Part VII: The Second Homicide Inquiry

/ PROLOGUE • 127

Only our frozen sighs played between us

As we watch our heartbeats fade slowly into stillness

Soon, all of the dear and treasured memories

Will become mere regrets, weak and soon to fade.

Even the memory of rain:

Of an endless gray veil seen after school

Even the memory of sunset:

Of a cla.s.sroom ablaze in orange light

Even the memory of snow:

Of the white night of first contact, and the black umbrella

Beside me you would smile, and that would be enough

To bid my soul rest, turbulent though it was

Beside me you would walk, and that would be enough

To bid the rift between us close, distant though it was

Once, a moment in time

We stopped for shade, warm unmoving sunlight peeking through leaves

And there, as you laughed, you said that one day we’d stand in the same place

They were words that I’ve yearned to hear for so long

But now it is but the fleeting remains of the day

/Empty Boundaries

128 • KINOKO NASU

Prologue

1999, February 1.

It’s the beginning of the last year of a millennium, and the tip of a new

millennium’s inception. And as with most arbitrary shifts and divisions of

temporal measurements, people start to cling to the words of prophets

and doomsayers, whether out of personal profit or the osmotic and infectious

effect of a panic in slow-boil. Wrapped as the city currently is in this

nearly tangible layer of artificial menace, as well as a more easily perceived

winter whose temperatures have reached levels atypical from the past few

years, I, Mikiya Kokutō, have decided to spend this night walking together

with Shiki.

Winter is at its height, and these days, the sun is already well set after

five in the afternoon, granting an early evening veil to the entire city. My

breath is visible in white puffs before my mouth, and beside me Shiki is in

the same state. The both of us are, I suppose, ever reliable (some would

even say predictable) in how we dress. A dark-colored coat worn above a

black turtleneck sweater paired with black slacks for me. While Shiki wears

a blue kimono coupled with a red waist-length leather jacket, all the while

having a pair of high combat boots donned. I’ve long since given up asking

her if she’s ever cold in that attire. I’ve seen her in it ever since three

years ago. The heat or the cold never seem to affect her as much as it does

anyone else.

Shiki offered to meet me on my way home after finishing work, which

is not something she often does, and is an act I often a.s.sociate with some

ulterior motive on her part.

“Alright, out with it. There’s something really important up if you can’t

muster enough patience to wait for me back at your place. Taking the trouble

to meet up with me so near the office is a pretty rare event.”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just been a little…dangerous lately, so I thought

I’d see you home.” Her face is sullen as she casts her eyes about the surrounding

area, never really looking at me. The wind blows a lonely breeze

our way, and Shiki’s kimono flutters slightly.

Shiki Ryōgi has always donned that style, ever since the day I first met

her in high school. It always makes her look kind of strange, but I have to

admit that it goes well with her height (around 160cm). Her hair frames her

face, and always looks to be haphazardly cut to terminate at collar height.

Like her hair, her eyes are a threateningly deep black. As if to contrast all of

this, though, she always speaks in a tone as rough as she likes, and almost

/ PROLOGUE • 129

without a thought for the next word. It always throws people for a loop

the first time around. Now, she retains a posture more dignified and n.o.ble

than beautiful, even as she walks and surveys the streets still partly awash

in quickly retreating sunlight, as if she were a carnivore on some kind of

hunt.

I call her attention. “Shiki, you’ve been acting kind of funny lately.”

“How funny can I be if you aren’t even laughing?”

She says this lazily, lacking her usual spirit. Normally, she’d glance over

at me just to enjoy my usual frown after her wit, but she keeps her eyes

occupied elsewhere. Well, if she’s not in the mood to talk, then so be it. I

keep pace alongside her, and proceed without another word. Shiki leads

the both of us toward the direction of the train station near her house,

which at this hour must still be packed. The way there, however, is as dead

as midnight, with only me and Shiki walking along the narrow back streets.

Without the lights on in the shops, and the street lamps, you’d think there

was some kind of calamity. There’s a reason for it, though. I would guess

it’s the same reason Shiki thinks she needs to walk me back home.

Lone people who walk at night are being reported missing or turning up

dead. Now, given the usually low crime rate in the area, this would have

been shelved as something of a statistical anomaly. If it wasn’t so similar to

the winter three years ago.

In my first year in high school, there was a serial killer that put the city

in a bit of a panic. He’d only appear in the night, and conduct violent ritual

killings on people for no discernible reason. All in all, he killed seven people.

Despite the numerous inquiries and cooperation with the media, the

police’s desperate attempt to catch him failed, and a solid suspect never

materialized. With no other murders fitting the pattern, it was a.s.sumed the

serial killer had stopped, and the case was buried cold.

The first murder started around summer four years ago, and the killer

went to ground at around winter three years ago. I remember it being a

cold February, with me and Shiki about to enter our second year. It was

only afterwards that Shiki got into a car accident, and lapsed into a coma.

As for me, I eventually graduated from high school, and moved on to college,

but it only took a month for me to drop out, and soon after, I found

employment with Miss Tōko. Shiki herself recovered from her coma only

last year in summer. For me, the entire affair with the serial killer is a thing

of the past.

I imagine, however, that it isn’t the same for Shiki. To her, it would have

only seemed to be half a year ago. The recent strings of killings fit the same

gruesome pattern as four years ago, and the TV news has been playing it up

130 • KINOKO NASU

as a return of the old culprit, with all the graphics and reenactments that

come along with such a high profile story, almost as if the news networks

were just lying in wait to spring the story fresh on their viewers again. Still,

I can’t help but notice Shiki looking grimmer by the day the more she hears

of it. I’ve only ever seen her like that once, three years ago, before the accident.

When  Ryōgi, still containing her other, masculine, Shiki personality,

told me that she was a murderer.

The train station is a taste of normalcy when we get there, as it is filled

with all the usual number of people. Unlike the residential district we had

just pa.s.sed through, the station is brightly lit and packed with people going

to and fro in a hurry, and the activity spills into the surrounding commercial

district. Only one of few places in the neighborhood that you could count

on the serial killer not making an appearance. Yet even here, the influence

is felt. The way people draw closer together, as if to close ranks, and the

touch, however slight, of fear on all their faces, guarded though they may

be. The night’s just begun, and rush hour ensures a nearly endless stream

of people.

