Love x 2 (the entire series) [easy navigation on 1st page] Complete

[OTN1]

Chapter 8 of 10

That evening, I muddled my way through buying a train ticket to Campodolcino.  That would set me down almost directly under the mountains that I was searching for.  It turned out to be about fifty kilometres east of the place Shibata had recommended to me.

The train station employee did not speak Japanese.  I did not speak Italian.  We could not understand each other's poor English.  Hand gestures, emphatic shakes and nods of the head, and exclamations of delight or disagreement served as our language.  It worked splendidly.  I would depart the following day at eight sharp.

When I got back to my hotel room, I made a phone call right away.

"Hello?" asked a hurried voice.

"Hi, Shiba-chan."

"Hey you!" she cried, sounding pleasantly surprised.  "What's up?"

"I'm in Rome," I said.

"That was way too much information to handle," she said sarcastically.

"I'm heading up north.  I met someone who told me where I can find the crash site."

I spoke the words so easily, so calmly, that it surprised even me.

There was a deathly silence on the phone.  All sarcasm and joking left Shibata's voice when she spoke next.

"Are you sure about that?"

It must have sounded as if I had gone a bit nuts since I had yelled at her only a few weeks ago when I thought she had implied I should come and visit the crash site.

"Hmmm, I think it's the only way," I said quietly.

"If you really want to, Miki-chan," she spoke up, "then I back you up completely.  I think it's a good idea.  Go there and - you know."

She did not have to say it.  "Come to terms" or "accept" both worked.  So did so many other words and phrases.  I knew what I had to do.  She knew what I had to do.

I thanked her and told her the name of the place.  She encouraged me some more, but she had to cut the phone call short as to not be late for a meeting.

I spent the evening packing up my things and taking a quick bath.  Drained after such a day, the warm water took away my tension and I dropped into bed, my body and head sinking deep into the soft mattress and pillow.

That night I had a disturbing dream.

This time I had already climbed the mountain before Aya's plane crashed.  It dove into the rocks and snow not too far from where I was standing.  I ran to it immediately and ripped open a door that was hanging already half-open.   I crawled in on my hands and knees.

The aisles were littered with fallen people.  The stench of death was all around me, my hands and knees becoming drenched in blood as I tried to navigate through it all.

I found Aya as I usually did.  This time she was lying on her back in the aisle.  Her eyes were closed and there was a nasty gash on her forehead that was bleeding profusely.

I knew that one was not supposed to move an injured person, especially someone with a head injury, so I kept my hands off of her.  I leaned down a bit.

"Aya!  Hey!" I called out.  "Are you awake?!"

Her face twisted in what looked like exasperation as she opened her eyes.

"Stop yelling," she groaned.  "You're too loud."

"Oh my god," I gasped.  "You're fine."

"I'm not fine," she said as a matter of factly.  "I'm hurt.  And I can't see."

"Can't see...?" I trailed off, wondering what sort of horrible thing had happened to make Aya go blind.

"Yeah.  There's blood in my eyes."

My stomach twisted when I saw that she was right. 

"Here," I mumbled, reaching over to wipe her eyes as carefully as I could.

When my hands reached her face, however, she grabbed my wrists and pulled me forward.

"Whuuha!" I exclaimed, letting out a strange noise.

I pulled my hands out of her grip and managed to steady myself on the ground before I could fall on top of her and crush her.

"Take it easy.  I'll help you get up in a second," I said soothingly.

"I can't get up," Aya said darkly.

"What?"

I started to sit up again, but she grabbed my hands and pulled.  I pulled back, but she was surprisingly strong.

"You can't leave this.  You can't leave me.  You have to come.  No choice."

"Aya, what are you talking about?!" I yelled desperately.  "Stop being stupid and let me help you."

She pulled me forward roughly again, and I struggled to keep my balance.

"Stop it.  You're going to hurt yourself," I reprimanded her.

If anger did not work, common sense might.

"There's no use.  It's over," she laughed bitterly.  "But I'll take you with me if I have to."

"What...?" I bit off my words.  "Stop it.  Let go."

She refused to listen to me.  I tried to overpower her, but no matter how much strength I used to pull away, her icy grip held me like a vice did a piece of wood.  Her nails dug into the delicate skin on the backs of my hands, and it hurt like crazy.

