Paprika (18 page)

Even so, Osanai found himself better equipped to tolerate the role of Atsuko Chiba, compared to that of Tokita. After all, she was a just woman. As a woman, she had no ideology. So it stood to reason that the only thought in her mind was to faithfully, cheerfully pursue the utility value and application of the PT devices developed by Tokita. That was what all female scientists were like anyway; nothing more could be expected of them. This was not a question of looking down on women, but rather one of recognizing their natural disposition.

The more he thought about it, the less Osanai could resist Atsuko’s allure as a woman. Ah! Her lightly tanned skin. Her body, so taut and healthy. He could imagine the pleasure of holding her. Given his rich self-awareness culled from past experience with women, he had no reason to doubt that, if he were to confront her directly, declare his love for her, and ask her to sleep with him, she would be only too glad to oblige. After all, he had good looks that even men found attractive. Those good looks were supported by integrity and intelligence, not vacuous empty-headedness. There was nothing offensive or vulgar about him. Atsuko surely had the sexual appetite befitting a woman of twenty-nine years, and there could be no more suitable partner for her than Morio Osanai. Once he had declared his love for her, she would no doubt accede most willingly to his advances.

His infatuation with Atsuko merely increased at the thought that this situation could become reality at any time. He could bring himself to climax just by imagining the physical sensation of making love to her. Her eyes, normally shining with cool intelligence, would now be moistened with lust. Her usually pert lips would be distorted in ecstasy. Her self-restraint, the flag-bearer of her superior intellect, would crumble and dissolve through the sheer pleasure of sex. This would be a pleasure akin to madness, worlds apart from the risible sensations she shared with that idiot Tokita merely by using PT devices. In Osanai’s imagination, making love to Atsuko Chiba would be an experience light years away from that of humping the pale, sagging body of Misako Sayama, Senior Nurse on the fifth floor.

Osanai could make love to Senior Nurse Sayama whenever he liked. He could even provide her for the titillation of the unmarried, highly sexed Seijiro Inui – the master just had to say the word. In fact, Inui’s sexual appetite was so voracious that Osanai, the real object of his desire, could never hope to satisfy it fully, however greatly he respected and revered his mentor. By providing his lover for Inui’s gratification, he at least lightened the burden of expectation on himself. Not that this had any adverse impact on the deep affection shared by Inui and Osanai; their love for each other, which had originally started as a teacher-pupil affair, merely grew more intense as they shared more and more secrets.

Osanai entered the hospital building. After making sure he wasn’t being followed, he took the staircase behind the kitchen down to the second basement. In the second basement were the detention rooms, now no longer in use, a throwback from the days when violent or abusive patients would be confined there. Most of the Institute staff didn’t even know the rooms existed. Osanai used a key to open the massive iron door of the detention ward and walked to the end of its ice-cold corridor. He entered the last detention room, where he’d imprisoned Himuro. The prisoner was sleeping, in his lab coat, on an iron bedstead that didn’t even have a mattress. A collector sat on the table next to him. Sent to the land of dreams by drugs and with a DC Mini implanted in his head, Himuro was having the nightmares of a schizophrenic intermittently fed into his mind. He was trying his hardest to resist them by settling into dreams that he found more comfortable.

Controlling the urge to throw up, Osanai stared for a moment at the ugly face and body of Himuro as he slept. Osanai felt sick at the thought that he’d yielded his body to this pig, introducing him to pleasures that were wasted on him. It had been a necessary price to pay for Himuro’s betrayal of Tokita. Osanai would probably have nightmares about it for the rest of his life.
Damn you! May you now be driven mad by subliminal projections you programmed yourself! And with that, may you forget all about your sordid relationship with me! Yes, my friend, you will forget about everything!

Osanai looked at the monitor. Himuro was having one of his own dreams, in which he was frolicking about with a cute bob-haired Japanese doll. The doll was alive, the size of a human. The images in the collector were a program for subliminal projection that had been previously used for Tsumura, or perhaps Kakimoto. Osanai had ordered Hashimoto to feed the images to Tsumura and Kakimoto while they used their collectors and reflectors.

