Vol 1 Epilogue (2/2)

s.h.i.+ki. The girl calms down a bit, bows deeply before me, and then turns

the doork.n.o.b.

“Goodbye,” she says. “I hope we don’t see each other again, for both

our sakes.”

Then she opens the door and runs out. The last thing I see is her eyes,

because she looked like she was about to cry.

98 • KINOKO NASU

Lingering Pain - II

After my guest leaves as suddenly and unexpectedly as I found her, I try

to push it out of my mind. She was just a normal girl I found in the street

and, in a spark of altruism, decided to help. She had some kind of pain,

though, that much I can be sure, but the how eludes me at the moment.

Still, no need for me to think on it more than that. She’s gone, and there’s

nothing I can do about it. More importantly, I’m going to be late for work

if I don’t hurry. As soon as I finish up my morning rituals, I’m out the door

instantly.

The place I work in isn’t exactly what you’d call a “company”, not in any

official capacity anyway. My employer is an eccentric sort of woman, the

kind of woman who buys an abandoned building only halfway finished

and makes it her office; a woman in her late twenties, a collector of old,

obscure trinkets, purveyor of ambiguous counsel, and all around weirdo,

Miss Tōko Aozaki.

Ostensibly, she’s a maker of dolls and puppets, but she seems to dabble

in all manner of engineering and architectural work as well. These are, of

course, her hobbies. I may have complaints about how she runs the place,

but she’s managed to keep this little enterprise of hers running before I was

there so she must be doing something right. Besides, I’m not about to challenge

the wisdom of my one and only source of income, especially when

I don’t have a degree in a time when actual job pickings are slim. In fact, I

should consider myself lucky to find any kind of work at all.

The building, which in the middle of my musings I have managed to

reach, is a four story structure, with the office at the top. Nestled between

the industrial district and the housing projects, it projects a feeling of emptiness

and solitude, like it doesn’t belong. The longer you stare at it, the

longer you gain this feeling of imposition, and going inside would be the

last thing on one’s mind. The building lacks modern 21st century luxuries

such as elevators, so I start to climb the staircase.

As I enter the room, one person alone sits atop Miss Tōko’s desk, a girl

that looks decidedly out of place among the stacks of discarded papers and

blueprints scattered all across the room. The girl in a fish-patterned indigo

blue kimono turns her head at my entrance, looking at me with listless

eyes, and I address her.

“Wait a minute. s.h.i.+ki? What are you doing in this miserable dump?”

“Um, Kokutō? The owner of the place is right behind me, pal,” she says

in a tone of warning, while pointing behind her with her thumb.

/ LINGERING PAIN - II • 99

s.h.i.+ki moves aside to reveal Miss Tōko seated across the desk, a lighted

cigarette positioned in her mouth, and sharp eyes burrowing into me with

pointed glares. She wears the same simple pattern of white blouse and

black pants, a combination she has upheld so religiously since the day I met

her that you would think she’d wear the same thing at a funeral. She always

seems obliged to wear at least one orange-colored accessory though, and

today it is a single orange earring.

“Yeah, I’d say goodbye to your paycheck if I were you,” s.h.i.+ki adds. I gulp.

“Hmph. The Lord Tōko Almighty forgives you for your transgression since

you arrived here earlier than I expected. Seriously, Kokutō. I told you there

wouldn’t be anything for you to do for a while so it’s okay to show yourself

around noon, and yet here you are.”

“Miss Tōko, you know I’m not that kind of person.” I can feel my wallet

practically coaching me the words in my head. It’s gets a bit lonely in there

with only the stored value train ticket and phone card keeping each other

company. “So, why is s.h.i.+ki in this miserable dump?”

“Called her in. Thought there was a little business matter she could help

me with.”

For her part, s.h.i.+ki seemed uninterested and withdrawn. She probably

went out last night again, since she’s rubbing one of her eyes. It’s barely

been a month since she recovered from her coma. We still find it hard to

talk to each other, but we’re taking it slow for now. Since she doesn’t seem

to be interested in talking to me right now, I sit myself down on my desk.

With no real work to finish, there’s nothing to do but chat.

“Did you happen to see the news this morning, Miss Tōko?”

