The mental health clinic towers over me.
One would think that a place focused on aiding the mentally troubled would try to appear as welcoming and unintimidating as possible, but clearly the architect didn't agree. Instead, the building is a soulless, washed-beige block of concrete with featureless windows.
However, that's nothing compared to the entrance, which has a low, protruding roof held up by cuboid pillars that seem far too few and slim to support the thick mass above. The comforting fact that it's a modern building keeping up to modern standards is hard to internalize with the red-green vines spiraling up the pillars and hanging from the ceiling. It almost looks overgrown, abandoned.
Oh, how I'd love to just walk away. To avoid all the invasive questions about my life and sanity. To get right back to my ghost hunt before any secrets get spilled...
But I can't. The reason why is a head taller than me, reeks of smoke and stands right behind me.
Yes, Abe had thought ahead. He knew he was small and dainty, that he would have no chance of forcing me out of the house and into a cab by himself. But he knew a much bigger guy would, and what do you know, his friend happened to know one.
Naturally, I considered pulling out my knife and threatening the man… but as I weighed my options a little more, I decided against it. While it would be best to exterminate the ghost as soon as possible, it wouldn't help me much if my brother was convinced I was too dangerous to reason with. He'd begin to try his best to get me locked up, and I'm sure he'd eventually find out about the hidden room - and then I'd be exposed anyway.
On the other hand, actually going to this stupid shrink and getting a professional's opinion that I'm perfectly normal would shut him right up. Probably put me in the files as clean as well. Undoubtedly a worthwhile investment.
Abe finishes paying the cab driver further behind and scurries over to me. My sight accidentally veers to the left and meets the big guy's eyes. He gives a cocky smirk. I quickly look back to Abe, who answers my stare with an innocent, pup-like smile.
"Okay, let's go," he says, then turns to the man. "Thanks a lot for your help. Do you think you could still stay here until twenty past and make sure he doesn't try slipping away?"
The man grins. "You got it, kid."
"Thanks so much, Sou. I owe you one."
We leave the man behind and enter the clinic. The very first room is a spacious white-and-viridian hall - a dramatic change from the thin crevice of the entrance. Outside us and a receptionist in his glass-encased desk, the hall is void of people.
Abe walks up to the desk and rests his fingers on the counter. “Hi,” he begins quietly. “My brother has an appointment.”
“Name?” asks the receptionist, his eyes locked on mine as I reluctantly approach. I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. What’s the matter with this one? Nothing. But I bet that’s what they all say.
“Ichiro Akai,” Abe answers for me. "But he prefers to be called Red."
Perhaps in this context, being Ichiro would have been advantageous. With another name, it would be easier to play the part of someone you’re not. But I suppose it’s too late for that now.
“Alright. Let’s see...” The man swivels to his computer and begins to click and type. Even amidst his search, his eyes flick back to me. “15.20, Dr Jordan Marsh?”
“Yes.”
“Third floor, hallway E. You can wait there.”
“Thanks.” Abe nods and heads for the stairway at the side of the hall. I'm about to follow, but then...
“Sir, is that a knife?"
I turn to the receptionist.
"You’ll have to give it up for the duration of your appointment.”
I return to the desk, steps disdainfully unhurried. With the same enthusiasm, I unstrap the scabbard from my belt and place it on the counter.
As the receptionist drags the decorated leather case through the sliver in the glass, I make sure to keep my eyes pinned to his. Once his gaze strays to meet mine, I speak three slow words, moving only my lips.
"Don't lose it."
He averts his eyes and stashes the knife in a drawer.
I return to Abe. "Third floor, hallway E?"
He nods, and so we begin our journey through the floors. The stairway, encased by concrete walls, coils around an elevator shaft as it ascends. On the second floor, an open door's frame shows a glimpse into a waiting room with minimal decor. On the third floor… the exact same view unfolds. Am I sure that little time-traveling scamp Ibiri didn't just throw me back fifteen seconds?
My pondering of false gods fades quickly as the room comes fully to view. Three people sit on the rough-textured couches of the central area, none of them paying much attention to the quiet noises of the TV near the ceiling. One is a skinny, bony man fidgeting with his watch and twitching his leg all the while. The other man is heavier and older, slouching back while staring deeply into the blank wall opposite him. The third is a woman so reserved and tiny that I may have missed her presence entirely were it not for the tapping of her fingers on her cellphone.
