- Solitude -

The coffee cherry remained intact and I had planted it deep in fresh soil in the empty glass jar. I had done so without a thought in my mind. Right next to Shirayuki's dead body, as if she could witness it for herself. The process was too simple, without any significance or real context whatsoever. No beginnings or endings, prequels or sequels. There were no magical spells or incantations, nor did the coffee cherry look out of the ordinary. It was just a red, ripe coffee cherry. I threw away its box. It made it seem more than it was. After planting it, I bent over and kissed the seventeen year-old on the forehead and got up and walked away. I didn't know whether she would forever lie there or if she would disappear as soon as I wasn't looking. Or maybe she might come back one day.

She never did.

I reached Tokyo in a blur. I don't remember anything about the trip, other than it being ordinary, oddly quiet. There were no Images or strange voyeuristic impressions. It was like the System was silent. Reeling, recovering from something. Or perhaps it was just me. But if I think about it, their gunning for me shouldn't have ended there; I would not have made it back to Tokyo. They could have tracked me easily and stopped me before I got on the Uchibo train. In fact, something must have changed, that they could have sought to kill me. Maybe they didn't need to kill me. Perhaps it had to do with Shirayuki or the coffee seed or Kaneko and her facility.

I had no doubt met Shizuka's mother. She told me her foster family lived in Chiba and sent her money. It would make sense. But how could she be considered missing if they were still transferring funds?

I take Shizuka's yearbook note out of my pocket and trace my fingers over the ink. The paper feels soft under my touch. I wonder how it had felt to Shizuka when it was blank, when she had held a pen above the paper. Ready to etch the prophetic inevitable. If she had been thinking then about what would happen to Shirayuki or me, or what had happened now, or if she had known all along that I would read it someday.

Yet all this seems meaningless now. All I had been striving for was myself. I had went along with Shizuka because I was worried about my own safety. I had doubted her because of my own suspicions and then searched for her because I needed guidance. I had pushed Shirayuki aside because I wanted Shizuka. I needed something to fill the vacancy in solitude. Shirayuki had died, Shizuka is still missing and I'm left with a coffee plant.

In the past four days, the coffee plant had grown. Remarkably fast. Like Jack and his magical beanstalk. It isn't as ordinary as it seemed. All I did was plant it and for the first two days nothing happened, I had looked at it every now and then and there was nothing different. I knew it wouldn't grow in the climate of a jar in Tokyo. But yet as soon as I began to forget to check on it, it started to sprout. Now I can see the comical Dr. Seuss-like seedling perking out high and true. It's this round bean riding straight up on a tall thin green stalk. Like a lollipop. The leaves haven't unfurled yet and it's rather miniscule as if it knew there's a lid over top. But nevertheless, it's well into the third or fourth month of the cycle, as if to prove me wrong for having no faith. It hadn't exactly caught me off guard however, as extraterrestrial as it looked, I was already so used to inexplicable things happening and I had been more concerned with the numb nothingness within.

I set the jar in the middle of the table with a thunk as the Fox arrives.

He takes one look at it and whistles.

"A smart looking one, the thing. All eager and full of sass. It's only been what, three? Four days?"

"Four."

He orders a hazelnut caffe mocha. I order her caramel chai tea soy latte, with a shot of espresso. I don't know why, but I feel like having one and it feels right now. As if Shizuka is here telling me to go on and have one and think of her. And think of her I do.

"How was the trip? Did you enjoy it?"

I stare at him for a while. "With this, I can meet your boss and get this over with right?"

"Yeah, sure. Looks like you didn't have such a good time." He looks at the empty seat next to me for a moment where Shirayuki had been sitting a few days earlier. There's nothing in his eyes. No emotion. "Did you name the plant?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Names have their purposes sometimes. Sailors name their ships. Guitarists name their instruments. Pets have names. People have names. Why not name your plant?"

"It's called coffee plant. The coffee cherry you asked for. I only acted as a messenger, a conduit of sorts."

He shakes his head. "Things don't work that simply. What you've done, you've done. You were a part of it and had made it happen."

I take a long drink of Shizuka's order and her face finally comes to mind. Untarnished. I miss her. "Look, I don't know what you all want from me, but I have nothing to give and nothing left to lose. I hardly care anymore. I just have to go through the motions and see this to the end, right?"

He shrugs. He's wearing this tight hawaiian shirt with blue flowers that remind me of the hydrangea. He sips from his coffee.

"Put it this way, whatever you're doing gives you a chance at something you would have never been able to do before."

"What is this something?"

"That's for you to figure out."

We head out and wave down a taxi. No public transportation anymore. I have a feeling wherever we're going is nowhere close by.

"There's one place you must spend some time in before you see my superior."

"The story gets longer and longer. Beating around the bush. My patience is wearing thin."

He doesn't look at me as we speak. "Can you put on some music, mister?" he says.

The taxi driver nods. "Sure thing, boss." He fiddles with dials and something comes on, gradually getting louder like the sound of waves on a distant shore. "How's classical?"

"Fine with me," the Fox says. I say nothing.

I recognize the tune right away as soon as it starts. It's Chopin's Nocturne, No. 1. Beautiful delicate strands of piano artistry like slowly weaving a tapestry one little strand at a time. One speck of colour, then the next. Each slightly different. Then unravelling it again, thread by thread. Each bit counts and makes another possible, everything pulls its own weight. Bathed in this surreal glow and caress of dancing notes, I close my eyes. My eyelids are heavy and I realize how exhausted I am. My body weighted down like a dead rock.

From somewhere remote, his voice comes filtering in. "Things must take its course, one step at a time."

