Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Today, the sea is moody. Great, dark waves bellow at the porthole in my room, sending a spray of water which makes me flinch away and stumble backwards onto my small bed. I lay there, listening to the churning water lapping at the side of the ship.

There are no clocks on the ship, but I can tell it is still early in the morning since my stomach doesn’t feel empty yet, that comes later. The ship sways side to side, rocking me like a babe in a cradle. I remove my blue-framed eyeglasses and hold them in my hand. I will only close my eyes for a second, just a small rest to fight off the sleepiness. Only for a second.

**

The small galley is nearly empty when I stop by. It is a compact room with two long wooden tables, shiny from years of use. The ship has a single chef, a skinny man with a comically thin mustache. It seems his lips rarely touch the food he cooks.

I sit down with a bowl of soup to feed my rumbling tummy. Half way through my meal, Seung-Gil, the ship’s navigator walks in, or at least that’s what I saw on his name tag when I passed him in the hall a few days ago. He doesn’t look my way. Instead, he sits in one of the dark corners, out of sight. He doesn’t like me much, judging by the permanent scowl on his face, or maybe that is just his face.

I don’t see anyone on the walk back to my room, just sounds of the creaking boat. In my room, I sit to write in my journal. There isn’t much on this ship, not even a deck of playing cards. I only see suggestions of other people. A sliver of soap in the communal shower stalls, or a fork left on the eating bench. If it weren’t for the tendency for people to forget, I would have thought this boat was a vessel to carry only me through the waves.

When I found the empty journal two nights ago, it was a relief to be rid of my thoughts, because that’s all you can really do here, think.

I have a confession. The journal isn’t really empty. A large chunk of the journal was torn out by the previous owner, but now there are a few pages filled with my scratchy handwriting. A teacher from elementary school told me I must improve my penmanship, but I can’t remember whether they were a man or a woman, tall or short, only a vague memory of their admonishment.

I fill one page each day with my observations of the sea (stormy), report anyone I’ve met (no one), and what I ate (soup). I get through half of the page before I run out of things to ideas. I reread my previous entries, all siblings of each other. I wonder why I even bother to report anything; the sea is never anything but angry. 

**

The next day, I explore the top deck. To my disappointment, the air beyond the hatch isn’t much different from the stale air inside the boat. It is just a little colder. It doesn’t even have that salty sea spray, so we must be in a body of fresh water, maybe we are in an ocean. I’ll need to record that in my journal later.

Seung-gil is on deck with a telescope-like device held to his eye. It is pointed to the water. It had been a while since I saw another person aside from the chef.

“What is that?” I ask, pointing to the triangular contraption. I hope the conversation takes, the restlessness is beginning to wear on me. 

“It’s a sextant,” he says without looking away.

“What does it do?” I push the conversation further.

Seung-gil, finally puts down the device. “It’s for navigating.”

“How?”

“A sextant measures the angular distance between two objects using astronomical objects,” he explains. 

I look to where Seung-gil pointed the device. The sky is thick with dense clouds, the kind that sticks to your teeth. In the distance, the line blurs where the sky meets the water. Boundless water. There are no objects in the sky to guide us.

“We’ll reach land by tonight,” he says.

True to his word, we dock at our destination after dinner. I barely commit my last thought into the journal before docking instructions are made over the intercom. I wait in my room for a member of staff to come get me. There is a knock on the door. 

“Where are your things?” Seung-gil asks in his usual flatness. He pushes me aside to peer into my room.

“What things?” I ask, looking back.

“Your valise,” he says, pointing to the bed.

I check under the bed frame to find a small blue suitcase. I didn’t know I even packed one. I click it open to reveal folded up clothes, an empty backpack and boots. I place my journal in the flap, then follow Seung-gil to the common area where I am left with a small group of other passengers. They are of all different ages and shapes, like tourists. Everyone has a bag or a small suitcase with them, all waiting to be let off the ship.

We file out in a single line. It wouldn’t matter if we all rush for the door at the same time, there aren’t enough people to kick up a fuss.

The ship docks on the beach. It isn’t a nice beach like those on the covers of travel magazines, with white and fine sand and clear blue waters. This beach is pebbled with rocks which made my step awkward as I follow everyone to a small clearing, where an old man in a black windbreaker waves to us.

I didn’t realize how cold it is until I notice everyone else in a jacket and rainboots. Water quickly bleeds through my shoes and socks, squishing when I step onto the gravelly sand. I can’t help but feel underdressed.

“Welcome everyone!” says the old man, with a chirpy voice.

That didn’t sound right.

I fix the smudges on my glasses. Turns out the old man has silver hair, not white like I thought. His eyes are the same colour as the ocean— if it were sad. I wonder if he is happy, standing on this beach in this horrible weather. I don’t think I’m happy, but my eyes are brown, so I am at a loss for any poetic descriptions.

“My name is Viktor, and I will be the Moderator for your time here,” he says. “You will each be assigned a mystery to solve and when you solve it, you’ll get a wonderful prize!”

I look around at the people around me who look equally confused.  

Viktor looks at his clipboard, and distributes folders to us. When he gets to me, he holds me in his eyes for a second longer, enough time for me to confirm that he is indeed, not an old man, then I take the folder from his hand.

“Of course, not everyone will solve their assigned mystery, but let’s not focus on that,” he says.

As he walks us away from the beach, he explains that we will all stay in the compound in a dormitory, each with our own room. There must be nine of us in total including myself. The mess hall is in another building, but it isn’t too far.

Viktor takes us to a roundabout paved with stones and bordered by a fence of tall beach grass. He explains that we will meet here for weekly meetings. We sit in benches arranged in a circle. Since there aren’t enough benches for everyone to have their own, Viktor sits next to me. 

“It’ll be great!” Viktor says, explaining the mystery. “Each week, each person will debrief everyone on the progress they’ve made, and we’ll try to help. Tomorrow I’ll take you all into town where you can search for clues.”

After the group disperses from the welcome, I find myself in my assigned room. 

In my room is a twin bed, an armoire, a writing desk with a small blue lamp, and a shelf. A rather large picture of the ocean hangs on the wall over my desk. I walk closer to it, and realize I am wrong. It is the window. The water is grey as ever. I feel around the frame of the window for a dial to decrease the opacity, thumbing it until it is shady, not that it is very bright outside to begin with.

I unpack my belongings into the small wood armoire in my tiny room. Each shirt I take out of my suitcase is unremarkable in every way, completely average. Even the colours are average, in brown and black and grey, like someone mixed all the paint colours together.

My room also comes with its own bathroom. Thank goodness. I don’t think I could be naked in front of other people, not that I’m chubby anymore. The fat kid mindset is hard to outgrow. I inspect my face in the mirror, which has some distortion. I tap on it, and it lacks the crystal-clear clink of glass. In other words, it’s plastic, but it does the job. I look tired as any 30-year-old would look. I run my hand through my hair to smooth out the strands sticking out. Normally the gel would fix that, but I’m not working anymore, so I don’t bother with the hair treatment.

The smudge on my glasses is still there, and I take a microfibre cloth from my suitcase, and give it a good rub. The lens is still blurry. In the dimness of the lamp light, I squint and see the several fine scratches on the lens of my glasses. I’ll need to buy a new pair in town tomorrow.

Before bed, I lock my door, but there’s no locking mechanism. I peek my head into the quiet hallway. There is no one in sight, and I hope it stays that way through the night.

I sit on my bed to read over the file. Aurist Kikuyu is printed over the top of the page. An aurist is someone who specializes in ear diseases, so an otologist. It is strange that such an antiquated term is used. I read through his file.

**

The next morning, the sun filters through the window, imparting a watery quality to my room. I let the light pass over my hand to feel its warmth, but I don’t feel anything. I turn up the opacity all the way so more light can pass through, but to no avail. The sun is barely fighting through the clouds.

Viktor takes us to town today. We walk together as a group through the beach and onto a long stretch of boardwalk. I shuffle to the end of the pack, walking leisurely with my file, pen, and notebook in hand. I suppose I should have brought along my backpack. I’ll remember that for tomorrow. 

Tall reeds of grass jut from the craggy rocks of the beach, whispering to each other in the wind coming off the water. A woman plucks up a blade of long thick grass and waves it around, making it dance. She smiles when she notices my gaze on her.

“Hi there,” she says to me. “I’m Yuko.”

