Fourfold

Intro
Hi! This is a story I wrote last year, about a Japanese-American girl with four spirits living inside her head. There are a total of six chapters.

Please note all my Japanese is from Google Translate, so if you speak Japanese, correct it!

In which Aki is introduced, the four give her a headache, and Leanne keeps a secret.
Unlike most people with voices in their head, I am completely aware of how absurd this is. They are there, though. No matter how much I try to ignore them or what logic I try, they’re still there. One usually says, Baby, you can’t get rid of us that way. Two just laughs. Then Three and Two get in a fight, and I get a migraine, and Four comforts me. Four is probably my favorite.  

This morning, I let One pick my outfit; out of the five of us, she’s best with clothes. She selects a pair of dark skinny jeans, a pleated silver blouse I didn’t remember I own, and a red knitted cardigan. I put them on obediently and drag a brush through my hair. One wants me to put it up in a topknot.

“Aki?” Leanne calls, poking her head in my bedroom. I wave at her, holding my hairband between my lips. “Oh, you’re up,” Leanne says.

I’m not usually up too early, but I just couldn’t sleep any more. I transfer my hairband to my wrist and start to twist up my hair, letting One take control of my fingers. “Are the others up?” I ask.

Leanne leaves abruptly, which I take as a ‘no’. Atsuko never gets up without a cattle prod.

Most of the time, you’re right, but she does get up sometimes, like on weekends, Three says. Three is a stickler for facts.

 

As I pull on socks, Four creeps to the front of my mind. I can always tell them apart, even when they’re silent: One has a practiced stillness, Two hums like a beehive, Three sort of swishes, like the ocean, and Four tickles. Leanne’s nervous about something, Four tells me. I frown and tug my pant leg down over my sock.

How do you know? I think, directing it at her. Four responds in a flash, pulling up my most recent memories. She highlights details I barely registered, like Leanne’s abrupt words, tight grip on the doorframe, and hasty exit. It’s obvious.

But why? I can’t think of any reason why Leanne would act so, hiding something behind a clipped, curt exterior. As usual, the open question prompts a flood of responses.

Maybe it’s something to do with her friends, One says.

There was a great big car accident, and your father is dead! Two guesses. Two is a great big steamroller over feelings.

Maybe she’s going to have to tell you something unpleasant, like your father has a business trip or Izumi is off the swim team, Four says, turning the clues over.

We need more evidence before drawing a conclusion, Three says, firmly. Three is good about not speculating, and it pulls me back from the neverending guesses of the others. I decide to side with Three. We can look for clues at breakfast, I tell them, and head for the stairs.

 

My bedroom, along with my siblings’, is in the basement. I climb over the doggy gate at the top of the stairs into total chaos. Atsuko is yelling, “Where’s my homework?” Izumi chases our brindled boxer, Lois, around the kitchen, trying to leash her, and Emi is banging on the table with a plastic unicorn and singing. Leanne stands in the middle of it all, immune to the noise. This is fairly normal. Now keep in mind that, instead of four voices and a dog bombarding me, I usually have eight voices and dog.

Lois sees me and rushes over, tailless end wriggling fiercely. I crouch and scratch her neck. “Who’s a good girl? You’s a good girl!” I coo, holding her collar so Izumi can leash her.

“Thanks, Aki,” he says as he pulls Lois away.

I still don’t see the point to that animal, One says shortly. One is against pets, mostly because they’re messy and smelly and take up space. She’s very opinionated; her voice in my head is clipped and faintly British, like Professor McGonagall in the Harry Potter movies.

You never will, I think. I sense agreement from One, then silence.

 

Leanne sets a plate of apple slices on the table and puts out the milk for cereal. In one of her parenting books, she read that family meals are important for bonding, so she tries to orchestrate them at least twice a day.

“I have to walk Lois,” Izumi calls, opening the door. He hates Kuromiya family breakfasts, and uses the dog to get out of as many as possible. He leaves before Leanne can stop him.

