Epilogue

It’s July 1998, and I celebrate a little in my head as I finish up the day’s

work early, just before lunch break. I say “work” but really, I’m just more

of a secretary to Miss Tōko than anything, mostly doing the odd job she

needs doing. I’m lucky to even get work at all, having dropped out of college

halfway.

“Kokutō, isn’t today your weekly visit?”

“Yes, ma’am. Soon as I finish this up, I’m going there right away.”

“Oh, don’t delay on account of me. You can go early. There’s nothing

more for you to do here today, anyway.”

I have to say, Miss Tōko’s temperament when her gla.s.ses are on is much

more preferable. And after all, this is a good day for her too; since it’s the

day she cleans that car she’s so proud of to an immaculate sparkle. She

always likes doing that.

“Thanks, ma’am. I’ll be back in about two hours.”

“Bring me back a snack or two, all right?” She waves me a goodbye just

before I close the door to her office.

 Ryōgi is still in the hospital, still in a coma unable to do anything. I

still go to visit her every Sat.u.r.day afternoon. She never told me about any

pain she was holding in, or anything she thought about. I don’t even know

why she tried to kill me. But at least she smiled in the end, even if it was a

faint one. At least she smiled, and that was enough.

Gakutō had it right a long time ago. I was already crazy. I guess that’s

why I am the way I am today even after a brush with death.

I still remember the last time we stood in the sunset lit cla.s.sroom. Under

that burning, blood red sky,  asked me what part of her I believed in.

And I still remember my answer.

“I don’t have any basis, but I trust you. I like you, so I want to keep believing

in you.”

A premature answer, perhaps. I said I didn’t have any basis, but the truth

is, I did. I just didn’t know it at the time. She didn’t kill anyone. That, at

least, I could believe in. Because  knew how painful murder was. She,

above all others, knew the suffering that the victim and the murderer went

through.

That’s why I believed: in , who couldn’t express herself, in Shiki,

who wasn’t given a chance to be a person, in , who was far from pain,

and in Shiki, who knew nothing but pain.

The three pieces now lie poised on the board.

One a mind entwined with a specter floating, and

on death, dependent.

One a life in paradox eternal , and in death, pleasure.

One a predator with origin awakened, and to death,

gnosis.

Three now swirl and dance, and in the spiral of

conflict they wait.

84 • KINOKO NASU / LINGERING PAIN • 84

Part I: Lingering Pain

/ LINGERING PAIN • 85

When I was little, I played house a lot. I had a pretend family, with a pretend

pet, a pretend kitchen, and I would cook pretend food.

But one day, a real blade had accidentally been mixed up in the artificial,

pretend ones.

I had never seen a toy that sharp before, and I used it to play, and in the

process cut myself deeply between the fingers.

I approached my mother with red soaked palms outstretched, and I

remember her scolding me for it, then crying and embracing me, saying “I

know it hurts, but we’ll fix it,” over and over again.

It was not her consolation that made me happy, but her embracing me,

and so I started to cry as well.

“Don’t worry, Fujino. The pain will go away once the wound heals,” she

said while wrapping a bandage around my hand.

At the time, I didn’t understand what she was trying to say.

Because not even for a moment did I feel any pain.

86 • KINOKO NASU

Lingering Pain

“Well, she certainly has her way of introducing herself,” the professor

remarks.

The university science lab has that synthetic smell of chemical disinfectants

that reminds me more of hospitals. But the laboratory equipment

dispels any notion of that quickly. As does the white-coated professor who

Miss Tōko sent me to meet today, who now displays a reptilian smile of full

white teeth while offering a handshake. I take it.

“So you have an interest in parapsychology, eh?” he asks.

“Not really. I just want to know some minor things about the topic.”

“And that’s what you call ‘interest.’” He wrinkles his nose, satisfied at his

show of wit. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’d expect nothing less from

her a.s.sociate. I mean, she asks you to hand her business card as an introduction.

She was always a unique one, and talented. I wish our university

had more students of her caliber.”

“Er…yes, I’m sure your student problems are important.” I’m starting to

see where Miss Tōko gets her ability to ramble so much from. “But I was

asking about—“

“Ah, yes, yes, parapsychology. There are many different phenomena that

fall under that label. Our university doesn’t really deal with it, however. I’m

sure you can understand when I say it’s treated as quack science by most in

my field. There are very few universities here in j.a.pan still giving grants for

parapsychology studies. Even so, I’ve heard a few have had some marginal

successes, though the actual details don’t really—“

“Yes, professor, I’d imagine those studies are fascinating, but I’m more

interested in how people end up having them in the first place.”

“Well, to simplify, you can liken it to a card game. You play card games,

don’t you? What card game is the most popular right now?”

I scratch my head, deciding to go along with this man’s logic. “Erm…

poker, I guess?”

“Ah yes, poker. I’ve had my own fond memories with that game.” He

clears his throat for a moment, then moves on. “Let us say that human

brains are all playing a game. Your brain and mine are playing poker. Most

everyone else in society is playing poker as well. There are other games,

but we can’t play them. Everyone is in consensus that poker is the game

we have to play, because that’s how we define being normal. Are you following

me so far?”

“So you’re saying that everyone plays a boring card game?”

/ LINGERING PAIN • 87

“But see, that’s what makes it better for everyone. Since everyone plays

poker, we’re protected by arbitrary, but absolute rules of our own creation,

and thus we can live in a peaceful consensus.”

“But if I’m getting you right, you’re saying the other games aside from

poker aren’t so clear cut?”

“We can only speculate. Say some other minds are playing a game with

rules that have an allowance for plants to communicate, and maybe other

minds prefer a game that has rules that say you can move a body other

than your own. These are not the same games as poker. They have their

own consensus, their own rules. When you play poker, you play by its rules,

but those playing by the rules of other games don’t conform. To them,

poker doesn’t make a lick of sense.

“So you’re saying that people not ‘playing poker’, so to speak, have some

mental abnormalities?”