I can smell the crazy off them.
"Over there," my brother whispers and points to one of the many hallways leading out of the room. The sign above does indeed say E.
After entering and turning a corner, the hallway boasts a long line of doors. Opposite them rest a few chairs and a tiny table. Abe escorts me to sit down, finally, but… he still stands there.
I sigh and lean back. "You can just leave. You know I wouldn't run off without my knife."
He rubs his arm.
“Just go. Your job is done,” I say, this time with eye contact.
"Alright," he exhales and finally walks off. "Remember, bus 20," he adds over his shoulder.
"Yep." The bus that goes from here to the high school. Abe even gave me the necessary cash for a ticket. I could’ve told him I had enough on me already, but I’m not gonna say no to free money and exact change at that.
I watch Abe disappear behind the corner, then sigh and take a lengthy blink. My arms cross themselves and my finger begins to tap. The shrink better call me in soon.
I wonder what Michi and the face-bearer are doing right now. Are they talking? Who knows what kind of conversation they're having. Oh, what’s that, my face-bearing friend? You just remembered how the woman whose face you’re carrying died? Oh, she was murdered in an occult ritual? By that man that was following us earlier? Well, that’s not very nice! We should go and tell the nice men at the police station right away!
Oh Gods, what if that’s actually what’s happening? What if they already told the police? What if they’re coming for me right now?
No, no, think about this logically. Calm down your pounding heart. They don’t have any proof. And in this country, you’re innocent until proven guilty, right? They can’t get me arrested - only questioned at best. And the cops can’t just go ahead and ransack my place based on something a ghost and a little girl said, can they? As long as no one finds out about my secret room, I’m safe. And Joanna never even knew where the room was.
Alright, that's settled. Now back to waiting impatiently. I let my eyes wander around my boring surroundings and what the hell is that?
On the table. Black smudge with legs. That's a spider. Where did it come from? Are there others nearby? No, don't move!
My body squeezes itself against the far armrest. Stop walking this way, you bastard! I don't want anything to do with you, you disgusting, unpredictable stain of a creature. You don't even look alive. You're a machine, created only to crawl into places you shouldn't be in and repulse anyone who spots your ugly silhouette.
How does it do it? How does a tiny, harmless critter set off a blaring alarm in my brain?
That's it. I'm sick of this. I’m sounding like common prey here. I'm a predator, apex no less, and this spider will know it. No matter how repugnant you are, you're fifty steps below me in the food chain. Die.
My hand is raised, ready to squish, but it only trembles in place. I really, really don't want to feel its shell or innards on my skin. Should I use my shoe instead? It'd be far easier on my heart…
No, this is ridiculous. Red, aren't you the Bringer? Isn't it your fate to merge with the Lord of Predators and usher forth a new age?
You've killed eight human beings in a slow and painful way. You've drunk their blood and eaten their flesh. And now suddenly killing a spider by hand is off limits because the touch of one is a bit icky?
It's almost like you weren't suitable to be the Bringer after all…
Slam.
Th-there. It's done. It's dead. It's dead, right? I don't think it's moving. I just feel its broken body, its gross body. It's done, so now I can get it off. Quickly, in case it isn't dead after all.
I yank the hand off the table and swipe the palm on the knee of my jeans. Spider corpse on jeans, okay, get off, I flick it off and it drops to the floor. I'm safe. Not that I wasn't ever safe. I can just be at ease now.
“Ichiro Akai?”
Who said that? Who said that? Oh, the psych! She's standing in the frame of one of the doors, freshly opened. She?
I get up. "Yes, that's me."
“I'm Dr Jordan Marsh. Please, come in." Jordan, huh. I guess it's unisex. But more surprising is her outfit. Red cat-eye glasses, jet black bowl cut, mascara, clothes black and white with the exception of a striking red scarf. Half secretary, half rebellious teen who'd tell me Tariganism is the way to go. And I'd tell them to fuck off because I already have a cult.
As I make my way to the door, I steal one last glance at the dead spider on the floor one more time. Still there. It really is dead.
I enter the room and take in its interior. Big window taking up a lot of the back wall. Desk in one corner, two armchairs in the other. Small table between the chairs. On the table lie a clock, a vase of flowers - plastic… and a box of tissues. Seriously?