“You’re talking about the news on Broad Bridge, right? I keep saying it,

but j.a.pan doesn’t need a bridge that big, G.o.ddamit.”

What Miss Tōko is talking about is none other than the big ten kilometer

bridge construction project scheduled to finish next year. This part of town

is about a twenty minute drive away from the city port, a short distance.

The port is situated in a crescent shaped coastline that forms a bay, and

the bridge is planned to cross the gap between the extreme upper and

lower parts of that crescent coastline in one straight highway, supposedly

to divert traffic from the coast. The city’s development council made a joint

venture with some big construction company to “answer the complaints

of the community.” And of course, considering the history of the local

government, a public works project that big has to have some taxpayer’s

money mysteriously disappearing into people’s pockets. It’s a typical story:

the government makes public development projects to answer some new

“problem” the citizens have, which doesn’t exist except in their heads, and

100 • KINOKO NASU

everyone gets money. Worse, it’s going to have its own aquarium, a museum,

and a gigantic parking lot for G.o.d knows what reason; you don’t know

if the place is a bridge or some weird amus.e.m.e.nt park. The locals had been

calling it the Bay Bridge since it started, but going from what Miss Tōko

said, I suppose it’s been officially christened as the Broad Bridge. It goes

without saying that Miss Tōko and I do not hold this project in high esteem.

“Well, yeah, you say that, but I thought you already had an exhibit s.p.a.ce

there?” I comment wryly.

“That was just a complementary ‘thank you’ from the company. If it

were up to me, I’d sell it, but how do you think it would look for Asagami

Construction if I, the designer, refused the offer? But it’s a stupid location,

and it won’t make me a lick of cash.”

Uh oh. She’s talking about deficit again. This has to be going somewhere

I don’t like. I have to find out about this now or else she’s never going to

give me the money.

“Um, Miss Tōko? About the cash. Pardon me for being so blunt with it

but, you had promised me my salary today and—“

“Oh, yeah,” she stretches the word out in a long drawl. “That. Unfortunately,

I’m going to have to postpone your pay for a month.” She spits it

out like an unwanted curse, as if I was the one at fault for asking in the first

place.

“But you had a million or some yen wired to your account yesterday!

How could it all be gone?”

“I spent it, how else?” Miss Tōko rebuts nonchalantly, sitting in her chair

and swiveling it from side to side making squeaking noises and adopting the

general annoying air of feigned ignorance one receives from self-important

people. s.h.i.+ki and I just affix her with frustrated stares.

“But what on Earth could you spend that much money on?” I cry in

outrage.

“Oh, nothing, just a silly little thing. A Victorian era Ouija board to be

precise. I don’t know if it works or not, but the hundred year value it has

makes it fetch a high price. And if it’s a numina container, then so much the

better. It’ll be a nice addition to my collection.”

I can’t believe how she’s taking all of this in stride. It would have been a

lot more convenient if she was just some two-bit illusionist with some hand

tricks, but her actual sideline is being a mage; like, the real deal. Which is

why she can talk all about esoteric topics such as “numina” or whatnot

while keeping a totally straight face. And yet she can’t even use her magic

to make up some convenient excuse for my lack of pay.

“Come on, Kokutō, even you couldn’t have resisted the bargain price.

/ LINGERING PAIN - II • 101

Don’t be so mad. At least now our wallets finally have something in common.”

Having been shown by her what miracles mages are capable of doing, I

was willing to be tolerant in how she handled things, but this was way too

much. “So that’s it, then? No pay for me this month?”

“Yep. All employees are to find other means of obtaining funding.”

I stand up, and make my way towards the door. “Then, you’ll excuse me

for leaving early, since I’m gonna have to beg, borrow, or steal money to

get by this month?”

“Early in, early out, huh? Just don’t get caught stealing or I’ll feel guilty.”

Then, she switches to a serious tone, as if to indicate the gravity of what

she was about to say. “By the way, Kokutō. I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

Thinking it’s the business between her and s.h.i.+ki, I try to listen as hard as I

can.

“What, Miss Tōko?”

Then smiling, she says “Can you spare me some money? I’m pretty

broke.”

I pinch my thumb and forefinger together in front of me and say, “This

close to resignation.”

I close the door with resentment; cutting off Miss Tōko’s playful chuckling

soon after.

