Tomo woke into a thick and oily darkness flooding over her like tar. She was lying on her stomach in her bed, the sheets smelling fresh and clean, recently laundered. She was wearing a white t-shirt that felt clean and soft against her back. The clean sheets and clean t-shirt were important to Tomo, because it meant someone had made up the bed for her, and someone had dressed her.
She gingerly changed her position to lie on her back, and moaned as the pain crawled throughout her body. She was afraid to peer into the darkness, so her eyelids clamped shut, her eyes like children hiding behind their mother's skirt. Eventually, Tomo was able to blink and see her room.
Well, she saw darkness, anyway. She gave up and closed her eyes. She knew why she felt the way she did, but she didn't think about it. It was a weight that pressed against her mind, threatening to break through and suffocate her. She reached over to the other side of the bed before remembering that he wouldn't be there.
The air felt off in here, as if the familiar shapes and objects had something blocking their flow. Something... living. "Hello?"
"Hi," was the response.
"Osaka?" Tomo said. "I can't see you. It's too dark."
"You've been out for a day," Osaka said. Tomo tried to imagine her sitting down, her legs crossed lady-like. Probably wearing a dress, too. "You were in a waking coma. We got medicine we'd give you. I guess you don't remember taking it, huh?"
"No," Tomo said.
There was silence as Tomo struggled between saying something and simply going back to sleep. Eventually, Osaka said, "You making it?"
"I suppose," Tomo said. "Um, how about you?"
"I'm okay," Osaka said. Tomo heard fabric shifting, and imagined Osaka crossing her legs. "I got a lot I have to figure out and place. My brain has a bunch of puzzle pieces, right? I'm trying to put them together to make a picture. Maybe it'll be a sailboat."
"Osaka," Tomo said, breathing in the thick gloom. "We need to talk about that."
"Well, maybe it's just a rowboat."
Tomo's throat constricted with the weight seeping into her mind, so she pushed it back by trying to get outside of herself. "Osaka? What happened to you? I mean, if you can talk about it."
"I can talk about whatever you want," Osaka said. "Alekhine gave me the okay with you guys. But, I don't really remember a lot of it."
"How did... how did you end up this way?"
"Well, do you remember that civil test we took in college? The one to see if we could get a government job?"
Tomo dug into her memory and pulled out bits and pieces of their college years. "Was that the one where that jerk kicked me out for busting a paper bag when he sat down?" Tomo said. She grumbled. "How was I supposed to know it had his popcorn in it?"
"Didn't he tell you that when you grabbed it?"
"So? But go on, what about this test?"
"Well, I passed the test," Osaka said. "But I passed it weird."
Tomo tried to process this, and gave up. "What do you mean?"
"That test actually had some secret stuff in it," Osaka said, lowering her voice to a whisper, as if they weren't the only two in the bedroom. "They came to me afterwards and asked if I could take the second part of the test. I told 'em yeah."
"What was the second part of the test?"
...
Osaka sat on the metal chair in the interrogation room. In front of her was a table with two objects; a hat made of tin foil with wires poking out, and a glass containing water. In front of her, on the wall, was a two-way mirror. While Osaka couldn't see anything past the reflective surface of the mirror, the men conducting the test forgot to turn off the mic, letting Osaka hear their movement and murmurings.
"This is the latest batch. We got our best men working on it." "You think we can stump her?" "I hope not, she'd be perfect for the ASP."
"Ms. Kasuga," a voice said, cutting through the murmuring with authoritative force.
"Yeah? I mean, yes?"
"We'll begin the test now, if you are ready."
"Okay," Osaka said. "I don't have any pencils, though."
"It's an oral test," the voice said. "You may place the neuro-analyzer on your head."
"This thing here?" Osaka said, picking up a tin foil hat on the table. She placed it on her head and giggled. "I'm like the princess on that space train."
"Very good," the voice said. "We're getting readings. First question: How many two-cent stamps are in a dozen?"
"Twelve?"
"What's the one thing you always leave behind?"
"Footprints, right?"
"If there are five apples and you take away three, how many do you have?"
"Three," Osaka said.
"Is the glass on your table half empty or half full?"
"That depends," Osaka said. "It's half full if you filled it halfway, and half empty if it was full and you drank half of it."
Osaka overheard the murmuring from the speakers. "Extraordinary!" "These readings show she isn't reciting from memory, these are the first time she heard these questions." "Brilliant cognitive process perfect for the mental strains required of the ASP-"
...
"Wait just a minute," Tomo said. "Are you telling me, because you answered a bunch of riddles, they decided you were perfect for this scout program?"
"Well, they didn't say nothing about that," Osaka said. "They asked me if I'd like to teach Japanese in the United States for a summer. I mean, it's all bits and pieces now. I'm still putting together the puzzle. Maybe it'll be a house? Like one with a brick fence and a pond in the back. But the pond has those walking fish in it, and they keep breaking into the house..."