Pa.s.sing the busy station and making our way through the commercial

district, we pa.s.s an appliance store, the television on display showing the

evening news. At a glance I already see what I expect: another feature story

on the killer. While I quickly pay it no heed, Shiki is led to halt in front of

it, her eyes affixed on the screen, so I reluctantly stop alongside her.

“Mikiya, take a look at this,” Shiki says, with a chortle, “they’re calling

him a murderous monster.” She’s right. In fairly large letters, bulleted by an

X mark in the bottom of the TV, it says How the Murderous Monster Began.

“I guess they thought just ‘killer’ wouldn’t make people nervous enough.

A murder count exceeding ten is nothing to laugh at, I know, but don’t you

think they’re being a bit sensationalist, though?”

With an eyebrow raised, Shiki finally looks at me. “Well, yeah, that’s

obvious. But I think they’re kind of right, though. If anyone right now deserved

to be called a monster, it would be this guy. He wants the attention,

the spectacle. He’s glad for it. Monsters rarely need a reason. The victims

certainly never got one before they died. That’s why you can’t really call

this a murder.” She returns her attention to the television, seeing the faint

image of herself reflected on the gla.s.s surface of the screen.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Ma.s.sacre and murder can be different. Maybe you’ve forgotten,

Kokutō? That a lifetime only has room for one real murder.” She looks into

my eyes then, as straight as she can manage. Normally, she looks quite

/ PROLOGUE • 131

detached, almost sleepy, as if she’s looking at something far away. But now

there is an intensity in her black eyes, a pleading to some ancient memory.

“One real murder…” I allow my voice to trail away. I definitely recall

hearing something like that from her before, but when? And where? It was

only long after this particular moment, when I can look back, and regret.

Maybe if I remembered it, at that moment, all of what followed could have

been avoided.

“Never mind,” Shiki finally says after a few seconds. “It’s not important.

Anyway, let’s get ourselves home. I just woke up, and if I don’t eat something

I’m never gonna calm down.”

“Wait, you just woke up? What happened to school? Did you forget that

it’s a Monday today, or did you just decide to sleep over?”

Her face breaks into a sly smile. “Calm, deep breaths,” she pleads mockingly.

“I was at school this morning, c’mon. I meant my afternoon nap.

Actually, I never told you, but my grades have been getting better since

November, you know? C’mon, tell me you’re surprised.” I nod, genuinely

taken aback. Her grades had been slipping as badly as her attendance rate,

and I was worried she wouldn’t make it by year’s end. When I nod, she

makes a self-satisfied sound, and puts her hands inside her coat pocket.

“Right, then a reward’s in order, then!” declares Shiki out of the blue.

“Azaka kept bragging to me about this fancy joint you took her to down in

Akasaka. And whaddya know? I’ve actually always wanted to go and try it

out. Oh, how I so wanted to kill her then.”

The disturbing thing about Shiki saying that is knowing full well that she

has a knife and has used it before. Before I can have a say in the matter,

she grabs me by the arm and leads me away. I’m not entirely sure where

she’s leading me just yet, but if her previous remark is any indication, it’s to

Akazaka, where half of my paycheck will be no more than shattered hopes

and dreams in the face of one night’s meal, and it doesn’t look like there’s

any stopping her. Silently, I curse Azaka for telling Shiki about where I took

her on New Year’s.

Oh well, might as well enjoy this. After all, it feels like it’s been such a

long time since we had a real date. In fact, the last time may well have been

four years ago, back in high school, when she still had the boy Shiki inside

her. She reminds me of him tonight actually, and I don’t think to question

where this could have come from. Beyond the aloofness that she had earlier

this afternoon, I didn’t see anything out of place.

So we started February with an expensive dinner, and a night walking

around town, just being together and enjoying ourselves like it was the last

night we were allowed to do so.

132 • KINOKO NASU

The Second Homicide Inquiry - I

- April 1995. I met her. -

It has been a week since the night that me and Shiki chanced upon that

news report on TV. The label the news gave to the killer, a “murderous

monster,” ended up sticking, and lately, everybody’s been using it, even

Daisuke Akimi, my uncle, who at 5am in the morning, now sits in my modest

apartment, helping himself to a slice of French toast that I made for him as

he skims the morning paper. The date on the broadsheet reads February 8.

Unfortunately, in the six intervening days since he’s received the moniker,

the ‘murderous monster’ has claimed six more victims, one for each day.

“G.o.d, they’re really sticking with this name, aren’t they?” remarks

Daisuke. “I thought the department made a deal not to get the names of

the vics out so quick too. Makes the job harder, you know?” To hear him

talk would make you think he was discussing some other person’s case,

which is far from the truth. In fact, he has a relationship with it as close

as kin. He was the primary detective on the case three years ago, and the

bra.s.s have seen fit to saddle it with him again, being the most informed

officer they have. It only makes sense.

“Are you sure it’s alright for you to be lazing about here, Daisuke? I

mean, I’m looking at the front page of that paper, and it’s the story of the

last night’s fatality right there.” I say as I eat my breakfast at the table,

facing Daisuke. His face is hidden behind the newspaper, but I know that

he heard me.

“I’ve been running around checking leads for a week now, and every day

there’s a fresh murder. Let the SDF handle it, why don’t they? I need a little

break ‘round this time sometimes, anyway. Thanks again for the breakfast,

little buddy.” I watch as he takes his coffee mug from the table, and see it

/ THE SECOND HOMICIDE INQUIRY - I • 133

disappear behind the newspaper before he gulps and places it back. All of

this is pretty much standard procedure any time he comes here. He takes

a break for thirty minutes for breakfast, he reads the paper, he chats, and

he goes out. He used to do this at my folks’ place back when I was in high

school too, and he saw fit to bring the tradition here, not that I mind.

“I’m sure the SDF would just completely botch it all up anyway. You’re

the best detective the Metro Police has.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure about that. But whatever the case, a man has limits,

and I’m pretty sure hauling a three year old case out of the graveyard to

haunt the motherf.u.c.ker who tried to solve it is d.a.m.n near toeing the line.”

