Demon Heart

By Bill Bryson

Naoko Kitamura is one of the best cops in the city’s police force in Osaka, Japan. However, her human appearance hides a dark secret that must be hidden from humans. Naoko is a demon hybrid, a descendant of a demon and a samurai.

Struggling to uphold her mother’s legacy as defender of Japan against evil, she faces human and nonhuman enemies determined to alter her country’s destiny. Her powers are both a blessing and a curse, for, by being extraordinary, Naoko can never live an ordinary life.

For her, the road to victory will be written in blood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foremost Press
• Release date: Jul 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781939870285

Bill Bryson

David Crane is a graduate of School of Visual Arts with a Bachelor’s degree in Fine Arts and Graphic design and a member of National Library of Poetry. He lives in New York City where he is at work on his next novel.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

They say that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. You see all the good things and the bad things that happened to you. And before you surrender to the total, painless darkness of death, you just might figure out what malevolent forces have brought you to your unfortunate end. Maybe what they say is true, because I’m dying. And my life unfolds before me like a fascinating adventure movie, full of power, color, beauty and terror. Humans fear death because it represents the end of life. On the other hand, I’m not human. I’m something entirely different. If you believe in magic and unconventional reality, you’ll be able to understand what I’m about to tell you in what appears to be the last hour of my life.

My body is ravaged by unholy forces. I’m bobbing on the gentle waves not too far from the shore. The salt water hurts like hell, and I’m trying to stay conscious long enough to get back to the sandy beach. The radiation dose I’ve absorbed would kill an average human being one hundred times over. I paid the price, but I’ve succeeded in my task. In my culture, death for a noble cause is always praised and respected. Even today, men and women adhere to the ancient code of honor. I’ve sacrificed myself for the city and the people I love. My beloved mother did the same thing when my country was threatened with annihilation at the hands of a madman.

I barely restrain myself from screaming. I can barely keep the pain at bay with my other power that still keeps me alive. I must admit I’ve died before during my career, but never like this. Thanks to my other power, I seem to be coming back for more. I don’t know if there’s an end to all this. I do my best to put things in perspective. In my last hour on earth, I find myself turning to philosophy. Holding death at bay with my remaining willpower, I suddenly find myself thinking what death haiku I should compose before I leave this world. Nothing comes to mind. Nothing but pulsing pain and the events that turned me into what I am. We all love life, but life doesn’t always loves us back. Long ago I accepted this simple fact. I did some things in my life I’m not proud of. That’s the price I pay for being born different than normal people. Atheists will call me a freak of nature. Those who believe in the old gods will have to figure out who I am by other means.

I’m thirty-five-years old in human years, but I look fifteen years younger. Call it good genetics, or something else; my kind ages slower than normal people. But I’m only half human, and I will eventually die. And today is a good day to die. The sky is blue, and the sun is shining upon the world. I think of my family and friends and know they will miss me. I’ll miss them too. I feel guilty because I’ve abandoned them by taking a risk I shouldn’t have. But there was no other way. I wonder what will happen when death claims me. People say there will be light at the end of the tunnel. I sure hope so. When it happens, my soul will rise to heaven and my mortal shell will fall apart, dissolving in the sea foam or drift to the bottom feeding the fish.

The shore is getting closer, but it still seems so far away. I know the end is near. Still I fight to live because deep in my gut I’m convinced this is not my time to go. Not yet. Experiencing agony beyond human imagination, I try to think of something that will give me the courage to go on living. I’m dead to the world. I feel the darkness at the edges of my vision.

Death is coming for me. "Surrender, it whispers to me. Let it go. Abandon your flesh and the pain will be gone. Resistance is futile. The time has come to accept the truth you’ve denied for so long."

I’m a creature of darkness and light. And this is my story.

PART ONE

TALONS OF FATE

CHAPTER 1

Be the teacher of your heart. Do not allow the heart to be your teacher.

Japanese proverb

My name is Naoko Kitamura. I was born in Osaka, Japan, in 1981, when the Cold War was still in full swing. My parents told me that at the exact moment of my birth, when I took my first breath and cried, the doctors and the nurses were briefly alarmed at the color of my eyes. They said my eyes were black as night and shiny like two tiny pools of oil. My mother Kumiko, my father Sato, and my brothers Hiroshi and Kazuo all looked concerned. But only my mother knew the truth. When she was born, her eyes were the exact same color.

