She shook her head, frantically scanning for one spot—any spot—that wasn't covered in this miniature shrine to baseball youth.
What the actual hell? – She – Erich, you've got yourself a stalker. Like, full-blown fan club level. You should be proud, Mr. Headshot.
Equally stunned, Erich lit up the far corner of the shed. There, they saw a pile of objects arranged in a triangle.
As they stepped closer, Louisa's heart dropped. She couldn't speak for her brother, but her own definitely took the plunge.
One corner of the triangle was the frame of a racing motorcycle, half-buried under dust, the paint scuffed. Someone had drawn a goofy green face on it. The second corner was a messy pile of CD- player discs, and the third was anchored by a giant yellow mug—half a liter in size—with a black ring around the center.
It only took one shared glance for the siblings to lock eyes—shocked, disturbed—staring at the seemingly harmless, though incredibly dusty and neglected, objects. Each of them represented something... more.
That's his The one he used to sip green tea from all day. – Louisa reached toward it but immediately pulled her hand back like it was a live cobra. And that's the frame of his motorcycle. He was always working on it, but he never actually rode Erich
Then, in perfect sync, they both said:
The His favorite artists. He'd play them during those rare moments when he was actually in a good mood.
Toshi stood next to them now, silently studying the objects—none of which meant anything to him. He said nothing. And the silence spread like fog, swallowing the trio whole.
Five long minutes passed. Maybe more. Louisa was the one to finally break the heavy quiet, though she did it in a hollow voice, her insides feeling like a vacuum had sucked out all her emotions.
Was he hiding here all these years? Right under Erich's nose? And not a single damn word from him? Just... living his best life? That selfish bastard.
He's been watching me. Every single day since I moved to Japan. – Erich mumbled, shoulders slumped, looking like a ghost of – I kept wondering where he went, why he left us. Thought we didn't matter to him anymore. But turns out, he couldn't let go of us completely. .. – Louisa muttered, glancing at the avalanche of photographs. – At least he loved you, apparently. Unlike me.
She let out a dry laugh. It went unanswered. Erich suddenly snatched one of the CDs—maybe for memory's sake—and bolted outside. He was gasping for air.
Louisa didn't know how to help him. Didn't really feel like trying either. She felt just as messed up. Outside, night had fallen hard. They'd have to make their way back with only phone flashlights.
Louisa's practical side kicked in—get back to the car now, unpack the emotional trauma later… preferably in a bathrobe, with wine, and a locked front door between her and this haunted-family drama.
Lighting a cigarette, she walked up to her brother. He was doing some kind of breathing exercise, drenched in sweat, his eyes darting around like pinballs in panic mode.