Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [83]
The area inside the tarps was lit by a large flashlight. The bright light made the shadows of everyone inside long and dark, more real than the people who cast them.
There were three others besides Wataru inside the building. The one holding the flashlight was Joto Elementary’s very own Kenji Ishioka, scourge of the sixth grade. It took a nanosecond for Wataru to identify the other two kids. They were Kenji’s ever-present goons.
Wataru shook his head and forced his eyes to focus. That’s when he realized that a fourth person was also present. This unlucky soul was on the ground with his face pressed into the dirt. One of Kenji’s boys was on his back, grinding a knee into his spine.
Most of his face was obscured by a sticky patch of duct tape, but it was still clear who it was.
“Ah!” Wataru yelped, the effort sending a stab of pain through his side. He clutched at his belly with both hands.
Pressed to the ground, his mouth wrapped in tape, and one of the Ishioka gang pressing him into the dirt, was Mitsuru. His eyes were opened wide as he looked back at Wataru. He was asking something. He wanted something.
“Wh-what do you think you’re doing?!” Wataru said. He meant for it to be a shout, but he was afraid it would hurt his side too much, so the words came out in little more than a hoarse whisper.
Kenji and his pals laughed until they were practically rolling on the ground. It was harsh, evil laughter. They’ll hear you outside. What about the nice priest at Mihashi Shrine, where is he?
“You’re a funny guy, you know that?” one of them said.
“What are you doing?” Kenji parroted with a sneer.
Wataru found himself unable to stand, so he got up on his knees. Slowly, he was able to move forward on his knee toward the spot where Mitsuru was lying. One of Kenji’s crew took a step in Wataru’s direction, and kicked him swiftly on the side of the head, sending him sprawling on the ground with a loud thud.
Why aren’t any grown-ups coming to help? Can’t they hear all the noise they’re making in here?
“Bull’s-eye!”
“A perfect headshot, that one.”
“Let me take a swing. Gotta practice!”
Wataru tried to sit up and lurch aside to avoid the next blow, but his head rattled and his eyes spun. He took the knee square in the back.
Collapsing on the ground, he came face-to-face with Mitsuru. Their eyes locked.
Wataru clung to the edge of consciousness. He felt no pain. He felt nothing but a low burning sensation, like a bad fever. His vision narrowed, and he couldn’t tell up from down. All he could see were Mitsuru’s big black eyes staring into his own. Somehow, that powerful gaze gave Wataru an anchor, something to cling to, a life rope thrown to a tiny craft on the choppy seas of awareness.
He’s trying to tell me something —his mouth is moving beneath the tape.
—Take it off.
You want me to take off the tape?
—Take it off, quick!
Kenji chortled triumphantly and slammed a foot down on Wataru’s backside, causing him to bounce. He moved his right hand a little bit.
—That’s right, use your hand, take it off.
But I’m losing it. I can’t—I can’t breathe.
Unbelievably, Wataru saw his right hand move of its own accord, inching toward the tape covering Mitsuru’s mouth.
A shadow flew over his head, and Kenji’s bodyslam scored a direct hit. Wataru was pressed to the ground, and he was afraid his ribs would snap.
“Crunch!” came Kenji’s literal battle cry.
Who knew why they brought Mitsuru here in the first place, or what they wanted from him? It was clear they had forgotten that themselves, but now that they had started playing there was no stopping them. The brakes are off. They might even kill us.
Wataru’s right hand moved again, grabbing the edge of the tape.
I bet it’ll smart if I just rip it off.
He thought for an instant, but his hand moved from right to left without hesitation, ripping off a piece of tape. He took off one layer, then another.
“Hey, what’re you doing?!” said one of Kenji’s friends when he saw Wataru’s hand move. But before he could do anything,