Leanne puts Emi in her high chair and gives her a sippy cup. At four, Emi is supposed to be too old for sippy cups, but the battle of the pacifier is still so fresh on everyone’s minds that we let her keep them.

That girl certainly gets what she wants, Two says. Two has a deep, slow voice, like football players when they’re interviewed before big games. He’s the only male spirit in my head, which puts him at odds with me and the others. His personality also sort of reminds me of a football player, and sometimes I wonder how he ever got to be a powerful spirit.

Screaming is an underhanded weapon, Three says as I pour milk on my cheerios.

She makes her wants happen, that’s all. Two sounds annoyed. He swells to fill most of my head, and the sensations of his power--beehive buzzing, a smell like cinnamon and really spicy chili peppers, and an adrenaline rush--sweep through me.

I thought you were opposed to cheating, I say, making my mind-voice as clipped as One’s. Four, do something, I add.

Four swells up too, pushing Two back. She’s the youngest of my spirits, with a melodic, teen-girl voice to match. Four says something directed only at Two, and he subsides. Four is usually the only one who remembers that their battleground is my brain.

I start on my breakfast, eating with a lot more energy than Atsuko. Emi alternates between making a mess and chattering on in four-year-old jibber-jabber, but Atsuko is silent, still dressed in her pajamas. “Are you awake?” I ask, which earns me a muttered, “Shut up.” Atsuko’s sixteen (almost seventeen), four years older than me, and she’s a real surly teenager. Sometimes Three is like that.

Life does irritate me sometimes, Three agrees. It has a whispery voice, genderless as the wind. I’ve asked Three if it would prefer to be called ‘they’, but it said ‘it’ was fine, thank you.

 

As I eat, I glance over at Leanne, searching for clues. She’s a little quieter than usual. She hasn’t told off Emi yet. She packs our school lunches with deliberate slowness, much more than usual.

Four? I think, calling her up. She drifts to the forefront of my mind and starts to examine Leanne. Four falls still, her tickling energy subsiding, as she ponders my stepmother. Definitely nervous about something, Four says eventually, but I need some reactions to figure out what.

Or we could wait, Three suggests. Ever inoffensive Three.

But I want to know now! Two cries.

Oh, shut up. That is One, throwing down a verdict. One was the first in my head, and she’s the most powerful of them. Or, at least, I think One has the most power. I’m not exactly sure, and that’s the sort of question that the spirits get squirrely over. Anyway, she’s the boss.

 

I finish my cereal, eat a handful of apple slices, and set my bowl in the sink. “Hi,” I say to Leanne.

“Hello,” she echoes, not looking at me. I linger, letting Four scan Leanne again. Leanne is young, only thirty-two, with tousled toffee curls and a thin, sharp nose. She’s biting her lip and keeping her eyes on her hands as she adds carrot sticks to our lunches.

I hesitate, listening to Two and Three go back and forth. The second Four weighs in on Two’s side, I cave. “What’s wrong?” I ask. Leanne jumps, just visibly, and turns to me.

“Nothing, Aki. Why do you ask?”

“You look very much like something is wrong,” I say. Four offers me a list of details, and I parrot it. “You’re quiet, aren’t paying attention to Emi at all, doing things really slowly to keep you occupied, keep nibbling on your lip, standing on your toes instead of your feet properly, and have no makeup on even though it’s a work day.” I didn’t put half of those together; that’s Four for you.

Leanne shakes her head. “I don’t understand how you’re so perceptive,” she says. Her voice sounds almost resigned. I blink at her and wonder if it would be worth it to let one of the spirits prod her. That’s when they partly leave my body and slip into an extremely temporary host. However, that’s the most disorienting, weird thing that they can do, since I get to have the lovely experience of band-aid syndrome: the immediate loss is shocking and painful. And the return is like a rubber band snapping back into place; I get whiplash, and I hate it. I decide no.

Leanne looks at me, her glassy blue eyes to my black-brown. I hold her stare as I tell her, “That’s not an answer.”

“No? Well, oh, it’s nothing. Just…”

“Just what? Just is not a good word to use in this situation. It’s making mountains into molehills.” One provides the metaphor, one of her personal favorites.

