"Damn it! Now I got that song stuck in my head."

Hisoka held his head and kicked a rock that sat in his path. He knew he was being childish, and somewhere he felt ashamed of that, but thankfully it didn't seem like anyone had noticed. Or else they were just being polite. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he hurried to catch up with Tsuzuki and the rest who were taking in the scene of the river from the bridge.

"Whew!" Yuma said, finally quitting with the Zun-Doko recaps, as she swayed uncertainly and threw an arm around Saya's shoulders. "What a night! You guys sure know how to party, lemme tell ya. I. Am. Tanked!" She giggled.

"I guess we should probably turn in," said Saya.

"Oh? Leaving already?" Tsuzuki asked. The other men seemed to hold their breath as he did so, though they were no doubt wanting to ask the question themselves and were loath to say anything that might sound like an extended invitation. It was just that it would have been like the two women to follow them home if given the slightest reason.

"It's been a long day," slurred Yuma, yawning.

"And you drank a lot," said Saya, stating the obvious.

"Hehe . . . I sure did, didn't I?"

A giddy Yuma leaned closer to her partner, and Saya blushed slightly, and Terazuma watched it all with fascination. Luckily Wakaba was keeping a close eye on him. "Oh, no you don't," she said, sticking a fuda to his forehead before anything could happen. The only effect on Terazuma was frustration, but that was understandable considering the level of distraction. "Hey, I can't see," he said, which come to think of it had probably been more Wakaba's point than the possibility of his transforming in front of any mortal who walked by.

"Bye-bye!" the girls said with a wave, which Tsuzuki was happy to return. "See y'all bright and early tomorrow morning!" they added to worse reception. Tsuzuki forced a laugh. He didn't have to turn around to see the glares of death which were trained on him and Wakaba.

It was only after they had gone that Tatsumi remembered what had been so important: "They forgot to pay their portion again," he grumbled.

Knowing Tatsumi's feelings on mooching, a lengthy lecture on financial responsibility was bound to ensue, or, what was potentially worse, an ominous and delicate presumption that everything was fine on the part of the secretary. Whichever it was going to be, Hisoka was not in the mood to find out. He decided he'd join Watari instead, who was standing by himself apart from the rest of the group looking up at the night sky, doggie bag in hand. This struck Hisoka as odd considering Watari's high spirits — 'lofty' would be the term Hisoka would have used — following his acclaimed karaoke performance. Although that had been somewhat annoying, it was preferable to the quiet state he was in now.

"What's up?" Hisoka said. He had never really been the kind to show concern when it wasn't important.

"I was just thinkin'," Watari said, and his tone was so distant Hisoka might as well not have been there, "that t'night's gonna be somethin' real special."

Hisoka thought he was talking about dinner — the evening was pretty much over and he couldn't imagine there was anything else planned — so he said, though it pained him to do so: "Yeah, well . . . that was a pretty good show back there, I guess. . . ."

To Hisoka's surprise, Watari stared blankly at him for a moment.

Then he laughed. "Thanks, Bon," he said, and he looked genuinely touched. "I forgot about that."

"Then, what did you mean, 'special'?"

"I didn't mention it before? T'night there's gonna be a total lunar eclipse. Promises to be amazing."

He looked up at the sky, and Hisoka, leaning on the railing, did the same. It was a beautiful midsummer night, the sky was clear and the stars were just coming out and the temperature was refreshingly mild. The full moon hung low over the river, looking just like it always did. "I don't notice anything different," Hisoka said.

"Of course," said Watari. "The moon hasn't passed into the penumbra yet."

"The penumbra?"

Bingo! It was science lesson time. Watari's demeanor instantly brightened as he saw another chance to discuss the workings of the universe. He assumed a studious air, which he even managed without the aid of his lab coat, and an aura of childlike enthusiasm expanded around him.

