Goth

by Otsuichi

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and prayed.

  Please move. Let me walk to that tape player … My fingers shuddered, shaking.

  “Was I interrupting something?” Itsuki’s voice.

  Now that my fingers were moving, they set off a chain reaction, and my arms and legs woke up as well. But my muscles were very tense. They were moving, but I couldn’t put any strength into them. Even so, I managed to fall over the bloodstained edge of the operating table onto the floor below. As I moved away from the table where my sister had died, I felt vaguely like I was alive.

  My legs were shaking too much to stand. I crawled across the linoleum, all my weight on my arms, my legs dragging after me. All the dust on the floor ended up on me. Around the operating table, toward the tape deck next to Itsuki’s feet … Itsuki and the boy were still talking, but I could no longer hear any of it. Scrabbling like an insect across the floor, I thought of nothing but the tape.

  A jagged fragment of concrete stabbed my arm as I put my weight on it, but I didn’t care.

  The boy had described death as loss. He said I’d abandoned everything, choosing to die.

  But I wasn’t dead yet. I hadn’t yet abandoned life. I had come to this abandoned building to get something back, to overcome that loss.

  As I drew near the tape deck, I thought hard about my sister.

  The light next to the tape deck blinded me. Itsuki’s feet moved, crossing in front of the light. His shadow passed over me, moving out of sight. I didn’t turn my head to follow him.

  At last, I was close enough that I could reach out and touch the tape deck. I stretched myself out, my fingers brushing against it. I dragged it quickly to my breast and pressed Play, fingers trembling.

  There was a whirr as it came to life again. My sister’s voice emerged from the wire mesh over the speaker. Not shaking the air—the vibrations of her voice went directly into my arms as they clutched the tape deck.

  Natsumi, I was always worried about you. Every time I said something mean, I regretted it … I’m sorry I ever upset you.

  These last few years, we had never been friendly. We had lived like strangers in the same house. I had thought she hated me.

  Perhaps leaving a message like this just makes things worse … I’m sure it does. I would be a mess listening to it. But I’m glad I could apologize, before … I mean, I would hate it if you could never smile when you thought about me.

  I curled up on the floor, clutching the tape deck to me, listening to the voice of my beloved sister. In my arms was the same sister I had been so close to.

  I’m lying here remembering everything we did together when we were kids.

  I closed my eyes, listening.

  There was a big forest at the top of the hill …

  I remembered what we had seen when we were little.

  The darkness, the cold concrete walls … it all faded away, and I was standing on the asphalt road, bathed in sunlight.

  The guardrail, the posts—they were all so big. I was wearing tiny children’s shoes, and the hill looked so steep. Houses on one side and nothing but the guardrail on the other, a great view of the town beyond it …

  You remember walking up it, hand in hand?

  I turned around, hearing a familiar child’s voice. My sister was standing there.

  She wasn’t much taller than me, and everyone we met said we looked alike.

  My sister took my hand in hers. She pointed to the top of the hill, suggesting we climb up there.

  I was excited. I ran after her, pulled along by her hand. Warm sunlight left little shadows racing after us, our sneakers squeaking on the concrete as we headed for the tall trees at the top of the hill.

  At the top of the hill we stepped into the forest, our sweat drying in the cool air. We walked between trees until we found a cliff with a beautiful view of the town below. We stood looking down, holding hands.

  I felt her tiny, warm hand in mine. Standing next to me, she looked at me and smiled, her canines flashing from the corners of her mouth.

  There was a bird flying high above the town …

  A white bird, its wings stretched all the way open. I had decided that bird must be living in the big river that flowed through town. Its wings never seemed to move at all, just drifting on the wind through the endless blue sky.

  Natsumi, I’m going to die here, but you’re still alive. You’ll live on. Promise me you’ll smile—I won’t forgive you if you don’t. Goodbye, Natsumi …

  Her voice faded away, to be heard no more. The sound of her breathing and the hiss of the tape vanished, as well. The speakers went silent—her confession was done. Through the clear plastic door, I could see the tape spinning in silence. A clear drop fell on it, a tear dripping off my cheek.

  Silently, I whispered, “I’m so sorry … but thank you.”

  It was so dark and quiet. I was in the empty hospital. But a moment ago, I had been with her, on that hill.

  How long had I been lying there crying?

  I was alone now, nothing around but the table and the light. No sign of either boy.

  The light shone across the floor, illuminating only that area. I blinked, and I realized part of the floor was wet. There was a big puddle of blood on the floor—fresh blood, not dried. I prayed it didn’t belong to Itsuki.

  I tried to stand, still clutching the tape deck. At first, my legs were too weak. I took my time and managed to stagger to my feet.

  I left the room, walking unsteadily. I called Itsuki’s name. My voice echoed off the walls, vanishing into the depths of the darkness.

  I waited for him at the hospital entrance. The quiet, cold air went right through my clothes, and I shivered, hunching my shoulders, crouching low in the darkness. When the sun finally rose, I was half-asleep. There was no sign of either Itsuki or the boy.

  epilogue

  “Oh, it’s not a big deal. I was playing with the dog and fell over,” I explained as Morino and I walked down the stairs, my bag in one hand.