He quickly closes the newspaper and folds it as he continues. “G.o.d, I just

need to talk about this to someone that ain’t police. Listen, Mikiya, what

I’m about to tell you is really cla.s.sified stuff, but I trust you. Don’t even

think about telling it to your friends or family, you got it?”

I nod. Though I wouldn’t think of letting anything of what he’s about to

say leak out, he’s obviously never heard of the story about King Midas and

his donkey ears.

He begins. “Right, so like last time, this one’s a complete stone whodunit.

No suspects, which means no motive. No connections. Only one weaka.s.s

witness, even in the killing spree in the past seven days. Last time, the

only leads we got were your school emblem and the perp’s skin, which

didn’t bingo a match in the offender database. But…well, I’m not sure just

yet, but he might be changing up his game.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you know how he’s been nabbing citizens since last fall, right? We

weren’t sure yet that it was him back then, so the media didn’t latch on to

the story until the killings started this year, when he started getting sloppy.

Especially in the past week.”

“Leaving evidence, you mean,” I suggest.

“Which is weird, right? We can’t put a face to the f.u.c.ker for four years

going now, but now he decides to change his pattern? Doesn’t sound right.

It might just be a copycat.”

“But that can’t be right,” I muse, thinking back on how Daisuke described

it to me four years ago. “The exact manner of how the victims died hasn’t

been leaked to the public. I only know because you told me. If this guy was

a copycat, he couldn’t have known exactly how to conduct the murders.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Daisuke says with a resigned sigh. “I wonder,

though. The murders four years ago struck me as less ritualistic and more…

like someone who was just getting used to what he could do, and he decided

to play around, you know? He was at least leaving a body to be found

134 • KINOKO NASU

back then. Now…” he clears his throat, and shakes his head, as if to rid his

mind of a self-made image, before he continues. “…now he’s just leaving

severed arms or legs. If he’s trying to clean up his act, then why take all that

time to hide a body but leave the limbs intentionally?”

“Calling card, maybe? A signature for the police to know him by? He’s

gloating,” I think out loud.

“Yeah, that’s where my mind automatically goes, too. But it didn’t look

like the limbs were cut, that’s for sure. There’s no clean cut, or even the

signs of multiple attempts to hack them off. They look like they were…

torn off, or twisted right out.” Daisuke smiles then, and makes a chuckle,

the heaviness in his features leaving him for a moment. “Heh, heard any

escaped alligator urban legends out there lately, Mikiya?”

“Nah,” I say, chuckling now too. “If I do, though, you can get lost. I’m

keeping it as a pet just to spite you.” I drink from my coffee now too, the

temperature finally becoming agreeable. I use the moment to hide my

expression when my mind wanders to four years ago…and Shiki.

It was four years ago when Shiki told me she was a murderer. But that

couldn’t have been true. I can’t believe she would kill anyone. Not truly.

She was never ready to swing that knife down on anybody. I’ve always put

my faith in her. But, if that’s true, then why does my mind now go back to

thoughts of her?

“Your witness,” I say quickly, as if doing so would banish the thought

from my mind. “You said you had a weak one. What’s that about?”

“Yeah, from last week’s incident downtown over at commercial. Place

is packed full of people at most hours so it must have been pretty hard for

the killer to hide what he was doing. Sure enough, even though the crime

scene was an alley, someone pa.s.sed by. Witness managed to see the perp

booking it after the murder took place, said he wore a kimono. Actually

though, the witness can’t say for certain whether the suspect was actually

a guy or a girl. Like I said, no legs on that info just yet.” Daisuke shrugs as

he says this, and rests his head on a hand propped up on the table. “It’d

be nice if we can at least bring in some viable targets for questioning. The

bra.s.s is pretty hung up on getting the ‘monster’ and tying this up quick. Far

as I know, the pressure’s coming all the way from city hall.”

“A red ball. Media coverage is getting kinda crazy hysterical too.”

“Best road to stress, I tell ya. Gotta thank you for this, Mikiya.”

“It’s why I’m here.” Yet even as Daisuke shares the new information

about what the witness saw, he returns it unknowingly to Shiki. Who else

do I know that walks around at night in a kimono? My fingers clutching

the coffee cup seem to go numb for a moment, but I manage to retain my

/ THE SECOND HOMICIDE INQUIRY - I • 135

composure.

“One more thing I gotta ask you,” says Daisuke, adopting a more hushed

tone now. “Now Mikiya, I know you know your fair share about the drug

trade here in Tokyo. Whoever’s slinging the best s.h.i.t, who the players are,

that sort of thing.”

“I guess so,” I venture hesitantly. “I mean, more than the average person,

sure. But I’m sure you’ve got a pool of guys over at your narcotics bureau

better acquainted with that than me.”

He waves a hand in the air dismissively. “A bunch of conservative old

hacks playing at understanding what games the kids play now, and deluding

themselves that buy-busts are the ultimate answer. That includes me.”

He gives a mocking chuckle before pulling out a polaroid photograph from

his coat pocket, setting it down on the table for me to see.

In the photograph are two evidence bags, one containing something

that looks like a bunch of stamps, and another with some kind of gra.s.s

inside. The labels on the bags have the words “mescaline” and “THC” written

prominently on them, alongside how many grams of it is stored, and

below that is the chain of custody for the evidence. I recognize them easily

enough.

“The stamps are LSD, right? The other is weed I’m pretty sure.”

“Well, kinda like weed. The forensics guys told me that the THC and CHC

content in the hemp are very low.”

“So it’s not marijuana.” It can’t have been. You would have to have

enough THC, the psychoactive substance found in weed, for it to qualify.

“It’s probably something more like tochigishiro.”

“Which is what?”

“A specially bred strain of hemp developed here in j.a.pan. Because hemp

growing is regulated heavily by the prefectural governments, they’ve got a

pretty strict ceiling on how much THC should be in usable hemp, which is

at 1%. The hemp that used to be grown natively here in j.a.pan usually sat

at around 1.2 to 1.8%. So, to comply with the new prefectural policies, they

developed a low-THC strain in Hiroshima, called tochigishiro. Obviously it

didn’t stop illegal plantations or smuggling of marijuana inside the country.”

