Goth (28 page)

Just as I was about to open the door, it opened from the inside and someone stepped out. It was Akagi. He saw me standing outside the door and jumped.

“Oh, Natsumi,” he said, mustering a feeble smile.

“Nice to see you here.”

“I’m heading home now, but I was worried, so …”

Apparently, he’d stopped by after classes. I chatted with him awhile outside the house. He was a tall man; if I looked directly ahead from this distance, the top of his face—everything from the glasses up—was out of sight. I had to look up the whole time, which made my neck tired.

He knew a lot about books, and the floor on the second story of his home was creaking under the weight of them. We always had a lot to talk about. But today, I wasn’t in the mood, and all we did was express concern for each other’s well-being. I thanked him for thinking of my sister.

All the time we spoke, I was thinking about the tape. I knew I should let him hear her voice, and yet I said nothing.

“Well then, Natsumi … bye.”

Akagi waved his long hand and left. I watched him go in silence, surprised by my own transformation.

Before, when I’d spoken to Akagi, I couldn’t ever stay calm. My heart would bounce this way and that, never at rest. Every time he’d glanced at my sister, I’d feel dejected.

There was a lot I admired about him, but now my heart was silent, like a cold stone.

I rubbed the back of my neck, realizing that I hadn’t even said goodbye. Before, I would’ve waved enthusiastically, shouting “See you again soon!” despite my neck pain.

The link between us was fading. With my sister’s death, he was becoming a stranger again. I would’ve never known him if it wasn’t for my sister, so perhaps that was only natural.

I doubted it was Akagi who was reluctant to maintain that relationship, though; if that were the case, he never would’ve come here.

I went inside, entering the freezing living room. My parents were sitting under the kotatsu. I told them I’d run into Akagi at the door, but they barely answered. I could feel my mood dropping like a heavy stone.

I went upstairs and into my room, closing the door. I took the tape out of my pocket and put it in the stereo, removing the original tape and putting it on top of my desk.

I pushed Play. I could hear the whir as the tape started. I sat down on the chair, staring at the stereo.

I found myself remembering the past, when we were both in elementary school and we were taking turns recording our voices. We’d been baffled by how strange our voices sounded on tape. Then our parents had come in, and we’d all sung a song together, recording it. It was a very childish song but one we’d loved to sing. My father often played that tape when were out driving as a family—even after my sister had entered junior high, and she’d start shrieking every time he put it on. My mother always laughed really hard at that.

It was so much fun.

Natsumi …

Tell Mom and Dad, and Akagi … thank you for everything. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused …

Or are they alI listening to this tape with you? I don’t know anything, anymore …

He … he’s going to kill me after this. I thought he was joking at first …

Natsumi … I was left alone in the dark, blindfolded and gagged, until a minute ago.

Crying and screaming is pointless … and when I figured that out, I suddenly felt … regret.

I need to apologize … That’s why I’m leaving you this message. I hate that it took something like this to make me realize.

You know how I sometimes said things to hurt you or to confuse you? You always looked so anxious when I did.

I’m sorry … none of that was your fault. I was just angry all on my own. You’ll be disgusted when you hear why.

But if I die without saying anything, you’ll never know the truth … I have to say it.

The tape went silent.

And then … not my sister’s voice, but a familiar boy’s voice …

Kitazawa Natsumi. At 11 p.m. on December 3. Come alone to the abandoned hospital where Hiroko died. You know the place, right? Come to the room where they found the body. I’ll give you the last tape there.

His voice was the last thing on the tape.

†

December 3 came two days after I heard the second tape. In that time, I hadn’t gone to the police. Instead, I’d gone about my life as I always did—going to school, studying for exams.

In the hall after class, a friend stopped me in the hall. “Natsumi, we should go somewhere this Sunday.”

She seemed to be worried that I didn’t smile much since my sister had died. She often tried to cheer me up.

“Okay … but if I end up not being able to, I’m sorry.”

