What we find is not always the issue, but rather, what it does to us. Such innocent things can be turned into weapons. I'd always wondered why people would think such a thing, I'd always thought that philosophy was stupid. Until, I used it against you.
You awoke long after dawn had broken, and the sky was a pale blue, almost gray, the sun almost at its peak.
What time was it? You checked your watch,
APR 21 10:57 AM.
You sighed, quickly dressing and grabbing an apple. Deciding that today was the day you would finally figure out what the scratched computer mentioned in that letter ever so long ago was about.
Of course it would be at the library, that was obvious. You ate your apple quickly while hurrying down the stairs, throwing the core out into a bin as you exited the apartment complex, before unchaining your bike in quick, efficient movements that had been long programmed into you. You would sling your leg over your bike and start towards the library.
Today was so different from the last day you had gone to the library, so, so different. It seemed like so long ago, but it had only been two days by now. The way time evaded you seemed to keep re-entering your mind. How was it going so fast? Each day that passed was a day that Ryuzen grew more and more shattered, a day that set you further apart from the shell of your son.
When you reached the library, you quickly chained your bike, before gently opening the door, and breathing in the calming and rich aroma of the library, the blue wallpaper and dark oak bookshelves easy on your eyes.
You were quiet, sure to not get kicked out. When you reached the segment of the library allotted for the computers, you began to look for the one with a scratch on it.
It didn't take long to find, the laptop had a messy sketch of a shell scratched into the side by the cable port. You were beginning to see that shell everywhere.
Fidgeting with your rings, you booted on the laptop, the silver shell necklace you had brought with you laying delicately beside you. When you turned it on, you found that nobody had used it in a while, the most recent usage of it had been the 167h, the day Ryuzen was taken from you.
Upon opening, you saw a notice, a message that flashed.
Mom, if you're reading this, it's too late. I'm not yours anymore. I hope you can see. I'm not telling you this for sympathy. I don't think you're capable of it. You'll read this and probably still think I'm being dramatic. But that's why I wrote it this way—so even you can't ignore it.
Confused, you looked on the computer for a little bit before finding a word document. You scrolled back to the first entry.
November 5th, 2015
I am, but I don't know what. Miyuki should be graduating from college soon, she turned 22 today. After you kicked her out, she never kept contact with him, Ryuzen, he didn't have a phone, the only thing she left him was her delicate shell necklace. I don't know what he is without her, what I have become.
All I know is who I am not. I am not your son. I am not Ryuzen. The Ryuzen you know, and don't love was broken, a long, long while ago. When you kicked out Miyuki, that was the final piece of who he was. And, after that day, he died. He shriveled up. What was left wasn't a boy—it wasn't even a corpse. It breathed, but it didn't live. And that body, that not quite corpse, is I, and I am not him. I am far from it.
Your hands trembled as you read, and you almost couldn't bear to click on the next entry. But, you needed to know what became of Ryuzen– or rather, as he called it – the not quite corpse, not living, but existing.
The next entry was more than a year later.
December 25th, 2016
This Christmas was cold and cruel. I did not get gifts, even though all I had asked for was love, which even that, I did not get. You came home drunk last night, and I had spent the late night and early morning caring for you. But, when you came to your senses, you were not grateful, but rather mad.
I didn't know the length of Ryuzen's shattering until today. He cowered, grew small, they were habits, but they were not meaning anything. He was empty, not feeling even fear, unable to at this point. But this is where I grow lost. Where does the line between Ryuzen and I begin? I don't know. I had blocked out the things that were too painful to see to a point where I don't know if I am Ryuzen or if I am I. I don't even know when I became I, when I stopped living.
Of course, I had theories, the day Miyuki moved out, or maybe, the day we left that blue house. But, I don't know. And I'm lost, I'm lost. I've lost my mother– Miyuki, and am instead left with some monster that haunts my every step, scrutinizes my every move and rages at nothing.
Is it normal to be afraid of one's "mother"?
By now, you were sobbing, you hadn't realized how much pain you had given Ryuzen. How could you ever fix this? Why would he ever turn back to you after the way you broke him, shattered him without even realizing.
There were more entries, they grew more and more frequent as it got closer to Miyuki's death and his own disappearance. You skimmed them, it was painful to see how he had unravelled, slowly becoming more and more detached from reality. You could see it in his rushed writing, the panicked lines, the thought invoking questions a young boy shouldn't know to ask.
Finally, you reached the last entry, dated the day he went missing and this whole debacle started.
April 17th, 2018
A lot has happened to both Ryuzen and I. I think that maybe, there is still a little bit of him, but it's dying by the day. Miyuki died a few months ago, and it's all your fault. You should've known that something was wrong.