Daisuke nods, his eyes showing their characteristic concentration. He’s

following along with a genuine curiosity now. “So what does the picture

have to do with anything?” I ask.

“Most of the murder victims this past week had some in their possession

on time of death,” Daisuke explains. “But hey, what do I know? They’re

kids fooling around at night so maybe it’s no surprise, eh?”

“Unfair generalizations aren’t going to get you anywhere, Daisuke.”

136 • KINOKO NASU

“Which is why I’m turning to you for opinions. You know these street

hoppers better than I do.”

“To be honest, I don’t really know about that. I haven’t been in contact

with any of the street level dealer guys for at least half a year. They might

have changed up their boys, especially the guys who sell acid. They do rotations

so they don’t get caught so easily. The c.o.c.ktail slingers too.”

“c.o.c.ktails are two drugs mixed together in one dose, right?”

“Yeah. I hear the popular thing right now is speedb.a.l.l.s: when they mix

cocaine with heroine or morphine in one needle. Powerful stuff. Very

dangerous too, if you aren’t careful.”

Daisuke narrows his eyes. “You’re suspiciously knowledgeable about all

this. You aren’t taking any, are you?” he asks. Though I’m pretty sure he

isn’t serious, I decide to answer him truthfully anyway.

“Do I look like I do? If I was a dope fiend, you’d know it with one look at

me. I’m a pretty easy guy to read, or so people tell me. I’m not one to try

drugs. I’ve just got a…well, an old high school friend who knows a lot about

it.”

“Fine, fine, I believe you,” he says dismissively as he stands up, though

it doesn’t escape my notice that he noted my hesitation in saying Gakuto’s

name. “Anyway, gotta get back to work soon or they’ll light my a.s.s up. Last

question, though. Is weed an upper or a downer?”

I sigh, thinking regretfully on how little this supposed detective uncle

of mine knows about the whole thing, despite being on the job for years

now. “That’s a question I’m sure even your narcotics people can answer,

but whatever. It actually isn’t clear what weed is. Different people have

different reactions. For some it’s a stimulant, and to others it’s a downer,

and also a hallucinogen. For a few people, it doesn’t even leave any strong

effect. Other drugs have been extensively studied and their effects doc.u.mented,

but the THC in weed is the only thing that remains a mystery.”

“Heh, thanks for that. I’m a homicide guy, not in narcotics, so I don’t

know everything about it,” he says as he grabs and puts on his coat. “I’ll be

sure to bone up on it, though. Looks like I’m gonna need it soon enough if

the stuff keeps getting found on victims. Might be enough to form an angle

on the case.” He gives me a short wave as he walks toward the entrance

of the house, and I wave him back. He opens the door, admitting the noise

of raindrops a.s.saulting the rooftops of the buildings outside. “G.o.d, f.u.c.king

rain again?” Daisuke complains as he heads out and closes the door behind

him.

“Just has to spill the beans to me, doesn’t he?” I whisper to myself. The

conversation with him left a gloomy undercurrent to the room, though, and

/ THE SECOND HOMICIDE INQUIRY - I • 137

as the dreary dawn light peeks in through the window, I finish my breakfast

and get a sudden urge to take the day off. I quickly call Miss Tōko up and

inform her. Her reply is curt.

“Whatever you plan on doing, take it easy.” She says it like an order, not

a mere suggestion. Before I get a chance to a.s.sure her, there is a click on

the line; she’s put the phone down. She knows what I’m up to for sure.

She’s always had strangely accurate intuition.

There’s only one good reason I need the day off today.

I haven’t seen any sign of Shiki for a week now.

The past week had seen a new murder turn up every day, and since it all

started, she hasn’t come back to her room, or her old Ryōgi family estate.

I can’t get in touch with her, and n.o.body I know seems to have seen her. It

doesn’t take a genius to see what reason she could have for doing it.

If the murderous monster really is the same serial killer from four years

ago, then Shiki is out there, searching for answers. But I don’t even know

who this monster prowling the streets is. And I know that the memories

related to her old Shiki personality have all vanished along with him, which

means we’ll never be able to prove if she was related to those crimes or

not.

Maybe I’m not the one that can break this case wide open. But there

are far too many memories that will be betrayed if I wait any longer. Shiki’s

disappearance heralds something far worse. I can feel it. And before that

happens, I need to find the truth. Me. Because this isn’t someone else’s

problem. From four years ago until today, this has always been mine and

Shiki’s problem. We just kept prolonging it, afraid to face it. So to understand

it, I need to start investigating, not for someone else, but for my own

sake.

I step outside the house, seeing the rain cover everything in an unceasing

grey veil. I pop open my black umbrella and travel to the crime scenes

of the past week. I reach last night’s spot, an alley in one of the busier

portions of downtown. People are walking the sidewalk as if nothing had

happened last night, trying not to notice the alley which still has policemen

standing guard and yellow police lines stretched over the mouth of

the entrance, and a similarly yellow tarp covering the top of the entire

alleyway. Preserving the crime scene for at least a day, they can do no more

than that. I leave, and head to the other crime scenes, hoping to find them

less guarded. Luckily, the police have abandoned them, and I’m able to pry

through them without notice.

By the time I reach my third crime scene, I barely notice that much of

the day has pa.s.sed, and it is already early afternoon. If I wanted to pay all

138 • KINOKO NASU

the places a visit and give them a thorough search, it’d probably take me

until late tonight. This is all useless. The crime scenes are open and they’re

more than likely already tampered, if not through daily traffic, then surely

through the continuous day of rain. But without a single clue, what can I

really do? This investigation is kid’s stuff for now, but before I take it up a

notch, I have to make sure not to leave a stone unturned. And so with just

my umbrella for company, I wander alleyways tainted by murder.

The late winter rain is icy cold, and hasn’t let up the entire day. The rain

in this month has always had a special melancholy attached to it for me.

It’s had that for me for three years. After all, it was this month, three years

ago, when I lost her.

***

“I…I want to kill you.”

It was a very gentle smile.

The girl in the red kimono had a knife pointed at me, hovering above my

neck. In one terrifyingly brief moment,  Ryōgi raised the blade. I, lying

on the ground while she straddled me, could do nothing but to look into

the eyes of my coming death. Like a guillotine, the knife blade shone in the

rain, and she brought it down in a strike swift and true.