Dr Marsh closes the door. "Please, have a seat."
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I choose the far chair. Its dark green leather is comfortable enough. Well, faux leather, I'm sure.
The woman seats herself in the other armchair, finds an empty page in her notebook and finally brings her gaze back to me.
"So," she begins, "how are you?"
I blink. "Right now?"
"Right now."
"Fine, I guess."
"You guess?"
I suppress a frown. "I know." Is the whole thing going to be this slow?
“Alright, then...” She scribbles something in her notebook. Was… was that important?
“So, what is it that you're here for?” she asks.
I feign an innocent expression. "Not sure, to be honest," I say. "My brother set this up for me. Did he say why?"
"I think he told me that you seemed unhappy and on-edge. He also mentioned something about violent tendencies. Do you recognize that in yourself?"
Violent tendencies. True. But I’m not telling you about those. "Not really. I'm just not one to wear my heart on my sleeve."
“So you’d consider yourself a mentally healthy person?”
“Yes.” Probably more than most.
“Have you had any previous diagnoses?”
“No."
She writes something in her notebook again, then continues with her questions. She asks me about how well I've slept, if I'm on any medication, whether or not I use any substances… couldn't I just have filled out some form? This is taking annoyingly long. My finger starts to tap again, but I stop it.
“Alright then, moving on. Tell me, how is school for you?” Dr Marsh asks, eyes on her notes.
“It’s okay. I don’t get the highest grades, but I don’t need them.”
“That’s funny...”
Wait. Wait, I may have fucked up. “Why’s that?”
Her eyes meet mine. “Because I know you quit high school two years ago.”
I freeze. Shit, I got caught lying. How does she know I quit? Did Abe tell her? It must have been Abe. That little weasel...
“Why did you quit?” she asks, leaning back in her chair. She has a more… relaxed air to her now. It’s like she was waiting for me to slip up.
Okay, why did I quit, why did I quit. Quitting isn’t normal. What’s normal for quitters? What’s normal for a person in my situation? I quit because the people pissed me off way too much and I needed time to hunt down sacrifices for HIM, but I can’t give the former as a reason and I definitely can’t give the latter as a reason if I want to appear like a well-adjusted citizen and not a danger to society…
I could lie. I could say that I had to take care of a sick relative. But she might also know that’s not true based on what Abe has said. Is there another lie I can think of? Come on, think. Think. Time is ticking, Red, she’s staring at you. Every millisecond wasted makes her more and more suspicious. But I can’t think of anything. I can’t think of anything!
Wait!
I inhale sharply and bring my fingers to my forehead, grimacing. “Dammit, I’m sorry,” I say. “This headache is making it hard to think.”
“You have a headache?” she asks. I think there’s an edge of suspicion in her voice, but it’s hidden well.
“Yeah… and honestly, it’s kind of a bad one. Might be a migraine coming on. I have those sometimes. Not pleasant.”
“Oh, I see,” she says. “Should we end this here and reschedule?”
Yes! It worked. Though a better outcome would’ve been no follow-up at all. “That’s probably for the best, yeah.” I get up, faking a little lightheadedness. “Call my brother about it. I don’t have my own cellphone, and our landline is broken.” Dammit, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s a lie I’m definitely gonna get caught for. Whatever. The most important thing is that I get to leave now.
“I will,” she says, writing something down again.
“Thanks,” I say as I make my way to the door. “Goodbye,” I say before exiting, with her own ‘goodbye’ chiming from behind before the door is closed.
Phew. Alright. Won't have to worry about that for a while. Hopefully not before I manage to get rid of the mask.
I backtrack the route I walked with Abe, though nearly get lost on the way, as some hallways are pretty much identical. The blueprints of this place must have been just an elaborate squiggle. Nevertheless, I arrive at the main hall and resume feigning a headache, just in case. After waiting through a short line at the reception desk, I ask for my knife back and receive it. I swear I could’ve seen a hint of malicious joy in the receptionist’s eyes. Should that kind of person really be in such a social profession? I’d never put myself in a job like that.
