As a spectator of himself, Oliver was now able to examine all the subtle details that had enclosed him that day. By his side was an unusual veil of mournful still air accompanied by an array of gentle diagonal raindrops, decorating what normally should be a vibrant city street.
“Nanikawasan… moved…” Oliver’s eardrums could still vibrate every nuance of the man’s dithering voice in slow motion, as he employed his disjointed English to send him away from what was no longer Yuriko’s doorstep.
Watching the dark scene from a distance, Oliver’s mind was comparatively less entangled with the bad news than before. Even though the rain was determined, it was unable to shield the old man’s unsteady face that appeared to have intelligent dialogue dying to come out but was apparently hampered by the language barrier. Could it be that he had been expecting a visit from a brown haired white foreigner with an earring all this time?
”Please sir! Tell me how I can find her. I’m a friend of the daughter… Her name is Yuriko… I come from very far… from England…
“I. Really. Need. To. Speak. To. Her… Please…” Oliver could picture himself pointing and gesturing mulishly, pushing his message through the curtain of rain.
”Daughter Nanikawa…” the man sighed into a laborious grimace, seemingly wishing to assist the foreigner he had been expecting, but helpless to do so. Leaning into the screen, Oliver could spot waves of sympathy swirling in the man’s charcoal deep eyes that unfortunately would conclude their communication. He bowed slightly and politely closed his door.
”Wait! Please!” Oliver advanced fruitlessly to the door that was already closed, leaving him alone with the somber still air and lifeless street.
Frustrated but with a slight quiver of hope, he dug at his pocket and hastily retrieved the Amoré Ginny had given him, hoping the locket would point him to the direction of his love, just like the way it helped Ginny locate Harry in St. Mungo’s Hospital. As he eagerly pressed the button to release the shiny cover, his quiver was silenced when he watched the needle spin listlessly inside its glass casing. He remembered it was never like this when Ginny had it in her clutches. It was as if the needle was in a drunken state, unable to pin itself down in a decisive manner. Despite him circling his steps to all directions, hoisting the locket high into the rain, filling his mind with pages and pages of Yuriko’s images, the mysterious needle was still unable to give him his definitive answer. Without its guidance, he would not be able to find her in this foreign land.
”Maybe the magic doesn’t work when it’s outside of England,” he murmured disappointedly as he snapped it back into his pocket.
Trudging aimlessly away from the doorstep, the downcast clouds would fittingly crack open. No longer diagonal, the rain was now pouring in bricks and pounds, the intensity matching the exponential disillusionment weighing down his feet, as a result of his failed mission. Each brick of water would strike symbolically all over his face, perhaps fulfilling his need to feel his tears, because they knew his eyes were too stubborn to cry. The sounds of water sheets scaling off the edges of each rooftop would take turns singing to his ears, keeping him company as he continued along the wintry unfamiliar pavement, motoring laboriously with no direction, too empty to feel the chill from his water soaked clothes and shoes.
”Oliver…” a tuneful voice suddenly echoed, but he was too disconsolate to notice; the sound was too faint to register.
“Olive… Olive… Wooden… Tree…” the rain tapped into a soulful arrangement of notes, stringing into a playful melody, one he was too familiar with to not recognize, because the phrase was exactly what came out of Yuriko’s lips the day he introduced himself to her. He immediately halted his steps and cocked his head up, forcing his eyes to protrude into his unforgiving surroundings.
”Yuriko?” he muttered uncertainly, wiping the water off his eyes and peering outward as far as possible.
“Oliver…
“Please…
“Forget… about me…”
The rain appeared to be chanting to him, the mellow tone somehow bearing an eerie resemblance to Yuriko’s silky voice.
He could suddenly sense her presence around him for some reason. Virtually convinced she was nearby but blinded by the rain, he stretched out his arms wishfully, digging into the air, hoping to touch her again.
”YURIKO! WHERE ARE YOU?” he screamed chokingly into the rain without question and fear, his mouth awash with water spilling from the heavens.
It was as if the rain was becoming angry with him for his wall of defiance; it naturally invited powerful thunderbolts to join them. Like fragments of a broken mirror, they would reflect all angles of furious light into the lonely air.
”Oliver, please…
”Leave… me…” the same voice sliced through the waterfall, but with a melancholic pleading pitch this time.
”NO!” he roared back ragingly. There would absolutely be no compromise in his search for her. His knees were adamant too, ready to mount its offense against the crescent flood.
The piercing thunderbolts intensified in response, seemingly punishing him, targeting the neighboring ground around him with precision, but he still refused to give up. However mad and unbelievable everything was, he set his doubts aside; he was certain she was near.
”YURIKO, I LOVE YOU…” he shouted uncontrollably, not knowing what else to do, except hoping his voice could carry him to her.
“WHERE ARE YOU?
”YURIKO…”
There was no response. He was certain he screamed as loud as he could, and if she was nearby, she should hear him, because the blazing thunder and rain inexplicably lost their velocity in the process.
Taking advantage of the relatively quieter surroundings and clearer vision, he cried her name again as he raced ahead, but the street was as empty as ever. There were no signs of her or anyone present.
Suddenly, from the corner of his view, he spotted something ghostly white spinning on the gray pavement, cutting through the puddles, the wind current steadily guiding it towards him, as if it was meant for him. As he turned to check, he noticed it was an abandoned white umbrella, still in its opened position, rotating enigmatically like a single chariot wheel, the handle dancing merrily on the ground. His eyes tracked its trajectory until it was intertwined cozily at his feet.
Moongate Beckons When The Canvas Sleeps by gossipweaver
Chapter Notes: The tapping sounds of rain seem to be language that only his ears can understand…