“Exactly. Consider a person that knew no other game than the game

where you could communicate with plants. In the rules of his game, he

talks to plants, but he can’t talk to people. People who see him then brand

him as crazy and put him in the funhouse. If he really could talk to plants,

then that’s a person with paranormal abilities right there: a person that

plays a different game, follows different rules, than the game society plays.

However, I’d imagine most people with these sorts of abilities are still capable

of switching their mindsets, so that they can still live mostly unnoticed

in society.”

“Which makes the person that only plays the game where you can talk

to plants a crazy person, since he lacks the shared subconscious experience

and consensus inherent in playing poker, am I right? If he only knows

the other game, and can’t switch between the two, then he’s considered

mentally damaged.”

“That’s right. Society calls these people serial killers and psychopaths,

but I would phrase them more appropriately as ‘living paradoxes’: People

who, because they play by irregular rules of reality, make their existence

itself a contradiction to reality. People who shouldn’t be able to exist, who

can’t exist.” He pauses for a half beat to collect himself, then added. “This

is all hypothetical, of course.” As if he needed to say it.

“Of course, professor. Is there any way to correct a living paradox like

you said?”

“You’d have to destroy the very rules they play by within their minds.

But destroying the brain just equates to killing them, so there’s really no

easy way, or really no other way but to kill them. No one can just suddenly

alter a state of mind or ability like that. If there was, then that person him-

88 • KINOKO NASU

self would also be playing a different game with different rules. Something

like solitaire. I hear that game has some pretty complex rules in it.”

The professor laughs heartily, apparently immensely amused at his own

joke. I can’t say I share the sentiment.

“Thanks, professor. You’ve helped loads. I suppose now I know what I’ll

do when I encounter psychokinetic people.” I say it only half sarcastically.

“Psychokinesis? Like bending spoons, things like that?”

Oh, brother, here we go again. “Or heck, why not a human arm?” That

one was less of a joke.

“If we’re going by spoon bending, then you have nothing to fear. The

force required to bend a spoon would take days to distort a human arm. If

there was someone who could bend an arm, I suggest a hasty withdrawal.”

Now that he mentions it, now’s probably the right time for a hasty withdrawal

myself. “I’m sorry to cut this short, professor, but I really need to go.

I have to get to Nagano, and I’d like to do it today. Sorry for eating up too

much of your time.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine. Come by

any time you need to. And send my regards to Aozaki, won’t you?”

/ 1 • 89

/ 1

Fujino Asagami, still in a state of confusion and disorientation, pulls herself

up in the middle of a darkened room. The silhouettes of people standing

and milling about, once so familiar, are now gone. The light isn’t turned

on. No, not quite right. There was no light in the first place, and darkness

stretches all over the room, with nary a peek or a beam of light seeping in.

She exhales a long sigh, and brushes her long, black hair lightly with

trembling fingers. The loose ta.s.sel of hair she once hung lazily on her left

shoulder is now gone, probably cut off by the man with the knife while he

was on top of her. After remembering that, she slowly surveys the room

around her.

This is– was –an underground bar. Half a year ago, this bar ran into

financial difficulties, and it was abandoned. Not long after, it became just

another abandoned establishment blending in the dying city, a haunt for

various delinquents and robbers. Much of the effects from its better days

still lay forgotten inside. In the corner rests a banged up pipe chair. In the

middle of the room, next to Fujino, is a single pool table. Everywhere in

the room, convenience store food is scattered in rotting, half-finished piles

with c.o.c.kroaches scrabbling all over the remains, and a mountain of garbage

is stacked haphazardly to one side. In a corner, a bucket is almost

filled with urine, a communal container to compensate for the lack of a

working toilet. The combined stench of it all is potent, and almost makes

Fujino vomit.

With no light and no way to know where you are, this dark, secluded

ruin could have been in a skid row of some far off country for all anyone

knows. One wouldn’t even think there was a normal city on the other side

of the door on the top of the stairwell. The faint smell of the alcohol lamp

those men brought here is the only thing that maintains any sense of normalcy.

“Umm…” Fujino mumbles. She looks around slowly, as if this scene is

completely routine. Her body had gotten up from the pool table, but her

mind still has some catching up to do.

She picks up a nearby wrist, flesh showing tears and seemingly twisted

off from the arm. Wrapped lovingly and securely around it is a digital wrist.w.a.tch,

and in glowing green text, it shows the date: July 20, 1998. The

time: 8:00pm, not even an hour after what happened.

All at once, Fujino is a.s.sailed by sudden, blinding pain in her abdomen,

and she lets slip a strained grunt. She staggers from the ache, and barely

90 • KINOKO NASU

stops herself from falling face first to the floor by supporting herself with

her hands. As soon as her palms touch the floor, she hears a soft splash.

Remembering that it had been raining today, she realizes that the whole

room is flooded with water…and something else.

She takes a moment’s glance at her abdomen, and sees the distinct

spatter of dried blood—right in the place where those men stabbed her.

The man who stabbed Fujino was a familiar face to anyone in this part

of town. He seemed to be the ringleader of a crew that consisted of high

school dropouts and various drifters of similar minds and motivations.

They did what they felt: stick-ups, a.s.sault, robbery, arson, drugs, you name

it. They plied their trade in the forgotten maze of backlanes between the

buildings of the commercial district, where no neon glow or curious glance

could ever reach. They emerged from these alleys to the harsh lights of the

peopled avenues for only short intervals, to catch their victims through

coercion or force and had their twisted entertainment for the night. It is on

one such normal night that this crew and Fujino crossed paths.

It was a perfect setup. A student of Reien Girl’s Academy, and quite good

looking, Fujino became a prime target for the men. Perhaps fearing public

vilification, Fujino never told anyone of how she was victimized. This

fact eventually reached the ears of the men, however, after which whatever

hesitance they might have had about being found out disappeared.

They raped her again and again, bringing her to this underground bar after

school. Tonight was supposed to be another routine night, like always, but

their leader apparently got tired of just doing Fujino.

He brought out a knife, probably to bring something a little new to the

table. He’d felt offended by what Fujino did: how she just lived her days as

if they hadn’t done anything to her at all, as if what they did to her didn’t

humiliate her. He felt he needed more proof of Fujino’s humiliation and his

dominance. And he needed just that little bit of violence, that little ounce

of extra pain for that, hence the knife.

