Nightmares Rise Page 17

  “Depends on what you want. Kawaiahao Church has a lot of Christian graves with a lot of very young people. Mililani Cemetery has a Jewish section on top, and an Asian section on the bottom, that leads into a gorge. And a prison.” She paused to slide a pair of shorts over her legs, “Or there’s Nuuanu, with the Sanju Pagoda. We used to go there as kids, to see if we could hear the babies crying in the Chinese section at night.”

  “A cemetery that comes with a story, who could resist that?” He pulled his shirt down into place. “Maybe I could write your story to go with it. Writing isn’t usually my forte, but you inspire me.” He smiled softly at her, not realizing that the emotion he’d been trying to hide showed clearly in his eyes.

  “People would be bored to tears.” Makani blushed and swallowed. “Every kid here knows these stories.” She finished getting her hair tied up off her face, and stood up, running a hand over Flynn’s shoulder as she passed him.

  “Yeah, but those stories aren’t for the people here.” He turned to follow her. “It’s for the people who aren’t here. Some people want to read about themselves, but most of us aren’t so narcissistic. So far, all of your stories are much more compelling than mine.” As was she all too compelling. He could spend a lifetime learning her stories.

  “Lucky I live here. People don’t lose their cultural identities, like on the Mainland.” She put on the coffee pot and shoved toast in the toaster. “Besides, I’ve always had an imagination for that kind of stuff. But you know that, now.” Makani shrugged and sighed.

  “At least you have a cultural identity. Most Aussies don’t. Unless you count drinking beer in the pub and eating meat pies. Which is great, but nothing compared to—I don’t know, having a national dish or something. Speaking of dishes,” he added. “I wish I had some Vegemite.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a jar of strawberry jelly and a tub of butter. “I have peanut butter around here somewhere, if you prefer that?”

  She frowned at the toaster and then upended the appliance to let the bread fall out, hissing as she touched got metal. Putting it down, she blew on her fingers. “Butter for me! Lots of butter!” She chirped brightly and added more toast.

  “You mean there’s someone in the country who doesn’t eat PB and j?” he teased. “I thought that was your cultural thing?” He grabbed a knife out of the drawer and started spreading butter on the toast before it cooled too much to melt the butter properly.

  “I like peanut butter,” she protested, pouring out two mugs of coffee. “I just really, really, really like butter.” She sat down and pulled a knee up, wrapping her hands around the mug. “Besides, we’d better hurry. The sun coming up over the pagoda is something spectacular.”

  Flynn spread jelly over his butter and bit into his toast while standing over the sink. He said something unintelligible through his food. Swallowing, he spoke again. “Maybe we should have gotten up earlier?”

  “Nah.” She shook her head. “It sits right below the ridge, so it lights up later in the day. It’s really something, y’know?” She pulled off a hunk of crust and chewed slowly. “I’m trying to remember exactly what it was used for, but it’s been years.”

  “Ummm, it’s a cemetery, what else would it be used for?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled before taking a bite out of his toast.

  “No remains are actually stored in there. It’s on the national registry, because the cemetery went into bankruptcy a long time ago. But they stopped maintaining it, so it’s really decrepit, now.” She scrunched up a side of her face, trying to dig up the facts in her brain.

  Flynn watched her expression with amusement. “I’m sure it’ll be great. You always find the most interesting places.” Although interesting often seemed to be life threatening. Maybe today would be a dull, boring day and he’d just get some work done. And sell it.

  “I should know where they are: that’s my job, silly.” She laughed low, munching on the toast. “If I ever get to Australia, you’re going to have to show me around, too.”

  “I might even get you to try some Vegemite,” he said. He’d love to introduce her to Australia, and vice versa, but imagining her wanting to stay there was like imagining a zombie horse being comfortable in direct sunlight for a week. This was and probably always would be her home.

  “Hey, I’ll try anything twice. Just to make sure the first time wasn’t a fluke.” She thought for a moment, and asked, “What exactly is Vegemite, by the way? I Googled it once, and it looks like tar.”