102 • KINOKO NASU

/ 1

After witnessing the amusing exchange between Tōko and Mikiya, s.h.i.+ki

at last speaks her mind.

“Tōko, you were saying before we were interrupted?”

“Ah, right. I didn’t really want to take a job like this, but money comes

first. If only I were an alchemist, then I wouldn’t have to worry so much

about living expenses. d.a.m.n Kokutō for not sharing some of that money I

know he saves over,” Tōko says with indignation. She extinguishes her cigarette

on the ashtray. Mikiya is probably thinking something similar himself,

s.h.i.+ki thinks.

“Well, about that incident last night—“ Tōko starts saying.

“I don’t need to hear any more on that. I get it, for the most part.”

“That so? Crime scene description only, and you can already read this

girl? Sharp one, aren’t we?” Tōko looks at s.h.i.+ki with eyes laden with meaning.

Tōko has only described the details of the crime scene to s.h.i.+ki, and yet

s.h.i.+ki understands that the girl’s story is writ large all over that vivid scene:

proof, if anything, of her natural intuition when it comes to these matters.

Tōko knew she’d understand; they come from the same dirty side of the

world, after all.

“Our benefactor for this job has an idea who the target is. If you encounter

her, orders are to try and see if she goes along quietly. But if she shows

any willingness to fight back, any at all, then oblige her. ‘Least you’ll see if

those blade skills of yours have rusted some.”

“I see.” s.h.i.+ki’s only answer. To her, the job was simple. Hunt her down,

and kill her. “What do we do about the body?”

“If you kill her, then the client has the means to make this look like an

accident. Don’t worry about the fallout on this one. She’s dead to the

world, as far as our client is concerned. Got no moral qualms about killing

dead people, right?” Tōko gives a little laugh. “So, you in on this? You ask

me, it’s tailor made for you.”

“I don’t even need to answer that.” s.h.i.+ki starts to walk towards the exit.

“You’re eager to start. Are you spoiling for blood that much, s.h.i.+ki?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Hey, you forgot this.” Tōko tosses a folder at s.h.i.+ki. “Some photos and

the particulars on her profile. What the h.e.l.l are you going to do without

even knowing what she looks like?” s.h.i.+ki doesn’t catch the folder, and it

falls harmlessly to the floor.

“I don’t need a file on this one. You’ve told me where it started, and

/ 1 • 103

that’s where we’re gonna start too. We’re all the same, us murderers: we

attract each other. And when me and this girl meet, there’s definitely going

to be some blood on the floor afterwards.”

And with a rustle of clothes, s.h.i.+ki departs from the office, the coldness

of her glare the last thing peeking in through the small gap of the closing

door.

104 • KINOKO NASU

Lingering Pain - III

Though I really didn’t want to resort to this, I am left without any other

alternative. I decide to contact an old high school friend to see if I can borrow

some money. I know what places he haunts. I go to the university I

dropped out of not two months ago and wait for him in the cafeteria. Just

a few minutes after noon, right on schedule, the large, imposing shadow

of Gakuto comes into view, easy to pick out among the crowd smaller than

him. Spotting me, he swaggers on over to my table.

“Well, look who decided to come back! How you hangin’, man? Here to

stay for good this go around?”

“Unfortunately, no. School treating you well?”

“Ah, you know, this here’s a game that needs to be played, so I play it.

How about you? If I know you like I know you, you ain’t gonna holler at me

just for a social call. What’s the trouble? How’d that job hunt go?”

“Great, actually. Got a job.”

“So what’s wrong?”

“The job,” I reply dryly. “My generous employer has decided that she’ll

forego the usual paycheck this month, so that leaves me hanging in the

wind.”

Gakuto makes a face halfway between disappointment and genuine

bemus.e.m.e.nt. “That ain’t so bad, man. And here I was thinking it was gonna

be some profoundly life changing s.h.i.+t, and you drag your broke a.s.s all

the way down here for extra dough? You sure you’re not some alien in

disguise?”

“Very funny. When you’ve got your back against a corner like this, you

can expect the same hospitality.”

“But to have money being the first thing out of your mouth; it just ain’t

like you. And anyway, ain’t your folks supposed to have your back on this

one?”

“Me and my parents haven’t talked since the big fight we had when I

stopped going to university. How can I go back to them right now like this?

