’s answer came immediately.
“Who she was. Where she was housed. What happened to her before she died.”
Mikoto looked back.
“The facility recorded her death as a suicide.”
Mikoto’s eyes dropped toward the bruises around the girl’s throat.
“You don’t believe that.”
“No.”
“Because of what you saw.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
“I won’t.”
Mikoto’s face tightened.
Miura continued before she could snap.
“Not because I’m trying to frustrate you.”
Mikoto waited.
“If I tell you what I suspect happened, you’ll enter that facility looking for evidence that proves me correct. I don’t want that.”
Mikoto’s expression shifted.
“I need you to look at what is actually there. Find the facts yourself.”
Mikoto looked at the girl again.
That made more sense.
“Why me?”
“She approached you.”
“So?”
“Spirits do not normally make themselves known to the living without reason.”
Mikoto looked at the girl.
“She knows I can see her.”
“Yes.”
“And she wants something.”
“Yes.”
“From me.”
“It appears so.”
Mikoto exhaled.
“Lucky me.”
Miura didn’t disagree.
Mikoto paced a few steps.
Her head remained on a swivel.
Ghost.
Miura.
Trees.
No body.
No idea where the facility was.
But one part of the conversation mattered more than everything else.
“Let’s say I do it.”
Miura waited.
“I find her name.”
“Yes.”
“I figure out what happened.”
“Yes.”
“I bring it back to you.”
“Yes.”
“And you get me out.”
“Yes.”
Mikoto stopped.
“How fast?”
“As soon as I’ve made the necessary arrangements.”
“You can really do that?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not bullshitting me?”
“No.”
Mikoto stared.
“You promise?”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
Mikoto looked away.
Five months.
Twelve days.
Three more months if everything went perfectly.
Then another placement.
Another caseworker.
Another house.
Another stranger deciding where she belonged.
Mikoto looked back.
“Cool.”
Miura waited.
“What do I gotta do first?”
“Return to your body.”
“I mean after that.”
“Find her name.”
Mikoto glanced toward the girl.
“You’re not telling me?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
That was different now.
Not enthusiastic.
But focused.
A task.
Something concrete.
Something she could actually do.
Mikoto looked at Miura.
“Why are you doing all this for me?”
Miura went quiet.
“Getting me out. Coming here. Knowing I can do this shit.”
Miura studied her for a moment.
Then:
“I knew your parents.”
Mikoto froze.
“What?”
“Your mother and your father.”
Mikoto’s expression hardened.
“My mother’s dead.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I knew Kaede.”
Mikoto’s entire posture changed.
“Don’t.”
Miura remained still.
“Don’t say her name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you knew her.”
“I did.”
Mikoto stared.
“How?”
“Your mother and I were very close.”
“How close?”
Miura took a moment before answering.
“Close enough that she trusted me with you.”
Mikoto frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“In ordinary terms…”
Miura rested both gloved hands over the silver handle of her umbrella.
“You could call me your godmother.”
Silence.
Mikoto stared.
“My what?”
“Godmother.”
“I heard you.”
Miura waited.
Mikoto looked her up and down.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“My godmother.”
“Yes.”
“I have a godmother?”
“You do.”
Mikoto stared at her.
Then her expression hardened again.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Miura’s expression changed.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
“I expected you to ask me that.”
“Then answer.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“When you’re out of that facility.”
Mikoto shook her head.
“No.”
“You have every reason to be angry.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Agree with me and then not answer.”
Miura accepted the criticism.
“You’re right. So I’ll be direct.”
Mikoto waited.
“I owe you an explanation. More than one.”
Miura held her gaze.
“But I’m not giving them to you here, while you’re frightened, outside your physical body, in the middle of the night.”
Mikoto’s jaw tightened.
“I came here for you. That is what I need you to understand tonight.”
Mikoto looked toward the spirit.
“Not her.”
“No.”
Miura followed her gaze.
“She changed my plans.”
“What does that mean?”
“I intended to retrieve you.”
Miura looked at the girl.
“Then I encountered a problem inside that facility that I couldn’t ignore.”
“And now you’re making it my problem.”
“Temporarily.”
Mikoto gave her a look.
Miura continued.
“Before I take responsibility for you, I need to know you can follow through when something matters.”
Mikoto’s eyes narrowed.
“So this is a test.”
“Partly.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I try to be.”
“About some shit.”
Miura accepted that too.
Mikoto looked at the dead girl.
The gray uniform.
Bare feet.
Bruises.
Somebody had been wearing that same uniform before Mikoto ever arrived.
Somebody had slept behind those same doors.
And now she was still there.
Mikoto’s expression changed.
“If somebody did something to her…”
Miura waited.
“Then I wanna know too.”
Miura nodded.
Mikoto looked at her.
“But let’s get this straight.”
“Of course.”
“I do this, you get me out.”
“Yes.”
“No switching shit up afterward.”
“I won’t.”
“And then you tell me about my mom.”
“Yes.”
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“And whatever the fuck I am.”
“Yes.”
Mikoto stared.
“All of it?”
“You’ll have your answers.”
“Real answers.”
“Real answers.”
Mikoto looked toward the girl.
Then back at Miura.
“Fine.”
A beat.
“I’ll do it.”
“Good.”
Mikoto nodded once.
Decision made.
“Put me back.”
Miura lifted one hand.
Mikoto immediately stiffened.
“Can you do it without dragging me through every fucking tree this time?”
“Yes.”
“Please.”
Miura stepped closer.
Mikoto’s body tensed automatically.
Miura stopped.
“You’re safe.”
Mikoto wasn’t convinced.
But eventually, she allowed Miura to approach.
Miura placed two fingers gently against the center of Mikoto’s forehead.
“Try not to fight it.”
“I don’t like that sentence.”
“You’ll be fine.”
The forest folded.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Then:
Weight.
Gravity.
Breath.
Heartbeat.
Mikoto slammed back into her body.
She bolted upright with a violent gasp.
Her hands grabbed the thin mattress beneath her.
Solid.
Her arms.
Solid.
Her face.
Solid.
“Fuck.”
Jasmine shot upright on the neighboring cot.
“What the hell?”
Mikoto sucked in air.
“Nothing.”
“You just screamed.”
“I didn’t scream.”
“You screamed.”
“I gasped aggressively.”
“What?”
“Go back to sleep.”
Jasmine stared at her.
“You are so fucking weird.”
“Good night, Jasmine.”
Jasmine muttered something and rolled over.
Mikoto sat there.
Her heart hammered.
Sweat dampened the back of her shirt.
The fluorescent light outside the room buzzed.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then Mikoto slowly looked toward the narrow reinforced window in the door.
The dead girl stood on the other side.
Watching her.
Mikoto stared back.
Neither moved.
Finally Mikoto whispered:
“All right.”
The girl tilted her head.
Mikoto swung her feet onto the cold floor.
This time, they touched.
She pressed them down.
Solid.
Real.
Mikoto stood and approached the bars.
She wrapped her fingers around the cold steel.
She still didn’t know the girl’s name.
Didn’t know what had happened to her.
Didn’t know whether she trusted Miura.
But she knew what she had to do.
And for the first time in five months, Mikoto had something she hadn’t had when she went to bed.
A way out.
She looked directly at the dead girl.
“Who the fuck are you?”
END CHAPTER ONE
