EDGE (50 page)

The Milky Way had always been such a romantic notion. Hashiba couldn’t count the number of times he had looked into the sky for inspiration. Once, during summer back in high school, he’d invited a girl he had a crush on to come out and watch for shooting stars. They had spent the whole night outdoors. He remembered how he’d wanted to kiss her but hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage to ask. Each time he tried, there had been a brief moment of awkwardness, and each time he had been saved by shooting stars crossing the Milky Way providing an easy change of subject. The stars had made sure his date didn’t become a disaster. Even though he hadn’t kissed the girl that night—he’d hardly held her hand—it had been the best time.

Now the stars were fading away into nothingness, and it felt as though memories were being erased along with them.

First the stars, then us
.

Hashiba’s whole body ached with the force of the idea. It was too much to think that despite having come so far, despite 4 billion years of evolution, everything could just be swept away over the course of a single night. He now accepted that death was coming, but the feeling still lacked a visceral sense of reality. It was different from being told that he was in the final stages of terminal cancer and had only a few days to live; from departing as part of a death squad in some war and knowing that there was no return; from being a prisoner on death row. There would be no countdown. Humanity could only wait, passive and helpless, for a sudden but inevitable demise. More than anything Hashiba felt a burning sense of waste, overpowering any feelings of fear, coupled with a frustration born from knowing that nothing could be done about it.

He shook his head, at the same time surprised by his easy acceptance of an idea that was, after all, nothing more than a hypothesis cobbled together by two men. Why couldn’t he just laugh it off as a preposterous notion? The decision to believe a certain hypothesis, Hashiba knew, derived from subconscious desire. He recalled a friend from college, two years his senior, that he’d met through the ski club. The guy prided himself
on his logical thinking and readily dismissed anything that reeked of the occult. His grades were first class, and he was a charismatic presence on campus. After graduation he secured a high-flying job at a prestigious trading company, and with his future almost guaranteed, he received a number of offers for well-placed marriages. Then, out of the blue, he married someone he met on a business trip to Hachinohe, a widow ten years older than him. He’d somehow become obsessed with the idea that she was the living reincarnation of his childhood sweetheart, who had died when they were still in junior high school.

Hashiba learned this while attending the wedding with some other friends, initially as a rumor. He thought it a joke, but it soon became clear that his friend truly believed it. Even now he could picture the dumbfounded look on everyone’s faces when his friend told them.

He had three reasons for believing that his bride was the reincarnation of his childhood sweetheart. When he’d visited his lost love during the final stages of her illness, she’d come to terms with her extinction and promised that they would meet again, on a bridge above a clear stream. The first reason, then, was that he met his wife on a bridge over the Mabechi River. The second was the fact that they looked physically similar, with a beauty spot in the same place, left of their lower lip, and the same wavy, brownish hair. The third reason clinched it: a common birthday.

These factors in no way provided evidence to support his conviction that the woman from Hachinohe was a reincarnation. The most glaringly obvious contradiction was that she was ten years older than his childhood sweetheart. Despite the obvious logical flaw, Hashiba’s friend had convinced himself that it was true. Hashiba came to understand then that no matter how much people prided themselves on their logic or intellect, if their desire to believe something was strong enough, their minds happily wove a fiction around those wishes until they became stubborn belief. The key was the underlying wish. His friend had created a fiction to support his need to believe that his relationship with his childhood sweetheart had been unique and predestined, and viewed events through a romantic mysticism.

Following that logic, Hashiba realized that some part of him actually desired to see the end of the world. He’d often thought that if the world were to end, he’d want to be there to see it. He had to admit that some part of him wanted to go out in a blaze of glory; if it was going to happen, then he wanted it to happen to his generation. That was why his subconscious had made the decision to believe that the phase transition was real. The idea
that the end would swallow all, that the fate of humanity was somehow intertwined with that of the whole universe, seemed to alleviate some of the fear. He even thought he detected a perverse elation in his bosom. To die slowly and painfully, alone after losing a loved one—that was the type of death he dreaded the most. To live to the end of the universe—now, that was something different altogether.

