The Fifth Profession

Now Savage's nightmare was twofold, a hideous double exposure, Akira being killed not once but twice, Kamichi dying twice as well. Sprawled paralyzed in a pool of blood, seeing Akira's severed skull, the melancholy, tear-beaded eyes blinking, Savage screamed and struggled upright.

But hands restrained him. A soothing voice reassured him. For a moment Savage wondered if he were back in the hotel in Philadelphia, where Akira had calmed him after Savage wakened screaming from his nightmare. Hope abruptly changed to fear, because Savage groggily realized that if he were still in Philadelphia, then the final disastrous confrontation with Shirai had not occurred. The present was the past, and the horror of the future had yet to be endured.

This terrifying murky thought made Savage want to scream once more. The gentle hands, the soothing voice, continued to reassure him. At once Savage recognized that the voice belonged to Rachel, that he sat weakly on a futon, that bandages encased his skull, that a cast weighed down his right arm, that tape bound his chest. He shuddered, recalling the hospital in Harrisburg, where he'd never been, the casts that had imprisoned his body, though his arms and legs had not been broken, the blond-haired doctor who'd never existed.

“You mustn't excite yourself,” Rachel said. “Don't move. Don't try to stand.” She eased him gently back onto the futon. “You have to rest.” She leaned down and kissed his beard-stubbled cheek. “You're safe. I promise I'll protect you. Try to stay quiet. Sleep.”

As the mist in Savage's mind began to clear, he realized the irony of the change in circumstance, Rachel protecting him. Though confused, he almost grinned. But his head felt as if a spike had been driven through it, and he closed his eyes in pain. “Where am I?”

“At Taro's,” Rachel said.

Surprised, Savage looked at her. He struggled to speak. “But how did…?”

“The two men who stayed with you when you followed Shirai brought you here.”

“I still don't… How…?”

“They say that you and Akira told them to wait at the bottom of the mountain while you went up to investigate.”

Savage nodded despite the pain in his head.

“Two hours later, they heard shots,” Rachel said. “Handguns. Automatic weapons. They claim it sounded like a war. Shortly after, two cars sped down the lane from the mountain and raced away.”

Savage inhaled, fighting to concentrate. “And then…?” His voice cracked.

“Save your strength. I'll do the talking. Are you thirsty? Would you like a-?”

“Yes,” he managed to say through parched, scabbed lips.

She set a glass of water beside his head and placed a bent straw between his lips. Weak, he sucked water over his dry swollen tongue. He had trouble swallowing but kept sucking the water.

She took the glass away. “You'll get sick if you drink too quickly.” She studied him, then continued. “The two men decided to investigate.”

Savage closed his eyes again.

“Are you sleepy? We can talk about this later.”

“No.” Savage breathed. “I want to… have to… know.”

“They assumed that the men in the cars had done the shooting, so because it would have taken them too long to go up the mountain on foot, Taro's students risked driving their motorcycles up the lane.”

With his good hand, Savage gestured weakly for her to keep going.

“Near the top, they hid their bikes and snuck through the forest,” Rachel said. “They found a huge building, or rather all kinds of different buildings weirdly joined together. It reminded me of the way you described the Medford Gap Mountain Retreat.” She hesitated. “There were bodies all over the lawn.”

The memory made Savage grimace.

“Then the cars came back, and the two men hid. The men from the cars went into the building. Taro's students waited, then followed cautiously. They found more bodies.”

“Yes,” Savage said. “So many.” His nostrils flared, retaining the coppery stench of the blood. “Everywhere.”

“They heard more shots. On an upper floor. They didn't know what they'd be facing. Only two men, they had to go up warily. By the time they reached the third floor, they found it littered with corpses.” Rachel bit her lip. “Akira had been beheaded. Shirai had been cut in half. And three men with wooden swords were about to crack your skull apart. Taro's students grabbed guns from the floor and shot the three men before they could kill you.”

Savage's concentration wavered. He fought to keep his mind from swirling, desperate to know the rest. “But you still haven't told me. How did I get here?”

“One of Taro's students drove his motorcycle to a nearby village where they'd hidden your car. He brought the car back, put you and Akira in it, and drove you to Taro's while the other student followed on his motorcycle. Taro ordered them to return to the mountain, to retrieve the remaining motorcycle, and to arrange the bodies so it seemed as if some of Shirai's men tried to kill him while others tried to defend him. According to the newspapers, the authorities believe the deception, though no one can explain what caused the rebellion.”

Savage's consciousness began to fade.

“Taro took care of you,” Rachel said, “cleaned your wounds, set your arm, did whatever he could. It would have been too risky, have attracted too much attention, to take you to a hospital. But if you hadn't wakened soon, I'd have insisted on taking you to a doctor.”

Savage grasped her hand. His mind dimmed, turning gray. “Don't leave me.”

“Never.”

He drifted, sank.

And reendured his nightmare, or rather both of them, one on top of the other.

2

The next time he wakened, he felt stronger, more alert, though his body still ached and his skull throbbed. Rachel sat beside him, holding his hand. “Thirsty?”

“Yes… And hungry.”

She beamed. “I have to leave you for a moment. There's someone who wants to say hello.”

As Rachel left, Savage expected that she'd bring in Taro. Instead, to his delight, he saw Eko come in, her aged face strained with grief for Churi, but her eyes aglow with the pleasure of serving, of bringing Savage a tray upon which, he soon discovered, were a cup of tea and a bowl of broth.

Rachel stood next to her. The women exchanged glances more meaningful than words. With a gesture, Rachel invited Eko to sit on the futon and spoon broth into Savage's mouth. Occasionally Rachel helped by giving Savage a sip of tea.

“So Taro's men finally rescued you,” Savage told Eko, the warmth of the broth and tea making him sigh. At once he remembered that Eko didn't speak English.

Rachel explained. “I don't understand what the problems were in accomplishing the rescue, but the night you followed Shirai to the mountain, Taro's students arrived with Eko.”

“Akira”-emotion prevented Savage from speaking for a moment-”would have been overjoyed, immensely grateful. At least one good thing came out of this… God, I miss him. I still can't believe he's… Does she know Akira's dead?”

“She helped prepare his body for the funeral rites.”

“I wish I knew how to tell her I'm sorry,” Savage said.

“She understands. And she feels sorry for you. For your grief.”

“Arigato.” Close to tears, Savage touched Eko's arm.

She bowed her head.

“Taro's students came back with someone else,” Rachel said.