Yuko, such a beautiful name. Her eyes are brown, but how are they so shiny and bright?

 “I’m Yuuri,” I reply. I shake her outstretched hand, and accept her smile with one of my own. “Have you read your file yet?”

She brushes her hair back behind her tiny ears.  “Yes, I have. I’m supposed to find a woman. She went missing a week ago.”

I skim over the file she shows to me. It is similar to mine, except the details are different.

“I hope finding her will be worth the prize,” she says. “What do you think it is? Maybe it’s an exotic trip!” Her eyes light up, and I feel my eyes light up too, even if it is just for a moment.

“Aren’t we already on an exotic trip?” I ask. “We’re on a mysterious island, and the locals are… quirky,” I look to Viktor at the head of the group, talking to a tall woman in a grey coat.

We arrive at a small beach town. Most buildings are long and lean, and painted in pastel colours to compensate for the drizzly weather. In the summer time, I imagine this town would look quite handsome with the glow of the sunset warming the houses, the blue waves lapping at the shore.

“So, if you read your dossier last night, you will know that you will need to find a missing person!” says Viktor. He’s standing in the middle of a plaza and we all crowd around him. “We will return to the compound at 6pm for dinner. Meanwhile, I will be at the café on Main Street from 9 to 10 if anyone needs help.”

We break off into solo expeditions. I look back at Yuko, already walking towards to the nearest building with determination.

I see an eyeglass shop, so I start there.

Chimes tinkle when I open the door. A short man with a white coat comes to greet me. I show him my glasses.

“Oh, no, this won’t do,” he tuts. “I can replace your lens, but are you sure you don’t want to replace your frame as well?” His fingernail digs at the chunky blue frame of my glasses.

I shake my head. “I don’t want them replaced.”

He disappears into the back room, and I freely browse through the store. I try on different frames, each one looks ridiculous on me. I’ve had my blue glasses since college and they saw me through all sorts of disasters. I wouldn’t trade them in for anything.

“Hey, do you know anything about someone named Kikuyu? He’s an Otologist,” I ask. 

“Yea,” he calls from the back room, “he has an office down on Main Street. Nice guy, a bit quiet. He left town, something about a scandal!”

My first clue. I tell him that I will be back.

The clinic on Main Street lacks the charm of the other buildings around it. Old fashioned panel blinds shutter the windows. A Sorry, We’re Closed sign hangs on the door. I press my nose to the window, and cup my hands around my eyes to help me see. Just a regular waiting room and a front desk. I go around back to see an equally unremarkable back alley with weeds growing out from the pavement.

I loop back around the front. The clinic is sandwiched between a deli shop and a bookstore. 

I try the bookstore first, but it is locked. Then I walk into the deli.

It is a small Italian deli with sausages hanging from metal bars with twine. The counter is empty, and the smell of warm cooking wafts from the back of the store.

I tap the service bell. “Hello anyone?”

A man with slick black hair ducks out from the beaded curtain of the backroom. He wipes his hands on the greasy apron tied to his waist. “Hello, what can I do for you?” he asks me.

“Hi, I’m looking for someone,” I say. “The doctor next door, when was the last time you saw him?”

The man shrugs, “I can’t remember, but I haven’t seen him around lately.”

“What do you know about him?”

“He came to this island a year ago and opened up a clinic next door. That’s all I know.”

I thank the man and bought a meatball sandwich for lunch. He threw in a free lemon soda to welcome to me to island.

“It’s not often I get to see a new face,” he says. 

I laugh. This really must be an incredibly small town. “There are nine new people here to solve mysteries.” It sounds ridiculous when I say it to him. As expected, he throws his head back in laughter.

“The town’s budget is shrinking like the shore line if they’re importing people to solve mysteries!”

“What was it like before?” I ask.

He traces his hand through his hair, and smiles at the memory. “When my family moved here, we were amazed by the beach, so long and beautiful. I have never seen the ocean until then. There was a bear-shaped rock, which can only be reached at low-tide. My brother and I took turns throwing pebbles at the bear-shaped rock. The first to land 10 pebbles on the back of the bear, wins.” He wipes his hand on his apron again. “I won every time, and that’s why I now own my family’s deli, while my brother is a lawyer in a faraway city.”

He shrugs, a forlorn smile on his face. He invites me to eat lunch with him, sharing the pasta he just made, leaving the sandwich I bought forgotten. I ask him what was in the sauce, but he wouldn’t say anything until after I take the first bite.

“If my Nona ever saw you eating a meatball sandwich, she’d slap you,” he says to me between bites. “There is nothing Italian about it.” When I finish my second helping of pasta, he tells me to wipe up the sauce with my sandwich bread. That was what his Nona reminded him to do everyday, until she passed last spring. Her signature sauce is the one he prepared today. She made it with chicken livers.

He pats me on the back when I leave and tells me to visit him anytime.

I try the bookstore again, it is still deserted.

“Ah, you’re back.” The optician hands me an unfamiliar pair of glasses with an elegant black frame.

I hand them back. “These aren’t my glasses.”

He pushes the glasses back to me and gives me a small brown paper bag. I open it and examine the pieces in the light. They’re a bit blurry without my glasses, but I know the item in my hand by touch. I am holding the fragmented remains of my old blue frames.

“I accidentally cracked them,” the optician says briskly. “I won’t charge you for the new pair."

I put on the black framed glasses. The optician holds up a mirror for me to see. I look like a totally different person. Inexplicably, they make me look more my age.  

“Sometimes, it’s good to see things through a new frame,” he offers apologetically, like he can hear the uneasy feeling in my belly. I look so strange, but I don’t hate it.

“Actually, can you tell me what else you know about Kikuyu? If you do, I might be able to forgive you,” I playfully ask.

The optician smiles in good humour. “Well, like I said, scandal. I’m not one for gossip, but you’re busting my chops, kid. I think Kikuyu got his secretary pregnant and skipped town. After that, he never showed up in town again. The secretary locked up the clinic real tight, looking heavier since the last time anyone saw her. Not that the doctor was missed or anything. Not much use for an ear doctor around here.”

**

“Did you find anything?” asks Yuko on the walk back to the compound. The sky is a darker grey compared to this morning.

“My missing person got his secretary pregnant and skipped town,” I say. “I’m ready to collect my prize.”

She laughs. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

We walk along the boardwalk. Everyone seems to have made a friend in the group, and they talk about the events of the day.

“I went to a nice Italian deli on the main stretch facing the ocean.” I give her my can of lemon soda. It has pictures of lemons drenched in water on the backdrop of a blue sky full of white clouds.

She holds the can up to her face to examine it more closely, “the art is so pretty,” she says. “I think I might just keep it instead of drinking it.” Yuko smiles at me and my heart skips a beat.

“I didn’t get far on my case,” she says. “I asked around, but no one has even heard about my person.”

“Maybe I can help you with your case tomorrow!” I say, making an excuse to spend more time with her. Anything to make her smile at me again. “I still need to ask around for Kikuyu, so I might as well ask for your person as well.”

“You don’t have to,” she pauses to look into the tall grass, “but thank you.”

**

For the next days, Yuko and I go around town to search for her person, a housewife named Clementine.

We start at the southern tip of the town near the ocean and make our way up towards the north. The northern-most tip of the town is capped by a red lighthouse, sitting on the cliff covered in a thick forest. The town is small, but going door to door to ask is still a daunting task. Like most small towns, everyone knows each other, which meant we are regarded as strangers to them.

Most houses didn’t have a response, but sometimes, I feel unseen eyes on us through the gauzy curtains of the windows. The few who opened up had never heard of Clementine, but they did hear of Kikuyu.

They all parrot back to me some version of what the optician told me. He skipped town after getting the receptionist pregnant. I saw the receptionist around town, her belly was as round as a watermelon.

I can’t tell if they actually expect me to believe this. Kikuyu has only been gone for two weeks. There’s no way the receptionist could look anything but still trim. 

It is already later in the day and we didn’t even cover a sixth of the town. We wait outside the only grocery store, watching the bellies of all the women passing through its doors. The secretary will eventually need to stop for groceries...right? I hold up the simple sign Yuko made, Have you seen Clementine? We continue like this for most of the afternoon until the manager comes outside with a stern look on his face.