Once, he sat with his colleagues discussing a “Last Supper” article someone had read in a magazine about what you’d eat on the world’s last day. His colleagues had joked around, giving easy answers like tuna, foie gras, sushi rolls. Everyone had enjoyed his own version of the end. Hashiba had thought seriously about the question, and when asked for his answer, he said it was more important who he ate with, not what. At that point Hashiba had already been married with a kid, but the person that came to mind was not his wife. He had always been known as a good guy, progressing steadily along with his career, settling down into a marriage that was stable and bland. He remembered deciding that if he was going to consider the idea then he might as well entertain his fantasies, and tried to imagine the perfect woman as his companion. As it went, no one in particular came to mind. Now, however, when the scenario was actually coming true, he realized that he had found the woman of his dreams. It was ironic, he guessed.

How should he actually spend the final hours that he had left? Should he play the good guy as he’d always done and sideline his desires? He asked himself whether he was really happy with the life that he’d led so far. He wasn’t sure; that was the honest answer. He was sure there was no afterlife waiting for him, so he wasn’t particularly worried about judgment after death. The voice of temptation beckoned him, inviting him to throw away all his morals. The memory of Saeko, half-naked on her bed as they groped in the darkness, came back to him. The image was so vivid he felt he could almost smell her skin as it brushed against his. It seemed natural and correct for a man to want to have sex with a beloved before his end came.

No, I can’t …

Hashiba repeated the thought out loud, trying to get a grip, but the temptation took hold like an eagle, wrapping a tight claw around his emotions. An untapped mass of nervous energy coursed through his body.

Until a few moments ago all he had wanted was to see out a quiet end. How easily that notion had fallen apart, giving in to this inner struggle.
Regardless of what people might say, everything fell apart at the end. Facing such extreme circumstances, Hashiba doubted that anyone could resist the urge to spend their last moments with the one they loved. The desire for Saeko continued to grow in intensity, stronger than ever before. He wanted her body; he wanted her love.

It was probably all the worse for them having been stopped halfway into the act. The frustrated desire had been dormant, smoldering inside. He sat, tormented by his feelings, cradling his head in his hands.

Hashiba made his decision. He was going to use the time left to him to complete the only thing that left him unsatisfied. If he was going to do anything, he had to do it now. He would have to take one of the cars himself and get Kagayama, Kato and Hosokawa to use the other. The three would head for Tokyo, where his family was too, but he would drive straight to Takato. He couldn’t help noticing that Atami was almost exactly at the geographical mid-point between the two locations, as though to embody his dilemma. His heart felt as though it was being pulled in two, as opposing forces tore a fissure through him. He picked up his phone, his hand shaking. He dialed Saeko’s number again. He hadn’t heard anything from her since they parted outside the herb gardens earlier that afternoon.

The call went straight to her voicemail.

Hashiba hung up; her phone was still off. It was possible that she had forgotten to turn it back on after reaching the Fujimura house. It struck him that he’d received a call from there. The number would be in the call history of his phone, and Saeko would definitely have arrived by now. His throat was dry, and an acid feeling churned in his stomach.

Hashiba went through the phone’s menu system and opened the archive of received calls. He found the number and pressed the call button.

The phone started to ring. Someone actually picked up, catching him off guard. Hashiba coughed to clear his throat before speaking.

“Hello?” His voice was hoarse.

Instead of a reply he heard the sound of the phone being hung up and the line going dead. He was just about to ring back when Kato came flying into the room.

“Hashiba, you’ve got to come.”

Hashiba didn’t even turn round. “Can’t you see I’m busy? I’ve got stuff to do!” he shouted. His hand tightened around the phone.

“Isogai’s calling everyone back.” Kato’s admonishing tone suggested
that he knew what it was Hashiba was busy with.

“Isogai? What’s he saying?”

“He’s getting excited about something. I don’t know, he’s acting strange.”

Without any particular reason Hashiba looked at his watch, tutting. “Is it important?”

“It definitely looks that way. They’re getting excited, hugging each other and shouting stuff back and forth in English …”

Hashiba knew that if he was to see Saeko again then time was of the essence. But if Isogai had discovered something new, then perhaps he should hear it. Hashiba nodded and followed Kato out into the hallway.

