Shinigami – Japanese, Death Gods. These are the spirits that separate the souls from life and escort them on their onward journey.

It would probably be a really good idea to read Shimigami - Ritsuko's Tale first....

“Satsuki, please, can you hear me?” The woman pleaded, gentle concern showing on her now visible face.

The girl made to speak, but her throat was dry.

A nurse came rushing over and taking one look, went rushing off.

The girl finally managed to croak out a few words.

“Who are you? Who am I?”.

Satsuki's awakening

The Shinigami looked in on Satsuki / Ritsuko in the hospital bed and was satisfied that she would recover. It would have been too cruel a fate to recall this soul once more after all the effort expended in restoring her.

Resolved to keep an eye on his latest charge, the Shinigami would linger some more in the world of men before returning to the spirit world. He knew that it was exactly this kind of personal involvement that had caused problems in the past with the main office, but it just could not be helped.

The Shinigami did one last charm, checking to ensure that no recollection of Ritsuko's previous life was intact, but also allowing knowledge that was not identity related to remain, to allow her a normal existence.

Satisfied and with a gesture, disappeared.

***

The girl, having come round was now conscious and taking stock of her situation.

It appeared she was in hospital and knew what a hospital was, what nurses and doctors were and she understood what they had told her about the accident, although she could not remember it at all.

Broken ribs, leg and arm. No organ damage though, that was a bonus. She would be out of this bed in a few weeks.

“Satsuki, how are you?”

She looked round and saw that woman again, the one who claimed to be her mother. For all intents and purposes she could be, but Satsuki, for that was the name people kept calling her. Satsuki managed a croaked “Been better.”

“I know you have. I am so worried about you.”

Satsuki was glad of the company and talking to this woman might give her some clues to her identity. Apart from medical staff, nobody came to visit apart from this woman, which was a concern.

This continued for many days, stuck in the hospital, that nondescript room, seeing the same faces day upon day, including that woman who knew her. The enforced solitude of the situation gave the person known as Satsuki time to think, to search her soul somewhat. Questions recirculated through her mind, on and on the endless cycle of questioning and self doubt. It was patently obvious she had no idea who she was, even the hospital psychologists and neurologists were at a loss to the cause.

Then there was the name, 'Satsuki Hoshino'. If ever a name felt so wrong, then this was it. She considered the name, it's meaning. She felt like an old soul in the body of a child. She was sure her name was one of the traditional Japanese girl's names that end in '-ko', the kanji for 'child'. 'Satsuko?' No, that did not feel right, 'Child of murder?'. What about the family name, 'Hoshino' means 'of the stars', also a non starter.

“Aaaaaaaaaaa..” she wailed out loud, then started crying.

A nurse came rushing over. “Satsuki-chan, are you all right?” The look of honest concern was obvious on her face.

Satsuki answered with the simplest of questions: “Who am I?”. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

The nurse replied, “You are Hoshino Satsuki-san. You were in a traffic accident.”

Satsuki already knew this. She was familiar with the platitudes and repetition of the past days, the endless repetition of the same information, she wanted more, to know and remember who she was. The only thoughts that seemed to be truth was the constant that she is a girl, always has been. At least that part of this is correct.

The nurse checked her patient once more before rushing off. Satsuki knew what that meant, that the psychiatrist would once more be returning soon. She had met him a few days ago after her first episode. Most of the time she felt numb, not knowing how to react to her situation but once previously, things had got to her to the point where she was in mourning for an existence that she could no longer recall.

True to last time, the psychiatrist, one Suzuki Yukiko-sensei arrived. She was a woman in her fifties, one of the few women who carried her career at the expense of a home life. Women in Japan tended to work only until marriage, often seeing it as a sort of retirement. Attitudes were slowly changing however, but still the career woman was less of a norm than in Western society. She was a homely woman with a kind face, the sort you would expect from a loving mother.

“Satsuki-chan, how are you?” Yukiko-sensei had, as last time, that gentle smile.

“Not sure,” Satsuki lifted her tear stained face, her bottom lip trembling. “Please, can you tell me who I am?”

“You are Hoshino Satsuki-san, a 17 year old high school student.”

“People keep on telling me that, but I cannot remember any of it.”