“You have plans?” she asked, puzzled.

I did not—but there was no guarantee I would come home alive that night. I planned to follow the instructions the boy had left on the tape. I’d made that decision the moment I first heard his message.

If I went to the abandoned hospital, I might get to hear the rest of my sister’s message. In exchange, I might not come home alive. I didn’t know why he had summoned me, but it might well be to kill me.

“No plans, but …” I said, suddenly wanting to throw my arms around her. What kind of life would she lead? Until a few days before, we’d both been utterly ordinary people. We’d gone to school yawning and then spent the day copying everything from the blackboard into our notebooks. Every day was the same. These were ordinary, happy lives.

But now I didn’t believe that life lay before me. I’d spent too much time with death to lead a peaceful life. My friend still had a future, though, and when I thought about how I might never see her again … I loved her very much indeed.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, waving.

I left the school, feeling the cold December wind against my cheeks. The sun was not yet setting, but there were gray clouds covering the sky, and it was pretty dark out. I held my coat tightly closed, watching my feet as I walked.

My phone rang near the school gates. It was Itsuki.

“Now? School just finished. I’m just going through the gates.”

I stopped next to the gates as I talked to him. There were cars rushing by, and it was hard to hear him between the traffic and the wind.

“What did you say? I can’t hear,” I said, louder. “Oh, yeah, thanks again for … No, I’m fine …”

This might well be the last time I ever spoke to him. The thought made me want to sob into my phone loud enough to be heard over the roar of the wind and traffic. I’d known Itsuki since junior high, and he was like a little brother.

“Can you talk louder?” I closed my eyes, trying to pick his voice out of the din. “I said I’m fine … I didn’t mean to make you worry. Hmm? No, I’m not crying …” Our conversation ended a moment later.

I checked my watch on the train home. It was already five. The sun had begun to set on the road to the station, and it was dark outside. I had six hours until I would meet that boy.

I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t shaking with fear. My heart was calm, and I sat with my eyes closed, feeling the movement of the train. My senses were already shut down in the face of the danger to come. My sister’s teeth in the restaurant had been the anesthetic. Everything felt numb, nothing felt real.

I had never even considered trying to fight the boy. I would go to the hospital without any weapons, without telling anybody. All I cared about was hearing my sister’s voice. I needed nothing else—even if that boy planned to harm me.

My parents had forgotten to lock the door again. I went inside and told them I was home.

My mother was in the tatami room, folding laundry. She smiled faintly when I spoke to her, but she looked like she would topple over if I nudged her.

My father was in the living room, slumped over the kotatsu. I couldn’t see his face. When we were kids, my sister and I would hang from his arms. His tiny back reminded me just how long ago that had been.

“I’m home, Dad,” I said, kneeling down next to him. He didn’t respond. Thinking he was asleep, I rose to leave.

“Natsumi,” he said. “I’m sorry … we’re making you worry.”

“What are you talking about?” I had said the same thing to my friends today.

“People always told us you looked like Hiroko, but I never realized how much you do. I never noticed while Hiroko was alive, but now that there’s only you … they’re right.”

My father raised his head and looked at me. He said he sometimes mistook me for my dead sister. His eyes were half-kind, half-sad.

“But, Natsumi … did you just come home from school?” I nodded. He looked puzzled.

“I thought I heard someone going upstairs …”

“Not Mom?”

“She was in here.”

The footsteps had come in without the doorbell ringing first, so they’d assumed it was me.

I went upstairs to my room. The tapes were gone.

That boy must have snuck in and taken them away. I could imagine him doing that easily.

If I hadn’t come home that night, the police would’ve found the tapes in my room, and they would find out about him. He’d taken them to prevent that scenario from occurring.

That meant he didn’t plan to let me come home.

I felt like all the strength was flowing out of me. I sat down heavily on the chair.

For two days now, I had guessed I would be murdered. And now I knew for certain.