“I’ll need to ask you to leave,” he says, peering down at us through his half-lune glasses. “You’re scaring away our customers, especially you.” He looks it me. “You’re tempting the women. You think you’re a total stud, don’t you?”

I was doing nothing of the sort. Perhaps my new glasses make me look completely different. I adjust my glasses to give him a retort, but I am interrupted when a woman walks up to us.

“I know Clementine,” she says.

The woman is dressed in a pale pink coat and a sunny yellow hat. “She is my neighbour, but she’s gone now.”

Yuko and I follow the woman around the store as she shopped for her groceries. She reveals nothing much about Clementine, almost speaking exclusively about herself. She continues to eye me as I trail behind her and Yuko. When we leave the store, it is raining.

“We can talk more about this at my home,” the woman says to Yuko. She points to one of the smaller houses at the top of the hill next to the lighthouse. “But I think your friend should stay behind,” she says, jutting her thumb at me like a lame donkey who won’t make it through the night.

Yuko looks to me and takes me aside.

“I’m unsure if the trip will be worth it just to hear another earful of this lady talk about herself,” she whispers to me in mild annoyance.

I watch the woman readjust her sun hat. “She’s your only lead,” I tell her. “You should follow her.”

I wave goodbye to Yuko from under the small canopy of the grocery store. It is almost time to return to the compound and I walk to the meeting place under a fine mist of rain.

Everyone paired up with their friend and I am left alone without Yuko.

“Where’s Yuko?” Viktor asks me. He extends his umbrella to me, so we are both shielded from the rain. It feels oddly claustrophobic under an umbrella with another person. I think the last time I shared an umbrella was when I was in grade school, but I do hate being caught in the rain.  

“She’s investigating a lead. She won’t be back to tonight.”

Viktor nods in understanding, then we walk together in silence. The slippery material of our windbreakers rub together from time to time, and Viktor just smiles at the zippy sound it makes when it happens. I offer to hold the umbrella, but he insists on holding it up.

“Are you ready for the week review tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yes, I am,” I say. “I think I know why my person is missing.”

His eyebrows raise in disbelief, “wow, that was fast. We’ll see how you do tomorrow.”

We continue in silence again, then he speaks, looking directly into my eyes. 

“Did you get new glasses?”

I suddenly feel the new weight of the frames on my face. “Yea, I did.”

“They look nice on you,” he says. “A refreshing change.”

**

I wake up to the grey ocean sucking at the large jagged stones of the beach. In the distance, I see a stone in the rough shape of a bear. I turn the opacity of the window to full to see it better, expecting the sky to grow brighter, but it doesn’t.

At breakfast, I see Yuko already with a plate of food. She’s struggling to cut the crust of the quiche with her plastic knife. I wave to her, but she doesn’t see me. I get a small round butter cookie to serve with my black tea and cuts of browning banana and apple.

I place my breakfast beside her and that seems to jolt her out of her thoughts. She looks up and gives me a tired smile.

“When did you get back last night?” I ask her.

She is still trying to cut out a mouthful of quiche with her dull knife. “Maybe four in the morning. I had to walk all the way back.”

“She talked that much?” I skewer a piece of apple with the plastic fork with much difficulty. 

“Yea, she did. Her name is Grace by the way. Ironic, isn't it?" she laughs, half way between a friendly chuckle and a scoff. "After you left, she stopped talking about herself and told me everything she knew about Clementine,” she glances at me. “I think she is just a bit old fashioned, we talked about a lot of ‘women things.’ ”

I feel her eyes on my face, and she giggles at my cheeks blooming scarlet.

“It’s alright,” she tells me, still giggling.

We finish breakfast and gather at the paved roundabout cropped with tall grass. It is warmer today, and I even see pieces of blue through the grey clouds. I take off my jacket and fold it on my lap.

Yuko sits next to me and she teaches me how to use a blade of grass as a reed. She presses the blade between her thumbs and cups her fingers together. A sound like a kazoo comes out. I try, but I can’t make a sound.

She unfolds my hands and arranges them in the right way, then tells me to blow. Determined to make this work, I take in a deep breath and blow with all my might into the reed, startling even myself when a loud noise erupts from my hands. We laugh together.

More people arrive at the roundabout until everyone is present. Today, Viktor is in a black wool coat and has a clipboard on his lap. Its pages flapping in the wind.

“Hi everyone,” he says, with his usual chipper. “I hope you had a wonderful first week here on this island. At the end of every seven days, we will do a review. You will have the opportunity to share with everyone what progress you’ve made on your mystery. If you think you solved it, give me a heads up before you begin your update.” He looks to the tall woman sitting beside him and asks her to start.

She is wearing a trench coat and leather gloves. She takes out a notebook from her leather handbag and opens it to a page.

“Hi, my name is Alex,” she says. “I’m investigating a man called Jesse. So far, all I know is that he graduated from the local high school and went off to university in another city. He returned to this town for summer vacation and then vanished. I got in contact with his family, and they said that he was a strange one, that he was more delicate than most people, and always stayed in his room. His sister told me that she felt he had a lot of hidden secrets. I tried to push for more information, but then his family told me I over stayed my welcome.”

Alex flips the page and continues. “I then went to the local high school to check the yearbooks for friends of Jesse, because you know how kids are. They tell their friends everything and their parents don’t even know their favourite colour. So, I found a picture of him with a few of his friends. I made a few calls off the phone numbers the school gave me, but their families said that they were off at university and that I shouldn’t distract them from their studies. I did find one person who was available. She stayed behind at the local college and we’re meeting later today.” Alex looks at Viktor, who is taking notes on his clipboard. “That’s the end of my update,” then she closes her book.

After Viktor finished his notes, he asks if anyone had any knowledge or help they could offer Alex. A few people wish her good luck.

We pass through the circle of people in the same way. It is apparent that all of us are investigating people missing in the town. Everyone already had leads for them to follow, and I begin to doubt that I have come to the correct conclusion for my own mysterious Aurist Kikuyu. It wasn’t that I didn’t try, I did, but I am tired of hearing the same old story. He knocked up his secretary and skipped town. There isn’t much mystery, just an irresponsible guy who can’t keep his hands to himself.

Yuko is next to present her findings. “My name is Yuko, and I am looking for Clementine. I found her childhood friend and she told me that Clementine was born in the mountains and moved to the beach town to work at a preschool. It was the only job she could find since people from the mountains don’t really have formal educations. She met her husband in town a few months after the move.”

“He was a carpenter and he offered to build them a house in town, closer to the preschool, so that she didn’t need to trek down the mountain everyday. Also, if they planned to have a family, it would be easier on their kids.” She stops. “I still don’t know why she’s missing. That was all her friend told me for now, I’m meeting with her again to hear the rest of the story.”

Viktor opens the floor for anyone who has any insight for Yuko, but no one had anything to say. Then he looks at me.

I feel wildly unprepared.

“My name is Yuuri, and I am looking into someone named Kikuyu. I thought I figured out why he was missing, but I think I might be wrong.” I look at Viktor.

“Come tell me the solution,” he says, gesturing me to his side.

I get up to whisper into his ear, and he looks back at me with a face that says that I am definitely wrong.

“Yuuri, you can tell everyone your solution if you want, maybe you can get some help from people.”

I explain my misguided conclusion to everyone, and I feel my cheeks growing warmer at how absurd it sounds. “I asked around town about Kikuyu—who is an ear doctor. I showed up outside his clinic in town and no one was there. Apparently, he got his secretary pregnant, and I thought that was the reason he left town.”

I look around the circle, and everyone seems indifferent to my story, except for Viktor and Yuko. Viktor asks if anyone has any insight to offer.

Alex clears her voice, and speaks up. “Maybe the secretary knows where he is? If you find her, you might find him. Since being a secretary is an entry level job that doesn’t require much previous experience, it seems like she could be one of the mountain folks? Perhaps she fled back to the mountains when the rumours broke out.”

A few more people share their investigation. Everyone has made more progress than me. I feel more inadequate each time someone plans to meet up with a lead, or finds even a scrap of promising evidence.

Viktor dismisses us for lunch when we are done. I feel a wave of relief when I am free to leave. The sun is supposed to be the strongest midday, but even now, it struggles to break through the seemingly impenetrable cloud cover, and it simply glowed dimly in the sky over us.

“Yuuri.”