But the knife did not pierce my neck, did not strike home in my flesh, but

instead stopped unsteadily an inch or two before making its mark.

“Why?”  whispered in a voice incredulous and unbelieving. The

totality of the question was left unvoiced. Why can’t I kill you?

In that moment, I felt the fear ebbing away slowly, replaced with a growing

pity at this girl, whose existence was at once given meaning by a desire

for murder and her disgust of it. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. But it

was only for one, lucky moment.

I saw her look at her own arm, and in those eyes there was nothing but

anger and contempt at her own actions. She took her other hand, letting

it clutch her blade arm, as if to force it to action. This time, I thought, this

time it will be the end.

But something interrupted us. A man approached beside us, seeming to

come from nowhere at all, wearing a great black coat like a monk. With a

single small gesture of his hand, she sent flying from me, using some

unseen force. He spoke.

“Fool. This weakening does not become you,” he said in a low, tormented

/ THE SECOND HOMICIDE INQUIRY - I • 139

voice. The man helped me up, his strong grip on my arm lifting me effortlessly.

That seemed to awaken some predatory instinct in  who pulled

herself up from the rain-soaked ground, and launched herself toward the

man with redoubled vigor. In an instant,  was beside the tall man,

jumping up and aiming her knife at his forehead, and slashed in one quick

motion.

A thin red line ran through his forehead then, and blood poured out slowly

like sand. After she slashed him,  quickly ran past him, and retreated

to a distance he could not reach. They glared at each other, the tall man in

the black coat barely even registering he was wounded. Amused, he even

gave an observant chuckle.

“Would you stay your hand even for me? Then you are still useless to

me.” The man then took me by the arm and ran. Behind us,  gave

chase. But the man’s speed is too fast, almost as if we were flying. But we

couldn’t have been, because my feet were still on the ground, struggling to

keep up with him. Eventually, we were out of the Ryōgi estate’s grounds,

and only then did he let go of me. Then he looked at me, as if to say that if

I went home now, all would be safer for me.

“Far too early to break her,” he murmured, but even his murmurs were

a low audible rumble. “The duality of the spiral of conflict has always been

her destined end.” Leaving me with those words, the man walks away and

disappears with only a few steps, as if letting the shadows of the surrounding

bamboo grove swallow him.

The asphalt road home stretched out welcomingly before me, but

behind me, I could hear  fast approaching. I could’ve gone home. I

could’ve left her. But I chose to be with her. I still don’t know if that was

the right thing to do. But in the end, she couldn’t swing the knife down.

I turned without reluctance to the sound of her approaching footfalls.

And when she caught up to me, there was surprise in her face, but more

than that, there was confusion. Then a burning clarity. There were words

exchanged then, words that couldn’t be forgotten. But her last sentence to

me was this.

“If I can’t make you go away,” she said, under the unceasing rain. In the

distance, closing fast, she spots the headlights of an approaching car. She

laughed. A weak, bitter laugh. “I have to make myself go away.” She runs

toward the middle of the street.

The car approached fast, and she presented herself in front of it, lit

brightly on one side by the headlights. The rain fell hard, but even it could

not overcome the keening sound of the brakes. It was too late. It was over

in a second. The girl who fell in the wet asphalt looked less like , and

140 • KINOKO NASU

more like some lifeless, warmthless doll, broken and ruined. Right there,

at that moment, I knew no more painful and regretful moment. Her eyes

before the impact had tears in them—or was it just the rain? And yet, even

having seen that, I could not find it in myself to cry.

***

The evening only brings more rain and less clues than I had hoped for,

but is only in line with what I expected. It is cold tonight, more so than the

past ones have been. A good thing I brought my umbrella.

The black umbrella…the same one I was using when I first met Shiki. She

had been looking up at the sky that night, but seemed to see neither the

stars nor the moon, as if she had frozen in place, and all was right with the

world.

/ 1 • 141

/ 1

- May. -

- I’ve become acquainted with Mikiya Kokutō. I knew I’d like him ever

since I first saw him. He talked to me without reservation or hesitation, with

a smile uncalculating or plotting. He’s perfect. -

“More rain again?” I grumble as I seek cover from the growing intensity

of the shower. The volume of the raindrops as they impact the roofs of

the buildings starts to build towards a crescendo. Luckily, a nearby convenience

store provides some temporary shelter, and of course, the umbrella

bin outside proves to be a welcome convenience indeed. I help myself to

one umbrella, a cheap plastic one the owner is unlikely to miss fondly. My

objective is lost, though. Hard to track the smell of blood mixed with the

rain. Still, there’s nothing to be gained from standing here the entire day,

so I continue to walk.

It’s February 8, and dawn is just breaking. The streets still lack their

usual foot or vehicle traffic, and the silhouettes of people I share the street

with are few and far between. Even my own shadow, projected by the dim

lights of the pa.s.sing neon and fluorescent, feels like a hazy illusion, almost

incomprehensible in the rain. After putting some distance between myself

and the generous convenience store, I stop for a while to take stock of

myself.

I’ve got a cheap plastic umbrella, borrowed; a wet and dirtied leather

jacket, and a pretty good kimono soiled by thick dirt and mud at the hem

and waist. Well, I can’t really expect to be clean after spending a week

sleeping exclusively on alleys. My appearance is one thing, but my odor is

entirely another. And man, I smell exactly like three-day old sweat.

“Sleeping outside has got to stop today,” I whisper to myself, a sugges-

142 • KINOKO NASU

tion that, the way I say it, almost makes it sound like some kind of fun

game. For the first time in a week, I laugh.

My name is Shiki Ryōgi. Like the Taoist term “ryōgi” used to describe the

duality of yin and yang. Yeah, my family is weird, and I’m sort of a chip off

the old block. Once, I nursed another personality within me, a male one

called Shiki. Same p.r.o.nunciation, different ideogram. I’d been saddled

with him since birth, a murderous personality cultivated by my strange

lineage. And so since birth, I’ve always known of the pleasure he derived

from the thought of murder. It was his pa.s.sion. And in a sort of twisted

way, it became mine too, as I pressed down on the dark impulse inside me,

killing it over and over again to control it. I killed the self inside of me, sensing

both the pleasure it gave me, and the pain. All so I could live a parody

of a normal life. Murder defined me then, if not literally then figuratively.

