The Gatekeeper's Son (22 page)

CHAPTER

20

Shoko brought us back to the beach near Ghirardelli’s where we’d made our vow just days before. I was surprised to see it was already dawn—

I grabbed my head and fell to my knees in the grass. Through squinted eyes, I locked my gaze on the Golden Gate Bridge as darkness overtook me. I tried to block it out, but it pressed against me and shoved me down like a stone into mud.

“Junya!” Shoko grabbed my hand. I felt her energy begin to push the darkness back. When I opened my eyes, she looked at me with curiosity.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “There’s so much negative energy here. I never felt it before.”

“You repelled it, not me.” She let go of my hand. “Your energy is powerful. I felt it growing inside you, trying to seep into me.” She shook her head. “I do not understand any of this.”

“Welcome to the club,” I said as another chill shook my body.

She sat back, cross-legged, and put her chin in her hands—a most unladylike position, as Okaasan would say.

“Your power thrives in both worlds. Everything I have ever believed is shaken.” She stared out at the water. “How can this be?”

I stood up. “I want to walk home. Will you come with me?”

“As you wish.”

I didn’t know what to expect when I got home, and the closer I got, the more overwhelmed I felt. I slowed down, wanting to stall for as long as I could. By the time we climbed the last hill, with only a few blocks to go, the sun had cleared the horizon—a new day dawning.

I stopped when I saw Grandpa’s Bentley in front of my house, flanked by two black SUVs. If he was here, it was the first time he’d ever set foot in our house that I knew of.

Shoko gave me a small push. “Be strong, Junya.”

I couldn’t bring myself to go in the front door, so Shoko and I climbed over the back fence and sneaked into the dojo. I slid the shoji open and we sat down to watch the first rays of light peek into the Zen garden.

I heard the murmur of male voices coming from the house, including Grandpa’s unmistakable booming voice. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could tell he was angry—which, in turn, made my own anger rise.

“Junya, stop … please,” Shoko whispered.

I reached for her hand, but it was limp. She was staring toward the pond and I followed her gaze.

Okaasan stood on the small bridge over the pond.

Like an exhaled breath, the energy drained out of my body. I felt like a wrung-out dishrag. I wanted to cry, from anger, exhaustion, relief.

Okaasan didn’t move. She stared at us, an odd expression on her face and a look in her eyes I’d never seen before. I don’t know how long we stayed that way, frozen in time, but eventually my eyes dropped and I felt my chin quiver.

Shoko let go of my hand. Okaasan was walking toward us. Shoko dropped to the ground and stood in front of me. Her hand moved toward the hilt of her wakizashi.

Okaasan looked Shoko up and down. “You won’t be using that here, young one.” Her voice was like ice.

“Misako-san.” Shoko didn’t bow. “This is an honor.”

My eyes moved from one to the other, and then I glanced up at the house. Grandpa and my dad stood side by side, staring at us from the back door. They both looked tired and angry. Mr. Barrymore was behind them, his face expressionless.

“You’ve scared the hell out of us!” Grandpa bellowed as he strode through the garden toward me. “You think you can hide from me?”

My chin rose. “Did you do this because I opened your safe?”

“So it
was
you!” His face was already red with anger.

I jumped down to face him. “I’m not that easy to kill.”

“Junya?” It was Okaasan.

I kept my eyes locked on Grandpa’s. “His men have been chasing me most of the night.” I pointed a finger at him. “I heard them say they had orders to kill me and they damn near did!”

“What?!”

My voice choked with emotion as I whispered, “Tell me you didn’t do this.”

Grandpa looked like I’d punched him square in the chest. It was like watching a mountain crumble. The man I respected shrank before my eyes, just as he had in my dream.

“What … what are you talking about?” He turned to Mr. Barrymore. “What’s he talking about?”

Mr. Barrymore stepped into the garden, not standing as straight as usual. “I have no idea sir, but”—he took a deep breath—“almost a dozen of my guys were injured tonight—seriously wounded—with edged weapons.” He turned to look at me. “One had his arm severed and nearly bled to death. Another is still missing.”

Okaasan looked like she was going to faint.

Grandpa looked back at me. “Did you do that?”

“It was self-defense.”

“Defense against what?” Mr. Barrymore yelled.

I took an involuntary step back. “They tried to kidnap me!” I yelled. “They beat up Mack, they fired a Taser at me, then they shot at me!” I took another step backward as I glared at Grandpa. “Why would you do that?!”

His mouth dropped open. “You think I ordered you killed because you opened my safe?” Grandpa turned to Mr. Barrymore. “What do you know about this?”

“Nothing!” Mr. Barrymore yelled. “You’ve hired so many new employees I can’t keep track of them all!”

“That’s unacceptable,” Grandpa said through clenched teeth.

Barrymore glared back. “I was hired to lead a professional protection team, not field an army of mercenaries.”

I thought Grandpa might explode, but he didn’t. He’d finally noticed Shoko.

“Who … who are you?” he stammered.

“I am Shoko, sir,” she said with a low bow. “I am visiting. Your grandson has been most kind to me.”

“Visiting?” His face drained of its color. “Did you … did you help James tonight?”

She nodded. “Those men meant to kill him. It was I who cut them down.”

Mr. Barrymore’s mouth dropped open. “You?”

I looked back and forth between Okaasan and Shoko. I needed to get to the bottom of all this, but suddenly my exhaustion caught up with me.