Viktor takes me aside while everyone leaves the secluded circle. He doesn’t have his smile on, and I have a vague feeling that it isn’t small talk. “Can you meet me in this roundabout after lunch? I want to talk to you about your progress.”

I nod, then I leave to join the others in the mess hall. Yuko isn’t there, she must have rushed off to meet Grace. I hope Grace will serve her better food than whatever they serve here.

I eat by myself at a table until Alex sits next to me.

“Got his secretary pregnant, huh?” she comments. She picks up a cracker with a perfectly manicured nail and dips it into her tomato soup.

I shrug, “it’s the only thing people know about Kikuyu.”

“Okay, well, I had another thought about your case. From the looks of it, this town only has that dinky community college, which is not exactly pumping out medical degrees on a conveyer belt. Since your guy is a doctor and not known in town aside from the rumour, maybe he was from somewhere else, and then moved here?”

I vaguely remember that detail from his description. “That would only make it harder for me to find out what happened to him.”

“Well, you can call up his colleagues back home to see why he fled to some middle-of-nowhere town. Maybe you can spot a pattern since your guy has already fled town twice. Once from where he was previously, and another time after the scandal.”

I ponder her suggestion, which seems completely reasonable, but difficult to implement.

She takes a sip of her soup. I take a bite out of my tuna sandwich. Her eyes shift playfully around the room before she leans in, “so what do you think of Viktor?” she asks. Her voice is sly.

“He’s doing his job, isn’t he?”

“No, what do you think of him? Like do you like him?” 

“Yea, I like him fine,” I tell her.

“Really?”

“Should I not?”

She shakes her head slowly, like she knows something I don’t—which is probably true. “He has been my, walking buddy, and although he talks to me and acts like a good Moderator, I see him checking you out from the corner of his eye. I bet it drives him crazy that you’re so close to Yuko.”

I laugh. “At the rate that I am progressing through my mystery, he’s probably just concerned that I might trip over my own two feet.”

“No, I’m serious! It’s a woman’s intuition. I just know,” she insists. “After all, I was the one who told him that I was okay with walking by myself so he can offer you his umbrella. I had my own. I’ve never seen anyone take off so fast.”

I meet Viktor in the roundabout. It is now windier, and the grass sways around us, muffling our voices to anyone outside the circle.

“So what exactly is the consequence if I don’t make progress?” I ask.

“Well, we can’t really punish you,” Viktor says. “We can only encourage you to finish. All the mysteries are solvable with the clues scattered throughout the town. You just need to put in the effort to find them, so you can cross the finish line.”

“So technically, if I don’t solve the mystery, I can live on this island forever, rent free and all expenses paid?” I ask.

There was a glimmer in his eye. If I blinked, I would have missed it.

“Um, no. You can’t stay here forever. There is a time limit and consequence, but it’s too early to talk about that,” says Viktor. He combs his hair out of his face with his fingers, but the wind just blows it back. “So, to help you progress, I’ll step down as a Moderator for only a day, and help you get the ball rolling.”

**

The next morning, I wake up and get dressed. Outside the compound, I empty the surprising amount of sand that collected in my boots in the days that have passed. I meet Viktor at the roundabout and he is dressed in a lightweight puffer jacket and a backpack.

Everyone walks to the town. Yuko is not here today, so she must have stayed over at Grace’s home for the night. Alex and Viktor walk together, and they invite me to join them, but I decline and I walk alone, taking in the views of the day.

The group breaks away when we get to the town, leaving only Viktor and I.

“So what should we do today?” he asks me.

“Let’s go to the north part of town near the mountains,” I say. “Alex suggested I look for the secretary up there.”

We trek towards the direction of the lighthouse at the top of the cliff, walking through streets lined with pastel houses, and quaint shops. For a beach town, it is awfully empty, but it is late fall. No tourist would be interested in taking a swim in freezing waters, and their beaches aren’t exactly nice.

I ask Viktor about his role as a Moderator. He tells me that one of his duties is to make sure everyone progresses at a good rate. In a typical day, he walks us to the town, then sits at a café for an hour to eat breakfast, returns to an office in town to do paperwork and other things until he has to take us back to the compound again. He tells me that the communal walks and meals help build structure into our lives.

“Do you like your job?” I ask him.

“Yes, I do,” he says, smiling at me. “I get to help all sorts of people, and I can spend my time in this beautiful coastal town.”

“I would hardly call this town beautiful. Since I got here, I haven’t even seen the sun once.”

He chuckles, “I grew up in a city called St. Petersburg, where it’s overcast all the time, so this reminds me of home. It has seagulls and beaches, but there, you can’t swim in the water. It’s too dangerous with the pollution.”

The name of the city sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it in my head.

“This town is much better, everything is cleaner, and there’s virtually no smog,” he takes a deep breath in. “I love it.”

We arrive at the foot of the mountain. On one side, there is a sharp cliff. I notice a marked difference in the homes sitting near the top of the hill compared to the beach houses. They are not pastel at all, rather they are built of hardier materials. 

A large field of fluffy reeds poking out of a spongy marsh stretch out before us, snaking into the distance until it disappears into the forest which curls up the cliff like a lion’s mane. We follow a narrow, wooden walkway consisting of only planks. It is covered in mud and barely keeps our boots above the marsh. Pools of water collected in patches across the field, reflecting the sky like a shattered mirror. Even in the pitch of fall, purple wild flowers bloom along the path.

My stomach begins to ache, and I forgot to bring snacks. I didn't even eat breakfast because I knew Yuko wouldn’t be at the mess hall, so I don’t bother showing up. Somehow it doesn’t occur to me that I should eat because I might get hungry.

“We can’t stop to eat here,” says Viktor, hearing my hunger. “It’s all marsh land, and we’ll ruin our pants if we sit on anything. We can eat once we make it to the forest.”

I don’t tell him that I didn’t pack anything to eat, for I only brought my journal, a pen, two pairs of socks, and the dossier. I move one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in my stomach, but then a piece of rotted wood gives away under the weight of my step.

I wave my arms wildly, to help keep my balance. Two strong arms hook me from behind until I’m on proper footing again. I look behind me to see Viktor holding me up. His boots are in the marsh, but he doesn’t seem to mind that his feet are now soaked.

I give him a hand out of the water, his boots make a sucking sound when they dislodge from the mud. I stammer out an apology, but he doesn’t take it. He says it’s all right, and that’s what Moderators are supposed to do, promote the wellbeing of their participants.

I don’t remind him that he’s taking a day off from being the Moderator.

It isn’t long before the marshy land solidified into ground again. My steps on the wooden planks feel more certain and we are able to quickly walk the remaining distance to the forest. We find a nearby creek which feeds into the marsh and Viktor rinses out the mud and dirt pooled in his boot, then he peels off his wet socks and rinses them. Brown liquid seeps from the folds when he wrings them out.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asks me while he drapes his socks on a nearby branch.

“I forgot to pack food,” I say, looking away. I’m a 30-year-old man, and I can’t even remember to pack lunch. He must think I’m so irresponsible.

“Oh, we can share whatever I packed,” he says, like it’s not a big deal at all. He rinses his hands in the creek, walks to his pack barefoot, and takes out a sandwich filled thickly with meat and cheeses, a bag of almonds, and a fruit leather. The sandwich is already cut diagonally and he passes me the other half. 

I accept his food with a thank you squeaked from my lips and I give him a pair of socks from my pack.

“Wow, of all the things to pack, you pack socks,” he says, perplexed, but he takes the socks anyway.

“The water always bled through my sneakers, then it occurred to me I should wear boots,” I say. “They’re waterproof, but sometimes they make my feet sweat.” I regret telling him the last part about my sweaty feet, and he laughs in amusement, which brings a chuckle out of me.

We eat together near the mouth of the forest. He passes me his water bottle and tells me to drink up while I can. After taking a large gulp, I pass it back to him and he drinks the remaining liquid, then he fills it up with water from the creek and drops a tab of something into the bottle to make it safe for drinking.

Tall lengths of trees spire into the sky, and I remember my place in the world. Fall has already touched the crowns of the trees, allowing some sunshine to filter through the branches. I feel the light kiss my face, but it doesn’t carry any warmth.

We hike through the forest. The air feels fresher in the lungs of the earth. Viktor catches me watching him and smiles. I smile back.  

I see a thin line of smoke in the distance, and as we draw closer, I see that it flows from a tall chimney stack on top of a house. The house is one of many in the surrounding area, all built into the cliff of the mountain with materials like stone, wood, and many panes of glass.