Well, when I was a baby, I couldn’t care less what people thought of me. Deep at the genetic level, I knew who and what I was, but there was no catalyst to awaken my hidden power. I went through everything any normal Japanese child would do: enjoy the perks of being a family darling, being fed regularly and getting my diapers changed. And like any normal toddler, I was very curious about the world around me. At first, I simply observed. Then I began to learn what was good and what was bad. Every kid has to crawl before he can walk. I was no exception, although I began to see and feel the world differently from other human beings.

My brothers loved Japanese manga and American comics. In time, I also began to share their interest in fictional heroes and heroines. I wondered how they would react if they knew that I was very different from them. They were blissfully unaware of the fact that their beloved little sister was not exactly a human being. Kazuo and Hiroshi, escaped from reality through pursuits of imagination. Until they matured, they firmly believed in fairy tales and magic and were proud to discover that our legendary monster, Godzilla, was made an official honorable citizen of Japan. My mother was not surprised when I fell for the big mutant lizard confronting monsters and other forces of nature. Monster movies may or may not be for children, but in Japan a monster can be your friend in the right circumstances.

Like every other kid, I had my share of bruises and minor accidents. Still, when I got hurt, I recovered much faster than any other child. Scrapes and cuts disappeared from my skin in a matter of hours, sometimes even minutes, without a trace. I remember when I hurt my knee in kindergarten when I slipped while running to catch my escaping red balloon. I was more afraid of the sight of my own blood and shredded skin than pain. My father and brothers were sympathetic, but it was my mother who told me in confidence that my wound would disappear by the time I woke up the next morning. I didn’t believe her, but when I dared to remove the bandages, I was astonished to discover that my mother was right.

But there was more fascinating news to follow.

One day after my sixth birthday, my father and brothers went to see a movie. My mother and I stayed at home. It was a rainy day, and the skies over Osaka resembled a bulging, gray carpet spraying unimaginable amounts of water over the city. I was no longer afraid of thunder and lightning. It was a force of nature, but I believed that the sky demons and the gods of rain were involved in it somehow, even if most people stopped believing in their existence. My mother made dinner, tea, and sweet rice cakes, and we sat at the table enjoying our meal.

Can you keep a secret, Naoko? Mother said.

Of course I can, I replied with a grin. You know me.

Yes, I know you, Mother answered and took a small sip of her green tea. Now I think it’s time for you to know about me and yourself and learn what you can do to survive in this world.

Her words puzzled me. I was too small to think about survival. We lived in one of the most prosperous, secure, and safe countries in the world. The eighties were the best of times for Japan according to the newscasters. My father, who worked as an aerospace engineer for a successful Japanese corporation, had said that now was the time to reap dividends from our investments. My mother, who worked for the government, shared his view. My brothers were too young to care about politics and money. Still, I wanted to know my mother’s concerns. Her eyes, shiny, black and beautiful seemed to penetrate my very soul.

I don’t understand, I said.

You understand but you can’t explain, Mother replied. You’re not human, Naoko. This might surprise you, but neither am I.

What? I responded in disbelief. We aren’t human?

No, Naoko, we aren’t. We’re something else entirely.

I forgot about my remaining rice cake and frowned. We come from another planet? We’re aliens?

No, dear, we’re not aliens. But all females in our family, going back more than four hundred years, have been born with special abilities that no human has. All of your scrapes, bruises, and scratches have healed without a trace. How can you explain that?

I don’t know, Mother. Do you think it’s magic?

Do you believe in magic?

I do.

Good. I will put it as plainly as I can, honey. We’re all descendants of a secret union between a human and a demon. In time you’ll learn about your bloodline through time-trance meditation. Believe me when I tell you that the demon who gave us this power has protected us and our country for centuries.

You said only females in our family have this power, I said. What about my father and brothers?

My mother smiled and shook her head. No, my dear Naoko, your father and Kazuo and Hiroshi are perfectly normal human beings. If the demon who started our bloodline had been a male, then they would have it and you and I wouldn’t. It’s just the way it is.

I scratched my nose and leaned forward. So we’re special, right?

Right, Naoko, we’re very special. In time you’ll learn to use your powers and use them wisely. The demon sleeps within all of us, but is awakened at moments of extreme danger. It’s difficult to control, and if you lose control, it will take over.