  “I thought Google had no practical use?” The side of his mouth quirked upward. “It’s a byproduct of making beer. It’s black, sticky and tastes like spew. What could be better?” He couldn’t help but grin. “It’s an acquired taste. Like caviar.”

  “Or balut? That stuff is heinous!” She sipped her coffee, and sighed contentedly. “Ready to explore the necropolis Honolulu? We can hit several spots today since everything is so close together.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Flynn finished his coffee and washed up the plates and cups. “Thank goodness for coffee. If we didn’t have that, we’d have to start the day with chocolate. Or jelly beans. Not the black ones, though.”

  “What? Those are yummy! I’ll eat all those, if you eat the popcorn flavored jelly beans. Those are just weird!” Makani slung her pack onto her back and stole the salt shaker off the table. Not so discreetly that he didn’t notice, but he said nothing. It might come in useful.

  He stopped to grab his phone and camera.”Yuck. I’ll take the watermelon flavored ones. And the ones that taste like piña coladas.” He held the door open for her and leaned back and enjoying the breeze that was coming in from the mountains. “Do you want the pear flavored ones too? I can’t stand pears. Their taste, their texture . . . I’m an apple kind of guy. Or mangoes. I love a good mango. Or a couple of good mangoes.” His eyes roamed down to her chest. He was only human after all.

  She quirked her eyebrow at him, “Aren’t you lucky mango is always in season here?” She adjusted her bra strap and looked at him sideways.

  “So is banana.” He nodded.

  Makani shook her head at his comment. “We’ll stop for jellybeans on the way back to whichever house we’re staying at tonight.”

  He closed the door and followed her out to the jeep. It didn’t seem to be any worse for being so close to a vodka fire. But then, more damage would just add to its character, not that it was lacking in it.

  Makani got into the jeep, throwing her things unceremoniously into the back. “Did your sister ever call you, after we sped away from them?”

  He pulled out his phone and checked. “The only missed call is the one she made when we were leaving. No text messages. I’ll check my email.” He pushed the icon. “Spam. Spam. Spam. Do I really need a penis enlargement? The rate they send these things, I’m sure they must have had a word with an ex-girlfriend.” He shrugged and put the phone away. “Not even a Dear Flynn from my mother. Not yet anyway, give an hour or two more.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, my inbox is full of ads to enlarge my penis, too.” She gave him a sardonic grin as they backed out the driveway, nearly taking out a van of nuns. “Be glad your mother checks on you. Mine only notices me when we’re in the same room.” She started them towards the west, brushing dark hair back from her forehead.

  “She doesn’t check on me, she makes unsubtle suggestions that by being so far away, I’m breaking her poor old heart. I am her only son, and the baby of the family, but she has to cut the apron strings eventually, right? It’s not like I’m five. I’m closer to twenty-five.”

  He immediately felt bad for being so self indulgent. He might not have had a perfect life, but it was considerably more idyllic than hers. “I’m sorry you don’t have it so good.” He paused and then added, “If you like, you can borrow my mother.” Then, hoping to lighten the mood, he added, “Until you get tired of the harassment and insist that I take her back.”

  That made Makani laugh, “Thanks, but no thanks! I fi
nd I do better without parental supervision. I tend to scare old people.” Rolling her eyes, she got them onto the freeway, an arm hanging out the side.

  “If you meet my mother some day,” he started. “You won’t scare her. She’d love you.” Apart from her car, her driving, her lifestyle and her tendency to attract monsters. She’ll hear all about you from Emma and probably ring to tell us both off for ditching her. I hate it when Mum cries on the other end of the phone.” He loved his mother, but smother was a more appropriate title at times. According to her, it was her job to worry. And his job to listen while she did it.

  “I hope your sister mentions that they stopped to have a quickie while her kids were with a complete stranger.” She made a face and pretended to gag. “I will never be like that. Ever!”

