She washed her hands at the kitchen sink. Without drying them she took some ice cubes from the freezer, dropped them in a glass, and filled it with coke. She drained the glass in a single gulp and set it on the counter. The ice cubes swirled in the glass for a moment, then settled. Tomoko shivered. She felt cold. Her throat was still dry. She took the big bottle of coke from the refrigerator and refilled her glass. Her hands were shaking now. She had a feeling there was something behind her. Some thingdefinitely not a person. The sour stench of rotting flesh melted into the air around her, enveloping her. It couldnt be anything corporeal.
Stop it! Please! she begged, speaking aloud now.
The fifteen-watt fluorescent bulb over the kitchen sink flickered on and off like ragged breathing. It had to be new, but its light seemed pretty unreliable right now. Suddenly Tomoko wished she had hit the switch that turned on all the lights in the kitchen. But she couldnt walk over to where the switch was. She couldnt even turn around. She knew what was behind her: a Japanese-style room of eight tatami mats, with the Buddhist altar dedicated to her grandfathers memory in the alcove. Through the slightly open curtains shed be able to see the grass in the empty lots and a thin stripe of light from the condos beyond. There shouldnt be anything else.
By the time she had drunk half the second glass of cola, Tomoko couldnt move at all. The feeling was too intense, she couldnt be just imagining the presence. She was sure that something was reaching out even now to touch her on the neck.
What if its ? She didnt want to think the rest. If she did, if she went on like that, shed remember, and she didnt think she could stand the terror. It had happened a week ago, so long ago shed forgotten. It was all Shuichis faulthe shouldnt have said that Later, none of them could stop. But then theyd come back to the city and those scenes, those vivid images, hadnt seemed quite as believable. The whole thing had just been someones idea of a joke. Tomoko tried to think about something more cheerful. Anything besides that. But if it was If that had been real after all, the phone did ring, didnt it?
Oh, Mom and Dad, what are you doing?
Come home! Tomoko cried aloud.
But even after she spoke, the eerie shadow showed no signs of dissipating. It was behind her, keeping still, watching and waiting. Waiting for its chance to arrive.
At seventeen Tomoko didnt know what true terror was. But she did know that there were fears that grew in the imagination of their own accord. That must be it. Yeah, thats all it is. When I turn around there wont be anything there. Nothing at all.
Tomoko was seized by a desire to turn around. She wanted to confirm that there was nothing there and get herself out of the situation. But was that really all there was to it? An evil chill seemed to rise up around her shoulders, spread to her back, and began to slither down her spine, lower and lower. Her T-shirt was soaked with cold sweat. Her physical responses were too strong for it to be just her imagination.
Didnt someone say your body is more honest than your mind?
Yet, another voice spoke too: Turn around, there shouldnt be anything there. If you dont finish your coke and get back to your studies theres no telling how youll do on the test tomorrow.
In the glass an ice cube cracked. As if spurred by the sound, without stopping to think, Tomoko spun around.
September 5, 10:54 pm
Tokyo, the intersection in front of Shinagawa Station The light turned yellow right in front of him. He could have darted through, but instead Kimura pulled his cab over to the curb. He was hoping to pick up a fare headed for Roppongi Crossing; a lot of customers he picked up here were bound for Akasaka or Roppongi, and it wasnt uncommon for people to jump in while he was stopped at a light like this.
A motorcycle nosed up between Kimuras taxi and the curb and came to a stop just at the edge of the crossing. The rider was a young man dressed in jeans. Kimura got annoyed by motorcycles, the way they wove and darted their way through traffic like this. He especially hated it when he was waiting at a light and a bike came up and stopped right by his door, blocking it. And today, he had been hassled by customers all day long and was in a foul mood. Kimura cast a sour look at the biker. His face was hidden by his helmet visor. One leg rested on the curb of the sidewalk, his knees were spread wide, and he rocked his body back and forth in a thoroughly slovenly manner.
A young lady with nice legs walked by on the sidewalk. The biker turned his head to watch her go by. But his gaze didnt follow her the whole way. His head had swiveled about 90 degrees when he seemed to fix his gaze on the show window behind her. The woman walked on out of his field of vision. The biker was left behind, staring intently at something. The walk light began to flash and then went out. Pedestrians caught in the middle of the street began to hurry, crossing right in front of the taxi. Nobody raised a hand or headed for his cab. Kimura revved the engine and waited for the light to turn green.
