Something clunked behind her. She flinched as if she’d been scolded for her poor attempt at smiling. Kanako turned around.
The woman who had vomited into the toilet was coming this way wiping the corners of her mouth. She was wearing a black tank top. She had a tattoo of the Liberty Bell on her right shoulder. It was, unmistakably, Miho Tsuzuki.
Miho? Why was Miho here?
As Miho staggered over, she eyed Kanako suspiciously, seeming to think it strange that an elementary school kid was out on the freeway this late at night. She put both hands against the sink counter three faucets away, turned on the water full blast, sucked some into her mouth, and rinsed. She was clearing the phlegm from the back of her throat.
Kanako, her mouth half-open, stared at Miho’s face and looked at herself in the mirror. Her twelve-year-old self was reflected there. Before her was a twenty-year-old Miho cleansing her mouth.
The woman she’d met in the women’s bathroom eight years ago had reeked of alcohol. The Miho in front of her now showed no signs of being drunk but somehow seemed scarred inside. She had the face of someone who was trying to go murder someone. Perhaps she’d been vomiting out of fear.
Kanako was shocked. A resident of her memories had been switched out with a person from the real world. This was the first such dramatic change in her “four hours.”
Miho noticed Kanako’s gaze. What’re you looking at? her face seemed to say.
“…Are you okay?” Kanako asked hesitantly.
“I get like this when I’m stressed.” Miho laughed bitterly, then asked back, “Are you okay?”
“…Huh?”
“You said you’d be fine if I just left you, so I didn’t call 911. You’ve been in that position for an hour now.”
Oh. So that was it. Miho was still in the apartment room. It was past the time she should have left for the bar, but unable to leave Kanako who’d collapsed on the floor half-conscious, she’d spent the past hour watching over her.
Miho glanced at her watch. “I have to go soon. Are you really okay? You’re breathing, and you muttered a few things and smiled creepily, but I guess you’re not in danger of dying?”
“It’ll be over in around three hours.”
“Can you hear my voice?”
“I can hear you.”
“Kako.”
“I said I can hear it.”
Miho tilted her head. It appeared Kanako’s responses weren’t reaching her. In reality, Kanako must have been just sitting and reacting sluggishly to Miho’s words.
“I’m just going to talk to you like this, all right?”
“Please do.”
“I’ve got a guy waiting for me outside. I can’t take my time.”
Who was this man waiting for her?
Then, from outside the bathroom, she heard a male voice call, “Hey, are you done yet?” It was Akira Nakagaki, and he sounded angry.
“I’m fixing my makeup!” Miho yelled back and took out her set from her pouch.
Miho had also been modified within the “four hours.” She was out on a drive with Akira Nakagaki. She would kill him at their destination. Unable to stand the stress, she’d been vomiting in the toilet until now.
“Hey, can you lend me your ear for a bit?” Miho was putting on glittery eyeshadow and looking at Kanako’s reflection. “I was too embarrassed to tell you, but last night, he actually made love to me.”
It was as Kanako had expected.
“I slept with someone I’d be murdering the next day. What is that? We didn’t even use contraceptives. He doesn’t like putting on condoms. I’m pretty pathetic for having sex that way even after he made me miscarry. Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you.”
“Maybe there’s a part of me that still wants to have his kid. But if we somehow made a baby last night, that kid is gonna hate me. That kid’s dad’ll have been murdered. The kid’s mom and dad had tried to kill each other.”
Tears wet the twelve-year-old Kanako’s eyes.
“Hey, you’re crying. So you really are listening. Darn. I meant to be talking to myself.”
“Talk more.”
“I inherited my father’s crime and punishment. I inherited his anger towards this Akiba family. Despite knowing that, I was going to let my own child inherit it all as well. That’s how it is, see? I hated Akira, and I’ll be hated by my kid in turn.”
It was sad. Why did it feel so sad?
“In the end, maybe a murderer’s daughter has no choice but to become a murderer herself,” Miho said, and having given up, she sounded more lighthearted.