As I exit the building, I glance around, but don’t see the big guy from before. He must have left by now, good. I search for and quickly spot a bus stop a bit further down the road, sprint over and make sure I still have the cash Abe gave me in my pocket. I do. Great. There’s plenty, too - I suppose in case of the price being more than anticipated. At least that little dork thinks ahead.
Alright, bus 20. You better come soon.
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I step off the bus at the stop next to the high school, knowing the library is only a short walk away. I’m doubly glad about it now after having to sit next to some hippopotamus who probably hadn’t showered since his puberty began. Compared to that and the general stuffy air of public transportation, the outside’s cold gusts are refreshing - but much better is to come.
Oh, the library. While on the outside, you may look like a secret government containment unit for extraterrestrial life with your shape of octagonal dome and colors of chessboard, I know the beauty that hides inside you.
The shelves of dark, carefully lacquered wood. The books of infinite colors and patterns, like flowers in bloom. The scent of freshly baked pastries from the café in the same building, and the sound of… nothing. Nothing but a few lone steps and the swish of a turned page every now and then. No babbling, no traffic. Only serenity.
I wonder now… why haven’t I come here in such a long time? I came here all the time in high school - well, the one year I managed to spend there. I would read about biology, about anatomy, learning how exactly those organs I’d seen and handled worked… and suddenly, chemistry was interesting, physics was interesting. So many things were. I wanted to learn even more…
But then I quit. I stopped going to school. I stopped going places in general, not that there were many. I guess it all lost its meaning somehow…
Oh, whatever. I’m on a mission here. I shouldn’t be thinking of the past with the present being such a mess. A mess only I can fix - but the tools I require lie within this building.
I sprint to the doors and slip inside. It's warm, as always, and… wait, what?
Where are the wooden shelves? Where is the café? And what is that smell? It's like a rat had busted into the kitchen and knocked over everything on the spice rack! This isn't mellow and relaxing, this is an assault on the senses!
And what is going on with the library itself? It's like it's going for the opposite effect, sensory deprivation! Where are the colors? Where are the textures? Everything's grayscale, everything's plastic! Even the books look like they're wilting…
Who would do this? Who would like this? Is it so important for those modernist snobs to shove their so-called art in people's faces that they've begun defacing public property?
Gods… my hand draws itself to my forehead. I feel weak. The scent… it's not just spices - which seem to come from a deli that stands where the café used to - I can even pick up rubber and new paint. A sure recipe for a headache… is this divine retribution for lying about having one before?
Forget it, it's not important. What's important is finding out how to get rid of that ghost. I can lament the state of our society some other time.
Alright. I calm my nerves and head to the Fact section. From there, Spectrology. One shelf. A shelf not made of sturdy wood with elegant striping, but a long metal sheet bent into a squiggle to constrict the books within… no, don’t let your thoughts wander, get back on track. I pick a book that looks comprehensive enough - The Complete Guide to Ghosts - and sit down on the closest chair I find.
Skimming the book, it seems most of this information is either already familiar to me or completely irrelevant. Everyone knows ghosts can turn intangible save for any part of their body made up of regular matter, and I doubt knowing the exact chemical composition of a wisp’s body is going to help with my current situation. Are face-bearers gone over in this book? I skip to the glossary and look under F - nope. To hell with this book, then. I return it to the shelf and look for the next…
Unfortunately, the same repeats with that book. And the third. Are face-bearers really that rare? There has to be some information on them. How would Michi otherwise have known about them? The internet? You can’t even trust anything on there.
Come on. Don’t lose hope yet. There are still plenty of books to go through.
I scan the backs of each yet again. Generic, generic, grims, hungries - yeah, I can relate to craving human flesh… generic, nixies, sheets, wisps, wailers… hold on. Some of these have been pushed in back first. I flip around a few. Generic, sheets, face-
Face-bearers.
The golden mask on the cover stares deep into my eyes with its empty sockets. It whispers congratulations on finding it.
I open the book right away and skim past the preamble. Tell me, what is a face-bearer?
Face-bearers are a type of ghost with humanoid, shadow-like bodies and large red eyes that seem to drip a viscous liquid. In their three-clawed hands, they carry a golden mask of a human face . . . Okay, all of that I already knew. Skipping a bit further…
Like many other ghosts, face-bearers can either be born from other face-bearers or manifest spontaneously as a reincarnation of a deceased human. In the latter case, they may partially or completely remember their past life, typically remembering more as time passes, but they may also have no recollection of it. The faces on the masks of face-bearers born from other face-bearers appear to be a combination of the faces on their parents’ masks . . .