But there was always the threat of it, lurking in the rafters, tempting me

with its allure.

When I was a child, perhaps the only thing that held me in check were

the words of my grandfather. While my father was without a doubt a Ryōgi,

he did not inherit the “blessing,” as he liked to call it. So of course, when

I was born, there was no prouder father, and my otherwise normal older

brother was pa.s.sed over for the right of succession. So I’ve been special

ever since birth. Always left alone, but never lonely, always having the

other Shiki for company. We were one, he and I; a girl and her shadow.

So it was when I was sixteen, still fearing that I was just a mere tool for

murder, that my grandfather pa.s.sed away. Like me, he had the “blessing.”

But he had never been able to control his other self completely, and in

his long years, he had hurt himself, sometimes grievously, cursed those

around him, while denying what he was. It had been told to me that he and

his other self switched constantly, so much so that people forgot which was

truly in control, and for twenty years, he had been confined to an asylum.

But in his dying hours, he called for me. In those last moments with me,

he returned to some semblance of sanity, and shared with me his only

words for me, and his last as well. And I’ll never forget them. He taught me

that murder was important, a great and terrible thing of monstrous weight.

Since that day, I think I was able to better think on my position because of

him. And perhaps my masquerading of life, while forever alone, might be

accomplished after all.

Until I met Mikiya Kokutō.

When I met him in high school, it coincided with me starting to act very

strangely. There was something about him, something that told me that life

wasn’t a thing to hide in, but to live through. I remember thinking that all

/ 1 • 143

would have been better, if I hadn’t known. If he wasn’t a promise of something

far better, something I wanted that could also destroy me. I couldn’t

fool myself anymore after him, and neither could I fool Shiki. He broke me

apart, and me and Shiki started to become more out of sync. When once,

I knew exactly what I was doing when Shiki was in control, he eventually

hid it from me, and I could recall nothing of what happened when he was in

control. I would oftentimes come to my senses in the middle of the night, a

b.l.o.o.d.y soaked body lying in front of me, and I, smiling. I didn’t know if the

serial killer that haunted the city then was me, or I just wandered into his

work afterwards. Doubt started to creep in.

Eventually, Mikiya found me in the middle of such a scene, but he still

believed in me, and trusted that I wasn’t the killer. And it was then that I

decided that his joy was just an impossible dream to tempt me. There was

a confrontation between us. And then the accident, which resulted in my

two-year coma.

When I awakened, I found myself unlike my previous self in small yet

important ways. I had lost Shiki, my steadfast companion, taking his share

of the memories along with him. As for the memories of my old self, they

felt empty and vague, like someone else’s experiences. I was hollow, like a

doll. And since then, I’ve been trying to fill up that hollow in my soul that

Shiki left inside me with new things. It’s probably the greatest irony that

the guy responsible for that going pretty well in the past half-year has to

be Mikiya Kokutō, the same guy almost drove me to ruin. I’m not an empty

doll anymore.

But now, something’s happening that’s bringing back the sins of the

past. When I awakened, Shiki’s memories were lost to me, when he

“died.” Though I don’t really know if he has the kind of autonomy in my

brain that would make it work, it comforts me to think that he took it with

him because he thought it would be a blessing to me to forget about them,

to live a life unburdened by guilt. And for the most part, he was right.

Something happened last New Year’s though.

I encountered, fought, and lost to a mage who, against my will, returned

my lost memories to me. And so…now I remember everything four years

ago. How my final moments before the accident really went down. How I

fell to the most extreme solution of trying to murder Mikiya Kokutō, a knife

pointed high above him. How I wandered the streets at night, spoiling for a

good kill. It relieves me somewhat to find that it was not me who conducted

the serial killings. But then, that leaves an obviously bigger problem of

who the serial killer actually was. Or is, if the news tells it true and this new

one is the same guy. I still don’t know who he is. Mikiya must already be

144 • KINOKO NASU

suspecting me after I ran away. h.e.l.l, if you ask me, he’d have every right to.

I have the shady past to back it up anyway.

So like four years ago, I wander the streets again, chasing a murderous

monster that’s burdening the streets with a new body every day. And if

I must admit to myself why I do it, then the reason is very simple. Envy,

at his willingness to snuff out a life. Jealousy, at the artfulness of his skill.

Answers, if that were possible. And an end to all of this…hopefully when

we decide to pounce on each other. We’re all the same, us murderers. We

attract each other, then we spill our blood on the floor.

It’s sort of funny in a sick sense, really. Four years ago, I knew it was

Shiki who took pleasure from the thought of murder.

But he’s not inside me now, is he?

And yet, attracted to a murderous monster’s acts, I’m searching him out

to murder him.

Why didn’t I notice it before? Why did it take so long?

Shiki’s only thought was murder, but he never acted on it. Now it’s me

who’s doing it. It’s me who really likes it.

I make my stop at a love hotel, where the front desk, such as it is, is nonexistent;

rooms are selected and bills paid through a machine. The better

for the anonymity of their very specific clientele. I remember Mikiya once

saying to me that if you wanted to hide from someone, this was a better

entry-level option than most, since they don’t card you. Also, because of

that, transactions go by really fast, which is better overall for me.

When I get to my room, I quickly slip off my clothing and get into the

shower, taking my time in the bath. After I’m done, I lie down on the bed.

And though I wasn’t planning on sleeping, my fatigue and frustration loosens

my grip on my ability to remain awake, and the bed is too comfortable…

I wake up to a much more darkened room, the clock in the table beside

the bed reading two in the morning. It was just getting dark when I got

here, so I must have slept for six hours. The room, lit only by the lamp, and

the dry digital readout of the clock, is populated only by strange shadows.

“f.u.c.k,” I whisper low under my breath, but in the noiseless room, even

that can be heard. Chiding myself for oversleeping, I change back into my

clothes angrily. It’s not just oversleeping that’s bothering me so much

though. I’ve only been by myself for seven days, but why am I so irritated?