After trekking the rest of the way up, Viktor knocks on the door of the house with the tall chimney. I hear shuffling inside, then in the lookout window, a man eyes us up and down before he opens the door.

“Who are you?” he says. He looks like the textbook definition of a lumberjack. Burly, beardy, and rough.

“Hi, my name is Yuuri, and this is Viktor. I’m looking for a woman, and she’s rumoured to be pregnant with the child of the ear doctor in town. Have you heard of her?”

The man slumps, and passes his hand over his face. “You’re looking for Briar,” he says. “Just give me a moment.” He disappears from view and puts down something heavy. The door slowly inches back while he pulls on his coat and boots, revealing a hunting rifle leaning against the wall. He tells us to follow him, and leads us on a path up the forest. We walk over tree roots as thick as stumps.

“Do you know Briar well?” I ask.

He grunts.

“Are you aware of the rumours about her?” I try again.

He nods his head.

As we venture deeper into the forest, the sun grows weaker and dimmer. Hanging lanterns spaced between cabins light the way.

We stop outside a cabin much like the man’s. He tosses out a sarcastic good luck, and walks back down the slope of the mountain. I see a shadow move around in the cabin. I knock on the door.

I try again, but they don’t answer.

“What should I do now?” I ask Viktor.

He walks around the back of the house, and I follow him. There is a scrappy pile of firewood stacked against the side of the house and an axe wedged in an old tree stump. The back of the cabin has a porch and a sliding door which looked into the living room. A woman reclines in an arm chair, watching TV with a bowl of popcorn in her lap.

Viktor walks toward to the window. I grab his arm to stop him from revealing our presence. He turns to me and pats my hand in reassurance before he knocks on the glass, causing the woman to spray popcorn all over the room. She gets up and whips the curtains closed.

“Briar, we would like to talk to you!” calls Viktor in a sing-song voice, knocking on the window again. “Briar?”

“Viktor, we should leave her alone,” I tug on his sleeve. “She clearly doesn’t want to talk to us.”

“But you finally found a lead. We should at least try harder,” he says to me. He checks his watch. “Plus, we need to wrap things up by 7 tonight, or else we will miss the last shuttle down the mountain. It’s already 3.”

We wait outside Briar’s cabin, occasionally knocking on her door, hoping to see someone pass by. There are plenty of birds flitting around, but no people. I branch out and try knocking on the doors of her neighbours, but the lights aren’t on and no one seems to be home… all except for one. I knock and hope for the best. 

Somewhere else in the forest, I hear Victor knock on someone’s door.

The door in front of me opens to reveal a tiny granny, barely tall enough to grasp at the door knob. She takes a step outside, looking in the direction of Viktor’s voice. “You boys are putting up quite a racket,” she says.

“Uhm, yes,” I say, “sorry.”

She smiles up at me. “And what can I do for you, young man?”

I laugh a little. I haven’t been called a young man in ages. “The local ear doctor is missing and I think your neighbour, Briar can help us find him, but she won’t talk to me. I really need to find the ear doctor because, um, I have a really bad ear infection. It hurts. A lot.” I cup my hand against my ear and wince, hoping to look convincing.

She chortles, “oh, Briar has been holed up in that cabin since the day the doctor skipped town. No one really knows if she’s actually pregnant. She was always one to tell tall tales. If there’s anyone who can get her out, it’s Scott.”

“Um, where’s Scott?” I ask.

“He lives at the very bottom of the cabins.”

“Does he look like a lumberjack? Tall, has a beard, looks like he could kill a bear with his barehands?”

“That’s the one!” she says.

“You see, my friend and I already met him earlier today. He didn’t really seem to want to help us, is there any other way to get Briar to talk to us--”

“Nonsense!” she yells. “He’s just being crummy. I thought I taught him better than that.” She puts a finger to her lips, deep in thought. “How about this, you and your friend help a frail old woman hack up the old fallen tree in the back and I’ll pull in some favours from Scott. He owes me at least ten. Do we have a deal?” She holds out her little hand to me. It looks as if it might snap off if the wind blew any harder. 

I doubt whether she can really strongarm a man like Scott into doing anything.

“Don’t doubt me, boy,” she says, and for a moment I feel compelled to obey.

I shake her hand. “Deal.”

I call Viktor over, and the granny shows us to the fallen tree and a communal shed full of carpentry tools. A row of axes hang on the wall, but before we touch anything, she asks to see our hands. She holds both of my hands in her small dry palms and inspects them like she would a fish at a market. Then she holds Viktor’s. “Such delicate and unmarred fingers. You’re both not from around here, are you? Not even from the beach town.” She tosses work gloves at us.

We get to work on the tree, hacking it rhythmically until pieces of it give away, whittling it into kindle. I quickly heat up and take off my coat, then my sweater, until I am in my undershirt, soaked with sweat. Two-thirds of the way through, I am out of breath and I sit down to rest while Viktor keeps going, like he isn’t affected by the labour. Each swing of his axe comes down confident and sure, splitting the wood in half.

The sun sets behind the horizon. I couldn’t see it, but I can feel the sudden chill in the air. I take off my gloves to inspect the sore blisters blooming on my palm. I check the time, and it looks like we have already missed the last tram. I take a sip of water from the pitcher the granny brought out to us.

“Do you work out?” I ask Viktor.

He swings, and snaps another block in half. “Yea, I do,” he smiles at me. 

I put on my gloves and pick up my axe again.

We finish the job some time later that night. The granny invites us in for dinner and we scarf it down with voracious appetite. She tells us she can set us up at Scott’s place because he is a bachelor, and she is a married woman despite the passing of her husband 8 years ago. She wears her wedding ring proudly on her finger.

We trek downwards to Scott’s cabin. I offer to help her down the tangle of roots, but she is surprisingly nimble and deft.

“You again,” he says to us through a crack in the door. “I can’t help you.”

The granny pushes us aside, “Yes, you will.”

His eyes widen, and he swings open the door, “Ah, oh, Mrs. Mathilda, good evening ma’am.”

“These boys chopped the wood that you promised to do last month, and now it’s almost winter. Do you expect me to freeze to death?”

“No, ma’am! Absolutely not!” he sputters.

She sneers, “I thought so. To make it up to me, I want you to put these boys up with you for the night. They were busy working and missed the tram down the mountain. Then in the morning, help them get Briar out of her cabin.”

“I can’t possibly get her out of the cabin,” he says. “No one can, and believe me. I’ve tried.”

“Balderdash, there’s no pity in my forest. I’ll help you root her out tomorrow morning. It’s for your sake and her sake. Now be good to them and show them how you were raised,” she says.

Scott lets us into his warm cabin and tells us he will be back after accompanying Mrs. Mathilda back to her home, then we are left alone.

The cabin is generous for a single person. The furniture is clearly well made by a craftsman. I recline into the sofa, taking the weight off my aching muscles. “I can’t wait to take a shower,” I grumble. “I feel disgusting.”

Viktor sets his pack down, and sits next to me. We enjoy the warm crackle of the fire together.

When Scott returns, he shows us around the cabin. He rolls out some spare blankets. One of us can sleep on the couch, and the other can sleep on the pile of blankets on the floor. I notice that there’s no bathroom in the house.

“It’s outside,” he says, pointing to the window, “there’s a hose you can use in the back. Cold showers build your immune system. You can’t really afford to get sick in the forest. There are some nasty bugs you can catch up here.”

I offer to go first. I look around the forest to make sure no one is out there while I am naked, and I angle myself away from the windows, so Scott and Viktor won’t see me. The hose has one temperature: freezing. I wash the blood from my blisters, then douse the water all over my body and hair, rubbing at my skin until my fingers numb. 

I pull on my sweater and pants and I wash my sweaty undershirt and socks in a dusty pail filled with water, all while my body shivers in the icy wind. I return to the cabin, my hair still dripping with freezing water. I rush to the fire, holding my hands as close to it as I can without being burned.

Viktor throws something soft at me. It is a towel, and I quickly wrap it around myself to keep warm.

“Th-th-thanks,” I force out through chattering teeth.

“Don’t thank me. Scott thought we can use the extra towel,” he says as he leaves for his turn with the hose.