It’d be like surrendering.”

“You got as thick a head as me sometimes, I give you that. Now, don’t tell

me you called your folks names and shouted in their faces or something?”

“I’ll thank you to leave that out of the discussion and focus on the real

topic. So are you gonna lend me some or aren’t you?”

“d.a.m.n, man, you in a fighting mood today. But there ain’t no need to

be, ‘cause I’m feeling awful generous. Plenty from our school called you a

/ LINGERING PAIN - III • 105

friend back then, Mikiya, and that includes me. If I put it out that you’re

in need of cash, we’d all be pitching in to help. So don’t worry, man. We

got your back.” Gakuto pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t misunderstand,

though, this ain’t charity,” he adds. “Friends gotta look out for each other,

after all.”

Seems Gakuto’s got his own favor to ask as well. He looks over the crowd

carefully to see if no one is listening in, then leans his head in closer to me

and whispers.

“The short of it is that there’s some youngin I want you to look for. Old

junior from back in the day, actually. Seems he gone and had his a.s.s caught

up in some heinous s.h.i.+t, and he hasn’t come home yet.”

Gakuto continues to explain, mentioning the name of the person in

question: Keita Minato. Gakuto knows him as a member of the bunch that

got cut up last night in the bar, but apparently he’s alive. Whereabouts

unknown, but at a period of time after the time of the killings put out by

the police, Keita called up a mutual friend of him and Gakuto. The friend

then contacted Gakuto, saying Keita was acting strange and incoherent.

“He just kept shoutin’ that he was gonna die and someone be hunting

his a.s.s down. After that, nuthin. Don’t even answer his cell now. Guy who

took the call says he was mixing his words and s.h.i.+t, sounding really doped

up.”

The fact that even a high school kid like Keita could purchase dope without

us so much as being surprised was just a fact of the times. Many of the

corners and alleys of mazelike Tokyo have quickly turned into open-air drug

markets, proof of the increasingly high demand for stimulants and depressants

that so many people turn to for the clarity and solace that they felt

society could not give them. However, when you’re the survivor of a ma.s.s

murder and you feel that the killer is coming for you next, when you’re a

person like Keita Minato in other words, your next fix should really be the

last thing on your mind.

“I kinda feel like I’m being thrown into the fire without a hose here. Do

you really think I can survive talking to these hoppers on my own?”

“I’ve faith. You always been like a bloodhound, finding people with next

to nuthin to go on.”

“This Keita kid—does he often do drugs?”

“Far as I know, no. Only them corner boys killed last night were married

to them acid blotters. But if what the friend’s saying be for real, he might’ve

had a change of heart. Come on man, you still can’t search your head for

Keita? He’s that kid that like to tail around your a.s.s some in high school.”

“I kinda have a vague idea, yeah…” During high school, there were some

106 • KINOKO NASU

juniors who liked to hang around me for some reason, possibly because

of me being friends with cool kid Gakuto here. “Well, if he’s just having a

really bad acid trip, then that’d be good…or at least better than what we’re

suspecting,” I mention with a sigh. “Guess I got no choice if I want to live

this month. I’ll check it out and see what I can do. Can you tell me about his

friends? Contacts, connections, anything?”

Gakuto reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small notebook, as if he

was just waiting for me to say it. There’re a lot of names, aliases, addresses

for hang outs, and phone numbers in that notebook, which means a lot of

ground to cover if I want this done quick.

“I’ll be in touch if I find out anything. If I manage to find him, I’ll try to

see him protected as best as I can. That good?” By protection, I mean in

the form of my detective cousin Daisuke. He didn’t have anything to fear

from him. Daisuke’s the kind of guy that can let you go for a drug abuse

charge if you were witness to a red ball murder, which this one could end

up as, what with the mutilation and multiple homicide. Far as Daisuke was

concerned, nabbing the users is small game and a waste of time. Gakuto

nods his a.s.sent, thanks me, and gives me 20,000 yen to start me off.

Once me and Gakuto go our separate ways, I start to make my way to

the crime scene. I’ll have to work this one at least vaguely similar to how

cousin Daisuke works cases if I would have any chance of finding Keita.

I know that I shouldn’t really get involved in this, but Gakuto was right.