Why is she hurting me? I wondered.  Why won't she let me help her?

"Aya, it hurts," I whispered sadly, looking down at our violently entwined hands.

"Then stop fighting it," she sneered.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying again to pull my hands out of her hold.

"Just think of it.  This way be can be together forever," she sang out in a mocking tone, and I felt the burning pain around my eyes that meant I was about to cry.

With a final tug, she overpowered me and pulled me down.

Just as my chin was about to collide with her nose, I woke up.  Instead of the sickening crunch of cartilage breaking and the searing pain of my chin hitting something hard, I heard a car driving quietly down the street and felt the softness of the hotel bedding surrounding my body.  I opened my eyes, breathing fast and sweating.

I had no idea what to make of it.  Why would I dream of Aya doing something cruel and insensible like that?  In the dreams I had of the plane crash, she was never like that.  Never angry at me and never mocking me.

I thought carefully.

I knew that even in death, she still held my heart tightly.

But why did I dream of her hurting me while she was dying? 

It made no sense, so I tried my best to do what I always did with dreams that made no sense - ignored it and went back to bed.

[OTN1]

Chapter 9 of 10

It was a bit colder in Campodolcino because of the elevation.

It took quite a while to travel there, but I could not sleep.  I looked out of the window as the train traversed the land at a high speed.  The land looked very bare in some places, the leaves having fallen off the trees, but the sky was picture perfect.  It was bright blue and clear, friendly and fluffy white clouds scattered across it.

When I saw the mountains for the first time, my heart leaped a bit in the anticipation of what I was going to feel.  They looked so much more impressive than they had in my dreams and in the pictures on the internet.  Tall, cold beasts...

For an hour I was captivated by these giants that became taller as the train approached.  I did not want to blink or breathe in case I missed something.

Those mountains.  That's Aya's grave, I thought.

But I could not feel anything.  I was blank with what was probably shock.  I had travelled such a long distance to come and see this scene before me.  I did not know what to do, so I stared and waited for the train to drop me off at my stop.

Once I was off, the wind nipped at my exposed skin and I shivered, tucking my chin into my jacket.

I found a taxi cab and said to the driver in English, "hotel."

He asked what I assumed was, "which one?" 

"Whichever," I replied.

He got my message.  I was lucky to have found a nice driver who was neither about to rip me off by taking "the scenic route" nor drop me off at some seedy dump (although in a town of one thousand, it must have been hard to have a sleazy part of town).

The hotel the driver chose had some vacancies.

"How long?" they asked (I assumed).

I held up two fingers.

"Two nights," I said in English.

And all was settled easily from then on.

I went up to my room and unpacked a few things.  I inspected the facilities.  Very simple.  I checked and re-checked my bags to make sure I had brought everything.  I turned on the television set and spent five minutes flipping through the channels.  All two of them.

"Ug," I mumbled, tossing the remote control on the bed.

I was stalling.  I knew what I had come here to do, and I was doing the exact opposite.  Instead of climbing the mountain for real instead of in my dreams, I was wasting my time pretending to be interested in my surroundings.  I was filled with apprehension at the thought of what I might feel if I went up there.

I put on my jacket and went outside for a walk around the small town.  I needed a little more time before I did anything decisive.

I wandered around, looking and shivering.  I had an early dinner at the hotel and went back to my room, contemplating what to do.  I did not want to go up the mountain any more than I had wanted to a few hours prior.  I fell asleep at six o'clock while watching TV that I did not understand.

This time, no dreams came to me.

[OTN1]

Chapter 10 of 10

I woke up a few hours later.  It was dark in my room.  I checked my watch.  Eight-thirty in the evening.  My brain felt groggy, but something in it willed me to get up and straighten myself out.

I brushed my teeth and my hair, put on my jacket, and walked out of the hotel.  My legs took me for the ride.  I did not purposely go.  I was being taken almost against my will.

The sky was clear that night, so the stars and three quarters of the bright moon supplemented the few street lights that lined the sidewalks and let me see where I was going.  I found myself going to the town's general store.  I bought two bottles of mineral water and a flashlight and continued walking.  I was soon outside of the town and heading towards a path that would take me up the mountain.

