Chapter 12: The Echo That Lied

The golden alley vanished. Here was this narrow glass alley with shades. There was nothing on either side of Haruto and Hina that was behaving as memories any longer it sounded false.

The sky over it was hovering, as in an odd dream, over a ceiling-light that had broken through. Not shattered, just… wrong.

Haruto felt movement even when he was not looking.

This was not a recalled memory; it was something imitated like a memory.

He turned to Hina.

Her features were swollen and closed.

Since they had been at the playground she had not said much. “You okay?” He asked.

She hesitated. “I will be.” She didn’t seem sure. There was too lengthy a silence before any word could be more upon their side, when they heard the voice.

“Haruto?”

Both of them stood still where the voice spoke. A voice of the familiar--sweet, despairing.

He looked and saw a boy standing at the far end of the passage, perfectly motionless, but moving there for a moment the muscles of his face like a corrupted file attempting to open.

His edges jerked unnaturally, as though he had been re-drawn with every breath.

Hina flinched just a smidge.

“That is not like one of yours at all,” she said to herself. It was all the same about him, plain clothes and proper hair, dawing eyes, and a contrite expression. Haruto saw that he had a recognizable face, yet he was mistaken.

“Yamazaki?” he said. Smiling briefly, the boy shook his head. “No. But close.”

Haruto frowned. “Who are you?” The boy stepped closer.

“Don’t you remember? In the first year, we had the same homework. You sat by the window. I came behind you.”

Haruto blinked.

That memory came to surface--but it anticipated no pains on his chest.

Embracing a photograph of the life of another person was as cold as using it, though there was nothing in that photograph that caused pain. “You never gave it back.” Haruto’s brow furrowed.

The memory was not a dream, and was, at the same time, too pure--the details were in the right place.

The voice, the voice of the boy was a little behind, as though somebody was feeding him lines like it was from a paper.

Twice he twerked his eyes--okay.

Haruto blinked.

One of the things that came to mind, a pencil case, with an eraser, in the shape of a shark. Vague, fuzzy, but… real?

The boy nodded. “I also happened to be present on the day when your mom died. You didn’t speak. But I saw the look on your face. That’s why I left you that note.”

He dragged something out of his pocket.

The folded paper issued was a folded piece of paper, rehearsed like one that had been carried.

Haruto attempted to seize it, paused.

Something felt wrong.

there was no beat of air as at the outset with the girl--there was not a marching of features.

Just stillness.

Too still.

Hina stepped next to him. “Don’t,” she whispered.

“This isn’t right.”

The boy kept smiling.

“She doesn’t remember me. That’s fine. You do.”

“I’m not sure,” Haruto said.

The boy said because the memory is frayed. “But I’m part of you, Haruto. I’m the regret you buried. The one you were never brave enough to acknowledge.”

Haruto stared. “Well, are you true... you made it to be?”

The boy walked nearer and slowly unlatched it. Inside read: “You’re not broken. You’re just lost.”

Haruto’s breath hitched. Those hits are too deep, and too good, the words she wrote must have been cut, not healed.

“That does not sound like real memories,” Hina retorted.

The boy turned to her. His smile had never hit his eyes.

“You weren’t there,” he said. “You have never seen him when he needs somebody.”

“No, I was,” said Haruto.

He had expected the words to sound muted. His head swam, eraser, note, first year. He recalled taking out an eraser.... not this boy. Not his name, not even his seat. This was not a connection but a building, a make-believe nostalgia.

“You’re not an echo,” Haruto said. “You’re a test.”

The boy’s grin disappeared. His copy book became black, and melted away.

“Well done,” the boy said softly. The majority of the people are not convinced they are not guilty. You did. That’s rare.”

His skin began to crack. “You were to anchor me,” he said. “But instead… you noticed.”

The boy twitched. His smile turned a moment--that is, it literally turned--his teeth in the position of lips. Then it snapped back. The corridor behind him was glitching--lockers rattled and burst on the farther side.

Some voice cursed along the corridor, “This device has broken.”

Once it seemed to have struck the entire world. One of the countdown numbers winked out then reversed and came back to zero.

Neither was it the voice of the boy, but a cold and systematic whisper beneath it.

The hallway trembled.

Hina grabbed Haruto’s arm. “Run?”

“No,” Haruto said, his pulse high. “This is a memory trap. It will not leave us till we reduce it to pieces.’’

The body of the false echo began to distort. He was a foot and a leg like strange mirrors on a curved glass. His smile was an adhesive of too much, too too white.

“You won’t get far,” he whispered. Not with you continually inquiry of what matters.

The floor gave way beneath him, revealing the school desks in dark ones. One hung in the sky above, on a chalk board:

YOU FORGOT.

YOU REGRETTED.

YOU CANNOT FIX IT.

Haruto clenched his fists. “Maybe I can’t fix the past. However, I am not going to find anyone to tie me down because he knows how to use guilt against them.”

The figure lunged.

But the world reacted.

Not with fear.

With defiance.

The walls shattered. Light came--it came, and it was no longer below Haruto. A pressure that was never crushed, but raised.

A new voice rang out. Familiar. Steady. You have already pinned on the one that counts.

The girl from the playground.

Her figure danced at the distortion of the echo--then passed there through him.

He burst like a mirror falling on concrete.

Then vanished.

Silence returned.

The passage again went to stone.

Haruto exhaled slowly.

Hina looked over at him. “That was almost too real.”

He nodded. “If I hadn’t hesitated…”

“You didn’t. That’s the difference.”

There was silence in their walk a yard or two.

Eventually, Hina spoke. “He said something strange. About questioning guilt.”

Haruto glanced sideways. “Yeah.”

She stopped.

“Haruto,” she said quietly, “you didn’t anchor me.”

He froze.

“What do you mean?”

“I woke up in your arms. I spoke your name. But… I wasn’t a bell. There wasn’t a moment. Not like Yamazaki. Not like the girl.”

Haruto said nothing.

“I’m still here,” she said. “But I’m not part of the system. Am I?”

He looked down at his watch.

99:36:59 - 99:36:42

Still counting.

Then there was a flicking of the numbers--as of a skipped heart beat.

Hina blinked rapidly. Her posture wavered. Her feet were not certain that there was anything at bottom.

“I feel cold,” she murmured. “Nobody is cold. Like… memory cold. As that I should not, mildly by mildly, be written piece by piece.

Haruto moved up to her side and instinctively grabbed her shoulders. “You’re not. You’re still here.”

She looked up. “Am I?”

He didn’t have an answer.

And then there was another change in the world.

The floor they stood on melted away mist--to display a stair-case leading down to mist.

Carved into the wall beside it:

"Only what doesn't anchor you can follow you down."

Haruto swallowed hard.

The Hina went up to the stairway.

He followed her.

Not because the world has said so.

But because if he didn’t…

She might vanish, too.