Was everything really controlled by “blood”? Was it impossible to defy? Was undeniable “blood” really to blame for making Kanako chase after her ruined family by ruining herself?
“I want to live…” she moaned.
“Did you say something?”
“I don’t want to be controlled by something like that, I want to live…”
Miho seemed to have assumed that hearing Kanako’s voice had been a trick of her own mind. She turned to face the mirror again to continue with her makeup.
“But you know, I’m going to become a scoundrel. By becoming the sort of scoundrel whose own kid hates her, I think I might receive my fitting punishment at last.”
“No one’s trying to punish you, Miho.” Kanako’s voice crumpled from her sobs. “Crime and punishment don’t work like inheritances. There’s not a drop of fate or destiny in the blood in your veins.”
“When my father’s put to death, I think I want to watch his last moments. If all his sins are redeemed when he’s hanged, I want to confirm it for my own sake. You know, they say it takes several minutes for your heart to stop beating when you’re hanged. Even after you lose consciousness, your body continues to suffer. If that’s what happens, I want to put my ear against my father’s chest and listen to his suffering. If he suffers a lot, I feel like everyone’ll be satisfied with his atonement and the law’ll forgive my father and any punishments left for me will be as good as gone.”
“There are none, there’s no such thing.”
Miho had lived hating the family her father had killed. By hating them in place of her father, she had barely managed to keep living until now. Enough was enough. Kanako didn’t want Miho to hate her family anymore. She didn’t want Miho to inherit anything.
“If my father suffers a lot, maybe I’ll finally be able to live as me.”
Kanako wanted Miho to live. Kanako wanted to live, too. She wanted to live free of anything to do with “blood.”
“I wanted to ask my family, too.” Kanako prayed that Miho could hear. “Hey, Miho, one day my family suddenly lost their lives. By the time I ran to their sides, they already had white cloths draped over them. I wished their hearts would be beating even just the slightest bit. Then I would have pressed my ear to all of their chests, too, and asked them while they were still alive: Was it okay if I went on living? Their hearts would soon stop beating, but I’d have to continue living afterwards. I’d live, sorry. I wanted their forgiveness.”
What would it have been like if they hadn’t perished immediately at the hands of Norio Tsuzuki, if they’d ended up not in a morgue at a medical examiner’s office but in a hospital ER?
Having rushed to their sides, Kanako might have been able to make it to one of their deathbeds.
Her mother, for instance, could have noticed her daughter through her dimming consciousness and managed to get a word out for her.
Kanako, even if you have to be alone from now on, do your best and live.
She might have been able to hear something like that. “There, now I’d best head out.”
In the end, Kanako’s words didn’t reach Miho, who licked the red gloss from her lips before putting away her makeup pouch.
“Don’t go, Miho!”
“Now, it’s show time. I hope I’ll be able to trick him. I hope I’ll be able to lure him in, and I hope I’ll be able to down him in one shot,” Miho sai
d playfully, looking at herself in the mirror.
Clutching at Miho as she tried to head to the exit, Kanako managed to grab her arm. Miho easily waved off the strength of a twelve year old.
“You can’t go, Miho…”
Kanako followed Miho out of the bathroom. Akira Nakagaki was waiting outside, tapping his foot impatiently. “You sure took your time,” he said, tossing away his cigarette.
“Sorry, sorry,” Miho said sweetly, seductively, coiling around his arm. It was an act in preparation for killing him, bludgeoning him to death. Turning around, Miho cheekily stuck her tongue out at Kanako.
The two walked together to where the cars were. They were instantly swallowed by darkness.
At that moment, Miho had probably left the apartment and headed towards the bar. Eventually the neon lights would turn off, signaling Goro’s early departure for band practice. Miho would wait until the very last minute for Kanako to arrive.
Right before Kanako had lost consciousness, she’d promised to make it to the bar no matter what. Believing her, Miho would no doubt proceed to the site even if Kanako didn’t show up at the bar at half past one.