Just then the biker seemed to be seized by a great spasm, raising both arms and collapsing against Kimuras taxi. He fell against the door of the cab with a loud thump and disappeared from view.
You asshole.
The kid mustve lost his balance and fallen over, thought Kimura as he turned on his blinkers and got out of the car. If the door was damaged, he intended to make the kid pay for repairs. The light turned green and the cars behind Kimuras began to pass by into the intersection. The biker was lying face up on the street, thrashing his legs and struggling with both hands to remove his helmet. Before checking out the kid, though, Kimura first looked at his meal ticket. Just as he had expected, there was a long, angling crease in the door panel.
Shit! Kimura clicked his tongue in disgust as he approached the fallen man. Despite the fact that the strap was still securely fastened under his chin, the guy was desperately trying to remove his helmethe seemed ready to rip his own head off in the process.
Does it hurt that bad?
Kimura realized now that something was seriously wrong with the rider. He finally squatted down next to him and asked, You all right? Because of the tinted visor he couldnt makeout the mans expression. The biker clutched at Kimuras hand and seemed to be begging for something. He was almost clinging to Kimura. He said nothing. He didnt try to raise the visor. Kimura jumped to action.
Hold on, Ill call an ambulance.
Running to a public telephone, Kimura puzzled over how a simple fall from a standing position could have turned into this. He must have hit his head just right.
But dont be stupid. The idiot was wearing a helmet, right? He doesnt look like he broke an arm or a leg. I hope this doesnt turn into a pain in the ass It wouldnt be too good for me if he hurt himself running into my car.
Kimura had a bad feeling about this.
So if he really is hurt, does it come out of my insurance? That means an accident report, which means the cops
When he hung up and went back, the man was lying unmoving with his hands clutching his throat. Several passers-by had stopped and were looking on with concerned expressions. Kimura pushed his way through the people, making sure everybody knew it had been he who had called the ambulance.
When he hung up and went back, the man was lying unmoving with his hands clutching his throat. Several passers-by had stopped and were looking on with concerned expressions. Kimura pushed his way through the people, making sure everybody knew it had been he who had called the ambulance.
Hey! Hey! Hang in there. The ambulance is on its way. Kimura unfastened the chin strap of the helmet. It came right off: Kimura couldnt believe how the guy had been struggling with it earlier. The mans face was amazingly distorted. The only word that could describe his expression was astonishment. Both eyes were wide open and staring and his bright-red tongue was stuck in the back of his throat, blocking it, while saliva drooled from the corner of his mouth. The ambulance would be arriving too late. When his hands had touched the kids throat in removing his helmet, he hadnt felt a pulse. Kimura shuddered. The scene was losing reality.
One wheel of the fallen motorcycle still spun slowly and oil leaked from the engine, pooling in the street and running into the sewer. There was no breeze. The night sky was clear, while directly over their heads the stoplight turned red again. Kimura rose shakily to his feet, clutching at the guardrail that ran along the sidewalk. From there he looked once more at the man lying in the street. The mans head, pillowed on his helmet, was bent at nearly a right angle. An unnatural posture no matter how you looked at it.
Did I put it there? Did I put his head on his helmet like that? Like a pillow? For what?
He couldnt recall the past several seconds. Those wide-open eyes were looking at him. A sinister chill swept over him. Lukewarm air seemed to pass right over his shoulders. It was a tropical evening, but Kimura found himself shivering uncontrollably.
2
The early morning light of autumn reflected off the green surface of the inner moat of the Imperial Palace. Septembers stifling heat was finally fading. Kazuyuki Asakawa was halfway down to the subway platform, but suddenly had a change of heart: he wanted a closer look at the water hed been looking at from the ninth floor. It felt like the filthy air of the editorial offices had filtered down here to the basement levels like dregs settling to the bottom of a bottle: he wanted to breathe outside air. He climbed the stairs to the street. With the green of the palace grounds in front of him, the exhaust fumes generated from the confluence of the No. 5 Expressway and the Ring Road didnt seem so noxious. The brightening sky shone in the cool of the morning.