Tomo half listened to Osaka's description of her mental puzzle. She moved her head to where Osaka's voice was coming from - her left side, near the foot of the bed - but couldn't make anything out through the blackness. It was almost as if her bed was floating in space, with not even the light of the stars reaching her distant location. Tomo desperately wanted a light to be on. She reached over to her bed table, which memory told her was to her right, but she only swatted empty air.
"Osaka," Tomo said, trying to ground herself. "This was at the end of our second year, right? Right before the summer."
"Yeah," Osaka said.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was told not to talk about it."
"If you were going to teach Japanese in America, shouldn't you... you know... speak English?"
"I was thinkin' that too," Osaka said. "I asked them about it, but they said don't worry, they'd teach me English real quick-like."
"Did they?"
"I guess so," Osaka said. "The thing is, I don't remember any of it."
"Still some amnesia, huh?"
"No, it's like I didn't remember even back then," Osaka said. "They said, 'Hey, meet us here for a class.' Next day I'd wake up in our dorm room, and suddenly know some words in English."
Tomo wanted to shift her body again, but remembering the pain, laid still. "Really? You can't remember being taught?"
"Nope."
"Osaka. Didn't something tell you that was wrong?"
"Naw Tomo, I thought it was pretty neat. I was learnin' without having to study and whatnot."
Tomo sighed. This was Osaka, after all. "I remember the last time I saw you. We were finished with the second year and were getting ready to leave."
...
"Yomi, I know you're there," Tomo said into her phone. "I got this new swimsuit, right? I'm going to look sooo much hotter than you. Just wait!"
Tomo hung up the phone and giggled maniacally. She had been planning for the upcoming beach house meeting, a yearly tradition kept since her friends started college. A week at Chiyo's beach house was a pleasure indeed. While she and Yomi had met up with each other several times that year, she hadn't seen much of the rest of her high school friends, outside of emails. Chiyo was overseas, of course, but being properly brought up, she regularly emailed everyone, although Tomo noted with a green smirk that Sakaki and Osaka received hand-written letters.
Kagura, though, had gone into radio silence mode, being too busy training for her swimming competitions. Tomo saw the news concerning her accomplishments at the college swimming championships, winning the 100-meter breaststroke and the 200-meter freestyle, breaking the women's and men's collegiate record. She already had a spot on the Japanese Olympics female swimming team, and would be leaving Japan in two months to compete at the summer Olympics.
Tomo stumbled over her disorganized futon, hunting for the remote. Osaka's two suitcases were neatly packed and ready, although she took hours to pack everything to her standards. As far as Tomo knew, Osaka may just unpack everything again and repack it. Tomo's stuff was scattered all over the floor, and would haphazardly be stuffed into her suitcase at the last minute.
The door to the dorm room opened, and Osaka stumbled in. "Hey Osaka, help me pack, okay?" Tomo was going to bring up the beach house extravaganza, but her nostrils were violated, and she recoiled. "Ugh, what happened? You smell like an exploding compost heap!"
"Dumpster," Osaka said, shambling toward the shower. She pulled her shirt over her head.
"Don't you dare leave your stuff on the floor," Tomo said, following Osaka to the bathroom. "It's rank!" Osaka had already disrobed by the time she reached the shower, working the knobs in their tiny bathroom.
"Oh come on," Tomo said, grabbing the shower curtain and pulling it closed. "You'll get water everywhere!"
Tomo grabbed one of Osaka's belongings – a book with a blurry picture of a bullfight on the cover – and used it to push Osaka's foul smelling clothes into the bathroom. She slammed the door shut behind them.
Eventually, Osaka came out of the bathroom and stumbled toward their shared dresser, pulling on clothes with no thought of a theme or of a matching color scheme. Tomo was sitting on Osaka's futon – it was uncluttered – watching a screaming and sporadically violent duo perform on television.
"That's my shirt," Tomo said, changing a channel.
"Sorry," Osaka said. She didn't take it off, and sat down on the floor to put on her white and silver walking shoes.
Tomo mentally prepared herself for another Osaka moment, and turned off the television. "So. Osaka. What were you in a dumpster for?"
"Hidin'."
"From what?"
"Spies."
"Spies?" Tomo said, jumping to her feet. "What spies?"
"Spyin' spies," Osaka said, finishing up her other shoe. She stood up and faced Tomo, putting both hands on Tomo's shoulder. "They were chasin' me."
"Osaka?" Tomo said. Does she look... sad? Tomo couldn't believe it, but Osaka had the appearance of grim and resigned expectation, as if she knew something bad was going to happen that she couldn't stop or avoid.
"I gotta go, Tomo," Osaka said.
"Okay," Tomo said. "Get me a can of juice when you come back."
"Okay Tomo," Osaka said. She let go of Tomo's shoulders and left the dorm room.
"Huh," Tomo said. "What was that about?" She sat down and turned on the television. As soon as the smell hit her, Tomo groaned in realization that Osaka's clothes were still on the bathroom floor.