From somewhere inside me, I hear Shizuka. "The universe flows onward. There's no fighting it."

"I'm empty and full of nothing," I tell her, "must I lose everything?"

"Things must take its course," he says.

I listen to the piano.

And fall into a deep sleep.

In my sleep in that taxi, bouncing over stretches of paved road, going to a destination that I wasn't sure about, I dreamt of Shizuka again. This time, I was on the other side of a bridge. The bridge was this long narrow wooden one that hung over a river, but the water was so black it looked more like an abyss. Then I looked up and saw the same night sky, but above me was an enormous black hole, sucking, pulling, devouring all the stars and heavenly bodies around, while they struggled and screamed like thousands of infants being slaughtered. I asked her what was happening, and she said we've triggered something with huge implications and arms that have no end. From here on, we would have to carefully choose our path because the flow of the universe is severely distorted and convoluted. There are dangerous forces at work that clash and battle without our knowing and we must not be caught in between. We would have to escape somehow at the right time. Then in the deafening noise, we made love and this time I saw her face for a moment. She looked different like we were seventeen.

When I wake up the taxi had already stopped. There is no one in sight. No driver, no Fox. Nocturne is still playing. But the engine is off. I sit up quickly and feel panic rising through my body. Is this still a dream or reality? Which form of reality is this? Which world am I in? Within my mind or is this physical truth? How would I know for sure?

I look out the windows and find a small building, almost like a hut, and all around are trees. I am in the middle of a forest. These trees are massive, old oaks. Over a meter in diameter, stretching up high with thick leafy canopies that blot out the sun. Indeed, the shadows are so deep that I can't tell what time of day it is. The shack a little further from the taxi is run down, wooden boards stripped of paint, splinters visible. The shingles are falling off. Something crude and ancient, battered by weather. If a tree is to fall in the forest, the result would be disastrous. The entire hut would be flattened without a doubt, in a single stroke like a house of cards.

Stumbling out of the car, I carry the jar with the coffee plant and make my way towards the hut. Logically, this is the only place I can go. It would be ignorant to try to navigate into the thick forest around me. Above me, I realize, is a blue hole. It is still late afternoon. The sun would set in a few hours however. I would have to figure things out soon.

I knock. The door is a fading turquoise colour. I knock again. No answer. I twist the knob and pull the door open. I make sure I am behind the door so whoever or whatever is inside wouldn't see me. I stick to the side of the house. One hand cradling the jar, listening for motion, I look in. But no one's inside.

The floorboards creak loudly as I enter. My footsteps are silent but my weight would surely give away my position. The interior is not lit but from the slightest bit of daylight I can see a well furnished place, as if someone had been intending to live here. There's not much furniture but they are all pieces of necessity and quite simple and modern. A mattress with a clean bedsheet on a boxy wooden frame, straight corners, sharp edges, no extra flourish. There are two chairs and a small maple breakfast table. The chairs are arranged across from one another like an interrogation room. On the other side, there's a gas stove, a few pots and a new fridge. A stack of bottled spring water sits in a corner. There's some food in the fridge and apparently some form of electricity too. Other than that, there's not much. No paintings or flowers, nor books and television. Just the bare necessities. And I.

I turn on an electric lamp and sit down on one of the chairs and open a book I have with me. If this belonged to someone, they would likely return, maybe along with the Fox and the taxi driver. They couldn't just disappear and leave the taxi here, could they?

I sat there without moving for a good two hours reading Ishiguro's An Artist of the Floating World that was stuffed in my pocket. When I grow tired and my eyes blurry, I wander around, boil hot water in a pot and fix myself some tea from soggy teabags in the pantry. My phone tells me it's well past six. The sun will be setting soon. Out in the forest, I am certain it would be cool and wet - and dark. The weather forecast had said it would rain. If I'm still in Tokyo, Chiba or any surrounding area, it would likely be accurate. I can smell it already.

I check my cell phone. Not surprisingly, there's no signal out here. So I fire up the maps application, which should, with a degree of assurance, still show me the position of the GPS satellite chip in my device. I wait, somewhat impatiently. The screen is almost too bright for the dark room. Once it has loaded, I am greeted with a blank screen and a loading symbol. A forever rotating bar. With each revolution, it stirs up something within me like a wind-up toy. Each twist, I feel anxiety amass at the base of my chest. This sore lump sitting there, steadily growing bigger. Anxiety turns to distress. I had depended on technology. Infallible technology. It surely had an answer. Yet, it stares empty at me, silent and mocking. We apologize for the inconvenience, please check your connection and try again, it says.

I set down the phone, take a deep breath and wave the teabag through the water. Then I try to dog my memories and remember the last thing that had happened. I had fallen asleep to Chopin's composition. The Fox had told me that things must take its course. I felt the bumps of the road. We had driven fast, so it must have been the highway. I had checked the time when I walked into the cabin. It was four. We had left the coffee shop at two thirty or so. In that case, an hour drive couldn't possibly have covered that much distance, so I conclude that I am still near enough to Tokyo. Even so, there's no clue as to where I am. Deciduous oak trees are found in many places. I can barely see the sun from here. I could probably see a portion of the stars but not enough to fix my location. No one would realize I'm here at all. I had a still-functioning taxi but there doesn't seem to be any sort of road or space where it could have fit through. How did it get here at all?

The only relief I can comfort myself with, is the fact that if there's no one around, there wouldn't be Images. Certainly if there is nobody to Process, and if I am isolated in the middle of nowhere, they couldn't get to me. At least not soon. Is this what Shizuka had meant by escape?