"The penumbra's part of Earth's shadow," he began. "You see, the Earth has two parts t' its shadow: the penumbra where sunlight's partially blocked, and the umbra in which it's fully blocked. The umbra's much smaller and narrower — think of it as a Cone of Silence, only more like a Cone of Darkness — so total eclipses happen less often than partial eclipses, when part of the moon's in the umbra, or penumbral eclipses which you can't hardly notice anyway."

"Why don't you get an eclipse every full moon?" asked Tsuzuki, joining them and filling the role of the pupil avidly.

"You would," said Watari, "if the moon's orbit was on the ecliptic plane. As it is, its orbit's inclined five degrees, so you'd only get an eclipse if the full moon and new moon corresponded t' the nodes."

"Nodes?" said Hisoka.

"Think of the ecliptic plane as the surface of a bowl of miso soup, where the sun and the Earth're tofu cubes floating at the surface, and the moon's a scallion orbiting around one'a the cubes. Most of the time it's either under the surface in the soup or above it . . . Of course scallions don't actually behave that way so maybe that's not the best example. But d'you get the picture? The moon passes through the 'surface' twice in its orbit — that's the two nodes. Only when the nodes line up with the sun and Earth d'you get an eclipse, and that happens just about twice a year.

"They don't all have to line up exactly t' get a total eclipse," Watari quickly added, "but it just so happens that's what they're doin' tonight. Almost precisely at midnight, if you can believe that luck. That's why this one's gonna be so special."

He did look truly excited, but Hisoka still didn't see why. "So, then, what's supposed to happen? I mean, does the moon totally disappear or something?" He had to admit that would have been something to stay up for.

"Eh, no," said Watari. "When you have a partial lunar eclipse it usually looks like somethin' took a big chunk out of it for a little while, but with a total eclipse . . . It's just red all over."

Hisoka started. An all-red moon! Just like that time . . . He shivered. And to think just now he had almost been looking forward to it. There had to be some mistake. "Red all over?" he said. "You're sure?"

"Yep." Watari nodded. "Completely crimson. Bloody, if you will. Apparently some light still makes it around the Earth into the umbra. It has more atmosphere to travel through, so only the lower frequencies like red can make it. . . . Anyway, it's pretty funky, huh?" But it wasn't. Not to Hisoka. "Bon? You okay?" Watari asked, sensing his dark mood.

But he looked so excited about this one thing that Hisoka didn't want to bring him down. Nor did he want to delve into unpleasant personal experiences. "Yeah," he said. "It sounds neat, Watari-san."

"Hey, are you guys coming or what?" Terazuma called, a fresh cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. The others were crossing the far side of the bridge.

"Yeah, yeah, just a sec," said Watari, and Hisoka made to join him in joining the others until he noticed Tsuzuki hadn't moved from his spot against the railing. "You coming, Tsuzuki?" he said.

"Can we go slow?" Tsuzuki said with a slight wince. "I got a stomach ache."

Hisoka sighed but extended a helping arm to his partner anyway. Tsuzuki took it and his shoulder, too. "Stupid," Hisoka muttered. "Figures, the way you were putting it away." Jeez, he had sake-breath too. "And with your drinking habits . . . Maybe it will help to walk it off."

"Hisoka. . . ."

Tsuzuki leaned against his shoulder. It would have been just like him, Hisoka thought with a sigh, to get fresh at a time like this, when he'd been drinking and they were lagging behind the rest of the group and Hisoka was putting up with his acting like a little kid. "Hm?" he said, keeping himself occupied with the scenery.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

When Hisoka finally noticed Tsuzuki looked a little green, it was too late to move out of the way.

—

Ten minutes later saw them standing outside Watari's office.

"Hurry up and open it," Tsuzuki whined as he held his stomach.

"I'm goin' as fast as I can," Watari said. But the door-unlocking ritual seemed unnecessarily long. First he had to slide the card through the slot, wait for the green light, then type in the number code . . . Whatever happened to the good old days of turning a key?

Which is exactly what Tsuzuki said. "Why do you need all this security anyway?"