The plastic bag with the two bottles of water swung and hit my leg every now and then.

One of the bottles was for me.  The other was for Aya.  I was going to meet her.

My flashlight switched on, I started to ascend.  It was a subtle slope.  I went up and up and up.  I did not think, I did not make any sudden changes in my pace or my mental attitude, I did not stray.  I remained focused on my goal.

An hour later I drifted away from the path and into a clearing with a steep, dangerous-looking cliff.  I was fairly high up and I had gone far enough that I could no longer see the town.  The path had twisted enough to make sure of that.

I sat down in the clearing and took out a bottle of water, placing it on the ground in front of me.  I took out the second bottle and opened it up.  I took a long sip of water while I sat staring at the empty space in front of me.  A space that should have been filled with a smiling, drinking human being.

I sat there for a long time.  The mountain scenery was mostly dark to me, only small parts of it lit up by my weak flashlight and the light from the stars.

I was finally on the mountain above which Aya had taken her last breaths, perhaps saying my name with one of them.

I was finally there on the mountain with a mind ready to witness something happen.  I waited for that feeling of acceptance to fill me.

It would not come.

I had come with my offering - water, the purest thing a human could consume - for her because I could not have a proper funeral.  We would drink together one last time to conclude... something.  Conclude what?  Our association?  End it?  To say that I had gotten over her?

A lie.  I had not.  I could not.  I would never.  A cruel lie that I could not utter.

I took another sip of water and then put my bottle down beside hers.

I looked at how far the mountains continued and I felt so small.  It made me feel smaller than I had ever felt before.  It was not its height, but the memories.  I closed my eyes.  My entire life flashed before me.  My life before Aya, during Aya, and after Aya.

After all these years, that was still how I measured time.

I envisioned my heart as a flower.  It had grown slowly and blossomed with vigour.  It had been far too short-lived.  It had shrivelled up one day, and it felt like it had been pickled, preserved in a constant state of grief.

After all these years, I still would not let my heart out of that glass jar.

I thought about the tears I cried far too frequently.  Something would happen, some sort of flame would be lit, and it would ignite intense emotions in me that I could not bottle up lest they kill me from the inside.

After all these years, I still felt like I was being eaten alive from within.

I imagined her walking into my apartment unexpectedly one day.  I would ask no questions.  I would not care where she came from, how she had survived, and why she had not called for eight years.  I would let her come in and we would pick up right where we left off as if that gap of painful years had never occurred.

After all these years, I still could not stop fantasising that she was still alive.

I wondered if that priest - Father Saito, I supposed I should call him - dreamed of his sister Naomi coming back into his life.

I opened my eyes and a tear fell out, followed by another and another.  They slid down my face quietly in a solemn procession.

The tears were not for her, for as I sat on that mountain, I saw the truth with startling clarity.

Aya had not been the only one to die that day.

I had thought that coming to the mountain would help me find the peace I was looking for.  I had hoped to come to terms with the past and find a way to stride forward against all obstacles. 

No luck.  It only showed me the permanence of my situation.  My state was eternal, my sadness an oppressive weight chained to me, my life a dismal, bleak light that was slowly fading as I grew older.

These thoughts assaulted me, weakened my legs.  Luckily I was sitting down.

I looked up at the beast before me and saw it consuming me.  It felt familiar.  I was on that plane, I was crashing.  I could see her face contorted in horror, her eyes shut tightly, not wanting to watch her own end.  Yet I sat beside her, transfixed.  My eyes wide open as I drank in everything.  Everybody on that plane screaming, dying...

And then I was out of the plane and back at the base of the mountains, sitting there eight years later, my heart no longer beating, my senses dulled.

Suddenly it was all clear. 

I had a thought.

It was a defining revelation.  One sentence echoed in my mind, and it made sense.  The past eight years made sense.  The rest of my life from now on would make sense.

I held onto it and pulled myself up to my feet, leaving my half-empty water bottle beside the full, unopened one.  I walked away.  I walked back down the mountain, numb.

I had come searching for something else.  Not the revelation I had just had.  I had wanted resolution.  All I got was confirmation of what I had been afraid of for so many years.

In a trance, I walked and walked until I reached my hotel room.

I looked at the time.  It was late.