...
"Oh no!" Osaka said through the darkness. "I forgot your juice!"
"Heh heh, that was eight years ago," Tomo said. "I think the statute of limitations is up on that."
"I like the one of David myself."
"I didn't know you were leaving for good," Tomo said, charging through Osaka's non sequitur. "You didn't take any of your belongings with you. I called your parents, and they told me pretty bluntly that you had to leave on some personal reason. I mean, they never liked me anyway, but they were so curt about it."
"Someone visited them in person and told 'em I was undercover or something, and would probably be gone for a while."
"Why didn't you contact me, Osaka?"
Silence as deep as a deserted well flowed through the room. Quietly, Osaka spoke. "I can't describe it. I would look at a document and translate it. Then, I'd be watching something on TV in my apartment, but weeks would have gone by. This happened a lot. I lost so much time and I didn't even realize it. I can't understand it myself. I would think, 'Hey, I need to call my parents, or Tomo, or Chiyo,' but then next thing I knew, I'd be in a meadow somewhere. I mean, those two events would flow into each other, like I walked from one room to another, but months would be gone.
"One day, I was in a movie theater, watching a movie. I was the only one there, or I thought I was, anyway. You know those video games where you're, like, moving a gun around, or some hands?"
"Yeah, like Half-Life 2."
"Well, it was like that, but it went on for years."
Tomo leaned over again to hunt for the lamp at her bed table, waving her hand around. She gasped and jerked her hand back; she had touched something cold, clammy, and wet.
"Osaka, are we the only ones here? Could you turn on the light?"
"Yeah, it's just us," Osaka said. "I'm not allowed to turn on the light, though. They said the medicine they gave you makes you sensitive to pictures."
"Photosensitive," Tomo said. A powerful weariness overtook Tomo's body, and she blinked her eyes to keep from falling asleep. She wanted to hear Osaka's story. An errant thought stormed in and suggested that this wasn't Osaka, but Tomo shooed it away. I don't need any paranoia right now, she thought.
"There was like, no time in the theatre, but I knew it was a long movie," Osaka said. "There was some killing going on, lotsa shootin' and stabbin' and some runnin'. The talkin' would be in different languages, right? And there was this guy there, real good looking. Went with me on a lot of stuff. Turned out to be my husband."
"Hold on," Tomo said. "You're telling me you were watching yourself through a screen? Your actions?"
"Something like that," Osaka said. "It was my body moving around, but I wasn't in it. I was just watchin' it in a movie theatre. But the thing is, I wasn't alone in the theatre. Up at the front there were two guys. I would try looking at them, but they wouldn't be there no more. But, when I looked back at the screen, I could see 'em in sideways. They weren't watching the show. Their chairs were turned around, and they were watching me.
"Anyway, the part of the movie came up where her... I mean, my husband got killed. It was awful, and I decided I didn't want to be there anymore. I got out of my seat and tried to get out of the theatre, but the exit was boarded up. I couldn't pull the boards out. I ran down to the bottom where the men were, but they wouldn't be there. I tried pulling chairs out, but that wouldn't work. The film was frozen on... on his dead face. The soundtrack was a buzzing getting louder and louder. I was going crazy in there, Tomo.
"But there was this one loose chair, the one I sat in. I kept pushing it and kicking it, nonstop, and it finally got loose. I picked it up and tried throwing it at the projector, but I couldn't throw it that far. I started crying and laughing because I was losing it.
"So I got this idea to throw the chair at the screen, instead. I put a tear in it, but it didn't stop the movie. Behind the screen was just wall, so I couldn't get out that way. Each time I threw it, though, those two guys in the theatre got clearer and clearer, I mean, more solid. I could see them clearer is what I'm trying to say. They were standing up and yelling something at me, but I couldn't hear it over the buzzing. So, when I could see them real good, I acted like I was going to throw the chair at the screen again, but, at the last second, I threw it at them. It hit them hard, and everything went black. Next thing I knew, I was in Mexico-"
"Eating a chicken taco," Tomo said, her voice sounding loud and booming next to Osaka's quiet narration. "Five months later."
"Six years had passed," Osaka said. Tomo gave up the battle to stave off sleep, and stopped fighting against her mutinous eyelids. She mumbled, "I'm about to fall asleep."
At the border of the empire of sleep, when human awareness dips below the border of consciousness, during the hypnogogic stage when the inside and the outside become jumbled, Tomo heard a voice like Osaka's say, "Sorry, I lied."
...
Tomo woke up into uncomfortable brightness. Her eyes clamped shut and she did not try to open them. The sun blasted through her blinds, and she couldn't make out her room due to the light flooding and stabbing her eyes. She moaned in pain and turned over, patting the other side of the bed before remembering he wasn't going to be there.
"Tomo?" a voice said.
Tomo turned back over and faced the source of the voice. "Torako?" Tomo blinked her stinging eyes, tears pooling at the corners. "I can't see you. It's too bright."