“You were close to death and are still in recovery. We, that is my colleagues and I, did not want to overload you with information. We know you are having a troublesome time of things, but really, you need to stay calm. It will help your recovery.”

Satsuki thought long and hard on this, the kind face looking back at her, worry clearly betrayed in her eyes behind the gentle smile.

“No, I want to know.” Satsuki looked up, her eyes pleading.

“I will consult with my colleagues. Perhaps knowing some of the truth of your situation will help jog those memories.”

“Thank you.” Satsuki felt like she was making progress. She was obviously concerned by what she was not being told. Yukiko-sensei then bade her goodbye and left as quickly as she arrived.

The day progressed. Lunch was a simple meal, bland in other words, as is the custom in hospitals. After lunch, she was introduced to her physiotherapist, another kindly face who proceeded to articulate various joints giving relief from the enforced lack of movement.

After this, her mother returned once more, accompanied by Yukiko-sensei, a look of worry on her face. Yukiko-sensei, of course, had the same benign smile she always had. Satsuki pondered this and thought that perhaps her manner was deliberate and meant to put her patients at ease.

“Satsuki, how are you?” Her mother came and hugged her. “Yukiko-sensei called me and said we should talk to you.”

With that, both mother and therapist both pulled up chairs and sat at the bedside. Her mother looked grave and sad, trying to hide it behind the smile that Japanese put on for the sake of politeness.

Thus it began. Satsuki was told an edited version of her past. Her father, now deceased, was a 'gun-sou', a sergeant in the police. He was killed on duty when trying to break up a fight between two drunken men, who, it transpired, were both rival martial artists. An unlucky blow to the head, her mother had called it. Next, she was told of her later years. She had been a student at the local girls high school, a private school as her grades were not sufficient to get her into the outstanding local state school.

“What do you mean 'was'?” Satsuki wanted to know why her mother had used the past tense to describe her school.

Her mother, clearly not wanting to cause more anguish for her daughter, decided to somewhat simplify the circumstances.

“I talked to the doctors and it was decided to withdraw you from school for this year, to allow you chance to recover from your injuries. You can redo the year when you have recovered.”

“But I'll be a year behind!”. Satsuki was clearly not satisfied. If she was a high school student, then by rights she should be in her final year, deciding which university to attend and taking the spring entrance exams to those institutions.

“What about university?”

“Don't worry about that for now.” Pain was now clearly evident on her mother's face and Satsuki wanted to know why.

Her mother however was resolved in changing the subject.

“There is someone who has asked to see you.” There, that smile again. “She knew the person who saved you and was concerned for your well being.”

“Who?” Satsuki was curious now. It would be good to have a visitor.

“I will phone and see if she can come tomorrow.”

“OK. I would love to meet her.” Satsuki mused, 'and perhaps gain another link to who I am'.

The conversation continued for some time, with her mother glancing repeatedly mid phrase, seeking approval for what she was saying from Yukiko-sensei. She learned many things about herself, various minutiae that made a person. She thought on this with a sort of detached curiosity. She knew who Hinoi team were, but she was sure that she could not like them, repetitive bouncy stuff. All in all, a productive conversation ensued, even though Satsuki was dead sure that the hobbies, interests and the like that were being attributed to her as her tastes belonged to a different person entirely. Fleeting glimpses of enka, that Japanese-Russian folky cabaret style music and smoky bars came to mind, rather than bouncy pop music and karaoke. Her taste in confectionery was spot on though.

After what seemed like an afternoon, they both got up and took their leave, with her mother promising to call that woman.

“Kaa-chan, thank you”. Satsuki's simple use of the diminutive for 'mother' had made her mother smile and brought a tear to her eye.

***

The Shinigami watched on impasssively. That last scene was touching.

“Perhaps this will all work out for the best,” he mused.

Resolved to give a helping hand, he took his meddling self off once more to research the rules of heaven.

***

The following morning, Satsuki once more awoke. Something felt wrong down below. She put her hand down there and it came back with blood on it.

“Aaaaa. What the hell!” She shrieked.

A nurse came rushing over and seeing Satsuki, panic clearly evident on her face, asked as to the problem.