Friends have to look out for each other, after all.

/ 2 • 107

/ 2

The sound of a ringing phone resonates in my empty apartment. I screen

the call, as I am wont to do when I’m tired, and sure enough, after five rings

it switches to the answering machine with a beep. Cue his voice: familiar,

yet still feels alien enough so soon after recovering from the coma.

“Morning, s.h.i.+ki. Sorry to call you so early, but I’ve got a small favor to

ask if it isn’t too much trouble. Azaka and I promised to meet at a café near

Ichigaya station called Ahnenerbe around noon, but something came up

and it looks like I won’t be able to go. You’re free today, right? If you can,

drop by there and tell her I’m not coming.” The message ends there.

I roll my body sluggishly over to the bedside and take a look at my clock,

a digital green “July 22, 7:23am” on its screen; not even four hours since I

came home from my nightly outing. Christ, do I need sleep. I pull the sheets

back over my head. The summer heat doesn’t really bother me much. I’ve

been able to deal well with the heat and cold ever since my childhood days,

and it seems that trait carried over from my…previous life.

Just as sleep was about to take me again, the phone rang a second time.

This time, when the answering machine picked up the message, it was a

voice I knew, but definitely one you didn’t want to hear at just half past

seven in the morning.

“It’s me. Watched the news this morning? Probably haven’t. That’s all

right, I didn’t either.”

What the h.e.l.l? It’s always been at the back of my mind, but now I can

definitely say that I have absolutely no idea what the f.u.c.k goes on in Tōko’s

head; it is an incomprehension that sometimes continues on to her speech

more often than I’m comfortable. It requires at least a few precious seconds

of cranial spelunking before you can start to understand what she’s

saying, a trait which always tends to leave you at a disadvantage when

talking to her.

“Listen up. I’m gonna phrase this in a way even your sleep-deprived

brain can process. Three interesting deaths last night. Another jumper that

hit pavement, and some girl who killed her boyfriend. I know, I know, same

s.h.i.+t, different day, right? But here’s something that’ll help you out:” she

pauses. “Our little killer struck again.”

Tōko hangs up abruptly, leaving me to wonder what she thought I would

feel when confronted with these facts. Did she expect me to feel a rush

of n.o.ble intention, and a renewed commitment to this job? How could I,

when I still see the world I just awakened back into in a hazy grey veil, when

108 • KINOKO NASU

I am yet to even feel the world of my senses in a manner that seemed

coherent and real? Harsh as it may be to admit, but the deaths of these

people with no relation to me faze me less than the rays of the sun beating

down on me.

After sleeping in for a while more, I get up much later, only when my

fatigue finally gives ground. I cook breakfast in the manner that I remember,

after which I start to dress. I choose a light orange kimono, which

should be cooler if I’m going to walk around town all day. It’s then that I get

that feeling again, which causes me to bite my lip: a feeling that someone is

watching me do all of this from afar. Even my wardrobe choice is one from

a memory that I feel far removed from. I wasn’t this way two years ago. The

two years of emptiness created a rift, a boundary line between the past

and now, as if creating two very different people, yet sharing the same collective

memory. It felt as if the weight of that memory, those sixteen years

of life before the accident, kept pulling the strings attached to me. I know

it’s probably just an after effect of the coma, some brain damage from the

accident at the worst. I know that no matter how much I spit on this emptiness,

this fabricated dollhouse of a lie, in the end, it’s still me pulling those

d.a.m.n strings. h.e.l.l, maybe it’s always been me.

By the time I finish dressing up it’s almost eleven o’ clock. I press the

“Messages” b.u.t.ton on my answering machine, repeating the first message.

“Morning, s.h.i.+ki…,” repeats the voice I have heard many times in the

past.

Mikiya Kokutō. The last person I saw before the accident two years ago.

The only person I trusted two years ago. I have many recollections of being

with him, but all of it missing details, as if I was looking at a tampered

photograph, something in them not squaring with what I know. And one

memory is a gaping hole, completely gone: my last memory of him and

the accident. Why was  in an accident? Why was Mikiya’s face the last

thing I saw?

It’s the reason I still feel awkward talking to Mikiya: I feel like I should

know something important about him but it’s missing in my head, and

without it I won’t be able to carry out an actual conversation without

them. If only these memories lost to oblivion were stored in an answering

machine too.