But Fujino didn’t even react, her face a blank expression, even when he

had a knife ready to dig deep in her face. This made him truly incensed. He

pushed her down to the table, and got to work.

Casting her eyes downward, Fujino looks at her blood-soaked clothes

and thinks: I can’t go out looking like this.

/ 1 • 91

Her own spilt blood is concentrated only on her abdomen, but she’s

soaked in their blood from head to toe. How stupid of me to get dirtied like

this. Her foot hits one of their scattered limbs on the floor, and it gives a

little shake in response. She considers her options.

If she waits one more hour, the number of pedestrians will start to dwindle.

And the fact that it’s raining only helps. It’s summer, so it’s not too

cold. She’ll just let the rain wash some of the blood of her, and go to a park

and clean herself up there.

After coming to this conclusion, she calms down. Walking away from

the dark pool of water and blood, she takes a seat at the pool table, taking

a count of the scattered limbs to find out how many corpses are lying on

the floor.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Four. Four. Four? No matter how many times I count, it only comes down

to four! A mix of astonishment and terror. One is missing.

“So, one of them managed to escape,” Fujino murmurs to herself. She

lets slip a small sigh.

If so, I’ll be caught by the police. If he’d already run to a station, I’ll be

arrested for sure. But could he really tell the police? How would he be able

to explain what just happened? Would he tell them how they kidnapped

and violated me, and told me to shut up? He’d need a cover story. And none

of them were ever smart enough for that.

She lights the alcohol lamp on the billiard table to get a better view. Its

flickering orange glow illuminates the entire room, making the shadows

twirl and dance. The story of violence in the room is quite visible now: sixteen

arms, sixteen legs, four torsos, four heads, and wet blood spatters in

every direction. Fujino is unfazed by the brutality of the scene before her.

No time to think on that. After all, the count was missing one, which meant

she still had something to do.

Do I have to take revenge?

Her body trembles as if to reinforce her lack of conviction. No more

killing, she tries to tell herself, as earnestly as she possibly can. But she

remembers what they did to her, and what they could do to her if she

doesn’t permanently shut the mouth of the one who escaped. Her body

trembles again, not in anger, but in something else. Delight? A relishing of

what is to come? And, for the moment at least, what doubt lingers in her

mind vanishes.

92 • KINOKO NASU

On Fujino’s blood tinted reflection on the floor, a little smile plays across

her face.

/ LINGERING PAIN - I • 93

Lingering Pain - I

July is about to end, but not before it dumps a lot of business in my plate.

Starting from my friend who, comatose for two years, has finally regained

consciousness, to finishing my second big job since dropping out of college

and working for Miss Tōko, and even having my sister who I haven’t seen

for five years coming here to Tokyo for a visit, I’ve had little time to even

stop and take a breath. I don’t know if starting my nineteenth summer like

this is the good earth’s way of saying “nice job” or “Mikiya Kokutō needs to

be screwed over with greater frequency.”

Tonight is one of those rarest of nights, my night off, so I went with

some of my old high school friends to go drinking. And before I could so

much as glance at an hour hand, I’d noticed it was late and the train had

long since made its last run, leaving me with few commuting options to go

back home. Some of my friends took taxis home, but since my payday was

held off till tomorrow, my budget can’t cooperate. Left without a choice, I

decided to walk back home. Fortunately, my house was only two stations

and a block or two away, not too far a distance.

It was the 20th of July up until a few minutes ago. In the midnight of

the 21st, I find myself walking in the shopping district, which, seeing as

tomorrow is a weekday, sees little foot traffic at this hour. It had rained

particularly hard tonight. Luckily, it stopped just as me and my friends were

going home for the evening, but the asphalt, still wet, is emitting its potent

petrichor smell, and my footsteps make little splashes on the scattered

puddles of the streets and sidewalks.

While the above 30 degree Celsius temperature and the humidity of

the rain work to make this the most miserable stroll in recent memory, I

come across a girl, crouching on the sidewalk and putting pressure on her

stomach with her hand like she was in pain. That black school uniform she’s

wearing is one I’m familiar with. The uniform, made to resemble a nun’s

habit, is the school dress of that academy of ladies of refined taste and

upright morals, the Reien Girl’s Academy. Gakuto jokes that half the reason

for Reien’s popularity is precisely because of the uniform. Not that I’m one

that goes in for that kind of thing; I only know it because my sister Azaka

studies there. I know they’re a boarding school, though, which makes that

girl’s presence here at this late hour doubly suspicious. Or maybe she’s just

some delinquent that doesn’t like to follow school regulations.

Seeing as she’s from my sister’s school, I decide to lend a helping hand.

When I call out a simple “h.e.l.lo” to her, she turns to face me, and her black

94 • KINOKO NASU

hair, wet from the rain, sways when she does. I see her gasp once, though

quite silently, as if trying to suppress it. Her face is small, with sharp features.

She wears her long hair straight down her back, and it separates

around her right ear to form a ta.s.sel that goes down to her chest. It seems

there is supposed to be a similar ta.s.sel on her left ear but it looks like it’s

been cut. That, along with her bangs, cut straight and clean in the school

prescribed manner, makes me think she’s the daughter of some rich, wellto-do

family with an eye for proper grooming standards.

“Yes, what is it?” Her voice is faint and her face is equally pale. Her lips

are tinted purple, the mark of someone with cyanosis. With a hand on her

stomach, she’s trying her best to look at me normally, but the little muscle

movements and the folds in the face that mark a person in pain are obvious.

“Does your stomach hurt?”

“No, er…that is, I…I mean…” She’s pretending to be calm, but she’s

already stumbling all over her words. She looks fragile, like she could suffer

from a mental break down at any moment, not unlike Shiki when I first met

her.

“You’re a long way away from Reien Academy, lady. Miss the train? I

could call a taxi for you.”

“No, you don’t need to. I don’t have any money anyway.”

“Yeah, join the club.” Before I’d realized it, I’d already given her an impolite

answer. Try to salvage this one, Mikiya. “Yeah…so I guess you must live

near here huh? I heard it was a boarding school but you probably have

some special dispensation to go out.”