  It was December 4, after school, and we’d left the classroom together talking. As we passed the landing, Morino had pointed to the red line on my neck, asking about it.

  “Oh? It was obviously trying to kill you.”

  “The dog?”

  “I’m sure of it,” she nodded with conviction.

  It was, in fact, an injury I’d obtained the night before at the abandoned hospital.

  I’d also acquired a number of bruises, but these were hidden beneath my uniform.

  “By the way, I was gathering information for a scrapbook about Kitazawa Hiroko’s murder yesterday …”

  Morino had received a fair amount of information from the person she’d met in the library. I’d asked who this person was, but she didn’t want to tell me. I’d considered following her and discovering who it was myself, but it no longer seemed to matter.

  “You finish it?”

  “Almost. All I’d need now is an interview with the killer to make it perfect.”

  As we left the building and headed toward the school gates, Morino told me about how the case was a lot more grotesque than the police had announced. The sun was already setting, and a cold wind was blowing. Between the school and the gates was a wide road lined with trees. There were only a few students walking here. A white plastic bag drifted past us on the wind.

  We left the gates, stepping out onto the street. Kitazawa Natsumi was standing in the convenience store across the street. She was standing at the magazine rack, and her eyes met mine.

  I stopped in front of the store. Morino stopped with me.

  In the shop, Kitazawa Natsumi put down the book she was holding, never once taking her eyes off me. She headed for the entrance and came outside.

  There was a parking lot in front of the store, just large enough to hold a few cars.

  She faced me across the parking lot, the pale florescent light from the store shining down on both of us.

  I had killed someone the night before
, while she lay clutching a tape recorder.

  There had been a dull sound as the knife slid home, and then he’d been dead.

  But I’d gone home without Kitazawa Natsumi, not feeling up to dealing with her. She hadn’t noticed the struggling going on around her, and it didn’t appear that she’d known which of us the blood belonged to until she'd seen me come out of the school gates.

  Before I could say anything to her, Morino spoke up. She had been staring fixedly at Kitazawa Natsumi’s face.

  “Are you … Kitazawa Natsumi?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I thought so. You look just like the pictures of your sister in the newspapers.”

  “The picture from before she changed her hair, right?”

  “Yes. My hobby is investigating cases. I was looking into your sister’s. I couldn’t find any pictures of you, though. When I saw you standing here a few days ago, I’d thought you looked like her, but I hadn’t been sure then.”

  “You were investigating her?” Kitazawa Natsumi asked, surprised. She looked at me for help.

  “She seems to have found a source. She won’t tell me who …” I explained. Kitazawa Natsumi didn’t appear to know what to make of this.

  Morino looked at me. She was as expressionless as ever, but it was clear from her voice that she was greatly interested. “So how do you know Kitazawa?”

  Without answering, I took some change out of my pocket and put it in Morino’s hand. She stared at the coins for a moment, and then she asked what they were for. I explained that there was a vending machine a half mile down the road, and I asked politely if she would go buy us something to drink.

  “I know there’s a convenience store right in front of us, but I would very much like to drink something from that vending machine in the distance. Of course, this is not an underhanded method of driving you away so you can’t hear us talk.”

  Morino looked at me and then at Kitazawa Natsumi, hesitating. But eventually she turned her back on us and began walking toward the vending machine.

  “She doesn’t know, does she? That the killer was targeting her?” Kitazawa murmured.

  I nodded.

  For a moment, we both watched her walking slowly away from us. Her black clothes almost vanished into the darkness around her; her small shadow whipped around her each time a car zipped past, headlines glaring.

  “She showed me a picture of Hiroko’s body the other day.”

  “Of her body?”

  “Yes. Someone had given her a photo that never would have circulated publicly. It was definitely Hiroko’s face. The same hairstyle as the picture at her funeral …”

  “Then, when you saw that … ?”

  “I knew there was a chance the killer had taken it. I didn’t quite believe it … but if it was true, then that meant the person who’d killed Hiroko was also getting close to her, and she might’ve been his next target.”

  “You were half-right, but he ultimately chose me instead of her.”

  “When I saw you standing here, I knew he hadn’t yet made his move. You were acting strange, so I wondered if he’d approached you.”

  “Yes … yes, he had. So that’s why you snuck into my room … looking for proof of that.”

  “You never would’ve told me the truth.”

  The light from the shop sent our shadows across the dry asphalt of the parking lot, like shadow puppets. She stared down at them, nodding.

  “But, Itsuki, I never thought you had so little sense.”

  “About as little as you.”

  “I was worried last night … you just vanished. I called in the morning, but the call didn’t go through.”

  “He broke my phone.”

  I had once been in the same class as the boy who killed Kitazawa Hiroko. I hadn’t known him well, but if I’d spent a little more time with him, would I have noticed how unusual he was?

  “What … what did you do, after?”

  I had buried his body deep in the grass behind the hospital. All his cruelty had been sucked out of him by the silver flash of my blade—or at least, that’s how I chose to see it. When the knife had sunk deep into him and he’d groaned, blood spilling out of his mouth, the hand gripping the knife had felt like its thirst was sated.