When they came to a stop outside Isogai’s room, the loud clamoring of voices sounded through the door. As Kato had said, they were definitely excited about something. It appeared as though they were in the middle of some sort of debate, but Hashiba couldn’t pick up on the content.

He opened the door and the two of them looked over. Isogai pitched across the room, almost tripping in his excitement.

“You were looking into cases of people going missing, right?”

“Certainly.” Hashiba felt disappointed. Why would he be asking about that now? Surely that was irrelevant at this point. That was why Isogai was here in the first place, to help them finish the program on mysterious disappearances after the death of Shigeko Torii, to eschew the paranormal for a more scientific approach.

“Could you show me the information you’ve collected so far?”

Hashiba saw something in Isogai’s eyes that spurred him to agree to his request. He saw a dim flicker of light mixed in among the despair, a sliver of hope. It had to be a good sign, maybe he’d thought of something to stop this after all …

Hashiba collected the file from his room and handed to Isogai a summary of all the information they had collated on the disappearances at Takato, Itoikawa, and Atami. It even had details on the Californian cases they had come across. Each case was mapped for its physical proximity to tectonic fault lines and linked to recordings of heightened sunspot activity with visual aids.

Isogai took the file from Hashiba and began to scan the contents without even taking the time to walk back into the room. He paged rapidly through, as though trying to confirm something, then started to explain something to Chris in rapid English before asking his opinion. Chris’ eyes darted back and forth as he replied, and he spoke so quickly that Hashiba
could see tiny bubbles of spit forming on the side of his mouth. When the two seemed to reach a conclusion, Chris sat shaking his head, his eyes betraying a mix of hope and fear. Hashiba had heard them mention the name Jack Thorne a number of times.

“Just who is Jack Thorne?” he blurted, his frustration at not being able to fully understand the conversation beginning to boil over.

Isogai stopped mid-sentence, surprised at Hashiba’s outburst. He stared blankly for a moment, then, oddly, winked. The gesture was so unnatural that Hashiba didn’t immediately recognize it. Isogai’s nose twisted and his mouth hung half open as one side of his face wrinkled together with the movement. As he registered it as a wink, Hashiba began to wonder if Isogai had actually begun to lose it. When he spoke, however, his tone was calm and focused.

“As we know, scientific advisors to the U.S. President are currently gathering the world’s top minds in physics and mathematics and bringing them to Washington. One of them is Jack Thorne. When I first learned that he was included in the roundup, I was a little surprised to say the least. His field is almost classical—gravitational theory. The rest are all cutting-edge theorists in fields related to quantum mechanics. He stands out like a sore thumb, so we started to look into possible reasons for his inclusion. Then we saw exactly the words we were looking for. Turns out he specializes in the study of black holes and, more importantly, wormholes.”

Hashiba knew more about black holes than the latter. “And again, a wormhole is?”

“Essentially, it’s like a shortcut to another universe.” There was something jarring about the casualness with which Isogai said it. A shortcut to another universe? He glanced at his watch, purposely avoiding Hashiba’s gaze. “We’ve got no time to lose, we can’t waste anymore time explaining this.”

“I don’t care how much time we’ve got or haven’t got. Look, you guys know what’s going on, this is your thing. But I have no idea. I just want to know what the hell’s waiting for us.”

Isogai was taken aback by Hashiba’s uncharacteristic forcefulness. He pressed his left hand against his forehead, seemingly a habit when he felt flustered, and began to explain.

“A wormhole is as the name suggests. It’s like a hole through the ground. In terms of general relativity, it’s also known as an Einstein-Rosen Bridge—a fitting name since the concept of a bridge is more accurate than a hole. The idea is that the universe we know is not unique, that in fact
there are countless numbers of universes, all existing on top of each other. That’s what Jack Thorne believes, anyhow. A wormhole links these separate universes together. Wormholes are like bridges, except that they only function in one direction. Once you cross the threshold, wherever you end up is your new home. There’s no coming back.”