“Not really. My house is quite far.”

Right. Scratch that.

“So what are you, a runaway?”

“Yes, I think that’s the only thing I can do right now.”

Oh, man, that means trouble. I just noticed that she’s soaked right

through. Maybe she couldn’t find an umbrella or a shade the whole time it

rained, because she is dripping wet all over. The last time I was face to face

with a girl soaking wet in rain, I almost got killed, so I guess that’s why I’m

so awkward around this girl now. You never can trust girls in rain. Still, it’ll

be a waste of time if I don’t help her now.

“So, you want to sleep over at my place just for tonight?”

“…can I?” she asks, still crouching and looking desperately at me. I nod.

“I have a place all to myself, but I’m not making you any guarantees.

I’m not planning on doing anything questionable that might offend your

person, and as long as you don’t do any funny business, we can keep it that

/ LINGERING PAIN - I • 95

way. If that’s fine with you, then you can follow me. Now, since my employer,

in her infinite wisdom, has decided to delay my paycheck, I can’t give

you much money, but I do have painkillers for whatever’s bothering you.”

She looks happy and smiles. I extend a hand to her to help her up, and

she gently grasps it and stands. I notice, for a moment, that there are red

stains on the sidewalk where she was sitting.

Taking her with me, I start to lead her back to my apartment and get us

both out of this wretched night.

“There’s a short walk ahead of us. Tell me if you’re having a hard time. I

can at least be burdened with one girl on my back.”

“You needn’t worry. My wound has already closed up so it doesn’t really

hurt anymore,” she says. The hand that she has yet to remove from pressing

on her stomach, however, says otherwise.

“Does your stomach hurt?” I ask again, as much for her own peace of

mind as mine.

She shakes her head, saying “no.” After that, we continue to walk, and

she keeps her silence for some time. But after walking for a few more minutes,

she nods.

“Yes, it…it really hurts. Is it…all right for me to cry?” When I nod an affirmative,

her face turns into an expression of contentment. She closes her

eyes, looking like she’s dreaming.

She hasn’t really told me her name, and I haven’t told her mine, and I

feel it’s more appropriate that it stay that way. As soon as we reach the

apartment, the girl asks me if she can use the shower, to which I say yes.

She also wants to dry her clothes, so with the lame excuse of buying a pack

of smokes, I vacate myself from the premises for an hour to give her some

time. Man, and I don’t even smoke the d.a.m.n things.

After an hour, I come back to find her already exploiting the living room

sofa by sleeping on it. With all indications pointing to tons of work tomorrow,

I decide to make good what little time I have left for sleep. I set my

alarm clock to 7:30am, and I’m off to bed. Before falling asleep, I take one

last look on her uniform, and can’t help noticing it has the littlest of tears,

just around her midsection.

I wake up the next morning to find her sitting in the living room doing

nothing. Apparently she was waiting for me to get up. Once she sees me

awake, she gives a quick bow.

96 • KINOKO NASU

“Thank you for what you did last night. I don’t have any way to

repay you, but I can at least thank you.” She stands up and makes for the

door.

“Wait up, wait up.” I call after her while rubbing my eyes awake. I can’t

have her leave just like that when she waited for me to get up. “I can at

least get you a breakfast.”

That stops her. Food must really get to her. As I thought, she’s just as

hungry as anyone else would be after her ordeal last night. Now then, I’ve

got some pasta and olive oil at the ready, which makes spaghetti the obvious

choice for breakfast. I quickly whip up two portions of it and carry it to

my dinner table, and we eat it together. Since it seems like she’s not in a

talking mood, I turn on the TV to watch some morning news. It’s the usual

diet of homicide in the city, but this one gave me a strange feeling.

“Ah, strange whodunits with a tinge of the weird. Just the kind of news

that Miss Tōko would love.” If I had said that in the office, I’d probably

already be smacked upside the head with a projectile shoe. But the news

item is bizarre.

The reporter on the scene told the story. Seems four bodies were found

in an underground bar that had been abandoned for a half a year. All four

of them had had their limbs torn off, and the crime scene was filled with

blood. The scene is pretty close by, maybe four stations or so away from

where we were drinking last night.

I make a mental note of the fact that the news said that their limbs were

“torn off” and not “cut off.” Regardless, the news has nothing more on that

angle, and goes on to describe the details on the victims’ lives: all teenagers,

and delinquents who frequently hung around the neighborhood. It

seems they were slinging drugs too; corner boys. They have a citizen on the

mike now, commenting on the victims.

“Those kids knew what they were getting into, and they got it. I think

they deserved to die.”

And with those words, I turn the TV off. I hate it when people say those

things, and I hate it even more when the media goes out of its way to give

people like that the time of day. I turn back to look at my guest only to

find her with a hand on her stomach just like last night. She hasn’t even

touched her food. There really must be something wrong with her stomach.

She looks down, such that I can’t see her face.

“n.o.body deserves to die,” she says in between ragged breaths, causing

her next words come out in whispers. “Why does it still throb? It’s already

healed over, but why—“

Suddenly, she stands up not altogether calmly, making the chair fall to

/ LINGERING PAIN - I • 97

the floor with a noise, and runs to the door. I start to stand up to go after

her, but with head still cast downwards, she raises a palm towards me, as if

to say I shouldn’t come near her.

“Wait, calm down. I think I can—”, I start to say, but she cuts me off.

“No, please. Now I know…I can never go back.” That face—a face of

pain and resistance, a face of contradiction—somehow reminds me of

Shiki. The girl calms down a bit, bows deeply before me, and then turns

the doork.n.o.b.

“Goodbye,” she says. “I hope we don’t see each other again, for both

our sakes.”

Then she opens the door and runs out. The last thing I see is her eyes,

because she looked like she was about to cry.

98 • KINOKO NASU

Lingering Pain - II

After my guest leaves as suddenly and unexpectedly as I found her, I try

to push it out of my mind. She was just a normal girl I found in the street

and, in a spark of altruism, decided to help. She had some kind of pain,

though, that much I can be sure, but the how eludes me at the moment.