"It's morning," Torako said. She cleared her throat. "You feeling okay? Getting along?"
Tomo snorted a laugh. "I guess," she said. "Don't hurt as much. You?"
"I'm fine," Torako said. "Called my mom. Made her go stay with my uncle. Just to be safe."
"Hmm," Tomo said. She moved her arm over her eyes to shield it from the light.
"I called your parents," Torako said.
"Heh, say no more. I already know how that went."
"Yeah."
Words built up in Tomo's heart. She held them back, but decided to let them out. Torako wouldn't make fun of her.
"I only wanted to be happy, Torako. How'd it end up this way? I don't think I'll ever be happy again."
A chair scooted forward and rubbed against the carpet.
"I'm not good at comfort," Torako said. "But I'll listen."
"That's fine," Tomo said. "Are you happy?"
"No," Torako said. "Never have been."
Tomo moved her arm off of her face and rolled over to her right side, facing away from the window. "Really? I don't know how you can stand it, then."
"Happiness has never been a life goal with me," Torako said. "Other things were more important."
"Like what?"
"Loyalty to friends and loved ones," Torako said. "Not being in debt to anyone, and no one being in debt to you. Neither leading nor following. Thinking for yourself. Living by your own rules."
"That sounds hard."
"It is," Torako said. "You're constantly reminded of your own shortcomings, and the shortcomings of others. It's a race no one ever wins. If you aren't careful you can become a misanthrope, or commit suicide."
"Geez Torako," Tomo said. "You're so weird."
"Yeah," Torako said.
"What should I do?" Tomo said. "How do I find happiness now?"
"I heard that a secret to happiness is being content with what you have," Torako said. "Not reaching for what you can't get."
"You think that's true?"
"Dunno," Torako said. "It sounds like selling out to me."
"Happiness," Tomo said. "Stimulation, entertainment. Those are my goals. Kinda selfish, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Hey!"
Tomo could see Torako shrug, even though her eyes were shut tight through the bright morning sunlight. "But so what? Anyone who lives by some kind of rigid life code, some code that defines who and what you are, is going to be selfish. There's differing degrees of selfishness, you know. The depth of our dealings with other people depend on how high a level of selfishness we can tolerate in them."
Tomo ruminated over this, trying to get the deeper sense of what Torako meant. Tomo didn't consider this a secret to living, but a secret to how Torako thought and operated.
"Listen, there's something else I need to tell you," Torako said. "About Rico's family."
"Go ahead."
"His brother came and got Rico's body," Torako said. "He took it back to Brazil for burial. His family made it pretty clear that they don't want you involved."
"That doesn't surprise me," Tomo said. "They never did like me."
"I'm sorry," Torako said. "I would've stopped it if I was there, but this is all through customs."
"It's okay Torako," Tomo said, rushing the subject along. "Anything else going on? With work or whatever?"
Torako explained that they were on paid administrative leave while Tomo recuperated. However, the chief told them off the record that the two of them would have to report in as soon as Tomo could move around. Torako described him as being cagey about it. She also said the Ministry of Defense had their goons scoping out the apartment building, watching for any future attacks. Tomo's five torturers were traced back to an assassin-for-hire group based in Sendai. Torako repeated what Alekhine had told her, about Wakayama being an expert brainwasher.
Osaka was also discussed. The Ministry of Defense was indeed looking out for her all this time, and as the chief had suspected, the building where her taqueria was located was given to her as a gift. Many of the chief's questions about Osaka were simply answered by the phrase, "government assistance."
"They're the ones who pushed through her application," Torako said. "Civilian assistant to the police. It sounds to me like they were trying to make up for allowing her to be used in those American experiments."
The other mystery was brought up: Why Tomo simply wasn't killed.
"We don't get that," Torako said. "This is the second time they could've killed you, but, once again, they make some theatrical production out of it. I threw around Oda Otomo's name, but he's pretty much untouchable. If there's no proof, we can't do anything."
"I don't care anymore," Tomo said.
"Don't worry," Torako said. "We'll find our proof. We'll nail his hide to the wall, one way or the other."
"Torako," Tomo said. "I don't care."
Tomo rolled on her back, and tried pulling the sheets over her eyes. That stifled her breathing, so she put her arm back over her eyes.
"Sorry," Torako said. "I shouldn't be talking about it."
"I'm off the case," Tomo said. "I don't want to do it anymore."
A suffocating silence that couldn't be cleansed by the sunlight settled in the room. Then, Torako said, "We'll discuss that later."
"Torako," Tomo said, raising her voice. "My husband is dead! He was killed by people because of this stupid case! I don't want to do it anymore!" The waters crashed down, and all the anger and grief Tomo was holding back broke through the levee. "It's you stupid case anyway. I don't care about Asagi Ayase, she's just another dead gangster. Good riddance, I say."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Torako said, her voice tight, her words slow. "But I have a duty to my friends-"
"I'm your friend!" Tomo said. "Where's your duty to me? You... you're responsible for Rico getting killed."