“It really doesn’t affect us,” Leanne says. She rinses out my bowl and puts it in the dishwasher.

She’s telling the truth, or at least she thinks she is, Four says. ''She believes that, whatever it is, doesn’t affect the family. So it’s a personal problem. ''

She’s pregnant! Two guesses.

Daiki had a vasectomy after Emi, Three reminds us, in the exasperated voice it often uses for Two. Leanne wasn’t that happy about that, since she wanted kids, but he said four was plenty.

Social or familial, One decides. Aki, what do you know about her social life?

Not much, I admit. I think she has one, unlike me, but…

“Leanne,” I say. “How are your friends?”

“My friends?” she echoes, truly confused.

Not that, Four says. ''You’re surprising her with randomness now, and she’s got no clue where that came from. Try family.''

“Or your family?” I ask. “Is your mom okay? I know she was taking care of her mom, so we haven’t seen them in a long time.”

“Everything’s fine,” Leanne blurts, biting her lower lip, and this time even I can tell she’s lying.

 

I don’t press the issue. I really alarm Leanne when I talk a lot, since I’m a very nonverbal kind of girl, and Four warns me I’m starting to frighten her. Maybe if she knew about the spirits, it would be different, but no one does. That is, according to One, number one rule about protecting your possessed host: keep them from mentioning you. It would get bad for me if everyone decided I was crazy. One says she’s spent far too long in hosts locked in asylums, thank you very much, and that I have to avoid that sort of place.

I gather up my backpack with twenty minutes to spare and flop down on the couch to reread my book. We’re reading The Giver in Language Arts, but that isn’t the one I pull out of my bag. It’s Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Yes, I’m a Potterhead.

I’m at the part on the train where the dementor comes in, and the whole time I’m wondering what sort of memory it would put in my head. Probably when my mom died. Izumi comes back with Lois and starts to wolf down his breakfast. Leanne finally tells Atsuko to get dressed and cleans up Emi’s mess.

''A dementor would make me think of Mary. Horrid host, spent her whole life imprisoned,'' One says. ''That was only my second host, too, and I couldn’t seem to break free. Worst way to spend fifty years, let me tell you. ''

Dementors wouldn’t work on us, Three says. It’s not usually drawn into hypothetical arguments, but this one does it every time. ''We’re ethereal, and much more powerful. We’re the patronuses. We draw our energy from proper sources, not misery. Who would use misery when they could use geomagnetic forces? Or solar energy, for that matter.''

They do this every time. Every single time. And I love it.

 

I brush my teeth, put on my sneakers (it’s a gym day), and return to the couch. I’m ready to go. Izumi is, too. Emi is a disaster, but Leanne wrestles her into a jacket and shoes. Atsuko is dragging her feet, whining about this and that. At one point, when Leanne says we’re leaving in two minutes whether Atsuko is ready or not, Atsuko gets a temper and flies into a rant. In Japanese. Of course, Leanne can’t speak Japanese, so Izumi starts translating, with Emi providing helpful input on the choice phrases. Finally, I look up and snap, "Damare, Atsuko!”

Atsuko heaves a great sigh and says, in English, “Fine.”

Leanne looks impressed. “I should learn that one,” she says. Atsuko doesn’t always listen to Leanne, especially when she gets in her head to show off how bilingual she is.

 

We manage to get to my school on time, which is a bit of a miracle. Leanne drops me off at the front office and I wave at the car as they drive away. Then I steel myself and enter the mess of my junior high, known to One as ‘the most ridiculous and humiliating human idea since invading Russia’. I don’t know if one of One’s past hosts ever did that. Highly possible, but she won’t tell me.

Four is still turning over Leanne’s mystery, which we have no new clues for. It must be something big, she says, finally working through all her options. It was the family remark that drew her attention, not the one about her mother, so I think it would be sibling related.

Can I focus on school now? I ask, stepping inside. I have enough to worry about.

We will return to this at lunch, One decides. She slinks low in my skull and starts to settle down. One prefers to avoid experiencing middle school.