"So no one steals my hard work. Or equipment, for that matter; Tatsumi would blow a gasket."

"But who'd want to steal your stuff?"

Watari sighed.

"Have some patience, Tsuzuki," said Hisoka.

"But I'm going to hurl."

Hisoka bristled. That was a horse of a different color, and for that matter so was the front of his shirt. No repeats needed, or desired. "Please hurry, Watari-san!"

When at last the final green light blinked and the door opened, Tsuzuki made a beeline for the toilet. Watari paid him no heed, whistling "Kiyoshi no Zun-Doko Bushi" to himself as he turned on the lights and hung up his coat. Startled awake by the noise, his little owl 003 bounced happily on her perch on top of the locker and fluttered down to a lower altitude. She hooted repeatedly, and if one didn't know her so well they would have thought it was with an almost human fondness. Of course, everyone who worked here knew there was no almost about it.

Just the sight of her was enough to brighten Watari back up to full. "Evenin', my little friend," he said, scratching her head. "I missed you t'night. Sorry you had t' stay home. . . . But I brought something t' make it up to ya." Inside the doggie bag were all kinds of goodies collected from their dinner earlier, none of them exactly fit for an owl. Tempura vegetables and soba noodles, takoyaki. But 003 flapped her wings in excitement, which had the effect of making her look like an animated ball of feathers. It was her way of saying thanks for the chow. For an owl, she had impeccable manners.

"They had karaoke there," he continued as he watched her eat. "Wish you could've seen it. I did that song you like so much, and everyone started gettin' into it. . . ." He chuckled and smiled at her.

Hisoka had the strange feeling he was intruding on something that was private and precious. He thought of his shirt again, then saw there was an old dishtowel sitting next to one of the sinks. "Hey, Watari-san, can I use this?" he said.

Watari looked up like he had just remembered Hisoka was there. "Oh, sure, Bon," he said, and turned back to 003. Hisoka got it wet and started dabbing at his shirt. "You know," Watari said after a moment, "that reminds me: I do remember someone snoopin' around in here a few weeks ago."

"What happened?" said Hisoka.

"I was treating him for a severe case of athletes foot and caught him tryin' t' steal my latest attempt at a gender-switchin' formula. . . . At least, I think he was trying t' steal it. Good thing he didn't 'cause turned out it was only good for developin' stomach ulcers. Ulcers and athletes foot — not a good combination."

"You tested it on yourself?"

"I really thought I had it that time." Watari picked out one of the bottles from the cluster at the back of his desk. It was filled with a clear liquid that could have been mistaken for water if Hisoka didn't know Watari and his experiments so well. "Is that it?" he asked.

"Yep," said Watari, and promptly sprayed a liberal amount on the front of Hisoka's shirt.

"What are you doing?"

Hisoka automatically raised his arms to fend the stuff off, but Watari grabbed his shoulder.

"Hold still, will ya?" he said. "As it turned out, when I watered it down I discovered it was a very powerful stain and odor remover. Safe for all materials and dyes. Soaks in and lifts it out."

Sure enough, it started working almost instantly. Hisoka was impressed. "Watari-san," he said, "you know this may be the most practical thing you've ever come up with."

"And completely by accident, too."

"You could make a fortune!"

Watari shrugged. "Well, unfortunately there's still a bug I haven't been able t' work out yet. See, when it does its thing it starts t' smell like whiskey—"

"Oh my God—" Hisoka quickly covered his nose and mouth.

"Must be some kind of chemical reaction. Sneaks up on ya, doesn't it?"

That was the understatement of the year. This wasn't some mean batch of horseradish they were talking about. In an instant, Hisoka smelled like he'd bathed in Wild Turkey. It wasn't an odor remover if it replaced one odor with something worse! he thought of saying, but it was then that Tsuzuki staggered out of the bathroom.

"And how are we feelin'?" Watari asked him. 003 had polished off the leftovers and looked up.

