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Middle of the road. A little bit after eight. Twelve wondered where Nine was, how he was doing, if Five had gotten to him. She probably had. He used to pride himself on his usefulness to Nine, but this time, he didn’t think his help made any difference.
His cowardly way of helping.
Twelve had always liked being around Nine because he was transparent. Other people spoke in watercolors. Lisa’s voice was beautiful, but Lisa was only one person and more often than not, he became sick of all the colors trying to win him over.
Nine was different. Nine was sure of his place in Twelve’s life. He didn’t need to wage war against everybody else; he only needed to speak in that tranquil voice of his, and he would’ve already won.
“Twelve,” he would say. Please don’t go. You should’ve sacrificed your Queen. “We were weak, but we’re not like that anymore.”
Or, “Twelve, don’t let me be weak again.”
Soon, there would be sirens. Soon, Twelve would be engulfed in red lights. If anything, he hoped that Nine would be alive after tonight, would be safe. Even if he was to be captured, it was fine, as long as Nine was fine.
He would never betray Nine again, he was sure. Once was more than enough. Once should never have happened, but it wasn’t like he had any way of stopping Lisa from happening.
Lisa. He wanted to see her again. The way she saw the world was beautiful. Pastel crayons colored her buildings, her people.
He didn’t know that he was vivid photography, the only one, in her world. He would never know. That was okay. That would help him stay with Nine, never betray him again.
He wondered what Nine would do if the next breaking news he saw was of Twelve’s face, broadcasted to the whole of Japan, and beneath it, the line, “Sphinx 2, arrested.” He wondered if Nine would come to his aid, or if that was a distant fantasy he had given up the moment he picked up his pastel palette.
*
Nine dragged himself away from the explosion, slowly but surely. He thought of the kiss Five had given him before she killed herself, light exuding from within her like what happened in all his nightmares.
They were predictions, he had come to realize. Not nightmares.
He was walking with a limp he hoped would’ve disappeared by the time he re-entered civilization. Whatever, it wasn’t like there was much time left for people to make a big deal out of Sphinx walking in the streets.
Half, he corrected himself. Half of Sphinx.
He had felt it. For a brief moment, when Five had come after his van, he felt a tug. If his chest was made of strings, what he felt just now would’ve been the vibrations of the string right where his heart should be, in the resonance of Twelve.
Nine wasn’t sure, but he was definitely, a hundred percent, hoping that it was Twelve he had felt.
He hoped Twelve was fine. Yes, Twelve, the friend, brother, boy who betrayed him.
He stopped, giving himself some time to collect his breath. The city wasn’t too far away, and if he was to limp, he at least wanted to maintain a bit of his dignity and invisibility by not looking as unruly and maddened as possible.
Above, the moon tried to soothe him with her glow.
Nine thought again of the kiss; of Five’s last look at him, tender eyes, tender smile; of how Twelve used to grab onto his shoulders out of nowhere and jump around, as if demanding a piggyback; of how he would save Twelve if anything happened, even if he had only imagined the tug just now. He wondered if there was a name for these things.
Not that anyone could be saved now, by him or otherwise. The bomb was set to go off in two hours.
Nine took a deep breath and was off the bridge.
*
Lisa worried, as was her job.
She kept her hands close to her chest, clutching them together as if in prayer, rubbing them like she was trying to wipe off blood that only she could see.
She knew Twelve would get to Nine in time. They were winners, they never failed. But she didn’t know if everything happening after that would go alright.
She stood, a pillar to her back in some dimly-lit station, and worried.
*
Shibazaki and his gang were on the move. There was an explosion in the bridge by the river five minutes ago, the governors, journalists, police officers in the room of the conference had yelled.
That’s very helpful, he had said. As if there was only one bridge by a river.
He was shot a look, and then read the directions to said bridge by Hamura.
Shibazaki thought about it. If the explosion happened five minutes ago, by the time he reached the bridge, Sphinx would already have had ample time to escape. Where would he escape to?
He switched the gear to D and started driving.
*
Nine scanned the area, alert for any suspicious people. There were none he could find, but still, his shoulders wouldn’t rest, his neck was still tense, and his head felt like bursting into slimy brain crumbs.
He trudged on.
Where could he go? Safe house? Which one?
He turned the corner, into a busier street, and continued walking.
Faster.
There was a car that seemed to be tailing him.
Faster.
A window of the car was rolling down, and there was a hand, shooting out of a familiar, white, rolled up sleeve.
It was the detective.
The car pulled up beside Nine just as he stopped walking.
“Get in the car,” Shibazaki commanded, voice rich with inborn authority.
Nine needed no second telling.
*
“You’re not going to turn me in, are you?” Nine asked from the chair he had allowed himself to be tied to.
“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to, boy?”
Nine shut his mouth.
Shibazaki dragged a chair in front of Nine and sat down.
“Go on, then,” he said. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“I said,” Shibazaki murmured in that lazy drawl of his. “Don’t ask questions to which you already know the answer.”
So Nine did. He told him everything and stopped the atomic bomb remotely.
This was, after all, the whole point of the bombings.
*
Twelve woke up in a… dark room. That smelled of antiseptic. A hospital? A prison hospital?
Probably the latter, if he considered his situation.
Sure enough, an officer accompanied by a nurse came in a few seconds after his eyes opened.
“You are Sphinx number 2,” the officer stated. “Correct?”
Twelve didn’t answer.
*
A few days later, on one of the rare days Nine went out, hat covering most of his face, he saw Twelve’s face on every billboard and every television in Tokyo.