If I followed the instructions on the tape and went to the hospital, I would die.

What was death? That boy had said death was the only thing that really existed.

He had to experience people’s deaths the way a vampire had to drink blood.

For a long time, I sat on my chair, not moving at all. Silence surrounded me. I tried to imagine him killing my sister. Soon, my own face replaced my sister’s. But it was not as big a shock as I had expected.

Once, I had seen a firm divide between life and death. I was alive. My sister, my parents, everyone was alive. That had been obvious. Now that divide had become very fuzzy, like white and black had mixed together and formed gray where I stood. My parents had been the same since they saw her body: one foot in the world of the dead, frozen there.

But my sister … my sister was definitely dead. To me, the recording of her voice was alive, though. She existed on those tapes; she was still breathing, still thinking, still trying to speak—and waiting for me.

I could no longer understand what separated life from death. But I knew I was standing right on top of it.

“Natsumi,” my mother called from downstairs. “Dinner!”

I stood up and tried to say, “Coming!” If I didn’t go, it would be just the two of them. They would be too exposed.

We were all a mess since my sister’s death, but we’d been careful to eat together as much as possible. Although the extra chair kept us from saying much of anything, meals were the last thing that kept us feeling like a family.

Today, however, I started to stand, and then I stopped halfway.

“Natsumi?” my mother called again, surprised that I hadn’t responded. Remembering how my father had looked at me, I felt like I wouldn’t be able to go to the hospital if I ate with them. If I didn’t come home, how would they survive? Love—or perhaps pity—would be a chain, keeping me here.

“Dinner?” she called again.

My eyes found a cylinder on my desk. I stared at it, unable to take my eyes off it.

It was the bloodred lipstick I’d taken from my sister’s room.

I closed my eyes and made up my mind. I sat back in the chair. “I’m not hungry,” I said.

The door was closed, and I couldn’t see my mother, but I could sense her presence: she stood at the bottom of the stairs staring up at my door for a long time.

Guilt pierced my heart, and I clutched my chest. When my mother knew her daughter was not coming down, her shoulders slumped, and she moved away from the stairs. I could almost see her.

I sat on the chair, apologizing to my parents again and again. But no matter what, I would not change my decision. I was a terrible child. I was going to that hospital, and I was leaving them alone.

iv

Late that night, I got up and put on my coat.

I picked up a toy rabbit from my shelf. I had loved this toy when I was little. I brushed its head, feeling how soft it was. It had been in my room since I was very young. Now I said goodbye to it. I placed it back on the shelf, and I put my sister’s lipstick in my coat pocket; I was bringing it with me so I wouldn’t lose my resolve.

I also took a flashlight, and then I left the house quietly, making sure my parents didn’t notice. If they had called out, I would never have been able to leave. But no voices came.

The abandoned hospital where my sister’s body was found was twenty minutes away by bicycle. I rode along a small road with no streetlights. It was dark all around, the light on my red bike the only break in the darkness.

My sister and I had shared this bike. One of us had crashed into something, and the basket was bent. I didn’t remember crashing, so it had probably been her fault. It was a red bike, which reminded me of Little Red Riding Hood. It was like I was that little girl—only I was going to my grandmother’s house knowing full well there was a wolf waiting for me there.

The sky was brighter than my surroundings. I could see the divide between the sky and the earth distinctly. The asphalt road was headed toward the mountains, and it soon gave way to gravel. I got off the bike there. As I walked, I found a fence with a sign that read,
NO TRESPASSING
.

The hospital was beyond that fence, but too far away for my flashlight to reach.

The light vanished, swallowed by the darkness. There were no houses or shops around, no little points of light in the distance—nothing but dry grass. Without wind to shake that grass, it was utterly quiet.

I parked my bike and made my way toward the fence, carrying only the flashlight. Gravel crunched underfoot. My breath produced white clouds, which faded quickly. There was a gate in the fence across the road, which opened easily when I pushed it. I stepped through.