Shit. It’s as I feared. The ghost is either Joanna herself or an imitation functionally equivalent to the real thing…
But I suppose it makes little difference. I’d already decided to kill the thing, no matter what it was. And speaking of killing, let’s try to find something on that next…
Okay, there’s a section on ‘death’ here that lists all the different possible ways a face-bearer can die. First off is starvation, where the face-bearer has gone too long without draining life force from something organic. Then there’s spectral trauma, i.e. being damaged by spectral energy. Then there’s being preyed upon by predatory ghosts. None of those three are things that I can do to the ghost, so they’re ruled out.
Then there’s exorcisms. Lethal exorcisms, specifically. A lethal exorcism destroys a ghost, while a non-lethal exorcism only casts it out of whatever it is possessing at the time. Non-lethal exorcisms are apparently harder to pull off, their rituals more complex, but that’s not a problem I have to worry about. If I’m going with an exorcism, it will most certainly be lethal.
Though… how difficult are exorcisms in general, exactly? I know there are licensed exorcists, and those licenses probably aren’t the result of just a few classes. And exorcisms are always connected to some religion. I know my family technically has a patron god in the Sun Goddess, but I’ve never really believed in her. Do you need faith for the exorcism to work? I don’t have that. Not even for HIM. My worship isn’t based on belief - I have witnessed HIM and HIS actions with my own two eyes, and I have used the spells HE has created. Can you even call Helixism a religion? It’s only interested in facts. Like the fact that HE is superior to all, or the fact that the strong prevail.
Back to exorcisms, though. I guess I’m gonna have to look at a few other books to find out what the simplest possible one is. Unless there’s still more ways a face-bearer can die. I didn’t finish reading yet.
Oh, what do you know, there is. It involves taking the face-bearer’s mask and wearing it, which will cause one to be possessed. This will make the ghost tangible within the host’s reality, allowing the human to land a deadly strike to destroy them. However, it does say that this technique only tends to work on inexperienced ghosts who don’t know to escape from reach right after the possession has begun or to create an illusion to hide themselves.
Well, aren’t I lucky to be dealing with a fresh ghost, then? Sounds like all I have to do is be quick and cunning, and that's what HE has trained me to be. This'll be a piece of cake.
Still, I should look into that exorcism business. It might turn out to be the easier method after all. And I should also try to keep an eye out for any other mentions of face-bearers in case there’s another source for the possession-based method. It’s better to be sure…
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Well, exorcisms weren’t the easier method. As it happens, basically all exorcisms require you to prepare an exorcism site, like scattering dried healing herbs in a circle and getting the ghost to somehow stay in that circle, which I definitely can’t do on my own. The chants are also pretty long, so I would have to actually borrow the book instead of just writing the words down on a napkin, and I didn’t bring my library card with me because I came here directly from the psych. And I’ve wasted too much time already to go fetch it from home and return here. Joanna - I think I can safely assume it’s Joanna by now - could be remembering her gruesome demise right this moment. No, no, don’t think that. You’ll freak out. Just get going already.
At least I did find another mention of that possession-based method. It seemed to communicate the same idea, which makes the claim more trustworthy. Not that there’d really be a reason to make up such a claim in the first place.
I exit the library, and I’m welcomed outside by lovely sunlight from a sky clearing up. I can’t help but smile. I breathe my lungs full of the fresh air. Oh, Gods, yes, this is what it’s all about.
I convince myself to spare a few seconds and lean on a lightpost next to me for a brief moment of deeper relaxation - but an unexpected texture against my hoodie's arm scatters my thoughts. Plastic among metal. I glance for an answer.
ARUKEI LOVES YOU, reads a tacky blue sticker. Oh, so those morons are loose in this neighborhood…
But my frown melts away as fast as it came. Such trivialities can't bring me down now. I finally have the answers I need. The road onward is clear, and at the end of that road… I have the privilege of another kill. It's only fair, really. I wasn't there to see her die the first time. This time is another story.
What flickered back at the supermarket earlier today will soon get to blaze.
Tonight, the predator is on the hunt.