What does it look like, this demon? I asked.

Well, it’s scary as it should be. I hope you’ll recognize its power under more fortunate circumstances than some of us did. Its powers manifest at puberty, and you will know the demon’s call when the time is right. Humans who know of our existence call us demon hybrids. People who accidentally witness our demonic powers fear what they don’t understand. This fear is natural. In this day and age, people become more and more dependent on technology. Our country, despite foreign influence, has managed to preserve its ancient heritage. No one can shake the foundation on which we base our principles of honor, courage, and sacrifice.

Our fairy tales say Japan was created by the gods, I commented.

And we still believe in them, my mother said with a smile.

Mother, but what about the humans? Where did they come from?

Well, they certainly didn’t come from the monkeys, my dear. Humans are the product of a temporary union of darkness and light. We live in a world of the balance of opposites. Opposite forces are attracted to each other. Heat is balanced by cold. Darkness is balanced by light, life by death, good by evil, night by day and so on.

Most people are good, I remarked. That means they have good balance.

You’re absolutely right, Naoko. When the balance is changed, people do things they might later regret. Even anger is temporary and must be always controlled. You will learn not to lose your temper over small things. But for now, just enjoy being a good kid and have fun.

And taking my mother’s advice I did enjoy being a good kid. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t difficult, even with the secret knowledge revealed to me. I wished I could share that knowledge with my father and brothers. But my mother said they wouldn’t understand. I had to agree and abandoned my plans of demonic revelation until I thought the time was right. For all males of my immediate family, ignorance was bliss. So like any other normal Japanese girl, I enjoyed a happy childhood until one day I was exposed to the dark side of human and demonic reality. . . .

* * *

I was ten years old when it happened. My family was riding a bullet train from Osaka to Tokyo to visit our relatives on my father’s side. It was my fifth ride on a bullet train, and I enjoyed the comfort and speed with which this incredible machine moved. And the bullet train was beautiful. It was huge, sleek, and painted milky white with red stripes running along its sides. It was properly named The Tokyo Express. The inside resembled a first-class section on an intercontinental airplane. My father was reading a science magazine. My mother was engrossed in a poetry anthology. Hiroshi listened to his portable cassette player. Kazuo was lost in his vampire manga novel, while I was busy with a coloring book.

My mother occasionally glanced up from her book to look at the landscape that passed us by with incredible speed. The bullet train was moving at close to two hundred miles per hour, and I wondered how she could enjoy the view with the train moving so fast. Apparently my mother, being what she was, could and did. And then we both felt it. Demon hybrids like us could feel it at a considerable distance. The sudden explosion of negative energy three cars ahead of us was so strong that it made me shudder.

My mother’s eyes met mine in a silent warning.

I’ll be right back, my mother said in a voice that was terrifyingly calm given the circumstances.

My father only nodded, and Hiroshi and Kazuo barely noticed her getting up from her seat and swiftly moving down the aisle. I concentrated on my breathing as my mother taught me in our private lessons. My demonic vision replaced my human senses, and now I was able to see what was happening through my mother’s eyes. She could have blocked me from seeing, but she did not. I was a kid, but, in my dreams, I have seen the visions of horror and beauty that are beyond the grasp of a normal person. The evil presence on the bullet train manifested itself in a form of five young humans: three males and two females. All were well dressed and didn’t look threatening until they suddenly produced razor-sharp, short swords. Their pupils dilated and their eyes changed color. They sprang into action, slashing and stabbing at the passengers, who had little room to maneuver to avoid the savage attack.

Until that day, I’d never seen people lose their minds like that. They killed three people and wounded seven before my mother rushed into the train car. A cop might give them one warning before he used his service weapon. Unfortunately, there were no trained cops in the car. My mother was a government agent and operated on an entirely different set of rules. Morality and mercy at this stage simply flew out the window. My mother had a license to kill.

The psychotic murderers noticed my mother entering the train car. They were surprised that she was moving toward them instead of running away. Two of them moved to confront her. Grinning savagely, they swung their bloodied blades, preparing to cut her to pieces. My mother’s eyes abruptly changed color. The whites of her eyes turned pitch black, forming two oily, almond pools of hatred. Ten long, black, razor-sharp blades sprouted from her fingertips. Each blade was roughly seven inches long and harder than Japanese steel. What followed next was a slaughter in reverse.

