Oh, that lightens the moment a lot.
Just wait till Shibata gets back. They'll be like Sherlock and Watson, running around Tokyo with their trenchcoats and pipes.
[cough]If someone solves this, do we get those 10 chapters of fluff?[/cough]
Ok, you're all on. Hahaha!
Chapter 12RIIING! RIIING! RIIING!
I groan at the sound that threatens to rip me away from the safe haven of darkness that my mind has created. Still half gone, I turn my head away from the sound.
RIIING! RIIING! RIIING!
"Can you hit it?" I mumble aloud.
I don't want to move. The alarm clock is on the other side of the bed.
RIIING! RIIING! RIIING!
"Get... get it. Turn it... off," I mutter.
What's taking her so long??RIIING! RIIING! RII-
Silence.
Ahhh, I think.
I smile warmly as I snuggle back into the covers.
Got it.
I lie there for twenty seconds before I jerk awake completely.
Wait a minute. I didn't just turn off the alarm clock. That means... it was... And it was all a.... a dream!
I shoot up from my bed excitedly, relieved, ecstatic! What a horrible nightma-
I look beside me, but there's nobody there. I look around wildly.
Nobody.
I jump out of my bed and run to the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, the entrance...
Nobody.
It wasn't a nightmare.
No, it
is a nightmare. I'm living it now.
I'm all alone.
I walk back to my bedroom blankly. I sit on my bed and stare at the wall.
When the ringing starts again, I scream in fright.
"AAAEEIIIIII!!"
I turn around and look at the alarm clock, but that's not what's making the sound. It's my phone.
I grit my teeth in anger at the false hope that has just overwhelmed my mind and made me feel like it could have all been a dream. I feel so stupid.
I glance at the time. It's half past twelve in the morning. Who could be calling at this hour?
I pick up the phone.
"Hello?"
My voice is surprisingly strong. It must have been that warm-up scream.
"Aya-chan, it's Shibata."
I let out a partial sigh of relief.
"Hi."
"I'm at the airport in Barcelona now. My flight leaves in half an hour. I'll be there in about fourteen hours."
"Why so long?" I ask groggily, rubbing my eyes.
"Layover in Germany," she replies, sounding annoyed. "Anyway, listen. Stay put. I'll go to your place as soon as I've dropped my things off. It might take a while, so I hope you don't mind that I come in the evening."
I make a sound of acknowledgement.
"Hurry, Shiba-chan."
"I know."
I hang up and lie back down, curling up into a small ball, holding the covers tightly. I review the past twenty-four hours in my head. They seem so unbelievable.
Murder. There's been a
murder in my life. How can that be possible? I don't lead a normal life, what with being a household name and easily recognisable to three quarters of the country's population, but nothing I've done - or that Miki's done - merits this kind of punishment.
I clench my fists and suddenly I'm nothing but angry. I fantasise about wrapping my hands around the murderer's neck and squeezing tightly until he - or she - can't breathe. Until he falls lifelessly to the ground with a thud.
Within minutes, I break down crying again. How can I want to kill someone so badly? It's not right. I shouldn't think like that.
But I can't help it. It hurts too much.
I fall asleep again, violent dreams leading me through to the next morning.
I'm awoken again by the telephone. This time it doesn't trick me. I check the time before answering.
Nine o'clock. It can't be Shibata. She's probably in mid-flight. It's probably Sugiura.
"Yes?"
"Matsuura-san!" hisses Tsuyoshi's terrified voice.
"Tsuyoshi-kun. What's wrong?" I ask, knowing all too well what must be happening.
"The police. They got here early this morning. They're going through everything in Fujimoto-san's office. They're asking everyone questions. What should I do??"
If I don't calm the boy down, he's going to go into hysterics, and that will benefit neither one of us.
"Tsuyoshi, listen to me," I say sharply. "Breathe. Three times slowly."
I hear him follow my command obediently. His breathing slows down considerably, and he no longer sounds like a rabid dog.
"Remember, the police can't know what we've talked about. Where are you now?" I ask calmly. I don't feel one bit calm.
"In the washroom. I'm alone."