You should've come to your senses earlier, you're going to realize all too late and I just know it. But it doesn't matter, you haven't realized yet and you should've a long while ago. Because of you and your denial, my mother, Miyuki, the only one who stayed, is dead. And it's all you.
It was never Miyuki or Ryuzen, or even Kazuki, you were always the problem. And now I can see that clearly. He had tried too long for your empathy, but Ryuzen gave up trying when Miyuki died, and I felt the full shattering of him deep in my bones. There is only a little fragment that I salvaged, and it's going to burn away in the fire soon.
Now, of course, you must have wanted to know, wanted to know everything that's about to happen.
Ryuzen was never kidnapped, because he hasn't existed for a while. I was not kidnapped either, I ran away and framed it in that light.
You paused, your breaths ragged coming out in a deep shuddering, and your shoulders shook, tears streaming down your face.
It was never anyone else, all the suspects were made of your own fantasy, of your own delusions, and now, I write this, so you can finally realize who you are. You were never the loving mother or the heroic detective, you were always the villain of his story, of my story.
The blood wasn't pig's blood, I had pricked myself with a thorn and let it drip. The scream that felt so strange– I was never a good actor. The voice, that was my own, you were so far gone that you couldn't even recognize the voice of what had once been him, Ryuzen, although I want to make it abundantly clear, I am not him. I am not yours, I am mine. I am Kyoki Akumoto. Do you like that name? Don't answer, I don't care.
Your eyes stung, it was difficult to read how your son felt. This was all wrong, he hadn't kidnapped himself, that was wrong, not right, he had been yours, yours for so long, he would never leave. You would need to forget this, but this meant so much more, so, so much more. You needed to continue to read.
But this wasn't right. This was all wrong.
Wrong
Wrong
WRONG
Your son loved you, he wouldn't do such a thing, that was stupid.
Letting out a self deprecating laugh, a laugh of pure insanity, your knowing of the world shattered.
The pieces fell swirling around you in some sort of a beautiful pattern, and they rearranged themselves into the harsh painful truth which you had painted over.
But you couldn't, you couldn't see the truth, it was too painful. But the entry was too magnetic. It called you, so you listened to that small voice that sung the truth, one which was almost drowned in the toiling ocean of deceit which you now realized that you too were drowning in.
It was carefully crafted, the letters which I wrote, and should be sent to you in the coming days, I don't know when you'll be reading this, so maybe you already have them, they were all for you to realize the neat house you had boxed yourself in was not as it seemed, and all it took was another angle to think from. I know you will realize the poor mother you were, that deceit is easy to crumble, but I wasn't sure you would realize the situation. I didn't know how long you could keep that up. But I do know that once you read this, there would be no further question.
I am now somewhere which you will learn later, that mystery is still for you to solve. But, the question I want you to ponder is why, why would I frame it as a kidnapping? I don't think you'll realize until you find me. But, if you have the forethought to think about it, it will save your life, not that I think your life is worth saving. Miyuki was worth a thousand of you, and I would kill you a thousand times over to bring her back. But, that is impossible, what you have done is unforgivable.
Make no mistake, even if you find me, I am not coming back to you.
Wishing you all the worst,
Kyoki Akumoto
You collapsed back in your chair, sobbing. Ryuzen would never be yours again. Ryuzen didn't even exist and you had been so lost in your own self misery you hadn't noticed the years that he had been empty, not living, just surviving.
You collapsed back in your chair, sobbing.
Ryuzen would never be yours again. No—Ryuzen didn't even exist. He hadn't, for years.
And you hadn't noticed. Not the voice, not the signs, not the empty stares from a boy who stopped living and simply remained.
Your fists clenched, the edges of your rings digging into your palms, drawing tiny beads of blood—but that pain was nothing. Nothing compared to the ache that now hollowed your chest.
He wasn't dead– but he wasn't alive either.
He was something worse– A shadow –A scar, and you had cursed him to that half-life.
You had failed to notice the warnings, the way that he backed away, retreated into his shell. You should've known what he had done to himself, what was long coming.
Now, the shattered pieces encompassed you—what once felt like blighted lies shattered into something far worse: truth.
You forced your eyes open, you had to accept it. Each second you gazed at the puzzle, finally solved, each piece falling into perfectly horrifying place, you grew into deeper despair.
You picked up the necklace, the silver cool in your hand. You couldn't even remember when it had stopped belonging to you.
And as you stared down at the screen, blinking through tears at the final words—
Wishing you all the worst,
Kyoki Akumoto
—you finally understood:
This wasn't a mystery to solve.
This was your sentence.