The next day I checked out of the hotel.  I took a train straight to the airport in Milan.  I had my ticket changed for the next available flight.  It was highway robbery on the part of the airline company, but I just threw my bills of money down as is they were a few grains of salt.  Money meant nothing to me.

During my four hour wait, I made my second and final phone call of the trip.

Shibata's answering machine picked up.

"I'm coming home.  My flight gets into Narita at five twenty-three in the evening.  See you."

I hung up and then I sat and stared at a white wall until it was time to board my flight.

When I left Italian soil, I felt nothing.  I looked out the window, but night was already falling and it was dark.  I could only see faint outlines of land and mountains.  I pulled the cover down over the window and fell asleep, cold and empty.  I did not wake up until the landing.

When I reached Japanese soil, I still felt nothing.  No excitement to be home.  No relief.

I dragged myself through the disembarkation process, found my luggage, and walked out of the doors.

"Miki-chan!" I heard a name call out.

I looked up.  There was Shibata in the waiting area beside the exit, walking towards me.  She looked like she had run all the way to the airport.

"Welcome back," she said with a worried smile.

I did not return her smile.  I just nodded and began to walk.  She kept up.

"How was it?  Are you all right?"

I shrugged.

"Fine."

I could not muster up any enthusiasm.  I could not even put on a show of being all right.

We walked in silence until we reached the platform for the train that would take us into Tokyo.

"I came right after my seminar.  I wasn't expecting you for another few days."

Maybe she wanted an apology.  I did not say anything.  She fell silent.  We did not speak for ten minutes as we sat waiting for the train.

"Miki, say something to me," she said quietly.

I did not want to say anything.  There was nothing to say.  No point.

I heard her sniff.  I looked at her face and noticed that she was crying.  I had never seen her cry.  Or perhaps I had once in the days when we used to play futsal together and we had won some sort of big event.  But those were tears of joy.  The ones now were not.

"Why'd I let you go there?" she wondered out loud, uttering such protective words that I did not know what to say in response.

I knew that she knew something had happened and she was feeling guilty for egging me on to go.

It was not her fault.  I would have gone eventually anyway.  She was not responsible.  I was an adult and I had the capability to make decisions for myself.

"I'm okay.  I found peace," I lied.

She had no more grounds to continue.  She did not want to call me on my lie.

We did not talk for the rest of the ride into Tokyo.  She came with me to the platform where I would catch my train for my final station of the evening.  When it came, I thanked her for picking me up at the airport.  She said she would see me later, and I had a feeling she would be calling, mailing, and coming over a lot in the next week in an attempt to cheer me up.

We said goodbye.

I got home.  Everything looked exactly the same as I had left it.

I put my luggage in a corner of the living room, took a quick shower, and went straight to bed.  I was not tired, so I just lay there, my body in my bed, but my mind back on the mountain the previous night.

I remembered that one thought I had had.  That one defining thought when all had become clear.

No, Aya was not the only one who had died that day.

I died, too.

With her.  Death did not tear us apart.  It tore me apart as I followed her into the realm of shadows.

No light.  Not for me.

Maybe I had sacrificed myself.  Maybe I had taken all the darkness within me so that she could have all the light and would not be scared.  That would be why I could never escape the sadness and the thought of her.

I was dead inside.  I walked the world with a shroud of darkness around me.  It got darker and darker each week.

I had gone to that site in the Alps where most of her had burned up and been scattered in the winds to have my own version of a funeral for Aya. 

Instead, as I had walked down the mountain to go back to the hotel, and just like the tears that had trailed down my cheeks, I walked the path of my own funeral. 

My own private funeral. 

My own death mourned.


-the end of story 6

[OTN1]

What Needed to be Done
story 7

Prologue

"Do you believe in miracles?"

Miki stops walking and I follow suit as she brushes my hair back from my forehead and smiles softly, looking at me genuinely.

"No."

Birds chirp cheerfully as the sun sets quickly, and we carry on walking through the quiet park.

"You don't think our meeting was a miracle?" I ask.

She shoots me a sideways glance.

"No."

"Do you think it was fate? Destiny?"

My question stops her again. I stop, too, and wait for her answer.