  “He ran away. I chased him, but I couldn’t catch up …”

  He had looked down at the pool of his blood as if it made sense to him, as if this was simply another possible outcome. He had fallen to his knees, accepting his own death as easily as he had taken Kitazawa Hiroko’s. He had looked up at me, praised the quality of the knife, and stopped moving.

  “Oh. Do you suppose we should call the police?”

  “If you want. But I don’t want any trouble, so if you could avoid mentioning me? I did break into your house, after all.”

  I looked back up the road. There was a tiny speck in the distance, visible as it passed under a streetlight but fading into the darkness beyond. A moment later, it appeared again under the next light. It was Morino, coming back.

  “My dad was furious when I got home this morning,” Kitazawa Natsumi said, kicking the parking bumper. She was smiling. She had ridden her bicycle home. When she’d arrived home, her parents had already realized she wasn’t in her room, and they were in a panic. When she’d come in the door, looking exhausted, they’d yelled at her and hugged her tight.

  “My mother burst into tears the moment she saw me—only natural, after what happened to my sister. It really drove home that I was still alive, and so were my parents. We’ve decided to move early next year, somewhere far away.”

  She looked up, down the road, her profile gleaming white in the light of the convenience store.

  “I won’t see you again.”

  Drinks in hand, Morino stopped a fair distance away, leaning against a telephone pole, watching us, her hair dancing in the wind of a passing car. She looked like a little match girl somehow.

  “You done?” she called. Just a little longer, I said, and she muttered something listlessly, turning her back on us. We were too far away for me to hear; all I could do was stare at her narrow shoulders.

  “Is Morino …” Kitazawa Natsumi said, looking at me and trailing off.

  “What?”

  “No, never mind … but she might have the wrong idea about us. You don’t plan to tell her what happened?”

  “Not unless I have to. I never have.”

  “Then she doesn’t know that you protected her. Itsuki, did you come there to save me? Or just to stomp out the flames before they could reach her?” She looked me right in the eye. “I’m right, aren’t I? Are you in love with her?”

  This was not love … merely obsession. I chose not to say this out loud.

  Kitazawa Natsumi looked away, staring into the distance. She placed her right hand on her left shoulder.

  “Did you hurt your shoulder?”

  She smiled faintly, shaking her head.

  “He put his hand here, as he turned away.”

  “He?”

  “Never mind. How long are you going to make Morino wait?”

  She was still leaning against the telephone pole. I called out, letting her know we were done.

  Morino came silently over to us. She was only holding one can of citrus soda. I pointed out that there were three of us and she should have bought three drinks; she, in turn, pointed out that I had kept her waiting so long that she’d drunk two of them. Furthermore, she no longer had any intention of handing the final drink off to anyone else. You could never have guessed how foul a mood she was in by looking at her, though.

  The three of us walked to the station. Kitazawa Natsumi and I walked together, chatting. We talked about moving, studying for college exams, nothing particularly interesting—but I was used to playing my part. She seemed to be happy, and she smiled often.

  Morino followed a few steps behind us. I glanced back at her every now and then. She had her bag in one hand; in the other, she held the soda can, like she wasn’t s
ure what to do with it. She was staring at her toes. Her long hair fell forward, hiding her face.

  She said nothing, making no attempt to participate in our conversation. Even as I glanced back at her, I pretended not to notice anything, carrying on like normal.

  When we finally reached the clearing in front of the station, it was already dark out—but there were so many stores there, with brightly lit signs and windows, that it wasn’t actually very dark.

  Schools were out, and most offices had closed as well. The station was packed with people heading home. The first floor of the massive station was carved into a square sort of tunnel—the station entrance. People flowed in and out like the building was breathing them.

  I said goodbye to Kitazawa Natsumi at the station entrance. She waved and walked away, heading for the ticket machines. She slid through the crowd like a spaceship moving through the enemy fleet in a sci-fi film. There was a long line at the ticket machines, and she took up a place at the back of it.

  Morino and I stood against the wall so as not to obstruct traffic. Neither of us really cared for loud, crowded places. Staying here long would give us each a headache.

  The wall was a smooth white stone, probably marble. At regular intervals were large posters, advertisements for makeup with female models. Morino leaned against one of them.

  “Surprised at how much Kitazawa Natsumi looks like her sister?” I asked.

  “More important, doesn’t it wear you out, changing the way you speak depending on whom you’re talking to?” Morino folded her arms. I could see the end of the soda can in her right hand sticking out from under her left arm. I was sure her body heat had warmed it by now.

  Morino looked across to where Kitazawa Natsumi stood in line. “I can’t understand how either of you can smile so naturally.”

  “I’m not smiling because I’m amused.”

  No matter what the conversation, I took no pleasure from it. I always felt like I was standing at the bottom of a dark hole. But I carried on an unconscious performance, making sure no one ever noticed anything wrong.

  “And she hasn’t smiled much. She smiled a bit talking to me, but she hasn’t always been like that recently.”