Loups-Garous

by Natsuhiko Kyogoku

  “You…you mean you personally like animation?”

  “Yes. I had to see Asumi Aikawa a lot because she had such a special talent for running and competed in national races. Once, when I mentioned deformée characters she abruptly cut me off. I’ll never forget it.”

  Shima spoke as if there was nothing in her heart and continued to speak with no intonation before finally turning her back to Shizue and leaving. Then as if only to herself Shima mumbled, Why’d you have to go and die, and trudged out of the room.

  It wasn’t as though Asumi Aikawa had died because she wanted to.

  In any case, Kunugi’s hypothesized key connection—the shared interest all the victims had in deformée characters—did not apply to this victim.

  No.

  She could simply be the anomaly.

  The exception.

  Those who fell outside…

  … were all missing something. Their livers.

  It would be strange for Shizue to ask about something like that. It would be strange even for a police officer to ask about it, much less a counselor.

  The autopsy results wouldn’t be made public for some time. Plus, only people in the police department would have access to that information. Civilians would only have access to that information after the case was over—after the suspect had been prosecuted and sentenced.

  Then there was the complicated process of obtaining consent from the bereaved necessary to get that all started.

  The data would have a serious protection applied to it and couldn’t be seen except on the monitors they were downloaded onto. Furthermore it probably couldn’t be copied.

  Unless Kunugi…

  Nah, there was no way a dropout cop like Kunugi, who’d been relieved of any responsibility for this investigation, would have access.

  What was I thinking?

  That was when Shizue realized. The only thing she had to be concerned with was the disappearance of Yuko Yabe, not the investigation of this murder. That was someone else’s job. If she was preoccupied with this murder it was only because she was trying to escape reality. She was thoroughly disgusted with her work, but she knew she ought to give some more thought to figuring out her own situation.

  Shizue shook her head several times.

  CHAPTER 015

  NOTICE OF THE communication center’s temporary closure came on a Saturday.

  That day, her legal foster father came home with no warning, which was unusual and made Hazuki feel cloistered.

  But that her foster father came without warning did not mean he came alone.

  Executive secretaries, assistant secretaries, security details, and the like came streaming in, clearly having created time between duties to force this meeting.

  So yes. They were there.

  In this case though, it’d be more accurate to say they had come to this building where Hazuki, the man’s foster child, resided, merely to pop their heads in.

  He’d always say something nice to the people he met. He was a gentleman.

  You seem well.

  You’re pacing through your curriculum well.

  You’ll only lower your achievement level if you work too hard.

  The day’s average study periods are too long, aren’t they?

  Hazuki’s foster father knew a tremendous amount about Hazuki. Before he came home he would always examine the data collected on her. It was no doubt his commute read, prepared for him as her guardian.

  In just one hour, this person could know what Hazuki had done in the past month.

  She felt fortunate but not happy about it.

  Hazuki’s foster father had six children to his name. Not all of them were biologically his. Legally, Hazuki had one older sister and older brother, two younger brothers and a younger sister.

  She’d met them before but couldn’t remember their faces.

  Each of them had been sent to a home, each of them had started a life there. Her foster father would take in and raise these children as his own.

  You could have said Hazuki was lucky.

  Orphans in this country were beyond numbers. Fifteen years ago when Hazuki was born, the nation was at its peak in the number of parents who’d abandoned their children or else were denied the right to raise their own children, though both figures had waned over the years.

  These parentless children lived mostly in welfare institutions. Though they were institutions, the environment was good and there was no real social stigma attached to living in one. Orphans weren’t discriminated against as they were in the past and enjoyed all the freedoms every other child did. From the child’s point of view, it was probably much better than living with impoverished parents.

  Hazuki’s life in the institution was not so different from the one she lived now.

  You could have said the house she lived in now was like her own private institution.

  But she had a father figure, at least legally. The person with kind words for her was not just a guardian or counselor, but a man who assumed the role of father.

  Hazuki didn’t know why her foster father did any of this. As far as his actions were concerned, Hazuki had heard that at one point he’d been criticized, but lauded at other times. Hazuki didn’t really care one way or another whether he was a philanthropist or hypocrite.

  All that mattered to Hazuki was that here was a man who invariably assumed the role of father over her, and that he was sympathetic and kind toward her. That was enough for her.

  However, Hazuki’s father was a sort of foster father and yet not quite a foster father. He’d not once ever called her by name. It wasn’t as if she hated it or refused to let him. Just that having this gap in their relationship put her at ease.

  Her foster father was saying the same thing with the same tone as he always did. Adding that she ought to pay particular attention to her surroundings now.

  That was his reason for coming home. He had come for real access to assure Hazuki would “pay attention to her surroundings” since there’d been another murder in the area.

  He could have just sent her a message, but it was very conscientious of him to go out of his way to engage in real access.