"Tomo? Listen to me."
"I don't want to hear it," Tomo said. Tears stung her eyes, and two trails flowed down her cheeks. "I bet you didn't even shed a tear over Rico. Osaka had the decency to pray over him, but I bet you don't even care. You just care about your stupid case."
"That's not fair, Tomo," Torako said. A growl entered her voice. "I'm sorry for bothering you about this. It's okay, I can work this case alone."
Tomo sat up in bed. She opened her eyes and hunted for Torako through the bright sunlight, but her eyes filled with tears from pain.
"If you knew Rico was going to get killed," Tomo said, "would you have still taken this case?"
The pause for an answer. The pause stretched, and passed. Torako said nothing.
"Get out," Tomo said. "I don't want to see you again. Get out! He's dead because of you!"
"Tomo-"
"Shut up," Tomo said. She rolled over and put her head on her pillow, her face constricting as tears pooled below. "Get out! We're through Torako, get out." She repeated it many times, long after Torako had already left.
...
Tomo woke up into soft, gentle, late afternoon light, and decided she had enough of lying in bed.
No one was in her room, which was glowing amber from the setting sun. She blinked, looked toward her left, and saw her bed table with the lamp.
She got out of bed and staggered to the bath, taking her time with her cleaning. She was sore and stiff, but the pain was manageable now. After washing herself, she soaked in the bathtub, the steam filling each crevice and corner with its haze. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but Tomo was too comfortable in the hot water and steam. She knew she had to eat, though, so she regretfully left her hot bath, toweled off, and dressed herself.
She entered the kitchen, sunlight streaming through the window above the sink. She stopped when she saw the silhouette against the light, sitting in a kitchen chair, reposed like the queen of the afternoon.
"Sakaki?"
"Hello, Tomo," Sakaki said, as she stood up. Her long black hair fell from her shoulders, and the light cast a royal purple halo around her head. "Are you feeling better? It was my shift."
"Shift?"
"To watch over you."
"Oh," Tomo said, as she walked toward the fridge. The kitchen was clean, and did not smell like death. "Um, thanks."
"You're welcome," Sakaki said. Tomo pulled out a carton of umeboshi to eat with her rice. She checked the rice cooker and found that it was full.
"May I... help?" Sakaki said.
"No thanks, I got it," Tomo said, as she pulled a bowl from the cabinet. She turned to face Sakaki, who was sporting a severe, searching look, as if she was studying a radar display for enemy vessels.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Sakaki said.
"Th-thanks," Tomo said. She put her bowl on the table a little too hard, and it clattered loudly against the wood. I was tied here and beaten... she pushed back the thought and tried to eat.
"Do I need to get you anything, Sakaki?"
"No thank you," Sakaki said, pulling up a chair at the table. Tomo kept her head low over her bowl as she shoveled food into her mouth. She could feel Sakaki watching her. She didn't let that interfere with her ravenous appetite, and so she finished her meal.
She put the bowl in the sink and heard Sakaki leave her chair. She was putting up the carton of umeboshi.
"You don't have to do that," Tomo said.
"No, it's fine," Sakaki said.
Tomo walked toward the phone. "I, uh, need to call the chief," she said. She rang up the office, and was answered in the middle of the second ring. After asking how she was doing, the chief asked when she could be in. Tomo, with a secret glance at Sakaki, told him she could be in now.
"Thanks for your help, Sakaki," Tomo said, as she hung up the phone. "I need to get to the office right away."
"I'll take you," Sakaki said, approaching the floor mat to put on her shoes.
"Oh, that's okay, I can take the bus."
"I insist," Sakaki said, and she met Tomo with a severe, hard stare, as if angry.
Tomo gulped. "Okay, you can take me."
...
Sakaki's Honda Legend was probably the nicest car Tomo had been in for a while. She sat carefully on the leather seat and turned on the seat warmer, and felt the warmth enter into her back. She could fall asleep again if she wasn't careful.
Sakaki was silent, keeping her frown focused on the streets. Tomo shifted in her chair occasionally, glancing at the inbuilt GPS to see how long until they reached her office.
"I feel pity for you," Sakaki said.
Tomo squirmed and wished she had taken the bus.
"That was out of nowhere," Tomo said, getting hot from either the seat or the comment. "Hey, you can let me off here if it's not too much of a bother-"
"I accept your apology," Sakaki said.
Tomo's jaw dropped. "What apology?"
"Remember, when you were in my clinic, and I was making coffee. You apologized to me. Thank you, I accept."
Tomo studied Sakaki as if she was a biology specimen. "I appreciate that," she said. "But why?"
"I got to see Osaka again," Sakaki said. A smile crept on her lips, and the flesh around her jawbone softened. "You could've kept it secret from me, but you didn't."
"So you got to see her," Tomo said, frozen.
"Yes. I didn't tell her anything."