"Good," I say, even though it's really not at all good. "If they ask how you found out about Miki, tell them the truth. But say I called only to tell you about her. Nothing else."
"What do I say if they ask about the other phone call?" he asks nervously. I can hear him just barely managing to keep his cool.
"Just say I was calling to check up on you. Not a word about the journal. It's not a secret that we chat from time to time, right?" I reassure him.
He mumbles something about everyone teasing him about that. At this impossibly whacky time, I crack a smile. I find it almost cute.
"What did you do with the key to Miki's desk?" I ask abruptly, remembering that he didn't mention putting it away.
There's a silence.
Uh oh... What has he done?
"It's at home," he whispers.
I'm not sure whether to feel relieved or angry. Probably more relieved. Whatever is an obstacle to the police is all good to me.
"Okay. Not a word to anyone about it either. As far as we're concerned, we don't know what Miki keeps in the bottom drawer of her desk."
"Wh-what about my fingerprints? What if they search?" he stutters.
That
would be bad.
"Do you ever go into her office? Clean up her desk?" I ask hopefully.
"Sometimes I organise the top of her desk when she's not in. She gets really messy."
"Good!" I exclaim, thanking the Fujimoto ancestors for passing on that messy gene to Miki. "Then that's it. You clean up her desk sometimes. If they ask why your prints are on the bottom drawer, just say you were looking for my number because you needed to talk. Tell them you couldn't open it in the end."
He says he understands.
I quiz him to get our stories straight, and then he says he has to go back to his desk. I wish him luck.
When I hang up the phone, I put my head in my hands and stare at the floor.
How can my life be like this? The other day I was lounging around, enjoying my free time and wonderful breakfasts. Now I feel like a fugitive.
It's silly, that's what. Silly.
I get up and get ready to go do something other than sitting and moping. When I'm in the middle of action, I don't dwell on things. I live in that moment. It's when I have time to sit and think that it hurts the most. Everything comes back to me.
Got to keep moving.
Once in the shower, I remind myself that I have to arrange for the transfer of Mi... the body to Hokkaido. I wonder if I'll be allowed to see her again. I question whether I want to.
I do.
But I don't.
Should I feel bad about that? I want to see her because it's her, but I don't want to remember her like that.
But I have to. One more time. One last time. That other time was too sudden.
I finish getting ready and place a call to Sugiura. He's not in - probably because he's heading the investigation at U-Con - so I'm forwarded to his third in command, one of the men who was present at the first interview that I wish to banish from my memory. His name is Cho.
I discuss the issue with him. There's some sort of question as to whether her body should be released before a proper autopsy, and it makes me sick. I know her mother doesn't want her touched. She just wants Miki back on home soil.
I fight for it, but Cho asks for the Fujimoto family's contact information. I give it hesitantly. I have made a promise to take care of everything, yet here it is going out of my control. Cho promises to get in touch with me after he's spoken to the family. He probably thinks he can bully them into thinking his way. Little does he know that the Fujimoto parents are every bit as stubborn as their youngest child is. Was. That's my source of satisfaction.
I start to kill time by cleaning up my apartment.
What a big mistake. I keep running into things that belong to Miki. Her clothes, her books, the miscellaneous junk that somehow accumulates in my bedroom, her hair products...
What am I supposed to do with all this stuff? Keep it? Throw it away? Lock it away in a box and never look at it again?
What about her toothbrush? Her hairbrush? How can I throw those away? What if she needs them? What if... somehow... she needs them? I can't get rid of them.
I leave everything as it is. I sit on my bed with a few of her things in front of me - the pyjamas she wore just the other night, a sweatshirt, and a pair of jeans.
Have I inherited these things? Are they mine? I've always been free to use them, but now it's different. Only I will ever use them.
I fold each item of clothing carefully and put them where I found them. The jeans go back into the drawer, the pyjamas and sweatshirt under the pillow.
Die, you bastard, I think.
I will stalk the person responsible to the ends of the earth and beat him senseless. I will beat him until he doesn't know who he is or which way is up.
Because that's how I feel now.
Raving mad, I stand up and stalk out of my bedroom. I grab my things and leave my apartment, slamming my door angrily.
Topic: What Needed to be Done (Read 48486 times)