Ch.173Epilogue (1) – Light Sleep

# March 22, 1930, 1:22 PM

## Cheroti Farm

## Arkham, Massachusetts

A darkened room.

Abashina awakens from sleep. The curtains are closed, and the candle is cold. A slight chill lingers in the room. Though it’s spring, the deranged winter still mistakes the season for its own.

Baa-aaa—the sound of sheep bleating. Abashina flinches in surprise, then eventually calms herself with a hand over her chest.

Knock knock.

“Yes.”

Now he no longer appears in color. To Abashina’s eyes, he too is black and white like everyone else. It would be better if it were like a black-and-white film or noir style, but it isn’t. Having drained all color from a color screen, his bare skin appears closer to lead or a murky ash color.

Just as a lead-colored apple doesn’t look appetizing, a gray human looks like a mannequin.

“Beast.”

Still, she continues to call him “beast.” It’s a habit, a term of endearment. He embraces her. Though it’s warm and makes her drowsy, she shakes her head. She had a bad dream.

“Did you sleep well?”

“No.”

“Sleep more.”

“I don’t want to.”

Abashina burrows into his arms. He holds her tightly, as if he has no choice. Suddenly, with a whoosh, Abashina climbs on top of him.

“Hehe. Caught you.”

“I’m busy today.”

“You’re always busy. Always. Someone like me doesn’t matter anymore, right? A foolish monster.”

“Who says that? That you’re a monster?”

Abashina takes a sharp breath. Something’s wrong. It’s a symptom of hyperventilation. He quickly covers her with the blanket. Even for the last blood shaman, the experiences were too horrific. The price she paid for holding onto her memories intact.

She had read the memories of countless dead people’s lives and deaths. Happy, terrible, gloomy, miserable, and painful things. With so much sadness and tears, she sometimes lost herself.

“You’re not a monster, I tell you.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then you must be the prettiest monster in the world.”

“That’s mean.”

He laughs. He checks if Abashina’s breathing has stabilized.

“So. Are you going out again today?”

“We need to make a living.”

“I hate it.”

Abashina kisses him. Her teeth slide down to his neck and gently bite his shoulder. He feels languid. He sinks into a mellow sense of comfort, feeling he would give her anything without regret. But now she knows how to control herself.

“Fine. But when you come back, let’s make a complete mess again…”

Flick!

“Ow!”

“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that? You’ve been reading those strange books again, haven’t you?”

“You said you liked it before!”

“Listen. Those books contain extremely distorted, very narrow kinds of knowledge… Sister Beatrice again!”

“W-who, who says so?”

So obvious. She just visited yesterday. The people from Pollard South Cathedral have settled in the nearby Arkham parish. They take turns checking on Abashina periodically. And yesterday was Beatrice’s turn.

But seeing her flustered, he quietly checks if the door is closed. He crawls under the blanket and lifts her clothes. Abashina closes her eyes again.

“…My beautiful beast. Will you fill me with your memories?”

Their bodies intertwine. She shows her shoulder. He strokes her hesitant head, comforting her. Again, her teeth bite into his shoulder. He recalls his memories.

He thinks about how beautiful she is, remembers how close she came to the edge, how happy he was when they laughed together, how sad he felt when she whimpered.

He thinks about how precious this moment is, hiding in this corner of the world, sharing warmth with her.

How much he wants her, how much he yearns for her, how he wishes this time would never end. He hopes that his sincere feelings, engraved in his rich blood, will intertwine with the blood she inhales, that she will drink his blood and finally understand completely.

I am yours. You are mine. We are ours. Through blood, we shall become one.

“I love you.”

Abashina embraces him tightly.

The bed creaks.

* * * * *

He emerged staggering an hour later. After closing the door and coming down the stairs, he gasped.

On the living room sofa downstairs, a red-haired woman in shabby clothes was scrunching her face. She wore a white glove on her left hand, dressed in rough cotton clothes and jeans.

“So, you enjoy making a complete mess, huh?”