It’s hasn’t been that long, has it?

“It hasn’t,” I tell myself, as if saying it aloud would persuade me some-

/ 1 • 145

how. I leave the hotel as quickly as I entered it six hours earlier, my business

there done.

Just past 2am. Even the stone and concrete are asleep this time of night,

but of course, the police, on the lookout for the murderous monster, are

not. They’ll be on the lookout for anyone suspicious, with likely orders to

pat anyone down. They’d find some pretty illegal stuff in my coat, so I’m

not dealing with that ha.s.sle. With that in mind, I duck inside the nearest

alleyway I can find. Every avenue in this area is indicted now, and the police

would have the main roads covered, so I can’t use them. Of course, the

murderous monster knows this too, and so like him, we travel the thieves’

highway, flitting through the narrow s.p.a.ces between buildings. Hopefully,

we meet each other. That’s the plan, anyway. Unfortunately, you tend to

meet all sorts of people in alleys, and not usually the ones you’d like.

“Not a dealer, man. You got somewhere else to be,” I say as I come to

an intersection between alleys. Someone’s been tailing me since a few

seconds ago. And now, in this intersection, I find more corner boys, one at

my front, and two more to either flank. They’ve got me right in between.

I look at the one in front of me. Slow, unsteady steps. Lazy arms. Slightly

c.o.c.ked head. His eyes are wandering a bit. This guy is totally f.u.c.king high.

I cast a quick glance at the remaining three, and find that the same is true

for all of them.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t warn you.” They close in simultaneously, the

entire thing obviously planned beforehand. I reach inside the pocket of my

jacket, pulling out my blade, seven inches in all. I sigh before it all begins.

“Well, I guess this is as good a solution for boredom as any. You all wanna

get high, right? Fine. We’re all gonna have a different high tonight.”

Maybe they want a quick f.u.c.k. Maybe they want some extra cash for

dope. Maybe all they want to do is bash some skulls in. Far be it from me

to decline that offer. At least, for a little while, I can relax, be the me that

Shiki always wanted me to be, and lose myself in a moment of high.

They close in on me, faster and with a purpose.

146 • KINOKO NASU

The Second Homicide Inquiry - II

- May. -

- I need to write about her again. -

- I lose myself when I see her, drinking her presence in. My fingers become

numb and I forget to breathe at the sight of her. Can I die from doing so? I

need only look at her, and she buries herself again in my mind like a virus.

She’s invaded my life. Got deep inside, this miraculously perfect girl from

my high school. I think I’ve fallen in love. I’ve never even talked to her, never

even heard her voice. And that emptiness weighs more on me every day, so

much that I’m scared. -

February 9.

The rain stopped sometime last night, and the city once again welcomes

daylight, albeit filtered through a cloudy grey canopy that the rain managed

to leave as a parting gift. I was up until late last night canva.s.sing the crime

scenes for clues, and I was so tired I decided not to go home and just crash

at my old high school friend Gakuto’s place, which was nearer. Good thing

he was very accommodating. Now, despite my lack of sleep, I can’t seem

to shake off my custom of waking up early, but stuck with nothing to do,

I spend the time looking out the window and looking at the dawn slowly

creeping over the rest of the city.

“You up early, ain’t ya? Maybe you’re looking to fix me some morning

chow?” It’s Gakuto, awake now and rubbing his eyes. Of course, I decline

his polite request.

“In your weirdest dreams. Besides, there’s nothing but beer in your

fridge. I can’t work miracles, you know.”

“Hah, sharp as ever, Mikiya. Time to bang on my neighbour’s door and

see if they have some grub to eat,” he concludes with a yawn. I watch him

/ THE SECOND HOMICIDE INQUIRY - II • 147

get up, scratch his head, and look at me for a moment, to which I muster

my best look of disappointment. Then, still groggy, he struggles to reach

the door, before doing a very slow double take on me, his eyes now as

surprised as if he had seen a ghost.

“Ever take note of how pale you are at the moment?” he says to me.

“You sure you feeling okay?” Frowning, I take a look at myself at his mirror.

He’s right. I’m as deathly pale as a doll.

“Don’t worry. It wears off after a while. Acid only takes about four to six

hours. Might be having some hallucinations and random synaesthesia until

then, though. Should be interesting.”

“Someday, you’re curiosity’s gonna make you end up face down in a

gutter somewhere.”

“But it hasn’t.”

“Give it time,” he smiles. “So, you curious enough to try out what’s being

pa.s.sed around on the corners these days,” he observes, looking over at the

remnants of my fix last night. Some blotters the size of stamps, and some

rolls of weed still remain unused, scattered above his table. I nod.

“The weed you can throw away. The acid…well, I’m done with that,

but you can have them if you want. It’s not addictive, if that’s what you

wanna ask, and it’s definitely got to be more fun than the poor excuses for

amus.e.m.e.nt parks we have here.” I grab the coat which I hastily hurled on

top of the bed last night, and quickly put it on. It’s still 7am, and the city

should just be beginning to breathe again. I don’t have time to be leisurely

anymore.

“Heading out already? Stay for a while, man. You can’t even stand up

correct, let alone walk,” Gakuto says.

“Can’t. Got things to find out,” I answer, surprised at how weak and

throaty my voice comes out.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

I point to Gakuto’s TV. “Watched the 6am news a bit earlier. Seems last

night, behind this love hotel called Pavillion—”

“The one with high prices for them suit-and-tie motherf.u.c.kers?” Gakuto

asks, interrupting.

“Yeah, that one. Apparently the murderous monster killed some more

people in the alley behind it. This time’s different, though. News said four

people all at the same scene.”

Gakuto hums, a sound of curiosity, before turning on the television.

Predictably, it’s all morning news programs, and will be for a little while

longer. The content is unsurprising. The murderous monster again, and the

subject is just as I told Gakuto. There is one new point of interest in this

148 • KINOKO NASU

report he’s watching, and that’s—

“The suspect is dressed in a kimono? How about that, huh?” Gakuto

asks, keeping his eyes glued to the TV. I shake my head, leaving the remark

hanging in the air as I continue walking towards the exit to his apartment.

Though I’m better off than I was just an hour ago, I’m still a little shaky as I

put on my shoes. As I do this, Gakuto walks up behind me, seeing me out.