"Eh? What's there to tell? There's nothing to tell, come on, that's crazy Sakaki." Tomo began fidgeting, rapidly tapping her heal like she was hitting the kick drum in a metal band. "And what's this about pity? I don't need your pity."
"Why not?" Sakaki said.
"Um... well..."
"Are you saying that just because they say it in movies?"
"Urk, got me," Tomo said.
"Pity is a type of love," Sakaki said. "Love is a rare, precious commodity, and the most important substance in the world. We should cherish it when it's showed to us, no matter what form it takes. When people think about love, they only think about the romantic love in songs, but there's so much more. Affection, fondness, compassion, kindness, all important."
Where the hell was this coming from, Tomo thought. She blushed deeply, and if pressed further, would open her door and jump out. "I had love, Sakaki," Tomo said. "A great love. It's gone, and I only feel empty and hurt. I wish I never had it."
"I'm sorry," Sakaki said. "I'm making you uncomfortable. I can't imagine what you're going through."
"I'm glad you can't," Tomo said, and she crossed her arms and turned her head toward the window. Sakaki saw this, and knew it meant the conversation was over.
...
Sakaki pulled up in front of the Kojimachi police station, and Tomo jumped out before Sakaki had pulled to a stop.
"Tomo," Sakaki said.
Tomo turned around and approached Sakaki, her window rolled down. Sakaki handed her a card.
"This has my phone number and home address. Call me anytime."
"Th-thanks," Tomo said, cradling the card in her hands like a precious jewel.
"I have to get back to my clinic now. Will you be okay?"
"Sure, don't worry," Tomo said, mustering up as much bravado as she could. It was a pitiful, false effect, and she knew it. Sakaki probably knew it too, but she didn't say anything. "I'll catch a bus. Thanks for dropping me off."
"You're welcome," Sakaki said. "Goodbye now."
...
Tomo stepped into her floor and all conversation halted. She paused and surveyed her co-workers as they tried to pretend she wasn't there. She didn't find Kazumi.
"Hi, I'm back," Tomo said. "Remember me? I work here?" This brought a glance or two, but no one greeted her.
"Well, that's just great," she said. "I'm not here to talk to you jerks anyway." She strode toward the end of the office to the chief's private office, and opened his door. It didn't take long for her to realize that it no longer felt like the chief's office. His giant, ancient phonograph machine was gone, for one thing.
The chief sat in his chair, and stood up to greet Tomo. This was fine, but the man standing behind him sneered at her. It was Hayakawa, the 'cheap brat of a detective' that harassed her at the Ueno park koban. In one of the guest chairs Tomo saw the back of Torako's head.
"Sup chief," Tomo said. "You got some kind of ugly looking growth coming out of the carpet there. Need me to get the pruning shears?"
"How about you sit down, Ms. Takino? Give your mouth a rest?" Hayakawa said. He grinned widely. "You can do that, right?"
"You're not my boss, so don't tell me what to do."
"Takino," the chief said, his voice hollow and weak. Tomo nearly jumped at how tired he sounded. "Please have a seat."
"Uh, sure chief." Tomo said. She walked toward the two guest chairs and saw Torako dressed in black slacks and a blue dress shirt.
"Hey," Torako said. "You okay?"
Tomo ignored her as she sat down.
"Okay," the chief said. "Let's make this quick." He faced Torako first. His face, formally craggy and granite-like, sagged for the first time in his life. He had undergone a transformation of age and a weakening of spirit that was apparent in his movement and appearance. It was painful to see if you knew what he was like. Torako's stomach flipped, but she did see a glimmer of hope; his eagle eyes still gleamed.
"You've been placed in a new assignment," the chief said. He lowered his eyes. "You've been reassigned to the Traffic Bureau."
Torako leaned forward. "Chief, what's this about? I'm back driving interceptors again?"
"No," the chief said. "You're in the parking infraction section."
Hayakawa snickered. "You're a meter maid," he said.
"Chief!" Torako said. "This is bullshit. Why am I being moved? I'm fine where I am."
"Disciplinary reasons," Hayakawa said. "Insubordination and flaunting of department dress codes."
Torako slammed her fist into the arm of her leather chair. "I'm being railroaded! I know what's going on here! It's because of Asagi-"
"Torako," the chief said, his voice pleading. "Please let me get through this."
Breathing heavily, Torako leaned back into her seat. It was a rare outburst of emotion for her, and she felt exhausted.
"Takino," the chief said, as gently as he could make his voice sound. "You've been let go."
Tomo sat calmly and quietly. Torako looked at her with widening eyes.
"Let go," Tomo said. "That means fired, right?"
"Yeah," the chief said.
"Oh, okay," Tomo said. "Thanks for the clarification there, chief."
Hayakawa smiled. "See? That's the kind of cooperation I like to see. An excellent demonstration of self-control."
Tomo jumped from her chair and slashed her arm across the top of chief Akiyama's desk, slamming pens, pencils, notepads, card holders, and other assorted items onto the floor.