“…tell her I’m not coming.” The answering machine stops and falls silent.

It’s probably just another after effect of the coma, but hearing his voice

softens the annoying itch in my mind. Problem is, that’s the itch that makes

me feel alive. It’s the itch that tells me to kill.

/ 2 • 109

It’s only a short forty minute walk to Ahenenerbe. The café sports their

unusual German name on a sign hanging above the entrance, which I

spare only a momentary glance at before entering the establishment. Once

inside, I immediately notice the dearth of customers, despite it being noon,

the hour when college kids frequent cafés to write a novel or do some other

boring activity. The café has little lighting. Its sole sources of bright light

come from the entrance and four rectangular windows placed on either

side of the shop, admitting the sunlight and silhouetting the tables and

customers sitting there in a dark, hard-cut outline. The tables further inside

the shop aren’t so lucky. It paints a nostalgic picture, as if some European

middle ages tavern had stepped out of antiquity into the modern age.

I spot a pair of gaudily uniformed girls in a table way in the back, and a

quick glance confirms that it is indeed Azaka Kokutō, along with another

girl. Strange—Mikiya never mentioned another girl. Oh well, no biggie.

“Azaka,” I call out, while walking briskly to their table.

Azaka herself is quite a character on her own. She goes to a fancy girl’s

boarding school, so she acts the part, complete with a tendency for being

ladylike. But you take one look at the way she carries herself and you realize

it’s all an act. At her best, she has an amazingly compet.i.tive streak in

her, as well as a boldness that is sorely lacking in many people these days.

In contrast to her brother, who endears himself to people by sheer likeability

and charm, Azaka is a figure who commands respect with a single, solid

look in her eyes. Those eyes now turned to me as she does a quick about

face at my voice calling out her name.

“s.h.i.+ki…Ryōgi,” she says, each syllable uttered and spat out like an insult.

The lingering animosity towards me that she tries so hard to keep in is so

palpable I can swear I almost feel the temperature rise. “I have a prior

engagement with my brother. I have no business with you.”

“And it seems your brother has a prior engagement of his own,” I say,

egging her on. “He said he can’t come. You know, this might just be me, but

I think you just got stood up.”

A single restrained gasp. I don’t know if she’s shocked that Mikiya just

treated their promise like trash, or the fact that it’s coming from me and I

came down here to tell her.

“s.h.i.+ki, you…you put him up to this, didn’t you?!” Azaka’s hands tremble

in barely suppressed anger. I guess it’s the latter, then.

“Don’t be an idiot. He’s done his level best to p.i.s.s me off too. I mean

really, asking me to come all the way here just to send you away?”

Azaka glares at me with eyes full of fire. At that moment, her friend,

110 • KINOKO NASU

who has until now remained silent, interrupts; and a good thing too, since

Azaka looks like she’s about to abandon her carefully cultivated demeanor

of placidity by seeing how well she could throw a teacup to my face at

point blank range.

“Kokutō, everyone’s staring,” the girl says in a voice as slender as a wire.

Azaka looks around the café for half a beat, and then embarra.s.sed, she

sighs. “I’m sorry, Fujino. I don’t know what came over me. I just ruined your

day, didn’t I?” she says apologetically. I haven’t really looked at this Fujino

clearly up until now. Though she and Azaka look somewhat similar by virtue

of the uniform and their school’s grooming standards, their demeanor

cannot be more different. While Azaka has a hidden strength behind the

prim and proper façade, her companion Fujino looks, at a glance, more

fragile, as if she were sick and could collapse at any second.

“Are…you okay? You look kind of—“, I involuntarily say. She answers only

by looking in my direction. The way her eyes pa.s.s over me feels as if she’s

looking at something beyond me, like I was just an insect on the ground

to be ignored. My gut tells me she’s dangerous, and my mind itches again.

My reasoning tells me that there’s no way a girl like her could do anything

like what happened to the victims in that underground bar, and the itch

recedes. “Never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything,” I conclude.

That crime scene was the handiwork of someone who enjoyed murder,

and a girl like this Fujino could be someone like that. Reason says her hands

are too weak to twist and tear off their limbs like that anyway. I turn my

attention away from her an

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