Still, no need for me to think on it more than that. She’s gone, and there’s

nothing I can do about it. More importantly, I’m going to be late for work

if I don’t hurry. As soon as I finish up my morning rituals, I’m out the door

instantly.

The place I work in isn’t exactly what you’d call a “company”, not in any

official capacity anyway. My employer is an eccentric sort of woman, the

kind of woman who buys an abandoned building only halfway finished

and makes it her office; a woman in her late twenties, a collector of old,

obscure trinkets, purveyor of ambiguous counsel, and all around weirdo,

Miss Tōko Aozaki.

Ostensibly, she’s a maker of dolls and puppets, but she seems to dabble

in all manner of engineering and architectural work as well. These are, of

course, her hobbies. I may have complaints about how she runs the place,

but she’s managed to keep this little enterprise of hers running before I was

there so she must be doing something right. Besides, I’m not about to challenge

the wisdom of my one and only source of income, especially when

I don’t have a degree in a time when actual job pickings are slim. In fact, I

should consider myself lucky to find any kind of work at all.

The building, which in the middle of my musings I have managed to

reach, is a four story structure, with the office at the top. Nestled between

the industrial district and the housing projects, it projects a feeling of emptiness

and solitude, like it doesn’t belong. The longer you stare at it, the

longer you gain this feeling of imposition, and going inside would be the

last thing on one’s mind. The building lacks modern 21st century luxuries

such as elevators, so I start to climb the staircase.

As I enter the room, one person alone sits atop Miss Tōko’s desk, a girl

that looks decidedly out of place among the stacks of discarded papers and

blueprints scattered all across the room. The girl in a fish-patterned indigo

blue kimono turns her head at my entrance, looking at me with listless

eyes, and I address her.

“Wait a minute. Shiki? What are you doing in this miserable dump?”

“Um, Kokutō? The owner of the place is right behind me, pal,” she says

in a tone of warning, while pointing behind her with her thumb.

/ LINGERING PAIN - II • 99

Shiki moves aside to reveal Miss Tōko seated across the desk, a lighted

cigarette positioned in her mouth, and sharp eyes burrowing into me with

pointed glares. She wears the same simple pattern of white blouse and

black pants, a combination she has upheld so religiously since the day I met

her that you would think she’d wear the same thing at a funeral. She always

seems obliged to wear at least one orange-colored accessory though, and

today it is a single orange earring.

“Yeah, I’d say goodbye to your paycheck if I were you,” Shiki adds. I gulp.

“Hmph. The Lord Tōko Almighty forgives you for your transgression since

you arrived here earlier than I expected. Seriously, Kokutō. I told you there

wouldn’t be anything for you to do for a while so it’s okay to show yourself

around noon, and yet here you are.”

“Miss Tōko, you know I’m not that kind of person.” I can feel my wallet

practically coaching me the words in my head. It’s gets a bit lonely in there

with only the stored value train ticket and phone card keeping each other

company. “So, why is Shiki in this miserable dump?”

“Called her in. Thought there was a little business matter she could help

me with.”

For her part, Shiki seemed uninterested and withdrawn. She probably

went out last night again, since she’s rubbing one of her eyes. It’s barely

been a month since she recovered from her coma. We still find it hard to

talk to each other, but we’re taking it slow for now. Since she doesn’t seem

to be interested in talking to me right now, I sit myself down on my desk.

With no real work to finish, there’s nothing to do but chat.

“Did you happen to see the news this morning, Miss Tōko?”

“You’re talking about the news on Broad Bridge, right? I keep saying it,

but j.a.pan doesn’t need a bridge that big, G.o.ddamit.”

What Miss Tōko is talking about is none other than the big ten kilometer

bridge construction project scheduled to finish next year. This part of town

is about a twenty minute drive away from the city port, a short distance.

The port is situated in a crescent shaped coastline that forms a bay, and

the bridge is planned to cross the gap between the extreme upper and

lower parts of that crescent coastline in one straight highway, supposedly

to divert traffic from the coast. The city’s development council made a joint

venture with some big construction company to “answer the complaints

of the community.” And of course, considering the history of the local

government, a public works project that big has to have some taxpayer’s

money mysteriously disappearing into people’s pockets. It’s a typical story:

the government makes public development projects to answer some new

“problem” the citizens have, which doesn’t exist except in their heads, and

100 • KINOKO NASU

everyone gets money. Worse, it’s going to have its own aquarium, a museum,

and a gigantic parking lot for G.o.d knows what reason; you don’t know

if the place is a bridge or some weird amus.e.m.e.nt park. The locals had been

calling it the Bay Bridge since it started, but going from what Miss Tōko

said, I suppose it’s been officially christened as the Broad Bridge. It goes

without saying that Miss Tōko and I do not hold this project in high esteem.

“Well, yeah, you say that, but I thought you already had an exhibit s.p.a.ce

there?” I comment wryly.

“That was just a complementary ‘thank you’ from the company. If it

were up to me, I’d sell it, but how do you think it would look for Asagami

Construction if I, the designer, refused the offer? But it’s a stupid location,

and it won’t make me a lick of cash.”

Uh oh. She’s talking about deficit again. This has to be going somewhere

I don’t like. I have to find out about this now or else she’s never going to

give me the money.

“Um, Miss Tōko? About the cash. Pardon me for being so blunt with it

but, you had promised me my salary today and—“

“Oh, yeah,” she stretches the word out in a long drawl. “That. Unfortunately,

I’m going to have to postpone your pay for a month.” She spits it

out like an unwanted curse, as if I was the one at fault for asking in the first

place.

“But you had a million or some yen wired to your account yesterday!

How could it all be gone?”

“I spent it, how else?” Miss Tōko rebuts nonchalantly, sitting in her chair

and swiveling it from side to side making squeaking noises and adopting the

general annoying air of feigned ignorance one receives from self-important

people. Shiki and I just affix her with frustrated stares.

“But what on Earth could you spend that much money on?” I cry in

outrage.