"Bad," was Tsuzuki's diagnosis.

—

Thap . . . thap . . . thap . . .

The three sat in a triangle in the office, Tsuzuki on one of the infirmary cots, clutching his stomach which rumbled at fairly regular intervals, Hisoka on the other across from him, and Watari in his swivel chair, one leg over the other. From the top of the locker, 003 watched all. The tense silence between them could be cut with a knife. It was no less than a physical entity, a Snowcone of Silence, impatience flavor. It was tried by the steady thud of the pen hitting the clipboard head-on, as Watari turned it around in his fingers. Thap . . . thap . . . thap . . . Deep in thought, he stared out the window into the darkness. "Hona," he would mutter every other minute, like he was going to say something important, but then he seemed to have second thoughts because he never said anything other than "hona."

A Teresa Teng album was playing on the stereo. It must have been Teresa Teng Perfect Collection: Most Depressing Ballads Ever by the sound of it. It was more than a little eerie sitting there in silence listening to an artist who had died seven years ago. Hisoka remembered how he had been taken aback to learn that only after his own death, when he and Tsuzuki had been working on the Maria Wong case. She had been forty-three and stunning, Teng, and on tour in Thailand when she suffered a fatal asthma attack. Hisoka had never been a fan, more out of lack of opportunity than anything, but he couldn't help feeling like the butt of a bad joke when he finally found out. Although, to her credit, that wasn't such a bad way to go — and he knew plenty about such things.

This album was completely devoid of up-beat songs. Wasn't there a scientific law against that?

"Spock-kun . . ." Watari said to himself.

Tsuzuki and Hisoka both looked up. It was the first thing Watari had said in two songs. It also made no sense.

"What?" they both said.

Watari blinked. "Oh? Did I say something?"

"You said, 'Spock-kun'. . . ." Hisoka helped.

"Oh." Watari nonchalantly scratched his temple with the pen. "I must have been thinkin' out loud."

"About what's been making me sick?" said Tsuzuki suggestively.

Watari glanced between the two. If he had noticed the hint — and it was likely, having associated with Tsuzuki for so long, he hadn't — he didn't seem to give Tsuzuki's condition much thought. The careless way he handled the sign-in clipboard was as though to say, You're still here? "You ate bad shrimp," he said. "You should be all better by morning."

"I'm so glad." Tsuzuki let out a deep sigh. "I haven't lost my touch."

"You're sure that's all it is?" Hisoka said, mentally cursing his partner. Really, what kind of person took pride in knowing he was potentially very sick, but at least it wasn't because of his drinking habits?

He didn't see why such a simple diagnosis should have taken so long, either. A glance at the clipboard revealed obscure formulaic scribblings in place of a patient chart.

"The symptoms were pretty immediate." The pen-tapping resumed on the arm of the chair. "Typical of food poisoning."

"Is there anything you can give him?" Hisoka said. "I mean, like a suppository or something?"

Tsuzuki shot him an evil look. "Hisoka, what are you suggesting?" he mumbled.

"Well, it's not like you can keep down medication like this," Hisoka mumbled back. He was only being realistic, of course. He wasn't that sadistic. . . . Well, not when it was important, he amended.

Tsuzuki sniffed. "I feel much better now, thank you," was his reply.

Watari blinked. "That's good! 'Cause you're just gonna have to let it work its way out of your system. Naturally."

"What?" said Tsuzuki.

"After the vomiting you'll probably experience cramps and diarrhea, but on the plus side by that time you'll be over the hump." Watari shrugged. But his straightforwardness did little to reassure the man in question. Teresa Teng was singing "Dream Drama." Watari slid his chair back and forth across the floor a few times before realizing the two still expected something of him. "Aw, chin up, Tsuzuki. Happens t' the best of us. . . . Okay, so most of us don't stuff away a whole bowl of shrimp balls in one sitting. . . . Maybe you should see this as a life lesson."

"Then again," Hisoka said, "if he hadn't hoarded them all, we might all be sick."