"Definitely not."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes it more special if it wasn't predetermined," she answers quickly with a lopsided smile. "I can scare myself by thinking of what it would be like if we hadn't met."

I already know all her answers, but I like to hear her say them anyway. I often ask her things I already know the answers to.

But in light of my ordeal that just ended this morning when I woke up in my own bed in my proper reality, I'm seriously reconsidering my previous stance on miracles. Maybe they can happen...

"We're cooler than destiny," she laughs.

Of course she's Miki and she has to insert her silly humour into the conversation. I look at her and let myself laugh like I want to. I've missed her far too much to give her a tough time. I'll let at least one evening go by where I don't nag or tease her unfairly in the way that I love to. I'll spoil her with attention and share with her nothing but the purity and benevolence of the feelings in my heart.

But just this one night!

Tomorrow I'll have to go back to being myself and scolding her for being a child, for being silly, and for bothering me.

But I'd never do it if she didn't like it or let me. The scolding, that is.

And I'd never do it if I wasn't confident she knew I cared so much.

She's my dorky little Miki and I'll have her no other way but the way she is.

[OTN1]

Chapter 1 of 28

The morning after I quit my job, I get up and smash my head against the wall.  On purpose.

"Whaddaryoudoing?" Miki mumbles sleepily from my bed.

I've woken her up partially.  She's sleeping over at my place because I wouldn't let her go home last night.  I haven't seen her in months.  There's no way she's going to be anywhere else but beside me.

"Punishing myself," I mutter, letting my forehead crash into the wall again.

"Oh, no.  Don't.  Let me do that for you," she says in a calm, reasonable manner.

She is obviously still half-asleep or she either wouldn't have said that or she would have said it in a dirty way.

I choose not to reply to her.  I finished up with the wall and slip back into bed.  Miki has woken up fully by the time I settle in under the covers.

"What were you just doing?" she asked, confused, a vague, incomplete memory probably tugging at her mind.

"Hitting my head against the wall as punishment," I reply crisply.

"...Why?"

The perplexed look on her face is so cute that I want to make a mould of it and bring it out every time I need to smile.

"'Cause I basically quit my job 'cause of you," I reply bluntly.

There is silence until Miki moves.  She hugs me.

"Thank you Aya," she says in a sweet, spoiled, childish voice. 

She sounds like a naughty little girl whose mother had just slapped her on the wrist and told her to thank Aunt Yuka for the delicious cookies.  It's obnoxious and it makes me want to... melt.

"You understand this means I have nothing to do all day, right?" I inquire sharply.

"You'll find something," she says optimistically, her voice muffled because she has her face pressed into my side.

"It'll take too long."

"Hm.  At least this means I can expect you to surprise me at my place more often and clean up and cook me delicious meals when I come home from work."

I can hear the sneaky grin in her voice.

Without a single word, I peel her hands and face off of me, get up, and stroll out of the room.

"Hey, where are you going?" she calls out after me.

I don't reply.

"Come back!" she laughs.

I walk calmly into the bathroom, lock the door, and begin to run the water.  I hear the door handle shake a bit as Miki tries to open the door.

"Come on, let me in," she whines.

I smile victoriously as I undress quickly and step under the spray of water.

"Come on, Aya.  I'm sorry I said that.  I was just joking."

I smirk and lather up my hair.  I hear her sigh in exaggerated frustration.

"I didn't mean it.  In fact, I'll do all your cleaning and cook for you."

My shower is short and sweet, but it feels like it stretches for hours because she stands right outside serenading me with compliments and apologies.

When I'm finished and dried off, I wrap the towel around me and open up the door.  Miki is sitting beside it patiently, and she shoots up to her feet when she sees me.

"I'm sorry, Aya," she says cutely.

I press the tip of her nose with my finger.

"Breakfast for fifteen days in a row," I demand.

She knows exactly what I mean.  If she wants forgiveness, she has to earn it.  Since I'm the world's worst morning person, breakfast is the meal I most often skip and thus the meal I appreciate most.  Having her cook it will be a good penalty.

"Does that mean I have to stay over here with you for two weeks?" she asks with a grin.

I can't help but smile back.

"If you want."

She lets out a cheer and then uncharacteristically runs off to the kitchen, leaving me to get dressed.

What a strange girl.