He ran back home -- to the little shack that belonged to the detective or one of his men; the one that Nine had started referring to as home -- and begged Shibazaki with all the breath he has left to lend him a laptop.
“What for?” Shibazaki asked, casually lighting a smoke.
“Twe-,” he stopped himself. “Sphinx number 2. He’s captured.”
He could tell from the glint in the detective’s eye and the laptop he’s prepared on the desk that he had already known.
*
“Do you need me to do anything?”
Middle of the night. An adult in his early thirties, shaggy hair and overgrown beard, offering his expertise to a boy hacking away in front of a new laptop.
“No.”
Shibazaki snuffed out his cigarette. He nodded, even though Nine couldn’t see. Well, he figured the boy would intuitively know, anyway.
“I’ll be in the other room.”
*
“When I said ‘help’,” Shibazaki said, a wry little thing resembling a smile hiding away in the corner of his lips, “I didn’t mean ‘break your friend out of jail’.”
Nine was scowling. “It’s the only help I need from you.”
“Oh?” Eyebrows raised. “You sure about that?”
His scowl deepened. So he was providing Nine with refuge. Who cares?
Shibazaki sighed. “Tell you what. I can get you in, close to your friend. But after that, it’s up to you.”
Nine was nodding before the detective had even finished his sentence.
His words offered more hope than Nine was used to.
*
When I agreed to your help, Nine thought, furious, I didn’t mean for you to throw me in jail with Twelve.
He shot the detective a murderous look, and though the older man didn’t respond, Nine could almost see the nonchalant shrug of his shoulder.
Fine, he thought. Fine. I could make do.
*
Twelve was dying when they finally met.
Apparently, the last time he got into the hospital bed was also the last time he got into a bed -- he’s never gotten out since.
Nine curled his fists, insides boiling and seething. He knew this was going to happen. To Five, to Twelve, to him, to all of them. It was only a matter of time.
Knowing made nothing easier.
Nine took a step forward, but was immediately barred by the muscled arm of his guard. He wanted to rip that hand out of the guy’s shoulder, but he needed to calm himself. Calm himself, or he might miss his chance to see Twelve.
Twelve turned to face him, his head weakly moving against the pillow. He was wearing an oxygen mask, but Nine could make out a faint smile behind the obstructing object.
He wondered if there was a name for these things.
Nine wanted to speak, say something to Twelve, for Twelve, but he didn’t know what.
After a while, the guard hustled him out of the room, and he left without saying anything. No last words, nothing.
Twelve was still smiling. And maybe crying, though just a bit.
He had understood Nine, all of what he was trying to say, their silent conversation of eyes and regret.
Twelve died the next day. It was almost as if he had been saving his life up for Nine.
*
Lisa visited him, weeks later. God knew how the girl managed to even get herself considered on his list of visitors, though he had a strong inkling this was another one of Shibazaki’s rotten judgment of a good idea.
“Twelve’s dead,” was the first thing Nine said after he sat down. He spat it out at her, bitterly, as if his health was somehow her fault.
She cringed. Visibly. Jesus, he hoped the girl wouldn’t start crying. He didn’t need to be known as the terrorist who stopped bombs for no apparent reason and made girls cry.
She started crying.
“Did he-?” she asked, in between sobs. “Did he- save you? Th- that night?”
There could only be one night she was referring to. He was right then. That night, it was Twelve’s frequency resonating with his.
Nine nodded, imperceptibly.
Lisa continued crying until Nine, desperate to stop the noise, blurted out, “He told me. Something.” A pause. “He told me he wants you to stay happy.”
Nine froze, unsure why he said what he just said. He had only meant to distract her.
Lisa looked up from where she had buried her face in her hands. “Really?” she choked.
“No.” He told me nothing. “But,” he was reluctant to go on, “I can tell.” He paused. “From his eyes. When I saw him last.”
All he thought of was you.
Lisa was still sobbing, though her whimpers had subsided, which was a minor accomplishment on Nine’s part.
“You know him really well, don’t you, Kokonoe-kun?” she said after minutes ticked by.
Nine didn’t respond.
“I trust you,” Lisa said. “I’m sorry.”
She got up, and in the face of Nine’s steely gaze, she bowed.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
Nine didn’t tell her she was forgiven, or that it was okay. He didn’t think she was expecting it, either.
“Stay happy,” he said, just as she was about to exit the room. “Lisa.”
She nodded, and Nine could tell from the way her shoulders shook that she was crying again.
Then, she was gone.
*
He died himself, two months and thirteen days later. Nobody mourned for him. Everyone who might’ve done so had already went before him.
Nine supposed that was good. He had saved them all some pain.
Lisa clutched her bag a bit tighter and walked away a bit faster when the news reached her. She was back to running away from the ghosts of her past.
But, sometimes, when the night was right, when the darkness was bright enough, she would fancy that she was riding on the back of a sleek, black bike, hands around the waist of the only boy she’s ever loved, wind slurring past her, lights blurring into the ends of the universe.
And then, she wouldn’t feel like she was breaking what she had promised Nine, for Twelve.
Shibazaki lit a cigarette when he heard.
“Want one?” he offered Hamura, dangling the half empty pack of smokes in front of the other man. Hamura declined.
“What do we do now?” he asked instead.
Shibazaki took a long drag and blew it out in puffs, watched as circle upon circle of grey marred the sky. “Well, there’s only one thing left for us to do,” he said.
Grey smoke dispersed into the air.