“You took your time, Akiba.” Mr. Ihara stood there. “Shall I get you something to drink?”
“I’m okay.”
“I need to make a call, so get back in ahead of me, will you?”
There was no longer any sign of Miho. Kanako hated being so powerless but could only return to the taxi.
No one would punish Miho because that was not something she could inherit from her father. Kanako reflected on her own words, which had failed to reach Miho.
Severing the chain of hatred and blood—whose role was it?
Mr. Ikeda opened the door for her. Mr. Ihara came running, holding a juice pack and tea.
The taxi returned to the night road.
“I just contacted Tokyo, but could I ask you to take us to the medical examiner’s office in Otsuka instead of Aisei Hospital?”
“Do you have the address?”
Mr. Ihara and Mr. Ikeda flipped through the road map as they discussed their route.
“Mr. Ihara?” she asked, trying to rein in her impatience. “Could we hurry?”
“Of course. We’ll do our best to get there as quickly as possible.”
“I want to finish this as soon as possible.”
“…Finish this as soon as possible?”
He didn’t get it. She needed to finish up these “four hours” as quickly as possible so she could go stop Miho.
They arrived at the freeway exit. All that remained were urban routes. The electronic board told them of a five-kilometer jam due to an accident. A five-kilometer jam at this time of night, Mr. Ikeda cursed the street conditions in Tokyo. Mr. Ihara and Mr. Ikeda’s opinions diverged over where to exit the interchange.
“Please get off there. It’ll definitely be faster that way.” Mr. Ihara’s tone was sharp. Everything was proceeding exactly as it had eight years ago. She couldn’t fast-forward the flow of time. Kanako gave up.
“I’m sorry about this, Akiba.”
“No…it can’t be helped.”
Eventually they saw a wrecked car surrounded by police vehicles. Mr. Ihara didn’t pay any particular attention to the scene and was concentrating only on the traffic. This was when Kanako had understood. Her family hadn’t been in a traffic accident.
Eight years ago, she’d interrogated Mr. Ihara, and her teacher’s face had paled as though he were undergoing torture.
She wouldn’t do that anymore.
“May I close my eyes, Mr. Ihara?”
“Oh, of course, try to get some sleep.”
If she kept her eyes open, she would see too much. That was why Kanako withdrew into the darkness. She had to wonder if she’d lived for eight years with her eyes closed.
They exited the interchange, and Mr. Ihara and Mr. Ikeda’s arguing escalated.
“Why can’t you listen to your passenger’s requests?”
Mr. Ihara’s voice was strained. Mr. Ikeda made excuses. At that point, neither adult seemed interested in reining himself in so Kanako wouldn’t witness ugly behavior.
“I’ve got a responsibility to get this girl to our destination as soon as possible. When you get ahead of yourself, you just cause more trouble for us.”
“Mr. Ihara,” Kanako called out and opened her eyes. “It’s okay, we don’t need to be in such a hurry. It’s already too late, right?”
Mr. Ihara was taken by surprise.
“If that’s the case, there’s no need to hurry.”
Mr. Ihara didn’t know what words to give Kanako, who had already reached that conclusion. Kanako closed her eyes again. She filed away at the corners of her feelings, dulling all the sharp points. Oh, I get it now, Kanako realized. This was the true identity of her black core.
She’d dulled her senses in order to keep the events unraveling before her from hurting her. That had resulted in the black core.
“Miss.” At Mr. Ikeda’s voice, Kanako opened her eyes. “It’s been a long trip, thanks for hanging in there. We’ve arrived.”
It was a grimy concrete building. The words “The Medical Examiner’s Office” glowed green. There were police cars and station wagons parked outside. Perhaps someone had announced the arrival of the taxi, and several people emerged from the building, among them uniformed police officers.
As Kanako got out of the car, she peered at Mr. Ikeda, who was trying to hand Mr. Ihara the receipt.
“Thank you very much.”