I put on my clothing for the day and then make my bed, rolling my eyes at how Miki's side is always so much more wrinkled and messy because of her restlessness.  At least she doesn't drool all over my sheets.  No, she usually does that all over me because she ends up sleeping half on top of me anyway.  But at least it's easier to clean myself and my pyjamas.  I'm kind of glad we don't live together.

Once my bed looks presentable, I sit on it and take a breather, thinking about this "miracle" that has just happened to me.

I can't concentrate, though, because I can hear noise coming from the kitchen.  Miki is fumbling around doing who knows what with all my appliances.  I can hear her muttering from time to time, singing out the names of things she's looking for - salt, sugar, a spoon.  It's cute, and it reminds me of cooking with her and Baachan in Takikawa just a few days ago but a few realities over.  The only difference is that the other Miki is put together, organised, and smart in the kitchen.  This one here is silly, clumsy, and likes to burn things.

I laugh at how I can like such a person so much.  But I accept the truth.  I'd prefer to eat burnt toast made by this Miki everyday for a year rather than fluffy rice and tender salmon made by a professional chef.  It doesn't matter what the food is.  As long as whoever makes it puts all his or her care and love into making it.

My face turns red in embarrassment at thinking such mushy things, and I lie back and roll onto my stomach, covering my face with my hands and groaning in pain.

"The hell are you doing?"

I flip over in fright and see Miki standing at the doorway to my room.  She's leaning against the frame, her arms crossed and her face screwed up in amusement.  I take my hands away from my face and sit up.

"Uh..."

I was thinking silly things about you and I embarrassed myself, I think.  I don't want to tell her that.  Then she'll just make fun of me and I'll get all flustered.

"Were you thinking about me again?" she teases me.

I roll my eyes.  I also don't tell her because it’s redundant.  I know she knows.  It's so obvious.

"No.  I was... tired," I reply defensively. 

She comes over and sits beside me, putting an arm around my shoulder.

"You know, you were really different yesterday.  Really nice to me and not at all like my mother, who you normally try to be," she said.

"I didn't notice," I say indifferently, looking down at my hands.

"But you know what?  I honestly missed this you that treats me poorly and doesn't let me have any fun."

"I don't treat you poorly!" I gasp in offence.  "I tolerate things nobody else in the world would put up with!"

"Pshht, maybe if everyone else in the world had the same views as you and was just a little less nice," Miki snorted.  "I bet I could find fifty people in this neighbourhood who don't find my behaviour quirky."

She knows exactly what to say to send waves of jealousy through me.  Harmless, playful jealousy, that is.

I clamp my arms around her possessively.

"No.  Nobody else.  Me," I pout like a child.

She giggles her insanely dorky giggle and pats me on the head.

"Okay, okay."

I revel in this soft moment.

"Hey," she says, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?"

"We should move in together."

I sigh.

We've had this conversation before and it never ends well.  Not because we don't agree.  Just because there are so many factors we have to consider that we become irked and confused and don't end up coming to any conclusion. 

First of all, we have way too much stuff.  We'd have to find a big enough place where we could both fit the mounds of shoes and clothes we both own, and unfortunately, while we make good money, we're not billionaires.  Housing is expensive in this dense city, and finding a big enough place is difficult because of the lack of supply.  Second of all, it's rather convenient to have apartments in different neighbourhoods.  It's like having two headquarters rather than one from which to base our operations.  Third of all, we're getting too old to be moving in together like that without people starting to question us.  It's not something we talk about often because it makes us uncomfortable, but it's true that when your age starts to plunge into that "should be married soon" range, you don't start moving in with your friends and having slumber parties every night.  According to the people around us, that is.

But then again, it would make life easier.  If we could find a place with enough space for our shoes, that is.  We'd have all our belongings in one place.  We wouldn't have to waste time and money going back and forth to our different places to pick things up.  We would be able to see each other a little more often.  Every night, in fact.  And it might save us some money on utilities (if the rent doesn't eat us out of a home).

Many things to consider.

I don't even have to open my mouth to remind Miki.  She knows all of it.

"But I guess we have to think about it more, huh?" she says resignedly.

She tries not to sound dismayed, but I know she is.  I am, too.