“Ah, Aurora? W-when did you get here?”

“An hour and ten minutes ago. That’s a fine thing to do with someone who needs rest!”

Aurora clenches her fists. Unlike last week, not even a small creaking sound came from her left hand. She said it just needed a little adjustment, and it seems British technology really is as good as they say.

“It’s therapy. Therapy. Emotional… what was it? Emotional stability! Agent Scully said so too, emotional stability!”

“So her emotions are precious but mine can be devastated, is that it? Shut up and come to the barn. The truck’s here. We need to unload.”

“Look, if I could just… rest a bit…”

Aurora smiles brightly.

“Our ‘good’ beast, shall we carry just ten or so sacks and then rest? Choose. Work and have a delicious dinner, or rest briefly and skip dinner?”

He was about to choose the latter. Aurora had many talents, but cooking really wasn’t one of them. Her meatloaf was dry, and her onion pie was undercooked. It was a dish where you just put peanut butter on halved onions and bake them in the oven, yet somehow it tasted spicy in an inexplicable way.

But if he said he wouldn’t eat, she’d scratch at him all week. For domestic peace, sometimes one must know how to lie.

“Delicious dinner.”

“That’s more like it.”

The two leave the house. The roof shape is a bit strange, honestly somewhat awkwardly crooked. From the rough finishing of the wall reinforcements, one could quickly recognize it as amateur workmanship.

Nevertheless, it’s a precious home for the three of them. In the time of the Great Depression, when countless people are falling, having food to eat, a shelter to sleep in, and a modest foundation to build a life on is a most valuable asset.

He admires Aurora’s figure as she heads toward the warehouse. Long legs, large hips, a violently abundant chest that doesn’t match her slender waist. But beyond that, no one in the world dares to look at her carelessly. The legend of the reformed mafia boss has spread widely beyond Arkham throughout Massachusetts.

It’s strange. On Pollard Island, she always wore the finest clothes. She valued worth over price, and beauty beyond worth. Yet now she wears worn-out farmer’s clothes, and she’s far more beautiful, breathtakingly attractive, and irresistibly seductive than before.

“I don’t regret it.”

At times like these, her words from the ship’s deck echo in his ears.

“I don’t regret it.”

It rained heavily the day they left Pollard Island. They could barely launch the boat, and passengers had to stay in their cabins. But no one could stop Aurora’s stubbornness. To be honest, no one dared to think of stopping her.

With a plaster cast on her left hand, she held onto the railing with only the strength of her right hand. She faced the writhing storm head-on.

Back then, she couldn’t fully control her left hand. Clarice Holmes’ left hand was as hot-blooded as its owner, and even more quick-tempered than Aurora. It was perfect in performance… but it took her a long time to tame someone else’s hand as her own.

He stood by her side.

“Do you really not regret it?”

Aurora stepped back from the front lines. She returned all the money, both illegitimately and legitimately collected, to Pollard.

She distributed money and property to the destroyed streets of Pollard, people who lost their homes, slum dwellers and Italian immigrants, and loyal subordinates. There were rumors that Michael Savio was furiously angry, but Aurora silenced her brother with one sentence: “If you’re a Savio, prove it.”

Aurora had inherited Giovanni’s fortune, but she had also paid off debts that could have led the family to ruin. Michael said no more.

Police Chief George Graham took charge of managing the assets. Nominally. In reality, Margaret Graham managed them. As strong in character as she was in grip strength, she bought good medicine and cared for patients. Destroyed cities inevitably produced patients.

She hired doctors, called in pharmacists, and even set up a temporary poorhouse. The O’Brien and Aubrey couple from Burroway Trading helped her. Even during the Great Depression, Burroway Trading flourished and lived soundly.

The couple believed that since Pollard had saved them, it was now their turn to save Pollard. Still, people found it amusing to watch the big, shy Irish young man fumbling in front of his American wife.

The mayor also changed. Someone appointed by the Federal Security Bureau took the mayor’s position. Though said to be somewhat fussy, he was the optimal talent for probing Pollard’s old wounds.