I find my coat and I wrap it around me to fend off the chill. I sit in front of the fire, which may as well be there for decoration since I can’t seem to warm up. I tuck my toes under my bum, and press my fingers under my arms, but nothing seems to help. 

Viktor returns from outside completely dressed. Aside from the cold biting his cheeks and nose, he seems fine. He sits next to me by the fire. “Still cold?” he asks. He touches his palm to my forehead and it feels deliciously warm.

“Your hair is still wet,” he says. He wraps his towel around my head and dries my hair. I sit there like a rock, still shivering and hoping that one day, I can feel my toes again. He runs his fingers through my hair a couple times. He retrieves another dry towel, and sits closer before he is tangling the towel in my hair again. When he is done, he slicks my messy hair back, and sits there, staring at me for a moment, just the crack of the fire between us.

I can’t read the expression on his face, but it is one that I have never seen him wear before, and it makes me want him to do something to me. Push me, scratch me, slap me, touch me, kiss me. I’ll accept anything. Anything-- except what he is doing now, watching me with that sort of face and not doing anything about it. It makes me anxious and restless. 

I realize I stopped shivering when my cheeks burn up. I get up and stretch out on the makeshift mattress of blankets on the floor, anything to get away from that look.

He gets up and sits next to me on the blankets. His hand settles dangerously close to mine. I move over so he can sit more comfortably, because he sits too close to where I sit. I’m not sure what he wants from me. I observe him, leaning closer to me. He has that look in his eyes again. His hand reaches up to the side of my face, warm as I remembered it, and the tip of his thumb ghosts over the bottom bud of my lips.   

Scott slams open the front door, startling us apart. He vigorously towels his freshly hosed hair. “…goddamn freezing out there,” he mutters to himself, without sparing us a look, then shuts the door to his room.  

He emerges a moment later in pajamas with an armful of blankets and socks. “It gets pretty cold out here.” He tosses a pair of socks to me. “It’s a bit big, but better than nothing.”

I unroll them over my bare feet, and they’re comically large. Scott lets out a reluctant chuckle and shrugs.  

We fall into an easy chat, speculating how Mrs. Mathilda will coax Briar out of her cabin. Scott jokingly suggests that Mrs. Mathilda will flood the house with the hose or cut the electricity so she can’t watch television. 

I let out a yawn, and we call it a night. Viktor tucks himself into a blanket and wishes me goodnight. I turn off the lamp and fall asleep to the sound of the fire burning.

**

Viktor stands by the large windows looking out into the forest. His shadow is long and lean under the full moon, unblemished by clouds in the sky.

There is a chill in the room. The fire died out.

I walk up to him and place a hand on his shoulder. He turns to me and watches me with the same expression he wore this evening. In the blue moonlight, he looks ethereal, barely tethered to this world.

He smiles kindly, leaning close to me until I can feel the flutter of his eyelashes on my face. My instinct tells me to push him away, but I stand there. His warm breath opens me up and slips between my lips. I let him into me.

He quiets all my doubts about him. He plants gentle reminders down my neck, touching me tender and hard until my skin bloomed with the memory of him. I can only hear moaning. I try to keep my voice down to not wake Scott sleeping in the other room.

He licks into my mouth, and I give him what he wants. I give him a reason to stay grounded, to stay here, with me. But when I reach into myself, I can’t find anything. No memories, aside from a name and a face. How am I supposed to ground him when I am nothing?

I break away from him.

“Who am I?” I ask.

He looks so sad, but he cups my face in his hands, and kisses me again. I hate that he’s placating me, distracting me, stalling for time until I wake. And he lets me go, as if burned by my thoughts.

“I’m not supposed to be here, am I?” I ask him. The moon looks wrong, painting Viktor like a stranger in the stark light. 

He tries to kiss me again, but my instinct does not let me down twice.

**

The hose is better in the morning under the clouded sun. The cold water helps loosen the knots in my back from sleeping on the floor, and mellows the burning I feel on my skin. The blankets helped, but not by much. Viktor applies ointment on my open blisters, and wraps them in gauze. I tell him to not bandage them too tightly or else they won’t heal properly. I don’t know why I tell him that, but he wraps my hand perfectly.

“You’re very warm,” he says to me. “Are you sick?” He puts his hand to my forehead, and it stays there for a moment. “I should’ve given you this ointment yesterday,” he sighs. “And bacteria from the hose water could’ve entered through your wound or mucous membranes…”

I tell him that it’s okay, that I feel fine, but I know that the soreness is not from sleeping on the lumpy mattress. I feel weak and tired. I could easily sleep for another day. He makes me take a painkiller from his first-aid kit to keep the fever down.

Scott cooks us a modest breakfast of baked beans and eggs over porridge. I try to receive his hospitality, but my appetite deserts me. Viktor encourages me to eat as much as I can. I manage to finish half of it. Then we leave to collect Mrs. Mathilda before we approach Briar’s house.

“Briar, it’s me,” says Scott. “Open up. Please.”

We wait outside her porch, but we hear nothing. In the window, I see my reflection. I don’t see any marks on my neck from yesterday night, and I feel my face burning up at the memory.

Mrs. Mathilda, takes a key from her pocket, and turns it in the keyhole. She opens the door and lets us all inside. I wish she told us she had a key all along. 

“Briar, sweetie,” she says. “It’s time to leave your wallowing. Your doctor has vanished and these boys would like to find him because one of them has an ear infection.”

Viktor glances at me, and I smile sheepishly.

We find her in her room, curled under her blanket. Scott pulls them off, but she doesn’t give them up without a fight.

“He’s not my doctor!” she spits out. “Not anymore.” Her hands come up to cover her face, and she weeps into them.

Mrs. Mathilda, sits on the edge of the bed and lets Briar cry on her tiny shoulder, she smooths out the fuzzy bird’s nest that is her hair. Briar’s body is slightly plump and wrapped in a billowy dressing gown, hiding any indications of a pregnancy.

Scott takes us downstairs to give them some privacy.

We sit in the living room. There are still pieces of popcorn left scattered around, and Scott picks them off the floor. Feeling partially responsible, Viktor and I help him clean up the mess.

“Briar and I, we used to date,” says Scott. “She always had big dreams to leave this town, but I wanted to stay. Mrs. Mathilda doesn’t look it to you folks, but she’s changed after her husband died, lonelier, sadder. She knows she doesn’t have many years left, and I want to be there for her when she leaves.”

“Why is Briar still in the mountains when she works in town at the clinic?” I ask.

“Well, she came back. She did leave for the town a year ago, even found job and everything. Moved down there too, since the tram only goes down, and not up. She can’t be trekking up the mountain every evening after work. She worked at the front desk at the new hearing clinic.” He strokes his beard, “I couldn’t stop her from leaving. Can’t blame her either for wanting something bigger than this crummy old town.” 

“So what do you know about the hearing clinic?” I ask.

“Oh, the town was in a buzz when we heard we were getting a new clinic, because there are a lot of old people here. All the younger folks moved out to bigger, better cities,” he says. “The doctor, he’s from Japan or something. Apparently, he was quite the looker too, and uhm, since Briar worked with him and she was single, um.” He wrings his hands together. “But I don’t know who did what, or who started it, but then there’s a rumour that he got her pregnant and skipped town.”

“Is she actually pregnant?” I ask.

“I don’t know, I don’t really care,” he looks at me, crestfallen. “I just want to see her happy again. As you can see, she moved back after the rumours broke, and shut herself in her cabin, tight as a clam. I don’t even know how to help her.” He hangs his head low, the bulk of him shrivels down, and he is no longer the intimidating giant with the shotgun.

Mrs. Mathilda pokes her head from the top of the staircase. “She has calmed down,” she says. “Scott dear, bring us some tea.”

Scott stays behind, and we go up to the bedroom. The curtains are now pulled back and so is her hair, fastened together into a low pony tail. Her eyes are still red, but all her rage has left her.

“Go on,” prompts Mrs. Mathilda.

Briar clears her throat, “what do you need to know?” Her voice comes out like sandpaper. Scott comes up the stairs with a tray. He blows on the surface of the tea before he hands it to Briar. She accepts it with a small smile.

“Um, what happened to Kikuyu? After the rumours, he’s now missing and I need to find him,” I say.

She takes a sip of the tea, and clears her throat again. “Um, well,” she hesitates and looks up at me. “I don’t know where he went,” she admits.

