by Ashley Capes
The rear garden stretched to a distant fence, dotted with hedges, plants and three water features. In one, a lithe fox had curled its tail but no water spouted from its mouth. An empty space before an open shed, with old grooves where wheels would rest, must have usually housed a car. Was he even home? Riko shook her head. Idiot. He was probably at the Lake.
She moved to the shed just in case, peering around the door.
A skylight beamed down onto a spotless concrete floor, a workspace where tools lined the walls and a vice stood bolted to one of the benches, but no Hiroshi. Yet standing just beyond the stripe of light was a dark jumble of shapes.
She crept forward, bending down.
Riko gasped.
The dark jumble was made up of dozens of carvings – each of a woman. Some were the length of her palm, others tall as a water bottle and many, mostly unfinished, could have been a statue on one of the fountains or even something resting in the entryway to a house. There had to be dozens.
She picked one up and moved into the light. The woman wore a kimono and the back of her hair was tied into a neat bun, the texture of her hair indicated by feather-light markings, and her face...
Makiko.
The carving wore a small smile but the eyes were unfinished, blank. Riko shivered. Had he carved them all as a replacement, a reminder?
An engine, grumbling up the driveway.
Riko jumped, dropping the carving. It clunked on the ground and she nudged it back to the heap with her foot before dashing around the house to stand by her car. An old blue truck, with rounded wheel wells and cabin, rattled up the drive. Inside, a man with a sheet of white hair stared at her, eyebrows drawn. He screeched to a halt beside the Toyota and jumped out of his truck, slamming the door.
“What do you want?”
Riko raised her hands. She had to be sure he was actually Hiroshi. “I’m looking for Hiroshi Miyamoto.”
He came to tower over her. “Doesn’t live here. Now, off you go. No visitors.”
“But it’s about Makiko Yamashita.”
His face froze, as if she’d punched through an ancient wall, shattering his heart. Then he leant down. His voice dropped. “I said ‘go’.”
“Please, I think I have her –”
The old man roared, an animal cry, and Riko fell back, bumping into her car.
“I said ‘go’, did you hear me? Now.” Hiroshi stretched for a shovel where it stood in a garden bed.
Riko scrambled round the Toyota and tore the door open. Glass shattered and a thump rocked the car – he’d smashed her tail light. She stomped on the pedal as another smash came, flinging dust into Hiroshi’s face as she sped off.
In the mirror, he was coughing and spluttering, half-bent, shovel in hand.
12.
On the way home she stopped for a meal in a quiet cafe, eating a plain noodle dish and beaming when she kept it down. The waitress probably thought she was crazy, grinning at an empty cup.
The sky was darkening into a deep blue when Riko pulled up to her driveway, blocked from entering by a familiar black Lexus. A young man leant against the hood in a smart outfit but no hat this time, with legs crossed and a cigarette in hand. Konda exhaled a plume of white smoke when she approached.
“She’s here, Shachō.” His voice was tight. Was he afraid?
Her stomach flipped. What had Yuuki done now? Did Ikeda know out about his son’s last visit? “Why does Ikeda-san want to see me?”
Konda only dropped his cigarette and squashed it with his dress shoe.
“Konda?”
The rear door snapped open and Ikeda slipped from the car in one motion. His suit was impeccable once again and he did not smile. A new light filled his eyes; their colour had even lightened since she last saw him. Contacts? He didn’t strike her as vain. Stern, yes, but not vain.
Ikeda raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been waiting for some time now, Riko-san. Konda?” He nodded to the driver, who leapt forward and caught her shoulders. Cigarette-breath was heavy on her face.
“Hey!”
Ikeda waved a hand. “Inside.”
She kicked at Konda’s legs as he hauled her forward. He grunted but dragged her to the door, stopping when she threw her body weight back, resisting him. How dare they man-handle her, who the hell did Ikeda think he was?
Ikeda jerked her by the arm and Riko took a chance, shooting forward and adding to the momentum, elbowing him as she passed. He gave a shout and blood glistened, spotting the pristine surface of the Lexus. There. How’d you like that?
She spun but Konda was there. He jammed her into the car and slammed the door.
Riko scrambled across the seat. A deep ‘click’ bounced off the leather-bound interior. Konda hopped into the driver’s seat and twisted his body to speak through a glass division. “You should do as he says. He’s in a bad mood.”
“Yeah?” She kicked the back of his seat. “Fuck you. Fuck you both, what the hell are you doing?”
Another click and the opposite door opened. She dived across the leather but Ikeda stood smiling, handgun levelled at her eye. Riko froze, sucking in a breath. Holy shit. She backed up, allowing him inside. Guns went far beyond intimidation.
“Drive, Konda.”
“Yes, Shachō.”
“Riko-san, understand that while I must and will stop you, I am not without regret.” He leant closer. “But you cannot know.”
He was a madman. God, what had she let him do? Allowing them to force her into the car...at least on the street she could have called out. But here? Speeding along the backstreets, to who knew where, with a gun fixed on her face and a warning from the man’s own driver? Her stomach lurched.