The killers were terrifying, but they were no match for my mother’s speed and fury. Severed limbs flew in all directions, followed by geysers of blood. The attackers were either possessed or were high on drugs because they felt no pain. But they were human, and they died when my mother’s claws pierced a vital organ or severed an artery. One of the female attackers was decapitated in one sweep, and the male who attacked my mother next received a lethal puncture wound into his heart.

Finally, only one of the attackers remained. My mother tore the short sword from her grasp, tossed it aside, took her by the front of her shirt and lifted her off the floor, smashing her back against the wall. The terrorist writhed in helpless fury trying to kick her and scratch out her eyes. Since my mother could easily lift a car with her demonic strength, the young female was like a butterfly pinned to a wall. My mother looked up at her, her lips parting, revealing rows of needle-sharp black teeth. If the terrorist wasn’t on drugs, she would’ve had an entirely different reaction; instead, she smiled and giggled.

I love your face, she said with a laugh. Nice kabuki mask!

Who sent you? my mother snarled.

We clean the planet from sin, the young woman snapped back. Those who poison the earth will pay in blood! You will not be part of our future!

One of my mother’s black claws elongated, almost touching the young female’s jugular. You will tell me everything. Then you will die.

The young female spat in my mother’s face and suddenly bit hard, clenching her jaws shut. Her eyes fluttered, and she began foaming at the mouth. My mother sniffed at the air, and as the young woman’s eyes rolled up in her head, she let the body drop. Cyanide, my mother said and retracted her claws. Her eyes turned back to normal, and she used her handkerchief to wipe the spittle off her face. This was my first true experience with evil, but it was only the beginning.

CHAPTER 2

Sometimes a single moment is worth more than any treasure.

Japanese proverb

To the whole wide world, my mother was now a heroine. The incident on the The Tokyo Express took a toll in human lives, but more lives would have been lost if not for my mother’s timely intervention. In Japan, a country that prized itself on one of the lowest crime rates in the world, the slaughter caused a major media sensation. Being who I was, I kept my wits and my sanity after witnessing the demonic power of my mother. I didn’t like what I saw, but I accepted it as part of our secret lives.

Being half human and half demon, I possessed a photographic inhuman memory, and sometimes I replayed the incident on the bullet train in my mind, trying to get any clues to the killers’ purpose. They were most likely members of a crazy doomsday cult or one of the religious sects whose members used mind-altering drugs to communicate with their imaginary gods and do their bidding.

Police experts did confirm later that traces of a powerful synthetic adrenaline were found in the blood of the dead terrorists during an autopsy. All of them had the tattoos of the New Eden Group, a privately funded worldwide organization dedicated to environmental safety. The New Eden Group spokesman couldn’t be reached for comment, but later strongly condemned the senseless slaughter. He denied any involvement of his organization, and the media swallowed it up because there were no clues.

I never forgot the incident, but I went on with my normal life. My mother continued her investigation, hoping to find something to go on. She worked for the Japanese government and that was all my family knew. My father jokingly called her Our Secret Agent, and he wasn’t far from the truth. She could do what no one else could. Pure demons who spawned our kind were even more formidable than my mother. I talked to them in my dreams sometimes, and they were nice and very beautiful, especially my ancestor Yoshiko Nagase, who started our bloodline.

We did get to Tokyo that fateful day but on another bullet train. The police questioned my mother and eventually let us go after she gave her statement. Her credentials were so impressive that the cops gave her every possible courtesy. After we reached the outskirts of Tokyo, we had a dinner party at the home of my uncle Matsuo and his wife Junko. Their house was only a half-hour ride from the Tokyo super metropolis. It had a nice garden with cherry and bonsai trees and a pond where they kept exotic fish.

I loved the garden. Trees looked harmonious amid the decorative, carved family gravestones dating back more than three centuries. Uncle Matsuo’s family once served a powerful samurai clan during the turbulent civil war era in the mid-1500s known in Japan as Sengoku Jidai, the War of the Warring States. The family survived the violence of the clan warfare and the reign of the Tokugawa shoguns. They prospered during the Meiji Restoration in the second half of the nineteenth century and endured the blood and fire of the Second World War.

