The San Remo
145 Central Park West
"Grandpa! Grandpa! Open up!"
Raphael's scared voice echoed throughout the hallway as he pounded on Hiroshi Nakimura's apartment door, and he didn't let up until he heard his grandfather unlock it. The door opened to reveal an elderly man, his wise features in shock at the sight before him. His eyes went from the man cradling his unconscious daughter to his small grandson.
"What on earth is going on here?"
"Mom fainted in the park, Grandpa. I asked this man to help bring her here."
Hiroshi glanced at the stranger. "Thank you very much for your help."
The man smiled, perhaps relieved that his good deed was coming to an end so he could return to his workout. "It was nothing, really. I just hope that she'll be okay."
Hiroshi began to reach for his wallet, but the stranger held up a hand to stop him.
"Please, don't bother." He lowered Grace into Hiroshi's waiting arms before taking his leave. She was like a rag doll, utterly limp and unaware of her surroundings.
Rafe watched the exchange. "Do you think she'll wake up, Grandpa?"
The older man was strong for his sixty-four years of age, and he carried his daughter into one of the guest rooms. He laid her on the bed, removing her boots before tucking her in. She slept on. He turned to look at his grandson with surprise.
"Of course she'll wake up, famous artist. Silly boy! Why would you ask such a question? She has to wake up, for your sake."
The young boy bit his lip. "I was really scared earlier. The way she acted in the park, I thought that Mom was going to end up like Grandma."
Hiroshi winced at the pain that Rafe's words caused, the wound still fresh. Only a year had passed since his beloved wife Keiko had died of cancer. Brain cancer, which had been excruciating for his wife to endure and for him and Grace to witness. By the time Keiko had been diagnosed with the disease, it was already too late for treatment. As the months passed, the family had no choice but to watch helplessly as she faded away. At the end, Keiko didn't even know her own name, didn't even recognize her own daughter.
Such a horrible last glimpse for Grace to have of her mother before she died. Damn it, considering all the friction that they'd had over the years, Keiko not knowing her in the end must have cemented such sadness, such bitterness inside her as well as regret. Oh, Grace. I'm sorry that I wasn't as good a father as I should have been, that I didn't defend you enough against your mother's stubborn nature. Keiko, I wish that I could have done something to keep you here with us, so we could have grown old together and watched our beautiful grandchild go on to do great, wonderful things in his life. He's so gifted, my love. And together you and Grace could have resolved your differences. But all that can't happen now, and it's a tragedy beyond words.
He spun around to face the child.
"Rafe, your mother will never end up like Grandma. Do you understand me, son? Your mother is young and strong, and she will always do what's best for you. She understands that she must look after her own health so she can be around for you, okay? You will always be her highest priority, and for that reason she will care for herself."
Rafe nodded, and Hiroshi let out a deep breath as he felt the tension ease from his body. He took one last glance over his shoulder at the bed where Grace slept, and he took the child's hand, leading him out of the room and closing the door behind them.
In the living room, Hiroshi noted the large overnight bag which had both Grace's and Rafe's things inside. He smiled, glad that his daughter came up with the idea of their spending the occasional weekend with him. He'd been so tired of living in an empty apartment, and having company helped him greatly as he still struggled with his grief. Besides, it gave him the opportunity to spend quality time with his grandson.
"Got any drawings for me today, Raffaello Sanzio?"
Rafe blinked. "Who's that?"
Hiroshi sat down in his favorite chair, putting his feet up on the coffee table.
"Raffaello Sanzio was the real name of Raphael, the famous Renaissance artist. He's the guy that you're named after, buddy."
"I thought I was named after the angel."
Hiroshi's eyes widened slightly. "What made you think that?"
Rafe went to the overnight bag as he spoke. "Every once in a while, Mom calls me her angel. I looked up my name on the Internet, and I found out that there's also a very important Archangel called Raphael. The name means "He who heals God."
"My God, you're so young and already you know how to use the Internet! You always surprise me with your smarts, boy! Imagine, at four years old! Christ, I'm 64 and I'm still stumped at times over how to bring up a website!"
Rafe puffed out his chest before speaking defensively, "I'll be five next week."
Hiroshi chuckled warmly, winking at him. "That's a big difference, then."
Raphael walked towards his grandfather, handing him a roll of papers.
"I brought these for you, Grandpa."
Hiroshi was touched. "Thank you, son. I can't wait to see them and put them on my walls. Let's look at them together and you can explain to me what they are, okay?"
Together they unrolled the papers; the first drawing featured a shadowy scene. Hiroshi looked at Rafe for clarification, and the boy's face was drawn.
"This one is from a dream that I've been having for over two weeks now."
He went on to describe the dream, and the nape of Hiroshi's neck tingled.
"Who are these men, and what are they fighting for?"
Rafe swallowed hard. "I can't tell exactly. The first few times that I had the dream, I thought that they were fighting over me and Mom. But now it feels like something else as well, something deeper and darker." He shuddered as he said the words.
Hiroshi leaned forward, his voice insistent. "Who are the two men?"