“Oh, nothing, just a silly little thing. A Victorian era Ouija board to be

precise. I don’t know if it works or not, but the hundred year value it has

makes it fetch a high price. And if it’s a numina container, then so much the

better. It’ll be a nice addition to my collection.”

I can’t believe how she’s taking all of this in stride. It would have been a

lot more convenient if she was just some two-bit illusionist with some hand

tricks, but her actual sideline is being a mage; like, the real deal. Which is

why she can talk all about esoteric topics such as “numina” or whatnot

while keeping a totally straight face. And yet she can’t even use her magic

to make up some convenient excuse for my lack of pay.

“Come on, Kokutō, even you couldn’t have resisted the bargain price.

/ LINGERING PAIN - II • 101

Don’t be so mad. At least now our wallets finally have something in common.”

Having been shown by her what miracles mages are capable of doing, I

was willing to be tolerant in how she handled things, but this was way too

much. “So that’s it, then? No pay for me this month?”

“Yep. All employees are to find other means of obtaining funding.”

I stand up, and make my way towards the door. “Then, you’ll excuse me

for leaving early, since I’m gonna have to beg, borrow, or steal money to

get by this month?”

“Early in, early out, huh? Just don’t get caught stealing or I’ll feel guilty.”

Then, she switches to a serious tone, as if to indicate the gravity of what

she was about to say. “By the way, Kokutō. I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

Thinking it’s the business between her and Shiki, I try to listen as hard as I

can.

“What, Miss Tōko?”

Then smiling, she says “Can you spare me some money? I’m pretty

broke.”

I pinch my thumb and forefinger together in front of me and say, “This

close to resignation.”

I close the door with resentment; cutting off Miss Tōko’s playful chuckling

soon after.

102 • KINOKO NASU

/ 1

After witnessing the amusing exchange between Tōko and Mikiya, Shiki

at last speaks her mind.

“Tōko, you were saying before we were interrupted?”

“Ah, right. I didn’t really want to take a job like this, but money comes

first. If only I were an alchemist, then I wouldn’t have to worry so much

about living expenses. d.a.m.n Kokutō for not sharing some of that money I

know he saves over,” Tōko says with indignation. She extinguishes her cigarette

on the ashtray. Mikiya is probably thinking something similar himself,

Shiki thinks.

“Well, about that incident last night—“ Tōko starts saying.

“I don’t need to hear any more on that. I get it, for the most part.”

“That so? Crime scene description only, and you can already read this

girl? Sharp one, aren’t we?” Tōko looks at Shiki with eyes laden with meaning.

Tōko has only described the details of the crime scene to Shiki, and yet

Shiki understands that the girl’s story is writ large all over that vivid scene:

proof, if anything, of her natural intuition when it comes to these matters.

Tōko knew she’d understand; they come from the same dirty side of the

world, after all.

“Our benefactor for this job has an idea who the target is. If you encounter

her, orders are to try and see if she goes along quietly. But if she shows

any willingness to fight back, any at all, then oblige her. ‘Least you’ll see if

those blade skills of yours have rusted some.”

“I see.” Shiki’s only answer. To her, the job was simple. Hunt her down,

and kill her. “What do we do about the body?”

“If you kill her, then the client has the means to make this look like an

accident. Don’t worry about the fallout on this one. She’s dead to the

world, as far as our client is concerned. Got no moral qualms about killing

dead people, right?” Tōko gives a little laugh. “So, you in on this? You ask

me, it’s tailor made for you.”

“I don’t even need to answer that.” Shiki starts to walk towards the exit.

“You’re eager to start. Are you spoiling for blood that much, Shiki?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Hey, you forgot this.” Tōko tosses a folder at Shiki. “Some photos and

the particulars on her profile. What the h.e.l.l are you going to do without

even knowing what she looks like?” Shiki doesn’t catch the folder, and it

falls harmlessly to the floor.

“I don’t need a file on this one. You’ve told me where it started, and

/ 1 • 103

that’s where we’re gonna start too. We’re all the same, us murderers: we

attract each other. And when me and this girl meet, there’s definitely going

to be some blood on the floor afterwards.”

And with a rustle of clothes, Shiki departs from the office, the coldness

of her glare the last thing peeking in through the small gap of the closing

door.

104 • KINOKO NASU

Lingering Pain - III

Though I really didn’t want to resort to this, I am left without any other

alternative. I decide to contact an old high school friend to see if I can borrow

some money. I know what places he haunts. I go to the university I

dropped out of not two months ago and wait for him in the cafeteria. Just

a few minutes after noon, right on schedule, the large, imposing shadow

of Gakuto comes into view, easy to pick out among the crowd smaller than

him. Spotting me, he swaggers on over to my table.

“Well, look who decided to come back! How you hangin’, man? Here to

stay for good this go around?”

“Unfortunately, no. School treating you well?”

“Ah, you know, this here’s a game that needs to be played, so I play it.

How about you? If I know you like I know you, you ain’t gonna holler at me

just for a social call. What’s the trouble? How’d that job hunt go?”

“Great, actually. Got a job.”

“So what’s wrong?”

“The job,” I reply dryly. “My generous employer has decided that she’ll

forego the usual paycheck this month, so that leaves me hanging in the

wind.”

Gakuto makes a face halfway between disappointment and genuine

bemus.e.m.e.nt. “That ain’t so bad, man. And here I was thinking it was gonna

be some profoundly life changing s.h.i.t, and you drag your broke a.s.s all

the way down here for extra dough? You sure you’re not some alien in

disguise?”

“Very funny. When you’ve got your back against a corner like this, you

can expect the same hospitality.”

“But to have money being the first thing out of your mouth; it just ain’t

like you. And anyway, ain’t your folks supposed to have your back on this

one?”

“Me and my parents haven’t talked since the big fight we had when I

stopped going to university. How can I go back to them right now like this?

It’d be like surrendering.”

“You got as thick a head as me sometimes, I give you that. Now, don’t tell

me you called your folks names and shouted in their faces or something?”

“I’ll thank you to leave that out of the discussion and focus on the real

topic. So are you gonna lend me some or aren’t you?”