"You asshole!" She shouted. She tried to crawl over the desk, but Torako grabbed her from behind. "How dare you do this to me!"
"Takino," the chief said, holding up his hands.
"After what I've been through? This is the worst!"
"It's not from me," the chief said. "Today is my last day."
Tomo stopped struggling. "What?"
"Hayakawa has been promoted," he said. "Transferred from the Ueno district, and as of today, the new superintendent of the Kojimachi district."
Tomo realized Torako was holding her, and elbowed her in the gut. Torako gasped for air and doubled over, holding her stomach. She fell and sat on the floor, her face contorted with pain and the struggle of breathing.
Tomo flashed her a look of rage. "Never touch me," she said.
The chief sat, stunned and bewildered. Hayakawa laughed. "Trouble in paradise? Either way, this meeting is over. Torako, your new orders will be delivered to you tomorrow. Tomo, clear out your desk, and two security guards will escort you out of the building. Mr. Akiyama, I believe you have my seat."
"There's nothing I want here," Tomo said, as she stormed out of the office. "Throw my stuff away, I don't care," she shouted behind her. "It's all useless anyway!"
...
Torako kept an unadorned desk, and her belongings fit into two boxes. Akiyama was helping her put them in the back of her car when he went ahead and told her that she would be moved to the Kanda district.
"You won't have an office," he said. "Just a locker in a locker room. They wanted to fire you too, and this is the best I could do. At least you still have a badge." He leaned forward. "You technically aren't a detective anymore, but that writ ex nihilo still stands. The high court is reviewing it though, so you might not have much time left."
Torako shut the hatchback to her Fiat. "Thanks for everything, chief." Torako smirked. "I can't call you that anymore. Mr. Akiyama, then."
"Saneyuki will do," he said. "Well, I guess this is it. I didn't keep it much of a secret that you were my favorite. It was pleasure working with you Torako." He held out his hand.
Torako hugged him instead. "Thanks," she said, her voice muffled by his jacket. "Me too." Akiyama patted her on the back, and Torako kissed him on the cheek.
"Oh come on," Akiyama said, smiling despite himself. "I don't deserve all that."
They broke their hug. "May I keep in touch, chief?" She let out a short, clipped laugh. "Sorry, old habits."
"Sure you can," he said. "You might as well keep calling me chief anyway. It'll make this easier, I think. Listen, I'm sorry about Tomo, you don't deserve to be treated that way."
"Yeah," Torako said, as she went to light up a cigarette. She looked away from Akiyama. "She'll work it out," she said, quietly.
...
Tomo walked up the stairs to her apartment. She dreaded it, and it made her feel sick to think about being alone in there, in a place so full of Rico and their life together. It wasn't his ghost, but Tomo's memories of him that haunted their apartment.
She stood in front of the door with her key out, and pocketed it. I'm going to have to find a new place to stay. And a new job, she thought grimly. Her first thought was to hit up Osaka for a job. Maybe she can help me out.
She walked the few steps to Osaka's apartment, and saw that her door was ajar. Thinking Osaka had forgotten to close it behind her, Tomo stepped in.
Osaka's apartment was empty. All of her books and furniture were gone. The knickknacks in the kitchen, giving it a nested, distinctly Osaka feel, were gone. Tomo checked out the entire apartment, all that was left was bare carpet and tile floor.
Tomo turned on all the lights, trying to see if Osaka left some note for her, but none was found. She shut the door and stood outside the door to her own apartment. She took a deep breath, turned around, and ran down the stairs toward the bus stop.
...
The bus dropped Tomo off at the stop, and she ran toward the taqueria. She knew something was wrong. There wasn't the sound of conversations, or that oompah-oompah Mexican music Osaka was always playing, what she called narcocorrido. There were no lights, and no delicious smells.
"Oh come on," Tomo said under her breath. The taqueria was deserted. A sign had been taped into the window, and it said, "Coming soon: Another great Magnetron Burger establishment!"
Tomo stood in front of the sign and stared for a long time. She could have, theoretically, started crying, but she had used up most of her tears the previous two nights. Instead, she took out her lock picking kit and, after some violent jiggling, went inside.
She walked through the empty, dark restaurant. Even the stove had been removed, probably to fit the new Magnetron grill. She took the stairs to the roof.
The late afternoon had given way to early evening, and the sun was in the process of slowly setting. The greenhouse itself, once a jungle of herbs and vegetables, was gone. Not even leaves were left. She closed her eyes and inhaled. She could still smell the cilantro and chilies.
"So I didn't dream it," she said.
Tomo walked to the middle of the roof and laid down on the concrete surface. She watched the clouds pass by, darkening amber to blue to black as the sun finally set.
"What am I going to do now?"
...
Akiyama knew what he was going to do now, and he had to do it quick.