  At times like this Hazuki realized that her foster father worried about her deep down inside. It was clear in his body language he was sincerely concerned, but if he weren’t his actions were still pretty impressive.

  Whenever she saw her father she recognized that she had developed an adeptness at expression comprehension, and she didn’t see the usefulness of communication labs anymore.

  It was difficult to learn an unquantifiable, uncodifiable skill. When you spent your days in front of a monitor you gradually forgot the power of communicating via your expressions, with your gestures.

  Maybe not so much forgot as stopped being aware of doing so.

  Hazuki would certainly laugh when amused and cry when sad, but she didn’t know what she looked like to someone else.

  For that reason she also couldn’t tell when looking at a laughing stranger whether they were laughing because they were amused or for some other reason. She couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t imagine.

  Everything outside the monitor really was fake.

  Her foster father’s power of expression and his ability to convince her that lies were true perplexed Hazuki.

  She did think he must have been a good person.

  She received the message about the community center’s closure in the midst of this cloistered feeling.

  Because of this, she evaded her father, who kept doling out statements of worry.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Say it.

  There was no way to verbally distinguish one sort of apology from another.

  No, if apologizing for interrupting a conversation, it should sound different from when you apologized in earnest.

  Though Hazuki didn’t know why it was different.

  When an apology was in writing there was no nuance to detect in the first place, and eventually yo
u stopped using ambiguous expressions. Flat words with limited meaning became the language of choice. It was meant to prevent confusion. Expressions with only one interpretation. Writing under this rule was a mandatory condition of the era’s uninterrupted communication style. Of course, it was no more than a pretense. Trouble couldn’t be avoided, but at least this way it never surfaced.

  Hazuki’s generation derived 80 percent of its conversational communication from written language, so saying “I’m sorry” for any other reason than to apologize was practically obsolete. There was no use for the expression and no one knew how to say it.

  “What’s the matter?” her foster father asked.

  Next week’s communication sessions were canceled. All outside travel was prohibited, day or night. If you absolutely must leave the house, you had to take your monitor and set it on GPS mode so that if for example you were killed, the authorities would know where to find your body.

  Hazuki’s foster father grimaced as Hazuki read her message. Then said, “This is a serious problem.”

  He kept talking about something or other, but Hazuki heard none of it.

  Hazuki’s consciousness was focused on her monitor.

  At the bottom of her screen was an icon she’d never seen before.

  A turtle.

  The shape of a turtle.

  There’d been no stupid icons on her screen this morning.

  She was pretty sure there hadn’t been anything there till she got the message from the center, actually. Her foster father was still saying something or other, but her voice recognition was turned off.

  Mindful of her foster father’s gaze Hazuki deftly slid her finger across the tablet and moved the cursor.

  OPEN.

  No audio upon opening the file.

  THERE WILL BE A POWER OUTAGE FROM 5:55:30 TO 5:56:00 PM.

  LEAVE THE HOUSE DURING THOSE THIRTY SECONDS. WAIT AT THE DOVEROOM.

  WE MEET AT THE PRIVATE ROOM.

  DO NOT PASS YOUR FOYER UNTIL AFTER THE OUTAGE.

  WRITE BACK RELEVANT INFORMATION ON BACK OF THIS MESSAGE.

  THAT’S ALL.

  --MIO

  Mio. Mio Tsuzuki.

  As Hazuki scrambled to close the file it closed on its own. It must have been programmed to do that. If the message were open for any less time she wouldn’t have caught all the information.

  Five fifty-five pm.

  The clock on her monitor said it was 3:33. She had two hours and twenty-two minutes. The helper would be gone by then.

  But…

  Hazuki looked up.

  “Just don’t worry so much,” her foster father said. “The security on this house is impeccable. Intruders cannot get in. You have no reason to go out anyway, so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure the community center will reopen soon enough. I’ll also tell the police to ensure the foolproof safety of the house.”

  Intruders…

  Intruders had penetrated this house several times now. It just hadn’t been a crazy killer or some sly pervert. It was a little girl with some hacking skills.

  Nothing would make her feel safe in this house.

  Her foster father said, “I’ll be off now,” and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  That hand was warm and soft. But it made her think of the sensation of Yuko Yabe’s wobbly body.

  She felt somehow odd.

  “I’m thinking of dropping by your little brother and sister’s. I don’t think they have anything to worry about, but…I’m going to spend the night at my office tonight so I won’t be far. If anything comes up please contact me.”

  He smiled. See ya.

  “Okay, goodbye.”

  Soon the helper had arrived, and Hazuki went to her own room.

  Wait at the doveroom.

  Ayumi’s rooftop.

  Had something happened to Yuko?

  She turned her monitor on. The turtle icon was also on her bedroom monitor, but no matter how many times she opened it the file would immediately close. She didn’t know what was going on, but it must have been one of those things. Mio had made it, after all.