He was still talking. “You do not know agony. How close we were, what true separation does to a soul. But how could you?” He gave a smile that was almost gentle. “You’re hardly at fault, you cannot understand. Unless of course, you have loved deeply? If so, you may soon understand the barest beginning of what I have faced.” His eyes flashed now. “Tell me, then, have you?”
“Loved? Yes.” Her pulse raced. Just keep him talking.
“Then maybe you will not be unsympathetic.”
“I don’t know, maybe. Where are we going?”
He frowned. “To a quiet place.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Nothing.
She waited but he only stared back at her. What was happening? He was insane. Something had changed, something was wrong and it wasn’t just his eyes. He was even speaking strangely. Different to before. After a few more moments of silence and only her breathing audible, she looked away with a swallow. She had to get out. She was in trouble. She had to get away.
An old textile factory appeared ahead, its wooden boards and dark windows mute in the darkening street. Wheels crunched on gravel in the empty car park as the Lexus stopped. Konda offered nothing from beyond the glass.
“And here we are,” Ikeda said. “Once upon a time this was owned by the Ikeda family. A quiet place indeed.”
The gun wove in the air between them. Her heart was thumping and her entire chest felt exposed, as if a sharp line were being traced through her skin with every movement of the gun.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Assurance, cooperation, compliance.”
She made a fist to put a stop to the trembling. “Why are you doing this to me, Ikeda?”
“Ikeda isn’t doing this at all. I am.”
“What?”
He shouted up to the front. “Konda.”
A click.
Ikeda waved her toward the door. She took the handle and paused when he spoke. “No running now.”
Konda helped her out, keeping a hand on her arm. Ikeda followed, the gun’s barrel still weaving, now drawing a path from her eye, mouth and then her other eye.
A bloody triangle of death.
“In we go.”
Riko sucked in a breath. “People will find out.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Riko shoved at Konda but he held her fast, pushing her toward the entrance. His face was pale. “Just answer his questions.”
Ikeda produced a key and unlocked the chain on the door. It creaked, sagging against the frame as he pushed it open. He gestured with the gun that they were to go first.
The interior fed on shadow. The only light came from lingering rays of sunset pouring through the only window without a covering. Vague shapes that might have been stalls and from the glint of steel, big sewing machines, lurked beyond the square of light. Konda stopped at a command.
Ikeda was a silhouette as he stepped into the factory, floorboards groaning.
“You’re just a coward, aren’t you?” Riko shouted.
“Let me ask the questions.” He paused. “Where is the journal?”
Riko closed her eyes. Idiot. Of course. The Ikeda family once owned the factory. Not her captor’s family. Ikeda isn’t doing this – that’s what her captor said and he meant it.
Yurei.
“You’re the other man, aren’t you? Saburou, the man Makiko loved before she met Hiroshi.”
The ghost spat, his earlier levity dead. “Never say his name.”
Konda flinched but Riko straightened. “Is this what she’d want? For you to take possession of Ikeda and murder me in the ruins of a textile factory?”
“What she wants is to be reunited with me, you filthy worm. She’s in limbo – you cannot comprehend that. Now speak. Where is the journal?”
She sneered. “You’re barely mentioned in it.”
He growled and his eyes flashed once more. Only this time the light remained. It oozed from his shape in wisps. His voice thundered. “Speak.”
“No.”
The wisps twirled. “I will find it with or without you.”
She said nothing.
The ghost pointed to his driver. “Retrieve the tarp from the boot, Konda.”
His mouth trembled. “Tarp, sir?”
“Yes, the damn tarp. For her body.”
Konda hesitated. “You said we were just going to spook her.”
“We are. Now get the tarp.”
“But I...I don’t want to kill anyone.”
A sigh. Metal caught the light and something cracked the air, a flash illumining a twisted face. Konda’s grip on her arm disappeared and his body slumped to the floorboards.
Riko dove into shadow, rolling then falling still. She held her breath.
The ghost slipped deeper into the room, eyes floating in the dark. Riko moved her hands. A weapon. A piece of wood, an old sewing machine, anything would do. Nothing but dust. She drove a hand into her pocket then smothered a groan. The omamori was broken; she was a fool. And what good would it do against bullets?
“Tell me where the journal is and I will spare you.”
He was lying, but which lie mattered? Did he truly need the journal, and his earlier claim a bluff? The eyes spun in a slow circle. Could he sense her? Whatever powers the ghost had must have been muted by a human body, else, why couldn’t he find her?
“You must tell me.” A hiss. “He’s too close to her.”
She could run for the door, steal the car. The ghost would have a clear shot as she crossed the threshold. If she answered, it would know where she stood, if not exactly, close enough.
But if the ghost truly needed the journal...
She rose from her crouch. “Prove it.”
Riko stepped aside the moment after she spoke. The eyes spun but the gun remained silent.
“What?”
“That you’ll spare me if I tell you.” She moved again, back to her first position.
“I, Saburou Chiba, swear that I will spare your life if you show me the journal.”
“Not good enough. Vacate his body. Follow me.”
The eyes flickered.