Aurora wasn’t solely responsible for saving Pollard, but it’s clear that without her, recovery would have been difficult.

But Aurora herself couldn’t do the same. The idea of buying a farm outside Arkham and raising livestock was good enough. She had skill, a healthy body, strong supporters, and had kept some money.

However, her heart was different. Like Abashina, Aurora also had to go through difficult times with deep wounds. Each time, he stood by her side. Though they sometimes fought fiercely and quarreled, they reconciled, shared love, and wore each other down.

You can’t tell a flame not to emit heat. A flame is just a flame. Aurora is a living, breathing flame.

“I like how things are now.”

After intense nights, when dawn broke, Aurora always whispered that. Always shy, like a teenage girl gathering courage to confess first.

“I don’t have to worry about anything or fear who might target me. Me. You. Abashina. That’s enough.”

Of course, she deliberately omitted one person.

The attending physician.

They all received regular treatment. Just as one visits a hospital when physically ill, painful memories required visiting a mental health specialist. Catherine Scully was the best answer in all those conditions. Career, education, ability, experience. She lacked nothing.

Except for one minor flaw.

“All done, whew.”

That’s why, as soon as he finished speaking, she threw him into a haystack.

“Ack?!”

“Hey. You did it, didn’t you?”

“Did what now?”

“You did it. With that Security Bureau vixen!”

An ominous sound comes from her left hand. That hand is a bit too smart. It knows its owner’s intentions more accurately than she does herself. Her hand grips his weak point.

“Heeheehihihick…”

“Did you or didn’t you? Spill it before I turn you into a female!”

“Ah, ughugh, no… really… it was therapy! It was therapy!”

At this absurd claim, Aurora releases him. She glares down at him with dagger eyes, waiting to hear what excuse he’ll make.

“Oh.” Aurora smiles innocently.

“How nice, Mr. Private Detective. When did you get your medical license? Right. Right. Fine then. Anyone can do therapy. The agent gives you psychological therapy, and you give the agent physical therapy, right? But I wonder what part of that strict agent was aching, hmm?”

He decided not to say something like “How did you know that?” It’s not just him who receives psychological therapy from Catherine Scully. Aurora does too. But therapy is one-on-one, and he had never visited Scully on the same day as Aurora.

[ You seduced her ]

Emma’s voice echoes in his ear.

[ You need a beating ]

Oh. Lord. Understanding the situation, he closes his eyes. So now that ghost even enters other people’s dreams to tattle.

“I’m sorry… I won’t do it again…”

Finally, he surrenders. Aurora decided to let him off. Again. Of course, it’s not free.

“Take it off.”

“Why?”

“I’m a former military doctor. Forgot? I need to see the injured area, so take it off.”

“But it doesn’t hurt… AAAAGH!”

“Now it hurts, doesn’t it, patient? Shut up and strip.”

Aurora drags him to the barn bed. She won’t let him go until her anger subsides.

Of course, the fact that she secretly smiled while dragging him by the neck remains a secret.

* * * * *

Three hours later. First floor shower room.

He and Aurora emerge from the shower. Aurora is full of energy as if thoroughly refreshed, but he looks a bit tired.

“Let’s eat dinner and go.”

“I have an appointment.”

“Ah, with Ms. Vixen?”

“…Aren’t you overestimating me? It’s not like that… really exhausting…. Just a friend coming today, I think.”

Aurora didn’t say much. She just patted his shoulder lightly.

“Turn around.”

Aurora carefully dries him with a towel. She dries his hair, hits him once saying “Stay still,” and neatly fixes his hair. Though a bit gaunt, it’s a clean face.

“Have a good trip. I’ll eat with Abashina.”

In his bathrobe, he walks toward his room on the first floor.

On the way, he looks at a large photo hanging on the wall. It’s a picture of Aurora and Abashina.

There’s something on the photo frame that wasn’t there before.

Dried ivy vines.

“Playing tricks again?”