“Much too mild,” tutted Osanai.

It was Osanai who’d persuaded Himuro to steal the DC Minis and bring them to his room, expecting his usual reward in the form of gratification on the sofa. He had then tricked Himuro into drinking a sleeping drug. He’d called Hashimoto, and together they had dragged the sleeping Himuro down to the second basement. Osanai had then ordered Hashimoto to feed the subliminal projections to Himuro. But the projections used for Tsumura and Kakimoto lasted only one-twentieth of a second every three minutes. And they’d been programmed only to stimulate the traumas of Tsumura and Kakimoto. The worst effect these programs would have on Himuro would be to give him delusions of reference; they would not cause the desired effect: a complete disintegration of personality.

Tsumura and Kakimoto were the ones who were most infatuated with Atsuko Chiba. As such, it sufficed merely to give them delusions of reference and remove them from the front line of research and treatment. Then they could be turned into fodder for spreading bad rumors about the Institute to the outside world. But Himuro was different. Having been a willing participant in Osanai’s machinations, he knew everything. There was nothing for it; his mind would have to be destroyed.

Osanai decided to feed Himuro’s mind with the nightmares of a severe schizophrenic, having logged the images from the memory accumulated in his reflector. With this, Himuro would be driven to the very basement of his subconscious, whence never to return. The result would certainly be a complete destruction of his personality.

Before starting the projection, Osanai checked Himuro’s pockets, just to be sure. There should have been six DC Minis, but Himuro had only brought five, saying they were all he could find. Osanai suspected Himuro of hiding one for his own use. But the missing DC Mini was not in any of Himuro’s pockets – unless he’d buried it inside a half-eaten chocolate bar that Osanai found in the unfortunate man’s lab coat.

Osanai started to project the nightmares directly into Himuro’s conscious mind. The images were so horrifying that even Osanai found them difficult to watch on the monitor. Himuro’s limbs instantly went rigid. His facial expression turned to one of heart-rending sorrow. He started to issue moans mixed with weak cries. This continued for about two minutes. Suddenly, Himuro opened his eyes wide, fixed a gaze on Osanai and howled in anguish. The shock was evidently immense. He had the terrified face, the terrified voice of a man who can see his killer in front of him, and realizes for the first time that he is going to die.

Osanai felt a little shiver as Himuro continued to contort his body and scream. Eventually he closed his eyes again. The sobbing continued, but his expression gradually changed to one of imbecility, as if he was being dragged to the very bottom of his subconscious. Even that expression gradually became deformed. Finally, Himuro smiled inanely, suggesting that he’d reached a fundamental state of animal pleasure. This was not a refined pleasure, one made uninteresting by civilization; it was the true, deep essence of pleasure. Reality would suddenly seem extremely boring for anyone who saw it, though it was the product of depravity. Himuro started to issue the low, insane laugh of a psychotic maniac.

19

“Toshimi. Toshimi!”

Noda had made his usual brief appearance at a business party and was heading toward the hotel lobby, firmly intending to make a swift exit, when he’d spotted Toshimi Konakawa stepping out of the hotel pharmacy. Konakawa was a friend from his university days. Tall and well built, he now sported a mustache and looked thinner than before. In fact, Noda was surprised that his friend looked even thinner than when they’d last met two years previously.

Konakawa reacted to Noda’s call with a faint smile and a nod.

“What’s up? Aren’t you well?” asked Noda. There had never been any reserve between them, however exalted their careers.

Konakawa grimaced and looked up at the ceiling. “Is it that obvious?”

“Of course it is! You’re too thin! What are you doing here, anyway?”

Toshimi Konakawa worked for the Metropolitan Police Department. He’d graduated in the same year as Noda, passed the Civil Service exams, and started his career as a trainee detective constable. He’d then worked his way up through the ranks of detective sergeant and inspector before joining the Met. There, he’d risen to chief inspector and superintendent to cement his place as one of the elite members of the force.