“Or I run for the car and you kill me and you never find the journal. Hiroshi wins.”
A screech rattled windows. Riko slapped hands over her ears and crouched. The eyes flared, the wisps of light elongating, rushing out and up into the roof and merging where it hovered, before streaking through the door and into the dark car park. Riko heaved a sigh, shuddering as she sat back a moment.
Ikeda gave a shout. The gun clattered to the ground. He stumbled into the last trace of light, a square from the doorway.
Riko took a parallel course into the light. “Ikeda-sama.”
He spun, his eyes wide and head jerking side to side. “You? What is happening? Where am I?”
Riko looked away. “Ikeda Textile. You brought me here to kill me.”
He reeled back. “Never!”
“You brought a gun and everything. Konda tried to stop you, but you shot him. It was like you were possessed.”
“But I...Konda?” He shook his head. “No. Nothing is clear...this is preposterous.”
She pointed. “That’s his body, and there’s your gun.”
Ikeda’s knees hit the floorboards. “My forefathers.”
“And now I’m going to take your Lexus.”
He twisted his torso. “Stop.”
“I don’t think so. You’re not going to commit two murders.”
“I never committed the first.”
“I’m taking your car.” She raised her phone. “Either that or I press ‘send’ on this text. Everyone in my address book will see what you did.”
The bluff worked.
“I did nothing.” He wrung his hands. “I did not bring you here and I did not shoot Konda.”
She edged toward the door. “Smell your hands. You fired that gun. Goodbye, Ikeda-san.”
He raised shaking hands to his face. A cry escaped, but she was already outside, sprinting for the car. Wrenching the door open, she dived into the driver’s seat and thumped the steering wheel. God, what was happening?
A tiny Totoro figurine dangled on Konda’s key chain.
Poor man.
She fired the engine, flicked the headlights on and sped from the car park. In the mirror the entry to the factory remained dark. No figure came to watch her, no ghost trailed her.
13.
Riko parked the Lexus a couple of blocks from the apartment building and walked the last bit, the muggy darkness a cloak. She kept her phone out, its glow a small comfort. Was Saburou following her? She had a small club she’d found in the car’s glove box looped through her jeans, but it wouldn’t do anything to a ghost.
Still, it was better than nothing.
She passed a young couple, the girl giggling behind her hand, and then turned a corner, blinking at car lights. When she could see again, Riko’s heart gave a flip, a tiny acrobat in her chest.
Home.
She jogged to her Toyota. If she was quick enough, she could hide the journal from both Saburou and Kiyomi. Just so long as – locked. Riko glanced up at the house. Lights were still on. It was probably after dinner, but someone was home. What day was it?
Without her keys, she had to knock.
Kiyomi answered. She folded her arms. “When I saw your car just sitting there unlocked, keys inside, I nearly panicked.” She raised the journal. “But then I saw this. You lied.”
The dam burst and every lie washed over her, oily, greasy water. She slumped. “Kiyomi, I –”
“Just come inside. You can tell it to the detective.”
She stopped, whatever she was going to say vanished.
“Riko.”
She removed her shoes and crossed the threshold with heavy tread. How the hell was she going to keep everything straight?
Daisuke sat across from a man in a suit. They smiled as they conversed, in the
polite way that only strangers managed. The same smile she’d worn for Dad at home, leaving for the airport.
Both men rose when she entered.
“Riko Nakamura?”
“Yes.”
“It’s wonderful to see you unharmed.” The detective appraised her and she fought off a blush. What the hell was he doing, looking her over like that? Good looking or not, pal, take it easy. “I’m Detective Watanabe. Your friends here were very persuasive. They care about you a lot; I understand you’ve been missing before tonight?”
“I have. I was lucky not to freeze to death.” They sat, Daisuke giving her a smile. Kiyomi still held the journal, her face set as Riko explained what happened, running with her standard story. No memory. Blackouts. Her friends were wonderful for looking out for her.
The Detective opened a notepad. “I see. So, can you tell me where have you been tonight?”
“Someone...” she glanced at Kiyomi...“abducted me in front of the house.”
Eyebrows climbed. “Can anyone confirm this?”
“A neighbour maybe. It was sunset.”
“And did you recognise this person or persons?”
Now what, Riko? He’d have her deported. Do it. She’d never see Japan again. Just tell them. “Katashi Ikeda.”
He blinked. “You are sure it was Ikeda-san?”
“Yes. He forced me into his car and drove me to an abandoned factory just out of town...but I escaped.”
“How?”
“With help from his driver.”
“And his name?”
“Konda. That’s all I know.”
“And?”
“Well, Ikeda-san hates me because he thinks I made advances toward his son. I think he was trying to scare me, but he accidently shot Konda.”
Watanabe stiffened. “He murdered him?”
“It was an accident I think. When I left, he was still there. I stole his car.” She couldn’t look at Kiyomi or Daisuke. She stuck with Watanabe’s eyes. They were narrowed.
“This is a serious allegation. If I call this in, I fully expect to find a body.”
“You will.”
“And there will be consequences for failing to report this immediately.”