“I'm bleeding!” Screamed Satsuki.

The nurse, promptly diagnosing the problem, was not prepared for this one. This girl should have already experienced a few years of the monthly visitor. She decided to approach this with tact.

“Hinomaru no hi.” she said (Literally 'Japanese flag day'). “You are having your period.”

“What!” Satsuki, not reassured by this, was frantic.

The nurse tried her best to sensitively approach the subject of feminine hygiene. Satsuki was eventually reassured when the nurse returned with some liners.

Both Satsuki and the nurse were at a loss to explain why Satsuki was unaware of this most basic of female bodily functions. The nurse eventually put it down to the accident.

***

The Shinigami, again watching was deep in thought.

“Perhaps I should have left some of that girl's experiences behind.”

The Shinigami quickly dismissed this thought. It was not possible to completely separate experiences and leaving stuff of that girl's behind may have corrupted this gentle soul. No, it was better that she learned about these things afresh, gain her own style.

***

Later that day, after the usual rounds of examinations, physio and therapy, Satsuki had a visitor.

Standing in the doorway was a woman in her twenties, dressed in a pink waitress outfit, her name badge prominently displayed. Satsuki looked at this person, 'It must be the person my mother was talking about...' she thought.

“Hi, my name is Sayaka, how are you?” The woman said, all smiles and bubbly personality.

“Satsuki, not too bad.” She replied. There was something there, some glimmer just beyond the edges of her mind, a sort of recognition. She felt a sliver of hope, maybe she could recover her memories after all.

“Please, sit...” Satsuki gestured with her one functioning arm to the chair adjacent to the bed.

“Thank you.” Sayaka had brought flowers. She placed them on the cabinet at the side of the bed and sat down.

“I wanted to see how you are...”

“So, who are you again?” Satsuki wanted to know more about this person and how they were related.

Sayaka began to explain about a woman who visited her shop a few times a week on a regular basis, always alone. This woman just sat there for hours at a time, ordering a dessert and then many refills of coffee, watching the world go by. This woman was always very kind and well spoken, but never fashionable. She spent a great deal of time observing the staff and patrons of the store.

Satsuki was intrigued. “So what has this got to do with me?”

“Well, that person was the one who saved your life.”

The conversation continued, tales of this person growing somewhat sullen in the last few weeks prior to the accident and how Sayaka tried to reach out and be a friend to this person who was clearly unhappy. This made Satsuki sad, it resonated within her being but she could not put her finger on why.

“So, not meaning to be rude, but why are you involved?”

Sayaka explained the call she received from the police. Apparently, the person who saved her was a cross dresser called Yukio Watanabe. The only information he had on him was the slip of paper that Sayaka had passed across. Sayaka further continued this tale, explaining that she suspected that this person was a cross dresser, her previous boyfriend had similar inclinations. She went with the police to find out more and heard about the girl that had been saved.

“...and so I came here to see if you were all right.”

“Thank you. I feel as if I know you. They did tell you about my amnesia?”

“Yes. I thought that maybe, if you want, I can try to help you, as I failed Watanabe-san so badly...”

“You did not fail him.” Satsuki was never more certain of her feelings as she was now. “I'm sure Watanabe-san felt the same.”

Satsuki and Sayaka were both almost in tears. Satsuki felt like she had known this person for a long time. Sayaka felt too the echo of recognition within Satsuki, as she felt the same way too. Satsuki relayed what she had been told about her life, well, at least the edited version her therapist and Mother had dispensed anyway, together with the feeling that it was somehow wrong.

They talked for what seemed hours, Sayaka finally breaking off the conversation as her shift was due to start in an hour.

As she was leaving the room, she waved. Satsuki was the happiest she had been since the accident.

***

The Shinigami, once more observing, was concerned. This had not been predicted, this meeting of the soul's former life with the present one. Nothing was revealed of the soul's prior identity though, so he was satisfied.

Resolved to continue to observe this, he made a gesture and sat on the stool that now appeared behind him.

***

To be continued.....?

Many thanks go out to Leah, for proof reading this and pointing out the error of my ways, so to speak. She has done an excellent job. Thank you Leah.

Thank you for reading this and all your encouraging comments - J