  It sounded like she was supposed to reply by typing in “relevant information” on the “back,” and she sought just enough time to jot something down. As long as she was typing it seemed the window would not close. She started to wonder what would happen when her voice changed, and while thinking about it she accidentally pressed the enter key.

  > WHAT THE HELL

  She meant to type “hell is going on?”

  She tried once again to open the file, but this time at the end of the text her own additional sentence was tacked on and immediately disappeared. When she saw her incomplete sentence on the screen she went limp. She didn’t feel like finishing it anymore and put her monitor in sleep mode.

  Hazuki remained there till 5:55 pm, sitting in that chair doing nothing. She didn’t put her hands on anything. At the fiftieth minute she left her room. She was going to leave her house as instructed.

  She moved to the living room. The helper was gone. Her dinner was on the dining table as usual.

  Two more minutes.

  Those two minutes were long. Curiously, looking at the food on the dining table whetted her appetite, but she had no time to eat. Why am I suddenly hungry now? Hazuki thought.

  Fifity-five and ten seconds…twenty seconds…thirty seconds.

  Hazuki reflexively opened the door and went through the hall.

  She hadn’t had any intention of obeying orders, but there she was.

  Through the foyer and out the front door. She stopped outside the door and took a gulp and spun on her heel.

  The gate light snapped back on. The foyer and house lights all went back on shortly thereafter.

  The occupancy light turned on.

  She could not go back in now.

  If she went back in now the security camera would spot her. Once in the foyer she would also have to use her ID card to get into the house.

  But the house thought she was still in it. If someone ostensibly already inside entered this house, the system was sure to go haywire.

  What a mess.

  Oh.

  Hazuki scrambled to get her monitor out. She made sure her GPS wasn’t on.

  It would be another system contradiction if her GPS showed her outside the house. Fortunately it wasn’t turned on, but for some reason the monitor was on audio mode, even though Hazuki never listened to music.

  Geez.

  She deleted all the notices from the center.

  No one was following the letter.

  It wasn’t that dark out yet.

  Hazuki stared at the road leading straight ahead. The road went on forever. It made her uneasy. She couldn’t get a complete view of it. She couldn’t position herself on it. She didn’t know where exactly she was. Nothing changed in the frame when she moved, making it pointless to move at all. Maps were maps because of the delineations they made.

  She looked at her monitor. Not being able to use her GPS also meant she could not use the navigator. It wasn’t as though she’d forgotten how to get there, but…

  At this rate she couldn’t tell how quickly she was moving either. Nor could she confirm exactly where she was. No…

  Hazuki was most definitely in her own home. The Hazuki standing on the side of the road now was a mere ghost of the real Hazuki. Hazuki’s ghost moved around like a real ghost would. Aimlessly.

  Even when she stepped on the ground it seemed insincere.

  She checked the time.

  She wanted at least to know how much exercise she was getting out of this.

  If she couldn’t measure distance she could at least measure how many calories she was burning.

  She’d been walking for twenty minutes.

  She walked past what used to be a burial ground for the dead.

  Beyond the alleys was a wild forest.

  There was a three-floor regulation-size building holding back the forest.

  There was…<
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  There was a nonregulation structure.

  Ayumi’s place.

  Hazuki had walked for twenty-five minutes and twenty-two seconds to reach the doveroom.

  After confirming the vacancy signal at the front of the building she walked around to the back.

  She climbed the metal spiral staircase.

  In the illegal structure built on the roof of this building a light was on.

  Hazuki hesitated to move immediately toward the door and walked along the fence to where Ayumi had first been sitting. She sat down on the chair left there.

  She sat down and looked up.

  She looked at the sky the way Ayumi had. The world had gone dark. It was pitch black here and there. Night skies are inconsistent, Hazuki thought uselessly.

  As she focused her eyes Hazuki began to see lights. Mio had said it was weirder to be able to see the lights than not, but even Hazuki could see a few. They were smaller than the pixels on her monitor.

  After much concentration she realized the black part of the night sky was actually an obstruction—it was a physical object. She thought it was one deep black object, but it was actually a bridge. And as soon as she thought this, she felt like she could recognize the entire world.

  The bridge was black and large.

  There was a loud noise behind her.

  “What are you doing?”

  Two catlike eyes peered at Hazuki from behind the door.

  It was Mio.

  “You were supposed to come in when you got here. What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Jesus,” Mio let out, leaning forward to grab Hazuki by her right sleeve and pull her into the room.

  “Don’t you think this is a bad work environment, Kono?”

  Mio’s hands clasped Hazuki’s shoulders as she spoke. Mio’s face was right in front of hers. She didn’t have time to back away and was trapped looking straight into Mio’s big round eyes. She was stunned.

  Pupils. Iris. Capillaries. Eyebrows. Eyelids.

  A living thing.

  Mio thrust Hazuki into the room.

  Hazuki took a few steps toward the dove cage with her eyes still open. Mio slammed the door shut.