Eight years ago, she hadn’t been able to utter any words of parting. She’d later regretted not being able to say a single word of thanks. Mr. Ikeda gave her a smile with his hollowed cheeks.
When she passed through the entrance of the building, it was full of people in staid clothing. Her aunt from Hachioji rushed to Kanako and told her of her family’s demise.
“Resting, all four of them. They need to be autopsied now at this hospital.”
They entered the room where the four bodies were lined up according to height under glossy white sheets of cloth.
“You can’t look…no matter what, Kako.”
If they had even a bit of breath left in them, she would press her ear close to their mouths to listen.
Dad, do you recognize me?
I know it hurt a lot, Mom.
I know you were scared, Tomo, Nao.
Do you all hate the man called Norio Tsuzuki? Do I have to accept your overflowing hatred into me? Do I have to inherit it?
Through the cloth, Kanako touched her father’s big toe. It was like cold wax.
She touched her mother’s pointer toe. It was shaped exactly like Kanako’s.
She touched her little brothers’ pinky toes. It had been Kanako’s job to trim their nails.
Her aunt was crying. Kanako couldn’t cry like her aunt. A black core had already formed in her twelve-year-old self.
Behind her the door opened. A subdued but businesslike voice asked, “Are you done here?”
With that, the “four hours” ended. With a suddenness that was dizzying and a sense of feeling so deep it felt bottomless, her world blacked out.
4
Heat rose from her body, along with a flood of sweat. Kanako panted as she returned to herself.
She was in the dining room in Miho’s apartment. She peeled her rear and legs from where they were stuck to the floor. Her sweat felt like glue and it was a heavy, unpleasant feeling. All that remained was a sharp ringing that reverberated in her ears. She glanced at her watch. It was 1:25. Approximately four hours had passed since she’d entered the trance.
There was a piece of paper on the floor directly in front of her. Something was written on the back of the newspaper advertisement in permanent marker. The key to the room was placed on top of it as a paperweight. Kanako scooped up the piece of paper and, rubbing eyes that still refused to focus on the real world, read it.
You said you were fine, so I’m going.
Miho had written it.
Why? Why was she so sad? Kanako shook herself. Why had she shed so many tears?
Whose role was it to end the chain of hatred and blood? Hurry up and answer. No one was trying to punish Miho. There was also no need for Kanako to punish herself. Enough with the hatred. She and Miho had suffered far too much during the past eight years.
“Miho…Where are you now?”
Kanako couldn’t just loiter here. The joints in her knees popped as though they had come unhinged. When she tried to stand, she was struck by a wave of dizziness and staggered.
She dragged the sneakers by the entryway closer. This time, she decided to undo the shoelaces and put them on. She doubted that the “four hours” would occur twice in a row, but she’d never be lazy and tap her foot to put them on ever again.
Kanako exited the room and locked the door. The slimy sweat that clung to her skin chilled at an alarming rate against the cold night wind. After the fever came an intense cold, and her body was failing to adjust her body temperature. Kanako quickly but quietly snuck down the stairs and dropped the key into the postbox.
Although they felt like rickety hinges, she forced her knees forward again and again and started to run down the street cloaked in darkness as far as her eyes could see. She wondered where she was hurrying to and pulled the breaks on herself a bit. She had only been moving on instinct.
She had to hurry to the bar to help create an alibi.
No, that wasn’t it. She had to stop Miho.
Her cell phone, then. She pressed the shortcut key to Miho’s number and called. Miho didn’t have her power switched on.
Kanako cursed, remembering how Miho had said she’d turn off her cell phone when she got close to the time of the crime. If her phone rang as she swung up the murder weapon, everything would be over.
Kanako hurried to the site in Daikanyama. She had to stop Miho with her own hands. She had to, in order to end the chain of hatred.
Whose hatred was connected to whose? Kanako wondered as she went down the sloped street to the avenue. Her legs, still unsteady, were forced to break into a run by the slope.
Deep Red Page 29