  “Oh, who will we leave the kids with?” The question was delivered offhand and lightly, but as soon as it was out, he wished he hadn’t said it. That didn’t mean he hadn’t meant it. He could already imagine them raising little Cole—Laus. They’d drive them around in the rusty old jeep and never have any money. But that was so far off and so unlikely that he wanted to kick himself for bringing it up. No doubt she’d take it for a joke and not an attempt to put her on the spot.

  “Uuuhhhh . . . probably with my brothers. Or Aunty Elsie,” she said when she finally replied. “But only when I’m working or on a hike. Baby backpacks are stupid.” She quickly shut her mouth.

  He was struck dumb by the fact that she had actually had an answer. He wasn’t going to debate the merits of baby backpacks with her today, but that they even had this conversation at all made his heart race. And soar.

  They made a hard turn onto the exit that would take them to the Pagoda. Pedestrians had to jump out of the way to avoid getting their toes run over.

  “So, this looks interesting,” he said, looking around but not really seeing it at first. He really just wanted to go home, he didn’t care whose, and spend the rest of the day practicing making babies. But he was here to work and if he wanted to keep eating, he had to focus. He shook his head slightly and blinked. There, that was better. Now that he could see it, it really was interesting.

  “It’s one of the older graveyards still in use. Look back that way,” she pointed towards the right, and the decrepit pagoda came into view. The fading paint and overgrown grass made it look creepy, and the graves surrounding the site were moldy and tilted to the side. “Totally neat, right?”

  “It’s like something out of a Jackie Chan movie. I suppose you don’t get tourists up here too much?” Of course not, it would have been renovated if it played a part in the tourist trade. That it hadn’t been, was a big part of its charm. Repairing, repainting, straightening and weeding would destroy the rustic creepiness and make it much less compelling to photograph.

  “Nah, this isn’t interesting to most people. It’s just a weird hiccup in the landscape. I mean, right next to an apartment building? It’s a real testament to the loss of the old cultures, y’know?” She pulled up by the sidewalk and got out, grabbing her pack out of the jeep.

  “And yet, it’s exactly what I’ve been asked to produce. You’re a mindreader as well a ninja. I might have to hire you as my PA when I’m rich and famous.” Or before that. Between them both, they could show the whole world in a fresh, marketable light.

  “And give up my low paying, highly taxed personal tour service? Naaah.” She smiled over her shoulder and directed him into the cemetery. “The Sanju Pagoda is a columbarium: it holds cremated remains. It’s based off a temple in Kyoto, just like the Mirror Gardens down the path.” She pointed to a smaller pagoda surrounded by trees, a red bridge over one of several ponds. “Kinkaku-Ji is the prettier temple down there.” Makani ripped the yellow caution tape off the rusty posts and stepped closer. She looked to their right, where a construction crew was digging up a plot. “Man, someone must be desperate for grandpa’s money.”

  “Cheerful place,” he commented. “So why is there so much Japanese stuff here? And people.” It was a melting pot of cultures, like a smaller, more confined version of Australia. Even the slang had its own distinct flavor.

  “At one time, they were the majority population. Thousands came over to work on the plantations, after the Meiji period stripped a lot of the nobility of land and income. They brought their ways with them and clung tightly to everything about home.” Her hands skimmed the tops of tall weeds, and she avoided sunken grave markers. Closer to the temple, large family altars made of marble dominated the ground.

  “Until Pearl Harbor got bombed, then they either gave up their ways, joined the 442nd, or went to internment camps. The government took it all from them. Altars, family heirlooms, kimonos, swords . . . they lost everything. Even their names. At one point, the Japanese side of my family went by ‘Walker’ during the martial law period. After World War II, there was a cultural resurgence, and everything came back into fashion. At least until the eighties.”

  Flynn snorted. “What happened in the eighties? Other than bad hair, shoulder pads and terrible music like Rick Astley and Ah-a.” He smirked and quickly added, “Um, so I’ve heard. I’m a bit young for all of that. Although, I had two older sisters, both with bad taste.” Or so he’d always thought. That didn’t stop him from humming Never Gonna Give You Up. He could probably have sung some of it, but Makani probably thought he was dorky enough already.

