The woman stopped upon reaching her small apartment. Unlocking the door, she turned the knob, walking inside. The inside was tidy and elegantly decorated with furniture and picture frames.
Closing the door, she took off her coat, placing it on the coat rack as she made her way into the small living room. She set the notebook on the medium-sized coffee table and walked into the kitchen through an archway toward the refrigerator. Opening the refrigerator, she prepared a quick dinner, checking her answering machine as she did.
"No new messages," the automated voice spoke. She finished cooking her dinner, and walked into the dinning room. She pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, placing her food before her. She ate in silence before grabbing a black remote that was left on the table. Aiming at the television in the living room, she turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, stopping when she noticed nothing interesting was on.
She set down the remote and finished eating. After she was done, she rose to her feet and strolled back into the kitchen. She scraped the remaining food into the garbage can and placed the empty plate inside the dishwasher. She then grabbed the other plates from the sink that she had left earlier when she was leaving for school.
She placed them all inside the washer and turned it on. She left the kitchen, walking back into the living room. She sat down on the black, soft sofa placed before the coffee table; her eyes looking at the black notebook as she did. She sighed and picked up the book.
"I wonder who the owner of this is. . ." she said to herself, examining the notebook. She opened it up and continued reading the page where the so-called rules were listed. This is weird, a notebook designed to kill people. . . who the hell would want something like that, even though I doubt it really works, it has to take a sick person to think something up like this. I wonder what happens if a name is written . . . how does it work--no, what am I thinking? This thing isn't real, so why bother with asking a ridiculous question. Then again, what if someone experimenting with it did write a name and someone died, would that person be considered a murderer? she thought.
Suddenly the phone began to ring, startled she dropped the book with a gasp. Placing her hand against her heart she sighed, "It was only the phone," she said, rising. She grabbed the phone, gaining her composure, "Hello, Tsubasa residents, Hikari speaking . . . huh? Oh, hey Yuka. What? What channel?" she asked, grabbing the remote quickly. She changed the channel and listened to the news report.
She stared at the television as a press meeting was taking place. Her eyes filling with anger and fear as she saw one of the men on the television, "Yuka, I'll call you back, ok? I won't . . . bye," she said and hung up the phone. Her full attention went to the television as she listened to the broadcast.
It was a group of twenty or so reporters surrounding a speaking platform where a man was speaking. He was sharply dressed in a business suit, his dark brown hair slicked back and glasses covered his hazel eyes. The man beside his was dressed in a business suit, as well. His brown hair was neatly brushed, but not slicked back like the other man and he had brown eyes.
"So, you're saying that your client was falsely charged in the Misaki Tsubasa murder case?" a reporter asked.
"Yes, according to prosecutors two years ago my client, Eito Shimizu was the number one suspect, however after looking further at the report and at witness testimony, it has been shown that my client was falsely accused," the attorney spoke as the man beside him smiled.
"Yes, but wasn't the witness the one who said she had seen him and he was unmistakably the person who murdered Misaki. The daughter also testified to seeing him that night as well--" the reporter pursued.
"Yes, but--" the attorney began.
"According to both witnesses it was dark, making it difficult to really be sure," the man next to him, Eito Shimizu spoke. "I said two years ago that I was innocent and well it seems that God has proved that, thank you," the man said as he and his attorney walked away from the cameras. The broadcast went back to another reporter. She turned off the television, sitting back down onto the couch.
"This . . . can't be happening. I know it was him, even the evidence suggested that . . . why is this happening. How could anyone possibly think that he is innocent? He lied throughout the entire trial. . ." Hikari said to herself as she lied down on the couch. Tears running down her face as memories returned to her mind. As she began to wipe the tears away, she noticed the book sitting on the coffee table.
Her orchid eyes stared at the mysterious notebook as her mind escaped her. She reached for the book slowly, grabbing it in one hand as she sat up. Opening it up, she grabbed a pen from the table and slowly began to write the name.
After she finished, she set the book down leaving it opened as she left the living room, down another hall toward her bedroom. She didn't care whether the notebook actually worked or not, she was too emotional to think or realize any mistake she might be making. She just needed some way to get rid of the pain.