A childish giggle is heard. The vines disappear with a slither. He doesn’t get angry. He approaches the window and gazes at the rising moon and Mars blushing shyly.

He dresses properly and grabs the keys from the entrance. He starts the standard Ford brought from Pollard Island and heads to downtown Arkham.

The day is gray. The news isn’t very good. People are hungry, wandering the streets looking for work. Some even wear sandwich boards seeking employment. If Abashina and Aurora’s condition improves a bit more, they might be able to hire workers.

He parks the car in an Arkham clearing. A Buick has already arrived. Catherine Scully, who has grown her hair back to shoulder length, gets out of the car. They kiss lightly, then again more deeply.

[ You’re going to get in trouble? ]

Of course, being a polite person, he knows to listen to a woman in white. Hyperborea was interesting, but it had so many bizarre things that visiting once would drain all his energy. But Emma gets bored too…

“How have you been? How long has it been since we met?”

“Two days.”

“You look good.”

Scully smiles. He smiles too.

Catherine once said that their relationship was like a house of cards. Meaning they needed to lean on each other because neither could stand alone.

People who remember that day. People who know what’s out there. People who know too much to easily mix with others… but who quietly prepare for what’s coming.

Understanding these circumstances, Aurora doesn’t show rejection beyond jealousy toward Catherine. It’s more accurate to say it’s competitive spirit rather than jealousy. After all, Aurora Savio understands Catherine Scully better than he does in terms of family loss and recovery.

Stars that once staggered now orbit in their own paths. Treatment. Family. Love. Understanding. Things will get better. They will move forward.

And today is a good day to check just how much progress has been made.

“Are you sure?”

Scully subtly brings her arms together, accentuating her small but plump chest.

He barely averts his gaze and takes out the compass his friend left him. It’s spinning around.

“I’m sure. It’s here.”

“Alright. I’ll back you up. Don’t worry about what’s behind.”

Catherine Scully starts the Buick and positions it under a tree. She turns off the engine, lowers the seat, and waits for what’s coming.

He looks at the Doomsday Clock on his wrist.

Click.

The clock points to 1.

The first day. It must have been like this then too.

“Ah. It’s you.”

He turns around. A man who seems a bit surprised looks around. He addresses the newly appeared man.

“A face I haven’t seen before.”

The man takes a step back.

‘Is this not right? Was I too early?’

He’s a bit confused but doesn’t show it. What did that friend say again?

“Since we’re strangers, let’s try to get along. So I’m asking, do you happen to like squid?”

The man squints his eyes.

“No.”

“Hmm?”

“Ah, I absolutely hate it. When I was 5, I almost choked to death on it, and at 9, my tooth fell out while chewing it. Not a baby tooth, a permanent one. At 14, I got food poisoning from fried squid at a fast food restaurant. Just me, out of 400 customers who ate the same food.”

Sweat forms on his hands. Noticing his unusual expression, the man blinks as if to say “could it be?” He asks the man:

“I made a mistake. It seems we’re not strangers but acquaintances. So… what do people usually ask at first meetings?”

“They start with weather talk. Usually.”

“It’s been bothering me, but why do you talk like that?”

Hearing his question, the man breaks into a broad smile.

“I became like this looking for a friend. I’ve traveled countless worlds and experienced many things. And… your face looks much better. Seems like nothing bad happened?”

He couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Sagan.”

The man replied.

“Crayfield.”

The two shook hands.

“Indeed, we’re in for a long relationship.”

“Yes. Let’s roll again. By the way, you still don’t have a girlfriend, I see?”

“That’s just how I am.”

Sagan laughs quietly. Crayfield shrugs his shoulders.

“Sagan. Now you’re my assistant.”

“No benefits for experienced workers? No perks for returning employees? Come on, isn’t this too much? Hey, friend. No preferential treatment for former officials? Have you completely forgotten that I paid your room rent and even gave you a salary? Hey, don’t just laugh!”

The stars rotate strangely. Unholy things writhe in the darkness.

It’s hunting time again.