“Well, it’s the Chief Commissioner. He’s retired now, you see, and …” Konakawa spoke diffidently with downcast eyes. For some reason, he seemed to be finding things difficult to express. “We’ve just had the … er … farewell party.”

“Oh, I know. That guy who’s standing for parliament or something. Is the party over, then?”

“Aha.” Konakawa was still stuck for words. “I was invited to the, you know, second party, the informal one, but … Well, I didn’t feel like it.”

He seemed in very low spirits, unable even to look his friend in the face. Noda could see right away that he was ill.

“Let’s go to Radio Club,” Noda said in a tone that offered no room for refusal. “I’ve just come from a party myself.”

This was too good a chance to pass up. Noda used to love cruising the nightlife scene with friends in his university days. Sometimes, made brave by drink, he’d pick fights with thugs and hoodlums. Konakawa, a martial arts expert, had saved him from certain injury on many an occasion. If it weren’t for his good friend, Noda might easily have lost an arm, if not more. He still shuddered to think back on those days.

“But …” Konakawa was decidedly lukewarm to the idea. Normally, he would have accepted any invitation from Noda without question. But now he was reticent, even toward the friend who put him most at ease. Noda instinctively felt that something was wrong.

“Come on! Just a quick drink. Yes? I’ve got a car waiting outside. Let’s use it. All right? Jinnai and Kuga have been asking after you …”

“Really? Well …”

As they made their way to Roppongi in the hired limousine, Noda managed to extract one piece of information from his oddly taciturn friend: Konakawa had been promoted to Chief Superintendent about six months earlier.

“Wow! So you’re up to three stars now? Congratulations! And I suppose you’ll be up for Chief Commissioner next?”

This man, once his best friend, had risen so high in society that there was hardly any higher he could climb. Noda was overcome with emotion – so much that he could hardly speak. So much that he could have wept.

Konakawa sighed. It was a dark, mysterious sigh, one that seemed to spring from the depths of his soul, one that spoke of sorrow and remorse, despair and rejection. Noda thought this must have something to do with his promotion. He had to find out about it. Do something to help this precious old friend who stood on the verge of greatness.

Radio Club was still playing old songs like “My Generation” and “Lola,” amid the nostalgic wine-hued atmosphere produced by its teak-clad interior. It still retained its air of tranquillity, thanks largely to its customary absence of customers.

“My!” gushed Kuga, smiling like a Buddhist icon as he bowed solemnly. “Mr. Konakawa! How delightful to see you again!”

“We’ve missed you,” Jinnai called from behind the counter, his whitish teeth contrasted against his darkish skin.

Noda and Konakawa would normally have sat at the counter, to be joined by Jinnai for some light, congenial conversation. But tonight they would need a more select location. The intuitive Kuga instantly understood this from the air that hung about them. He led them to the booth at the back, the one that was like a private room of its own.

“So what’s caused all this?” Noda started without further ado, as soon as their twelve-year-old Wild Turkey on the rocks had arrived.

“Well, you know. I can’t sleep at night.” Konakawa had kept up the same faint smile from the outset. Noda took it to indicate a lack of facial expression.

“Yes, but
why
can’t you sleep at night?”

Konakawa gave his friend a slightly mysterious look. “No reason.”

“Ah – I see. Cause unknown.”

Konakawa said nothing for a moment, but seemed to be ruminating over what Noda had said. Then he straightened his back and slowly shook his head. “There is no ‘cause,’ known or unknown. There’s nothing that could be remotely described as a cause.”

Noda had read books about psychopathology when looking for the cause of his own anxiety. From his knowledge of the subject, Konakawa’s reply immediately suggested clinical depression. One particular characteristic of depression, the type most prevalent at the time, was that it occurred without reason. Of course, Noda couldn’t suddenly tell his friend that he was suffering from depression. He remembered that, in the field of clinical psychiatry, it was considered taboo for a patient to be told the nature of his illness.