I try not to let it show on my face, but I feel unbelievably defeated at her admission. I pinned all my hopes on her to give me a starting point.

Scott offers a cup to Mrs. Mathilda, but she declines. Viktor accepts a cup and blows on the liquid a few times, then hands it to me. I take a sip, but the tea makes me uncomfortably hot.

“But, I can tell you what happened before he left,” she says. “The rumours, they’re not true.”

Scott looks relieved.

“But Scott, you might not want to be here to listen.”

“It’s okay, I can take it.”

She takes another sip and begins her story. “After I moved into town, it was pure luck that I was hired for the secretary job. Dr. Kikuyu needed to fill the role quick and I was the first person to apply. I had no experience with databases and what not, but he was so patient and taught me how to do my job. I saw my bank account balance grow, and I thought, soon, I’ll be out of this cramped little town.”

“I made friends with the local ladies, and they all raved about how handsome and rich he was. They told me he would be my ticket out of here. Even though I really want to leave this town, I never saw him as my ticket. He was so sweet, and I liked him for being him. But he did tell me that he planned to stay here for 3 years, max, then planned to move to the states or go back to Japan. And I thought, in an ideal world, he would take me with him.”

“Soon, I found myself falling in love. I tried to get him to open up to me. I asked him about his past, and why he moved to a sleepy little beach town, but he wouldn’t give me anything. Everything I learned about him is hanging on the walls of his office. He went to medical school in the states and worked at a hospital in Tokyo. He doesn’t have any pictures of his family anywhere.”

“But even if I don’t know anything about him, how could I not love him? He was soft-hearted, smart, and the mystery only added to his allure. He bought me lunch sometimes from the deli next door, but he wouldn’t cross the professional line. So, one day, I thought I should make a move,” she looks at Scott, then looks down into her teacup. “After he closed up the clinic for the night, I asked him out for dinner. He just laughed nervously and politely declined, and that was that.”

“I rushed home that night. I felt crushed. It would be a dream to leave this town behind with him, off to a new city… The days after, I spun into a habit of eating when I get sad, so I ballooned up and shut myself at home. I called in sick to the clinic, but I knew he would be okay. He doesn’t get a lot of clients. I would bump into the local ladies at the grocery store, and they noticed I was gaining weight and they thought I was putting on weight for his baby. I didn’t want to face them and tell them that I actually got rejected, and now the town’s inflamed with rumours! And Kikuyu is gone, and I don’t know what to do!” 

Mrs. Mathilda strokes her back while she cries. “It’s alright dear. The rumours will pass.”

“After the rumour got out, his clinic was bombarded with people trying to figure out if he actually got you pregnant,” says Scott. “He’s a smart man, I’m sure he’s hidden himself in a bunker somewhere.”

Briar stops crying for a moment, “well people tell me they see him hanging out at the bridge, but that’s hardly a hiding place.” Briar looks up to us. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help. I’ll let you know if I remember anything useful. Even though he rejected me, I still care for him as a person and I want him back just as much as you do.”

I give her the address of the dormitories and we leave her to recover. Scott escorts us to the tram station, where we wait for the next carriage. The station is empty except for us and the station master, who is busy watching a soap opera on his phone.

I sit on the only bench, exhausted by the walk from Briar’s cabin to the station.

“We should be back at the compound a little after lunch,” says Viktor. “How are you feeling?”

I don’t answer him. I feel feverish and Viktor touches my forehead again. His hand feels pleasantly cool on my skin. I hold my hand over his to keep it there, but he slips from my fingers to open his pack to find the bottle of painkillers. I take the medication and chase it with water.

He unravels my bandaged hand and grimaces. He tells me not to look down while he wraps it in fresh gauze. I close my eyes, too tired to keep them open. I hear Viktor ask the station master if he can make an exception and run the tram early since we are the only ones in the station and the carriage will be back before the next scheduled departure. I don’t hear the station master’s reply, but Viktor says something else. His tone is more urgent this time. Viktor comes back and tells me that I should sleep while we wait. He offers me his shoulder and I nod out like a light.

**

When I wake up, I am in a small white bed and my hand is in a new bandage. I don’t feel the lick of the fever, but I am hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor, which is overkill for an infection.

There is another patient in the room and he doesn’t wave back when I greet him.

“I’m at a hospital, right?” I ask him.

“No, you’re on Mars,” he says, then pulls his privacy curtain closed.

I ring for a nurse, who shows up shortly. I don’t say anything and let him fill me in.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” he says. “I’ll get the doctor and the Moderator.”

I look up at the clock on the wall. It is some time after five in the afternoon. I feel bad for making Viktor wait for me all day. I check the monitor attached to me. My heart rate and blood pressure seem fine. My temperature is normal. I grab the clipboard hanging at the front of my bed and flip through my medical chart. I was admitted to the hospital at one in the afternoon by Viktor. After admission, they disinfected my hand and gave me a shot of antibiotics and a stronger analgesic for my fever. I am prescribed a medication I don’t recognize, but I suspect it to be a series of antibiotics mixed with something else.

I place the clipboard back on the hook and sit on the bed.

The nurse walks in with a doctor and someone who is not Viktor.

“Hi Yuuri, I’m Dr. Akila,” she says. She picks up my chart and goes through it while the nurse takes my vitals. “You came in with a nasty infection, and we’ve taken care of that for you. I’ve prescribed a set of medication which you should take twice a day. Since you’ve come from the mountains, we’ll keep you here for a few days to make sure nothing else manifests.”

“A few days?” I ask. “It’s just an infection. I should be an outpatient.”

“You’re right. In any other part of the world, we would send you home to recover, but there have been several cases of people coming from the mountains with something serious. They come to our little hospital and get a shot of antibiotics. We send them on their way, and they develop sepsis and die,” she says without batting an eyelash. “Not much is known about infections endemic to this part of the world, but Mr. Katsuki, I strongly recommend you stay with us, just to be safe.”

The nurse reports the vitals to Dr. Akila, and then writes it down on my chart. They both leave.

“You’re not Viktor,” I say to the tall man lingering in my room.

“I’m glad to know the infection didn’t affect your vision,” he says to me in a voice that is not completely unfriendly. “I’m Moderator Chris,” he says. “Viktor has other duties to manage, so I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”

Another Moderator… 

Chris seems to sense my confusion, and speaks before I do. “And yes, Viktor has a job outside of you… God, he does not stop talking about you,” he groans, half laughing.

“Wait, what?” I ask, the last part of his comment eaten up by a loud trolley rolling down the hall.

“Nothing,” Chris says with a smile. “It looks like you had a question?”

“Since you’re a Moderator, do you have your own participants?”

“Well, I am a Moderator, but I’m in training, so...” He looks as if he were about to say something else, but he stops. “That’s all I can say for now, but you’re lucky you have Viktor. He’s an excellent Moderator, one of the best.”

He leaves me alone for the evening.

There is not much to entertain me while I wait in my room, so I go exploring. I drag my heart rate monitor and IV drip down the hall. The hospital is very small. It must contain anywhere from 10 to 20 doctors and a staff of 100 or so. I walk to the front desk and ask for access to my personal belongings. The receptionist gives me my journal and pen, which I take back to my room.

When I return, the other patient has two guests in the room. They talk quietly as I flip through the pages of my dark blue journal, rereading passages from the time I spent on the ship. They are as boring as I remember them to be. I write down my progress on the missing Aurist Kikuyu and about my climb up the mountain. I wonder if I should also record the strange fever dream I had about Viktor, but I forgo it, and write about what Briar told me about Kikuyu. I revise my impression of him, and regret that I had thought so poorly of Kikuyu from the beginning when it was just a rumour spread by idle minds.

The nurse comes in and notifies the guests that visitation hours are now over and they must leave, then he escorts them down the hallway.

I continue writing about my adventures with Yuko and the story of her missing person, Clementine. When I finish, my hand is aching, and smudged with ink. I call the nurse to unhook me from the monitors so I can shower. He puts a plastic cover over my hand and tells me to keep it dry, then he asks if I need his help to shower, which I decline.

I shuffle to the bathroom and enjoy a nice warm shower, appreciating the creature comfort more than ever since my unpleasant encounter with the icy water from the hose.

I examine myself in the mirror and take a close look at my neck. It is perfectly free of any marks Viktor might have left on me.

I shuffle back to my room. The night lights are on, now that the sun had set for several hours.