I turned to Grandpa. “I want you to go.” My words came out in a hoarse whisper, but with force.

And to my surprise, he left.

I trailed after them to the front door. When it closed behind them, I heard voices in the garden and I walked back outside.

“So … Shoko,” Okaasan said in Japanese, her arms folded on her chest. “You are far from home. Why?”

Shoko faced Okaasan, her chin lifted. “I have my duty, Misako-san. Please excuse me, but this is not your affair.”

“Please excuse
me
, but it’s a mother’s place to worry. Junya hasn’t been himself since he met you.”

“I will take the blame for awakening him. That he does not understand his heritage is your responsibility.”

Okaasan’s eyes widened. “There was no need … He’s a boy.”

“It is true that no one could have predicted this.” Shoko looked at the ground. I felt anger rising in her. When she finally looked at Okaasan, her eyes were filled with fury. “The Elders do not know what to make of him and the gods have not made their will known. The outcome of this situation is … unpredictable.”

Okaasan looked confused. “Then why did the Elders choose
you
to handle this?”

“Because I am not like you,” Shoko said. “I will not forsake my duty.”

“You know nothing,” Okaasan whispered.

“I know what is before my eyes.”

I stepped between them and faced Shoko. “Stop it … please.” I turned to Okaasan. “If it weren’t for her, I’d be dead.”

“I will see this through, Misako-san,” Shoko said. “You no longer have the blessing of the gods. Do not get in my way,” she said as she sank to her knees.

“Shoko, wait!” I ran toward her as her palm hit the ground.

My clock read 7:35 when I opened my eyes. I had no idea whether it was morning or evening. As soon as Shoko had left, I went straight to my room, collapsed onto the bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep. Now I was having trouble waking up, as if I’d taken too much cough medicine.

The house was quiet, although I could hear Tama purring at the foot of my bed. I didn’t move at first, but slowly the events of the past few days rolled through my head like a banner unfurled.

I reached up to touch my head, where I found a bump on my forehead, a big one. My arms and shoulders ached, and my knuckles were bright red and swollen.

I might have stayed in bed all day if my bladder hadn’t been about to burst. When I came back from the bathroom, Tama was lying outside the door, her back against the sunlit glass. I bent to pat her, but I saw something that made me stop dead. Two suitcases stood by the front door—Okaasan’s.

Panic began to rise. “Okaasan!”

I looked for her in the kitchen, her bedroom and the living room. I finally spotted her in the dojo, going through her sword kata with more intensity than usual. I made my way across the yard. She watched me come, her katana pointed at the tatami.

I glared at her. “I saw your suitcases.” I was struggling with so many conflicting emotions. “Are you leaving?”

“
We’re
leaving,” she said. “Mr. Barrymore called this morning. You’re right. Those were your grandpa’s men, but they weren’t acting on his orders. Both he and Mr. Barrymore have no idea what happened out there.”

“You really believe that?”

She nodded. “And until they find out, you’re not safe here.”

“So we’re just going to run away?”

“You want answers and I need some, too. We’re going to Izumo.”

CHAPTER

21

We flew to Vancouver and then transferred to a Japan Airlines Boeing 747 for the long flight to Narita Airport, outside Tokyo. As the jet circled over snowcapped mountains north of the city and began to climb out over the Pacific, I couldn’t help but feel I was leaving all that I knew behind.

We sat next to each other in first class. Our seats were like cocoons, offering immense privacy and luxury but little opportunity for conversation. That was fine by me, since I didn’t feel like talking, and Okaasan had transformed her seat into a bed as soon as we reached cruising altitude. She slept through most of the flight while I zoned out with one movie after another.

The immigration hall at Narita Airport was huge but squat, the ceiling oddly low for its width. It felt as confining as a concrete bunker and was about as attractive. The single line marked for foreigners was long, winding back and forth between black ropes, but Okaasan headed straight for the booths reserved for Japanese citizens—their lines were short and clearing quickly. When she presented Japanese passports for both of us, I looked at her in surprise. I had no idea I even had one.

The immigration agent in the booth looked tired, lost in the boredom of his mundane routine. But as he looked at our passports, his energy changed. He looked up at us.

“Is there a problem?” Okaasan asked.

“There is an irregularity with your passport.”

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Okaasan said. Her tone was polite but I sensed a trace of alarm.

The agent passed our passports to an older man who’d walked over, a textbook bureaucrat if I ever saw one. Dressed in an ill-fitting dark blue suit, white socks showing beneath his pants, his face was red and swollen, his head shiny and balding. He reeked of cigarettes and coffee—a walking cardiac event waiting to happen.

He held up one passport—mine, I assumed—and stared at it and then at me, his dark eyes flicking back and forth several times. When he was satisfied, he studied Okaasan’s passport, but when his eyes rose, his face turned an even deeper shade of red.

I turned to look at her and felt my jaw go slack. The way she stared into the man’s eyes made me feel like blushing, too.

“There’s no problem,” she said, her voice silky smooth. “I’m sure it’s a computer glitch.”

The supervisor didn’t budge, but the agent cleared his throat.

“Sir, the computer indicates an irregularity with her identity.”

The supervisor snapped out of his trance and glared at the agent. “Then do something about it,” he yelled. “You’re no better than a photocopier, spewing useless information. Do whatever is necessary to correct this problem.” He turned back to Okaasan. “These people are Japanese citizens.”

“Of course.” Okaasan continued to stare at the man. “I want to leave now.”