After Torako left, he rushed to his bank and requested his safe deposit box. He was allowed into the guest room where the box was delivered. He removed the papers from the box and asked for a folder, which was provided him. At the bottom of his safe deposit box, underneath the papers, was a ring, a platinum ring with a topaz chrysanthemum. He stuffed it in his pocket. He thanked the bank officer and walked outside.
At a drain on the sidewalk, Akiyama pulled out his ring and dropped it in. It clinked against the metal grate before making a satisfying splash below. He then walked to the nearest post office, where he requested an envelope that could fit the papers he had. He placed them in carefully, sealed the envelope shut, and wrote Torako's mailing address on the front. He did not put a return address. He paid postage, including insurance, and watched as the envelope was carried to the back, to be sorted, filed, and delivered. Deciding it was out of his hands now, he left the post office.
He pulled out his cell phone and started to punch in a number that he had long since memorized, but had rarely called. He got halfway through it, stared at the number, and closed the phone. People have caller ID nowadays, he thought. He'll know it's me.
He walked to a payphone, paid his fee, and dialed the number. It answered after two rings.
"Hello?"
"It's me," Akiyama said.
A long pause. Then, "What do you want, dad?"
"Checking up on you," he said. "How are you? How's Kira and the kids?"
"Why do you care? You're not drunk, are you?"
"No, not drunk," Akiyama said. He was too happy at hearing his son's voice to get angry at the slur. "I just wanted to see how everything's going."
"I'm changing my number," the voice said.
"Son, wait," but the line clicked and the dial tone flooded his hearing.
He hung up the phone, paid his fee, and dialed again. The answering machine picked up. Akiyama opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and hung up the phone. I deserve this, he thought.
He made his way to his car. He was no longer caring what happened to him. What he thought about was Miruchi Inoue, the girl murdered at the beach house. He had sold his soul to save Tomo, and in the process made like Pilate and washed his hands of what happened to that young girl. I have to atone, he thought, but he knew he didn't have time.
He drove on toward his apartment in the Nerima district, taking his normal route, mostly old streets hardly in use, and remembered hugging Torako, her surprisingly shapely beanpole body pressed against him.
Knock it off, he thought with a self-deprecating smirk. I'm old enough to be her father. Hell, her father's older brother. Besides, she doesn't swing that-
The terrible grinding of metal invaded his thoughts as the front of his car caved in. He felt something smash against his leg, and by the time thought caught up with what had happened, his car was totaled and oceans of blood poured out of his left leg.
He slapped himself to keep from passing out, and struggled to get out of his car. The edges of the world went hazy and he saw in slow motion. He slapped himself again, and looked at his leg. It was crumpled and was more like strips of flesh hanging off of bone and muscle, and then the pain started.
He staggered toward the car that hit him, which had its front right fender smashed in. The driver staggered out.
"Are you okay?" the driver said. His eyes widened when he saw Akiyama's leg. "Lay down! I'll call an ambulance immediately." The cramped street wasn't busy, but the inhabitants of the residential apartments bordering the street opened their window and peered at the metal carnage below.
"Don't have long," Akiyama said. "Artery open. Where's the second car?"
The driver made a confused look, but it was too practiced, too theatrical. "Second car? I was the only one that hit you."
"Don't play dumb," Akiyama said. "I know how this goes. Old Yakuza trick. The first car gets him out in the open, the second one kills him. Hit and run. So, where's the second car?"
The driver slowly smiled. "It's coming," he said. "Most people try to fight this. I'm glad you're accepting it."
"What car is it? I want to face it."
"Black Toyota Crown," the man said.
"Thanks," Akiyama said. He pulled out his revolver and shot the driver three times. The driver barely had time to register surprise when he fell on his back, dead. Akiyama heard screaming and windows slamming shut.
"Idiot," Akiyama muttered. "Like I'm accepting any of this."
He staggered out to the middle of the street and tried to remember what he was doing. Get it together, he thought, as he looked at his revolver. You don't have long, make it count. I'm missing three bullets. Do I need to reload? I need to reload. He dug in his pocket and pulled out three bullets with his shaky hand, and started loading the empty chambers. He heard an engine rev, or he thought he did, farther down the street. He wondered if he would die of blood loss before the car reached him.
"Hold on," he said.
"That's right son!" his dad said. "Make your stand!"
"Go away dad," Akiyama said. "This is my moment."
"Okay Saneyuki," his dad said, as he sunk back into the ground. "I'm proud of you. I'll see you soon!"
"I hope not," Akiyama muttered. "I smell brimstone on you." He loaded the final bullet, raised his revolver, and fired at the Toyota Crown.
I wish I could say something profound, he thought. About how the world is a wonderful place, and worth fighting for, but all I can think about is what an awesome show Butane Negri was. I can't believe they cancelled in in the middle of the second season. How stupid. Wait, that's from my childhood.
"Keep it together," he said, as he fired his gun. He let a thought flit to Torako and he felt pain in his heart.
All six shots hit the windshield. The car didn't stop.