What I didn’t expect is Viktor sitting in a chair at the foot of my bed, flipping through my medical chart. He looks up at me and smiles. “These charts always read like gibberish to me.” He puts the clipboard back. “How’s the hand?”

I remove the plastic covering and discard it in a bin, “it feels fine.”

“Good.”

He ushers me to the bed and tucks me in. He touches his hand to my forehead, “you’re not burning up anymore.”

“The doctors gave me antibiotics to control the infection so my body doesn’t need to turn into an inferno to fight them off,” I say. “I’m fine now.”

He sits at the edge of my bed. His hand creeps closer to mine, then stops. “Sorry, I had to leave. I had to get back to my other duties,” he says with a frown. “I had someone else make sure you were alright.”

“Chris, right?”

He nods.

“How exactly does he train to become a Moderator?” I ask him. “And what exactly do you moderate?”

He laughs, “that’s a story for another day. And you don’t need to worry about it. Just focus on solving your mystery. I’m sure you have your work cut out for you.”

He brushes strands of hair from my face with his fingers, then tells me he will visit tomorrow.

I didn’t see the nurse hovering outside the door until Viktor greets him in passing. The nurse comes in and latches me back onto the machines and administers my medication and changes my gauze. I ask him to unhook me from the IV machine since I prefer to eat food instead of absorbing it from the drip. He doesn’t, but offers to bring it up with the doctor tomorrow.

**

“Did you know Dr. Kikuyu?” I ask Dr. Akila. She is scribbling notes into my medical chart.

“You assume that all doctors know each other,” she says to me. “But yes, I did know Dr. Kikuyu before he disappeared.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Well, what do you want to know?” she places the clipboard back on the hook and sits in the chair at the foot of my bed. She tells the nurse to go to the next patient without her.

“Do you know where he went?”

“Nope.”

“What about where he was from,” I try.

“Okay, I know this one,” she says excitedly. “But it’s a bit of a sad tale, so don’t spread it around. Two years ago, there were rumours among the medical professional community that a big shot was coming to town. Then Kikuyu showed up and we were all confused. Not to talk poorly of the field otology, it’s a very niche field. It’s not exactly the hottest specialization.”

I nod in agreement.

“We heard that he came from a big shot hospital in Japan. One of the doctors had a friend doing her residency there, and he called her up and asked about Kikuyu—”

“Can you give me the contact of the doctor with the friend in Japan? Or even better the phone number of the friend in Japan?”

“Uh sure, but I’ll need to look it up,” she says, then continues the story. “So, turns out that Kikuyu used to be one of the top trauma surgeons in Japan! She told us that there was an incident, and he had to treat his brother. The operation was successful, but his brother died a few days later in the Intensive Care Unit. He sought a different specialty and then he arrived here in town and opened up an otology clinic. Sad huh?” she asks.

I nod again.

“He doesn’t really talk to the other doctors in the community. He just stays holed up by himself. Too bad there are so many rumours about him and his secretary.”

“I talked to the secretary yesterday—that was why I was in the mountains. She isn’t knocked up and it is just a rumour.”

Dr. Akila taps a finger on the side of her cheek. “Well, why did he skip town then?”

“Maybe to wait until the rumours die down?”

“Well, that’s none of my business,” she says.

I ask her to remove my IV, which she does and switches me to a meal plan. She watches me take my medication before leaving.

I stay in bed, and record what I learn into my journal, then I run out of things to write about. I look at the binding at the spine of the journal. A third of it was torn out by the previous owner, making it lumpy when I write on the left side of the page.

The nurse lets Viktor into the room like a fresh breath of air. I tell him that I feel fine today and that my blisters are almost healed. I tell him about my luck when I discovered that my doctor knew of Kikuyu, and that I feel like I’m making progress on my missing person. We talk a bit more about the overcast weather and the perpetually angry ocean, and then I ask about Yuko.

“She’s doing well,” says Viktor. “She’s a bit further ahead compared to everyone else, but it doesn’t matter what pace you go at, as long as you finish.”

“Is she lonely without me?” I ask.

He laughs, “I’m sure she misses you, though she now walks with Alex.”

I pause. Alex is Viktor’s walking partner. “Then who do you walk with?” I ask.

“I can walk alone. I’m a big boy.” He smiles.

After Viktor leaves, I get bored, and find myself barely able to stay awake. I didn’t notice this earlier, but I suspect my medication contains an antihistamine, making me drowsy. But this makes sense, my hand was inflamed. I roll over and take a quick afternoon nap.

When I wake, a slip of paper sits at the end of my bed. There is also a covered tray of food, waiting to be consumed. I examine the note. It has a name and phone number scrawled on it. It’s already night time, and I wonder what time it is in Japan.

The receptionist tells me it’s late morning in Japan. She offers the hospital phone line for me to use. I wait for them to pick up, but the phone just rings.

I return to my room and eat my dinner. The nurse comes in to feed me medication. I take it and fall asleep.

In the morning, I try again after Viktor visits me. The receptionist tells me it’s the middle of the night in Japan, but I try anyway. The phone rings, then someone picks up. It’s been a while since I’ve had to speak Japanese, but I try my best.

“Hello?” she asks.

I can hear the sound of telephones ringing and monitors beeping. She must be at the hospital.

“Hi, my name is Yuuri Katsuki. I’m investigating Dr. Kikuyu’s recent disappearance. I’m currently collecting information about him in hopes of figuring out where he is now. I was told you have some information you might be able to share with me?”

The line goes silent for a moment, and I wasn’t sure if she hung up on me.

She replies in a low voice, “the last I spoke to him was over two years ago, and even then, I didn’t know him well.”

“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “I actually want to ask about a specific incident. I think it may help me shed some light on understanding him, and how he disappeared.”

“Okay,” she says, still not reassured.

“I was told that Kikuyu used to be a trauma surgeon, then switched to otology. What made him switch?”

She sucks in her breath between her teeth. I hear a door close, and the room is quieter.

“Mm, that was a while ago from when I was an intern. From what I remember, Dr. Kikuyu received a patient from a different hospital. The patient was airlifted to Tokyo because the town he came from didn’t have the equipment and expertise to treat those kinds of burns. The more senior surgeon offered to treat his brother, but he refused and insisted on doing the surgery himself, which was successful. He tended to his brother everyday at the ICU. We all knew he wouldn’t recover, and we weren’t surprised when he died after the third day.”

“But after that, he was a shell of a man, and it really hurt us. He was the go-to guy that we all relied on, our safety net when we don’t know a procedure because we were too intimidated to ask Dr. Okinawa,” she says, laughing. “Me and the other residents used to play a game. Whoever can catch Dr. Kikuyu in regular day clothes will win a jackpot. Every week we added more money to the pot, but we ended up donating it because Dr. Kikuyu was always in scrubs. It was like he lived at the hospital.”

“He went on a leave of absence to arrange for his family’s funeral in his home town, and to settle any business. We later learned that the rest of his family perished in the fire. When he came back, he withdrew from trauma surgery, even though that was where his talents lay. He was one of the best. Everyone was surprised when he picked otology, something about ‘the worst that can happen is going deaf.’”

“Being the genius that he is, he gained his accreditation in the field of otology in half a year, then he moved to a random town by the ocean. He said it would remind him of his family. Poor guy, he was already living alone in Tokyo when he lost his family. It must have been devastating to lose everyone he loved in a single fire.” She sighs. “No one has heard from him after that, but I guess he’s missing now? ”

“Yes, he is missing. I was hoping I can ask a family member or a close friend if they knew where he went,” I say.

“I don’t think he was particularly close to his family. It’s hard to right? Unless you’re super senior, you’re always on-call, and it’s hard to fit a life in when all you have are odd hours here and there. For crying out loud, I’m taking your call at three in the morning, because that’s when I’m free to talk. I’m surprised you even dared to call me at this time. You’re probably a doctor as well, aren’t you?”

I try to recall, but my head hurts. “No, I’m not a doctor. I’m just calling from somewhere else. That’s all.”

I thank her, then I hang up the phone. The nurse at the front desk looks at me, “is everything okay?”

I vaguely nod my head. “Yes, everything is fine.”

There’s a cold feeling in my chest. The story is tragic and unsettling, but I can’t precisely place my finger on it. I crawl back into bed, my roommate already snoring away, and I fall asleep.