“d.a.m.n, man, you in a fighting mood today. But there ain’t no need to

be, ‘cause I’m feeling awful generous. Plenty from our school called you a

/ LINGERING PAIN - III • 105

friend back then, Mikiya, and that includes me. If I put it out that you’re

in need of cash, we’d all be pitching in to help. So don’t worry, man. We

got your back.” Gakuto pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t misunderstand,

though, this ain’t charity,” he adds. “Friends gotta look out for each other,

after all.”

Seems Gakuto’s got his own favor to ask as well. He looks over the crowd

carefully to see if no one is listening in, then leans his head in closer to me

and whispers.

“The short of it is that there’s some youngin I want you to look for. Old

junior from back in the day, actually. Seems he gone and had his a.s.s caught

up in some heinous s.h.i.t, and he hasn’t come home yet.”

Gakuto continues to explain, mentioning the name of the person in

question: Keita Minato. Gakuto knows him as a member of the bunch that

got cut up last night in the bar, but apparently he’s alive. Whereabouts

unknown, but at a period of time after the time of the killings put out by

the police, Keita called up a mutual friend of him and Gakuto. The friend

then contacted Gakuto, saying Keita was acting strange and incoherent.

“He just kept shoutin’ that he was gonna die and someone be hunting

his a.s.s down. After that, nuthin. Don’t even answer his cell now. Guy who

took the call says he was mixing his words and s.h.i.t, sounding really doped

up.”

The fact that even a high school kid like Keita could purchase dope without

us so much as being surprised was just a fact of the times. Many of the

corners and alleys of mazelike Tokyo have quickly turned into open-air drug

markets, proof of the increasingly high demand for stimulants and depressants

that so many people turn to for the clarity and solace that they felt

society could not give them. However, when you’re the survivor of a ma.s.s

murder and you feel that the killer is coming for you next, when you’re a

person like Keita Minato in other words, your next fix should really be the

last thing on your mind.

“I kinda feel like I’m being thrown into the fire without a hose here. Do

you really think I can survive talking to these hoppers on my own?”

“I’ve faith. You always been like a bloodhound, finding people with next

to nuthin to go on.”

“This Keita kid—does he often do drugs?”

“Far as I know, no. Only them corner boys killed last night were married

to them acid blotters. But if what the friend’s saying be for real, he might’ve

had a change of heart. Come on man, you still can’t search your head for

Keita? He’s that kid that like to tail around your a.s.s some in high school.”

“I kinda have a vague idea, yeah…” During high school, there were some

106 • KINOKO NASU

juniors who liked to hang around me for some reason, possibly because

of me being friends with cool kid Gakuto here. “Well, if he’s just having a

really bad acid trip, then that’d be good…or at least better than what we’re

suspecting,” I mention with a sigh. “Guess I got no choice if I want to live

this month. I’ll check it out and see what I can do. Can you tell me about his

friends? Contacts, connections, anything?”

Gakuto reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small notebook, as if he

was just waiting for me to say it. There’re a lot of names, aliases, addresses

for hang outs, and phone numbers in that notebook, which means a lot of

ground to cover if I want this done quick.

“I’ll be in touch if I find out anything. If I manage to find him, I’ll try to

see him protected as best as I can. That good?” By protection, I mean in

the form of my detective cousin Daisuke. He didn’t have anything to fear

from him. Daisuke’s the kind of guy that can let you go for a drug abuse

charge if you were witness to a red ball murder, which this one could end

up as, what with the mutilation and multiple homicide. Far as Daisuke was

concerned, nabbing the users is small game and a waste of time. Gakuto

nods his a.s.sent, thanks me, and gives me 20,000 yen to start me off.

Once me and Gakuto go our separate ways, I start to make my way to

the crime scene. I’ll have to work this one at least vaguely similar to how

cousin Daisuke works cases if I would have any chance of finding Keita.

I know that I shouldn’t really get involved in this, but Gakuto was right.

Friends have to look out for each other, after all.

/ 2 • 107

/ 2

The sound of a ringing phone resonates in my empty apartment. I screen

the call, as I am wont to do when I’m tired, and sure enough, after five rings

it switches to the answering machine with a beep. Cue his voice: familiar,

yet still feels alien enough so soon after recovering from the coma.

“Morning, Shiki. Sorry to call you so early, but I’ve got a small favor to

ask if it isn’t too much trouble. Azaka and I promised to meet at a café near

Ichigaya station called Ahnenerbe around noon, but something came up

and it looks like I won’t be able to go. You’re free today, right? If you can,

drop by there and tell her I’m not coming.” The message ends there.

I roll my body sluggishly over to the bedside and take a look at my clock,

a digital green “July 22, 7:23am” on its screen; not even four hours since I

came home from my nightly outing. Christ, do I need sleep. I pull the sheets

back over my head. The summer heat doesn’t really bother me much. I’ve

been able to deal well with the heat and cold ever since my childhood days,

and it seems that trait carried over from my…previous life.

Just as sleep was about to take me again, the phone rang a second time.

This time, when the answering machine picked up the message, it was a

voice I knew, but definitely one you didn’t want to hear at just half past

seven in the morning.

“It’s me. Watched the news this morning? Probably haven’t. That’s all

right, I didn’t either.”

What the h.e.l.l? It’s always been at the back of my mind, but now I can

definitely say that I have absolutely no idea what the f.u.c.k goes on in Tōko’s

head; it is an incomprehension that sometimes continues on to her speech

more often than I’m comfortable. It requires at least a few precious seconds

of cranial spelunking before you can start to understand what she’s

saying, a trait which always tends to leave you at a disadvantage when

talking to her.

“Listen up. I’m gonna phrase this in a way even your sleep-deprived

brain can process. Three interesting deaths last night. Another jumper that

hit pavement, and some girl who killed her boyfriend. I know, I know, same

s.h.i.t, different day, right? But here’s something that’ll help you out:” she

pauses. “Our little killer struck again.”