Watari blinked thoughtfully, in awe of that revelation. "Huh. You got a point, Bon. Makes me wonder if things don't happen for a reason."

Tsuzuki glared at them both by way of the opposite wall.

"Now, don't look like that," Watari said. "Would the Tsuzuki I know let a little indigestion bother him?"

Tsuzuki wondered, what with his arms the way they were, if Watari could see he was giving him the bird.

"The best thing you can do's go home and sleep it off."

"That's a good idea," Hisoka said with a sigh as he stood. "Come on, Tsuzuki."

"Thank you, Hisoka," Tsuzuki said as he slowly joined him, resigning himself to his fate. "Thanks for nothing, Watari."

"Come again," Watari countered with a grin.

Hisoka paused at the door, about to ask if he was coming. But he thought better of it. Watari probably had work he wanted to catch up on, as usual, and besides the lunar eclipse he was so excited about was still to come. Good night and good luck. Smile and wave. It was best to leave it at that.

—

Something was up with Watari-san. That's what Tsuzuki said when we left his office. I could feel it. Not necessarily wrong, just . . . different. Like an umbra in his emotions — a Cone of Darkness. Something bittersweet, nostalgic. I thought it might have had something to do with the eclipse. Sometimes anticipation brings people down, or the end of a high, like the one he had gotten from doing karaoke. Don't ask me why. I'm not a doctor. Of course, that depressing stuff he had on the stereo couldn't help. Anyway, we agreed on one thing: it was like Watari to be distracted but not that distracted.

Whatever it was, though, it was none of my business. I had enough on my hands with Tsuzuki and his indigestion. My mission was to get him home and off his feet like the doctor ordered — then get myself into something that didn't smell like Wild Turkey — and if this kept up much longer I wouldn't have time to admire the lunar eclipse. Not that I particularly wanted to. It always brought back unpleasant memories. Unless I was like the thief in Ango's "In the Forest, Under Cherries in Full Bloom," taking some masochistic pleasure from immersing myself in what I dreaded, I wasn't interested. And he'd had a psychotic wife who enjoyed playing with rotting heads to worry about. On second thought, there were some parallels between our situations, disturbing parallels. But that was nothing to dwell on at such a time. I glanced at my watch. A little after nine. Good. I still had about two-and-a-half hours before I needed to worry. With any luck, I'd be out by then. Fast asleep. If only fate would be so kind.

The hallways seemed extra long that night. I almost thought we'd never get home. The sound of our shoes was a looped drumbeat, going on to eternity. Reflections in the highly polished floor the stereo track. And then I happened to look up and see him.

Coming toward us down the hall was a young man in a suit about nineteen or twenty years old. He looked like he worked here — he looked right at home the way he carried himself, like he had somewhere to go, a job to do, but I had never seen him before in my life. He had short black hair and nondescript but good features, and had on a pair of glasses which were only framed on the top of the lenses. He was wearing headphones, the kind that fit inside your ear, and I could hear the tinny beat getting louder in tandem with his footsteps as the distance between us closed. It sounded like rap. Shakkazombie. It didn't match the blazer.

I held my breath as we passed. Like an action anime where time gets all stretched out and leaves the two opponents suspended in midair, slowly floating by each other. Our eyes met. "I didn't understand," came the voice inside the headphones, over and over again. "I didn't understand, I didn't understand, I didn't understand anything." I remember thinking I should have recognized him from someplace.

In that moment, I had the distinct feeling he was looking into my soul.

The moment passed and he kept walking down the hall, not once looking back. We kept walking too. Tsuzuki didn't say anything so I didn't either, although sometimes I think he wouldn't know suspicious if it hit him on the head.

—
tsuzuku

The equivalent of 'well' or 'jaa' in kansaiben, or Western dialect, which is spoken by peeps from Osaka like Watari. Hence the accent, which was also inspired by the scientist in Murakami's Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, like much of this story. . . .