With his hand holding the two drugs I left behind on his table, he starts to

ask a question before I leave.

“So what’s it like taking both of these at the same time?”

“Can’t say it’s a glowing review. You only get what Hansel and Gretel

felt.” With that, I stand up and open the door, waving my hand behind me

before leaving his apartment. I don’t bother to turn around to see if he

waves back.

It’s only when I’ve stepped outside into the sun and closed the door

behind me that I begin to feel the pang of hunger. I haven’t eaten for a day.

And the munchies from the weed is no doubt only making it worse.

It takes me an hour to walk from Gakuto’s place to the crime scene that

I saw on the news this morning. Nothing is out of place when I get there.

Blue uniformed policemen are keeping a tight perimeter around the entire

place, and aren’t allowing anyone to get near. And of course, rubberneckers

are there as well, trying to get their fair share of an unusual sight. Between

them and the police blocking the entrance to the alley crossroads, I can’t

catch sight of anything useful inside.

I think about going to the Pavilion love hotel nearby, but then I consider

that it would probably be a waste of time. There wouldn’t be a receptionist

to talk to, and whatever personnel certainly wouldn’t even consider talking

to me. And like h.e.l.l they’d show me their security camera footage. And

anyway, even if Shiki did make a stop at that hotel, she wouldn’t be there

now. So I decide to come at this from a different angle.

I came into contact with a particular drug slinger right around this neighbourhood

when I was trying to find a friend of Gakuto’s back in July, and

I was tracing his whereabouts back to his usual slingers. I only ever got

a cellphone number, so the phone is the only extent of our interaction,

but I talked to the person before and that was enough for me. I find a pay

phone nearby and call up the person up, asking for a meet to get some

new information. There is a silence on the other end of the line for a few

seconds before the person gives his consent. Then I make my way over to

the address.

/ THE SECOND HOMICIDE INQUIRY - II • 149

It leads me to a place far from the noise of the city’s main avenues,

outside of the commercial district. Here, old buildings crowd around each

other, poorly zoned and a testament to what the economy had left behind.

The apartment building I arrive at is an old, run-down place, the dirt of

years that cling stubbornly to it making the color of the place darker than

it was originally intended to be. It was obviously long abandoned, the front

entrance having been boarded up. The address I have says to go to the

second floor, however, so I look around for a fire escape. Soon enough, I

find one, though it is missing a few steps and the rust has long overtaken

it. I climb it, each footfall sounding on steel, and careful to watch each

for a sign of dangerous collapse. When I get to the second floor landing, I

find the door leading to the apartment’s common hallway unlocked. I step

inside, quickly finding the room I’m looking for, and knock.

Beyond the door I hear the sounds of footsteps, and the movement of

shadows under the little stab of light emanating from under the door. This

lasts for a few seconds before the wooden door finally opens slightly, and

a person sticks her head out. It is the face of a woman, her long brunette

hair sweeping down from behind her head. At first glance, she looks to be

only a few years older than me. She looks me up and down, slipping me a

visible smile before opening the door the entire way. She is dressed unremarkably,

with only her red winter coat as a characteristic feature.

“Hey. I’m the one who called you this morning—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Hope n.o.body followed you. Wouldn’t want anybody

to know someone’s living in here. Get in here, quick.” Suddenly, she reaches

out and takes my arm, pulling me into her room forcibly. I spend a moment

trying not to stumble, and find myself inside a very messy room. Clothes

and magazines and other a.s.sorted things have claimed possession of the

floor, and in the middle of all of it is a kotatsu. The woman walks past me,

quickly sitting down and slipping her legs inside the kotatsu. She gives me

an impatient glare, motioning her head for me to come near her. And so, a

bit more timidly then I’m used to, I sit down on the floor across from her.

The kotatsu isn’t warm at all, however, and I notice that it isn’t connected

to an outlet. Probably because there isn’t even any electricity in here.

“So this is what you look like, huh?” she says in a high voice. She rests

her hands on the table, and her head on her hands, tilted sideways so that

she has to look up at me awkwardly. “Didn’t really expect you to look the

way you are.”

I want to answer that it’s entirely the same with me, but I hold off on it.

She’s acting a lot different than the two curt conversations we’ve had on

the phone have led me to believe. I don’t know how she slings her product,

150 • KINOKO NASU

but—

“Oh, it’s easy. n.o.body really gives a hoot if you’re a guy or a girl, as long

as you got the product.”

“Err, yeah, I suppose,” I manage to stutter out. “How did you—”

She chuckles. “You’re an easy book to read, and it’s written all over your

face, you know? Still, though, I could swear from your voice on the phone

that I had you pegged as some kind of reptilian look-type guy. Complete

with widdle spectacles, ‘information is power’-type college boy. Well,

guess it doesn’t matter in the end. So, what was it you wanted to ask?”

She blinks, then narrows her eyes. In that instant, though she did not

move at all, I could feel something change in how she carried herself,

almost like a switch has been turned on in her mind. Trying to ignore the

feeling, I press on with my first question. I clear my throat.

“I guess I’ll start with what happened last night. Heard anything to the

effect of witnesses to what went down with the murderous monster last

night?”

“You mean the wild girl in the kimono with a leather jacket?” she says.

The sentence catches me so off guard that I’m forced to avert my eyes from

her. If she’s as sharp as she claims, she’d have probably noticed that too.

She continues, “Don’t need to ask anyone else about that. I mean, I saw it

after all. Let’s see now…I think it was around 3am last night? The rain didn’t

seem to want to stop. This place is scary in rainy nights, and business has

kinda sucked lately, you know? But that love hotel is a constant customer.

They buy from me all the time. I was going out to make my delivery, and I

pa.s.sed by the entrance to the alley, and then I saw them. Four youngins,

trying to mug a broad in a kimono. Shameless, I tell ya.”

There is a playful thoughtfulness to her eyes now as she recounts last

night’s events, and before long I find my eyes meeting hers again. “The

news says the suspect’s gender is unconfirmed. How do you even know

she’s a girl?”

“Trust me, I’d know. Ain’t no better judge for a girl’s body than another

girl, is there? That said, it was pr