I Need a Hero

1

Tani's POV

I ran as fast as I could, Taro by my side. We both felt the pain in our side getting worse and worse, but not a scratch was on us. That could only mean one thing. Tomo was being hurt. Being triplets, in our family, meant we could feel each other's pain. It was why we never parted, unless absolutely necessary. Tomo had been called to stay after school. He must've run into the school bullies as he left to walk home. It was only a day or so after school had started.

Taro and I rounded a corner, to find Tomo on the ground, and the school's worst, Ryou, kicking our brother in the stomach. Taro grimaced as another kick sent pain through all three of us, but didn't hesitate to yank Ryou back from Tomo. As Taro held the jerk in place, I sent a rounded kick to his own stomach, giving him a dose of his own medicine. Taro then gave me a look, and I ran to help Tomo stand, while Taro continued to beat Ryou to a pulp. The only good thing about our father teaching us to fight at a young age, is now we can protect each other.

"Tomo, are you ok?" I whispered.

"You already know I'm not," he answered softly, coughing a bit as he put his arm around my shoulder, allowing me to help him stand up. He continued to lean on me as we walked back to Taro. Ryou was on the ground, still concious, but not wanting to make us any angrier.

"We should get home," Taro decided. "But don't let mom know what happened."

Tomo and I nodded. Mom was always worried about us. In her family, every set if siblings had a unique connection. We were the only set of triplets, though.

As soon as we got home, we put on identical soft smiles, masking the pain in our stomachs, ready to greet our mom. She gave us each a hug and a kiss, but then had to leave for the grocery store, to buy food for dinner. We went up to our bedroom, where Taro made Tomo take off his shirt, so we could see the damage Ryou had done.

"I'm fine," Tomo protested. "Father taught us to handle pain much worse than that. You two know that. I'm stronger than you guys think."

I shuddered at the blundt mention of our father, and Taro glanced at me, making sure I was ok. We could also sense each other's emotions. I gave a short nod, then said, "We know you're strong, Tomo, but we also know you're in pain. We just want to help you. Please, let us help."

Tomo sighed, then nodded. "Fine," he said. Then, quieter, "And thank you."

Taro smirked. I could always get through to Tomo. I was, after all, the youngest of us. Taro was the oldest, and Tomo the middle. Mere minutes seperated us, but nothing else. We shared everything, from our bedroom, to our deepest fears, which, for us, was also the same. We feared our father, and what he could do to us. It did not help that, recently, our father had been pushing to gain custody of us. Our mother, thankfully, had refused. What he did to us was why we left Japan in the first place. Our mother had pressed charges against him, during their divorce, when my brothers and I were eight, but our father had no repercussions.

Taro and I wrapped Tomo's stomach in gauze, to help soothe the throbbing pain.

I guess, before we continue, I should tell you what we look like. Taro and Tomo look almost identical, except that Taro is about an inch taller. Taro always wears a black hoodie, and Tomo wears a red jacket, so people can tell them apart. I am much shorter, only coming to the boys' shoulders. My hair, like theirs' is pitch black, only I streaked red through mine. We all had light grey eyes and pale skin. We rarely talked, unless it was to each other. We were fiercely protective of each other, and anyone who stood between us regretted it. And, at this time, we were about two weeks from turning sixteen.

Anyway, it was past due for Mom to have returned home, and we were getting antsy. To calm ourselves, Taro had put on some soft music, sitting on the floor. Tomo had gotten out his book, laying on the floor by Taro's feet, and holding it above him. I leaned my back against Taro's, listening as he sang along to the words of the song, and eventually falling asleep on his shoulder.

I was woken by the sound of knocking on the front door. The three of us stood and walked out to the living room, and Taro opened the door for a young police woman.

"Taro, Tomo, and Tani Hidori?" the officer asked. We nodded, and she continued. "I'm very sorry to say this, but your mother, Makiko Hidori, was killed in a drive-by shooting."

I felt my knees getting weak, and a tear slipped down my cheek. Tomo grasped my hand tightly, and Taro glanced back at us. I looked to see that Tomo was crying as well.

"Arrangements have been made," the woman went on, "for the three of you to live with your father, in Japan. I suggest you start packing now, and I will take you to the airport when you are ready. I know it hurts, but please try to hurry. I'll wait out here."

Taro nodded again and closed the door, leaving the officer on the porch. Then, turning to us, he enveloped Tomo and I in a hug. Just like that, we had lost our mother and were going back to the place that haunted our worst nightmares. Our father was well aware that whatever he did to one of us, he, by default, did to all of us. And he took every advantage of that he could find. I leaned into my brothers. We would need all the support we could get from each other.

Finally, we went to our bedroom and began packing our only suitcase. We didn't have much. Mom worked two jobs just to pay for the house and to keep us fed. We did, however, still have our instruments, from before we left Japan. I packed my acoustic guitar, carrying my music book, filled with our original songs, in my arms. Tomo slung his bass guitar over his shoulder, while Taro gathered his assortment of drum sticks, both decorative and well used, into one bag to carry with him. Taro also played piano, but his keyboard had stayed behind when we left Japan.

"Wait here," Taro said as we reentered the living room. He walked back down the hall and into Mom's room. Tomo and I stared after him, until eventually he returned. He turned me around, and I felt cool metal against my neck. "I figured she would want you to have this," he answered my unspoken question. I looked down to see Mom's locket, and when I opened it, younger versions of my brothers and I smiled back at me. Tears came to my eyes again.