Asakawa was physically fatigued from having worked all night, but he wasnt especially sleepy. The fact that hed completed his article stimulated him and kept his brain cells active. He hadnt taken a day off for two weeks, and planned to spend today and tomorrow at home, resting up. He was just going to take it easyon orders from the editor-in-chief.
He saw an empty taxi coming from the direction of Kudanshita, and he instinctively raised his hand. Two days ago his subway commuter pass from Takebashi to Shinbaba had expired, and he hadnt bought a new one yet. It cost four hundred yen to get to his condominium in Kita Shinagawa from here by subway, while it cost nearly two thousand yen to go by cab. He hated to waste over fifteen hundred yen, but when he thought of the three transfers hed have to make on the subway, and the fact that hed just gotten paid, he decided he could splurge just this once.
Asakawas decision to take a taxi on this day and at this spot was nothing more than a whim, the outcome of a series of innocuous impulses. He hadnt emerged from the subway with the intention of hailing a cab. Hed been seduced by the outside air at the very moment that a taxi had approached with its red vacant lamp lit, and in that instant the thought of buying a ticket and transferring through three separate stations seemed like more effort than he could stand. If he had taken the subway home, however, a certain pair of incidents would almost certainly never have been connected. Of course, a story always begins with such a coincidence.
The taxi pulled to a hesitant stop in front of the Palaceside Building. The driver was a small man of about forty, and it looked like he too had been up all night, his eyes were so red. There was a color mug shot on the dashboard with the drivers name, Mikio Kimura, written beside it.
Kita Shinagawa, please.
Hearing the destination, Kimura felt like doing a little dance. Kita Shinagawa was just past his companys garage in Higashi Gotanda, and since it was the end of his shift, he was planning to go in that direction anyway. Moments like this, when he guessed right and things went his way, reminded him that he liked driving a cab. Suddenly he felt like talking.
You covering a story?
His eyes bloodshot with fatigue, Asakawa was looking out the window and letting his mind drift when the driver asked this.
Eh? he replied, suddenly alert, wondering how the cabby knew his profession.
Youre a reporter, right? For a newspaper.
Yeah. Their weekly magazine, actually. But how did you know?
Kimura had been driving a taxi for nearly twenty years and he could pretty much guess a fares occupation depending on where he picked him up, what he was wearing, and how he talked. If the person had a glamorous job and was proud of it, he was always ready to talk about it.
It must be hard having to be at work this early in the morning.
No, just the opposite. Im on my way home to sleep.
Well, youre just like me then.
Asakawa usually didnt feel much pride in his work. But this morning he was feeling the same satisfaction hed felt the first time hed seen an article of his appear in print. Hed finally finished a series hed been working on, and it had drawn quite a reaction.
Is your work interesting?
Yeah, I guess so, said Asakawa, noncommittally. Sometimes it was interesting and sometimes it wasnt, but right now he couldnt be bothered to go into it in detail. He still hadnt forgotten his disastrous failure of two years ago. He could clearly remember the title of the article hed been working on:
The New Gods of Modernity.
In his minds eye he could still picture the wretched figure he had cut as hed stood quaking before the editor-in-chief to tell him he couldnt go on as a reporter.
For a while there was silence in the taxi. They took the curve just left of Tokyo Tower at a considerable speed. Excuse me, said Kimura, should I take the canal road or the No. 1 Keihin? One route or the other would be more convenient depending on where they were going in Kita Shinagawa.
Take the expressway. Let me out just before Shinbaba.
A taxi driver can relax a bit once he knows precisely where his fare is going. Kimura turned right at Fuda-no-tsuji.
They were approaching it now, the intersection Kimura had been unable to put out of his mind for the past month. Unlike Asakawa, who was haunted by his failure, Kimura was able to look back at the accident fairly objectively. After all, he hadnt been responsible for the accident, so he hadnt had to do any soul-searching because of it. It was entirely the other guys fault, and no amount of caution on Kimuras part could have warded it off. Hed completely overcome the terror he had felt. A month was that a long time? Asakawa was still in thrall to the terror hed known two years ago.