  “Don’t forget the Bangles and Flock of Seagulls.”

  He snorted again. “And Katrina and the Waves.” He hummed a mercifully brief rendition of what could have been Walking on Sunshine.

  She started walking up toward the structure, with its flaking paint and sagging entryway. “The ethnic population really started to shift. Location, and dominant people. As of right now, Filipinos make up the island’s majority.”

  “Why did the Filipinos come here?” Why would anyone not come here? That was probably more to the point.

  “Revolution. That’s why Ferdinand came here. The capitol fell, and life was turned upside down. Actually, the same week Platoon started filming, the coups were taking place. Willem Dafoe woke up to tanks rolling down the streets of Manila.” Makani made her way to the entrance and turned. “Coming in? Wanna see the inside?”

  “Sure. I’d like to go inside the building too.” He gave her an innocent grin. Flynn was actually itching to see the inside of the building. He’d shot everything they’d seen up to this point. Everything she’d told him so far, he took into account and tried to convey the history in his work. Every location and person was a story, not just a creepy place or a pretty face to be looked at and forgotten. Capturing places like this, in this way, was like families sharing oral histories with their children and grandchildren. Although, everyone’s interpretation would be unique, shaped by their own personal history.

  “So is this tour guide stuff or are you a history buff?” He turned and took a few shots of the entrance they were about to pass, though. Faded paint and pitch darkness contrasted with the brilliant sunshine and warmth they currently stood in.

  “I love history. It was always my favorite subject, when I decided to stop ditching class.” She leaned against a pillar and waited for Flynn. “But it’s part of why I started the business. I love this rock, and everything about it. Even the old stories and history.”

  He nodded thoughtfully as he took more photos of the exterior walls. “I preferred all the stuff I thought I could use in life. Like cooking and arithmetic. And psychology and business studies.” Ironically, he hadn’t bothered with legal studies in high school. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have gone into it later, at university.

  “I always thought I’d go into some area of science until I didn’t. Although, there’s good money to be made in geology and engineering, if you’re any good at it, I always preferred rock and roll to rocks. I could have gone into chemistry or biology. Probably just as well, can you imagine me as a lab tech?” He smirked. “I don’t think I’m geeky enough.”

  “Nop
e, not quite! Glasses would cover up your eyes, and that would be a shame.” She trotted over and laid a kiss on Flynn’s cheek, grabbing his hand. Makani pulled a flashlight out and made sure the batteries worked. “Ready?”

  “Yep, let’s do it.” He pulled his camera up in front of his face, and checked it for battery power. He had room for about 2000 more photos and several hours more of power. That should just about do for the rest of the day. It was going to take hours to sift through them all later, but that was always an enjoyable part of his job. Not that many people would call this a job, yet.

  “Okay. Watch the floor. This place is a mess.” They stepped inside, and started towards the rear wall. “See all the nameplates? They’re all in kanji. But the names are the Buddhist names of the people, given post mortem.” She turned the flashlight to the wall, illuminating the bronze plaques.

  Flynn took photos of a few of the plaques, choosing the most ornate and the least. The differences between the two styles fascinated him. People always did venerate their dead in unique and diverse ways, even in the same place. For him, he’d prefer something simple. Just a reminder that he’d existed and then moved on.

  “So what does that mean?” he asked while he walked around the space. It was dark enough to remind him if the karst, but a lot less wet and smelly. And lacking in weird prawns and fish. Spiders, it seemed to have in abundance, lurking in the shadows, just outside Makani’s light.

  “I have no clue. It translates into Sanskrit.” Her light caught a little circular marking and she pointed, “That’s called ‘mon’. It’s the family crest. The older it is, the simpler the design. See how it’s just three diamonds?” Her fingers traced the pattern, and she leaned in close to look at it.

  “Whatever you say mon.” He put on a silly accent. He walked slowly around, noting how the symbols got more complex. “They must have started there and worked their way around over time.” He pointed. It looked like one family or generation trying to outdo the last. He filed that away so he could present those photographs in order.