Tōko hangs up abruptly, leaving me to wonder what she thought I would

feel when confronted with these facts. Did she expect me to feel a rush

of n.o.ble intention, and a renewed commitment to this job? How could I,

when I still see the world I just awakened back into in a hazy grey veil, when

108 • KINOKO NASU

I am yet to even feel the world of my senses in a manner that seemed

coherent and real? Harsh as it may be to admit, but the deaths of these

people with no relation to me faze me less than the rays of the sun beating

down on me.

After sleeping in for a while more, I get up much later, only when my

fatigue finally gives ground. I cook breakfast in the manner that I remember,

after which I start to dress. I choose a light orange kimono, which

should be cooler if I’m going to walk around town all day. It’s then that I get

that feeling again, which causes me to bite my lip: a feeling that someone is

watching me do all of this from afar. Even my wardrobe choice is one from

a memory that I feel far removed from. I wasn’t this way two years ago. The

two years of emptiness created a rift, a boundary line between the past

and now, as if creating two very different people, yet sharing the same collective

memory. It felt as if the weight of that memory, those sixteen years

of life before the accident, kept pulling the strings attached to me. I know

it’s probably just an after effect of the coma, some brain damage from the

accident at the worst. I know that no matter how much I spit on this emptiness,

this fabricated dollhouse of a lie, in the end, it’s still me pulling those

d.a.m.n strings. h.e.l.l, maybe it’s always been me.

By the time I finish dressing up it’s almost eleven o’ clock. I press the

“Messages” b.u.t.ton on my answering machine, repeating the first message.

“Morning, Shiki…,” repeats the voice I have heard many times in the

past.

Mikiya Kokutō. The last person I saw before the accident two years ago.

The only person I trusted two years ago. I have many recollections of being

with him, but all of it missing details, as if I was looking at a tampered

photograph, something in them not squaring with what I know. And one

memory is a gaping hole, completely gone: my last memory of him and

the accident. Why was  in an accident? Why was Mikiya’s face the last

thing I saw?

It’s the reason I still feel awkward talking to Mikiya: I feel like I should

know something important about him but it’s missing in my head, and

without it I won’t be able to carry out an actual conversation without

them. If only these memories lost to oblivion were stored in an answering

machine too.

“…tell her I’m not coming.” The answering machine stops and falls silent.

It’s probably just another after effect of the coma, but hearing his voice

softens the annoying itch in my mind. Problem is, that’s the itch that makes

me feel alive. It’s the itch that tells me to kill.

/ 2 • 109

It’s only a short forty minute walk to Ahenenerbe. The café sports their

unusual German name on a sign hanging above the entrance, which I

spare only a momentary glance at before entering the establishment. Once

inside, I immediately notice the dearth of customers, despite it being noon,

the hour when college kids frequent cafés to write a novel or do some other

boring activity. The café has little lighting. Its sole sources of bright light

come from the entrance and four rectangular windows placed on either

side of the shop, admitting the sunlight and silhouetting the tables and

customers sitting there in a dark, hard-cut outline. The tables further inside

the shop aren’t so lucky. It paints a nostalgic picture, as if some European

middle ages tavern had stepped out of antiquity into the modern age.

I spot a pair of gaudily uniformed girls in a table way in the back, and a

quick glance confirms that it is indeed Azaka Kokutō, along with another

girl. Strange—Mikiya never mentioned another girl. Oh well, no biggie.

“Azaka,” I call out, while walking briskly to their table.

Azaka herself is quite a character on her own. She goes to a fancy girl’s

boarding school, so she acts the part, complete with a tendency for being

ladylike. But you take one look at the way she carries herself and you realize

it’s all an act. At her best, she has an amazingly compet.i.tive streak in

her, as well as a boldness that is sorely lacking in many people these days.

In contrast to her brother, who endears himself to people by sheer likeability

and charm, Azaka is a figure who commands respect with a single, solid

look in her eyes. Those eyes now turned to me as she does a quick about

face at my voice calling out her name.

“Shiki…Ryōgi,” she says, each syllable uttered and spat out like an insult.

The lingering animosity towards me that she tries so hard to keep in is so

palpable I can swear I almost feel the temperature rise. “I have a prior

engagement with my brother. I have no business with you.”

“And it seems your brother has a prior engagement of his own,” I say,

egging her on. “He said he can’t come. You know, this might just be me, but

I think you just got stood up.”

A single restrained gasp. I don’t know if she’s shocked that Mikiya just

treated their promise like trash, or the fact that it’s coming from me and I

came down here to tell her.

“Shiki, you…you put him up to this, didn’t you?!” Azaka’s hands tremble

in barely suppressed anger. I guess it’s the latter, then.

“Don’t be an idiot. He’s done his level best to p.i.s.s me off too. I mean

really, asking me to come all the way here just to send you away?”

Azaka glares at me with eyes full of fire. At that moment, her friend,

110 • KINOKO NASU

who has until now remained silent, interrupts; and a good thing too, since

Azaka looks like she’s about to abandon her carefully cultivated demeanor

of placidity by seeing how well she could throw a teacup to my face at

point blank range.

“Kokutō, everyone’s staring,” the girl says in a voice as slender as a wire.

Azaka looks around the café for half a beat, and then embarra.s.sed, she

sighs. “I’m sorry, Fujino. I don’t know what came over me. I just ruined your

day, didn’t I?” she says apologetically. I haven’t really looked at this Fujino

clearly up until now. Though she and Azaka look somewhat similar by virtue

of the uniform and their school’s grooming standards, their demeanor

cannot be more different. While Azaka has a hidden strength behind the

prim and proper façade, her companion Fujino looks, at a glance, more

fragile, as if she were sick and could collapse at any second.

“Are…you okay? You look kind of—“, I involuntarily say. She answers only

by looking in my direction. The way her eyes pa.s.s over me feels as if she’s

looking at something beyond me, like I was just an insect on the ground

to be ignored. My gut tells me she’s dangerous, and my mind itches again.

My reasoning tells me that there’s no way a girl like her could do anything

like what happened to the victims in that underground bar, and the itch

recedes. “Never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything,” I conclude.

That crime scene was the handiwork of someone who enjoyed murder,

and a girl like this Fujino could be someone like that. Reason says her hands

are too weak to twist and tear off their limbs like that anyway. I turn my

attention away from her an