The beautiful garden held enough wonders for a ten-year-old girl like me. I could spend hours playing there, smelling the aroma of exotic flowers and hearing the singing of birds. My demon inside me was dormant. Try as I might, I couldn’t make the black demonic blades spring from the tips of my fingers. I tried to awaken my demon before the mirror to see if my eyes would change. No such luck. My mother once mentioned that our kind could fly, but I wondered if it was possible. I could accept my mother’s statement of walking on water, but flying?

Back in Osaka, I returned to school and the routine of my studies. My obedience to the family rules and regulations was drummed into me as I grew older.

On my twelfth birthday, I was hit by a motorcycle when a member of a biker gang was fleeing from the police. I ended up flying from the impact, unable to react in time. But being a demon hybrid, I reacted on instinct and landed on my hands and feet like a cat. The biker, who was also thrown from his seat by the impact, came to his feet and actually tried to help me instead of running away on foot. I was pissed off, and when he reached out with his hand to help me, I punched him in the nose, grabbed my school bag and sprinted away. Disabled by my blow, the biker was swiftly taken into police custody. I knew I broke his nose, but it could’ve been much worse.

You hit him? Mother said shaking her head when I got home.

Well, he almost killed me, I replied. What was I supposed to do?

Walk away, Mother remarked.

I am sorry, Mother. I guess I was more angry than scared.

You need to control your emotions, Naoko.

Yes, of course.

This is no joke, Mother said. You may be immune to harm, but in your anger you can seriously hurt or even kill people. The human side of you is evolving into teenage emotions and aggression. The demon inside you will awaken soon. You need to learn to control it. I pray your awakening will not be as dramatic as mine.

I frowned and scratched my nose. Is it always dramatic?

Unfortunately, yes, it is. And it’s not pretty.

I think I understand.

We’re born this way, Naoko. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

Right, I said. All we can do is to make the best of it, right?

You get another pearl of wisdom on that one, Mother replied with a smile.

* * *

Following my mother’s advice, I enrolled in a martial arts school. The school taught Shotokan karate, the Tiger style. My sensei, Master Kurita, a fifth-degree black belt, was cultured and soft-spoken outside his dojo. But on the exercise floor, he helped you if you made a mistake and shamed you when you got out of line. I loved the grace and precision of kata, the exercise part, and the kumite, the sparring part. Tiger was the symbol of the Shotokan School, and I loved the look of that powerful majestic animal decorating my karate uniform. True to my promise, I learned to control my emotions, although sometimes it was easier said than done. I itched to show off that I could do more than an average human could do. The demon inside me didn’t mind.

We were learning to break wooden boards with precision strikes, transferring the power of our blows into the target and causing its fracture. I envied the students who could do it better than others and who could spar in full contact. I learned and bid my time, going not for the belt color, but for the effectiveness of the technique. I practiced hard and the training paid off. Wooden boards shattered when I hit them without visible effort. The colors of my belt changed, and my confidence grew to new levels. Still, I wanted to be better than others, and one day I asked for the ultimate challenge no one had attempted before.

At age fourteen, I decided to go for the gold by breaking ten wooden planks at once, a feat only our martial arts teacher could accomplish. Some students tried to talk me out of it. Others encouraged me to try. Only one, a big boy named Gen, a freshly promoted black belt, called me a fool to my face. The other students fell silent as Gen placed his hands on his hips, looking down on me. He was tall and very strong, one of the best students. Until that day he simply ignored me, but when he made that comment, I put my foot down.

Take your words back, Kurita said to him.

Sensei, she is an arrogant brat who thinks she is tough, Gen replied. There’s no way she can break ten boards. She’ll break her hand and blame us for it.

Don’t patronize me, I snapped. I know what I’m doing.

Do you really? Gen sneered.

Sensei Kurita shook his head and looked me over. You have a very unusual request, Naoko. I want to understand why you’re doing this.

To show that I can, I answered earnestly.

No, she can’t, Gen said and folded his big hands on his chest. And I still think she is a fool to even try. Even I can’t break ten boards, and I am a black belt.

Big deal, I said.

Gen, apologize to Naoko immediately, Kurita said.

I’ll apologize if she breaks ten planks, Gen replied. Not before.

I felt the tension in the air as I walked up to a neat stack of wooden boards secured to a special stand. Some students looked nervous, others cheered me on, but all were curious to see if I could do it. I had no doubt that I could. I breathed in and out and concentrated on my target. I