"It would be nice," I say in a quiet voice with a soft, honest smile, dropping my holier-than-thou act.

I absently pick at a thread that's poking out of the hemline of her pyjamas.

"Who knows," Miki starts in a mysterious voice.  "Maybe it's safer to live apart.  My life might be in danger if I piss you off too badly."

"Hahaha."

I continue to pull at the loose thread.  It suddenly starts to unravel and I slap my hand down on it in fear and surprise.

Unfortunately, the hemline of Mki's pyjamas lies on her hipbone.

"Ow!"

"Ehh... Sorry," I cough, patting her hipbone lightly and secretly tucking the thread, now longer than the length of my hand, under her pyjama shirt.

"Anyway," I say quickly, "we can think about it more.  We still have lots of years ahead of us."

And thus I say something she likes to hear.  My words remind her that I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.  She's got power over me for what I think is going to be forever.  She grins and bounces giddily on the bed, sending me bumping against her and the wall in a painful but kind of fun way.

And that's when I smell something burning.

"What are you cooking?" I ask in a low, dangerous tone.

"Shi-"

She's out of the room before she finishes her word.  I hear her run to the kitchen and crash pots and pans around.

"ARG!!" she yells as if engaged in combat with the enemy.

I put my head in my hands and wonder if she's killed something.  I'm afraid to find out.

I get up and poke my head out gingerly from my room.  I walk out and round the corner.

Miki is fanning the contents of a frying pan with a towel while jumping up and down.  I look on the ground and see that there's steam rising off the soaked floor.  In the corner is a pot that has spilled its contents - half-boiled eggs and water.  Her feet are burning.

"Miki, put that down and get over here!"

She doesn't think twice about it.  She throws the pan in the sink and skips to safety as the hot metal hisses, leftover water in the sink sizzling instantly from the heat.

"I'm sorry," she whimpers.

I bend down and pick up one of her feet, making her yell out a series of curses as she wobbles around.  I look at the sole.  It looks fine.  A little red, but not burned.  I do the same with the other, and she claws at my back as she tries to stay upright.

"The good news is that your feet aren't burned," I inform her as I straighten up.

"Thanks, doctor," she grumbles, fixing her hair.

"The bad news is that you've burned whatever you were frying and you've destroyed two eggs and gotten my kitchen floor wet."

There's a long silence.

"But you still love me, right?"

I burst out laughing and move off to clean the mess.  We work together, and in ten minutes, the floor is dry and everything is put back in its place.

"Let's skip breakfast for today," Miki says shyly.

"Right," I agree.  "Go take a bath."

I point her in the direction of the bathroom and slap her on the butt to get her started.  She shoots me an inviting look that I try my best to ignore and I go to my room.

While she's off in bathland, I look through the things in my room.  I inspect all my photo albums.  They are all back to normal.  The pictures of Miki all exist, and I enjoy looking at them again.  I look through my drawers and find some of her clothes there.  The books she bought a few days ago are still on my shelf. 

I shake my head and laugh.  I've missed this life so much.  I admit that Hokkaido was refreshing, but it really served as a reminder of how great my life is here and how much I need Miki around to keep me sane and make me feel whole and normal.

"And whoooooo would I beeeeeee if I couldn't beeeeee beside yoouuuuuu!?"

I hear horrendous singing coming from the bathroom.  I cringe.  Miki's singing a song that she's been trying to write for weeks now.  She's been obsessed with trying to compose her own deep lyrics, but it still needs work.

Secretly, though, I like her cheesy lyrics.  She shows them to me sometimes and I make fun of her, but they do touch my heart deep down inside.  She writes them just for me.

"Whyyyy would I eeeeeeeeever leaaaaaaaaave if youuuuu are heeeeeeere!?"

I grab Mr. Monkey from the shelf and lie on my bed, hugging him tightly and looking up at the ceiling while listening to Miki screech out her song.

I'm definitely glad to be back.

[OTN1]

Chapter 2 of 28

On Day Four, breakfast is divine.

We both wake up early, but I stay in bed lazily. By the time I get up at seven o'clock, my simple but fresh meal is waiting for me on the living room table. I sit on the floor and eat, positive that Miki could not possibly have prepared this on her own. It's mostly cut up fruit, but it looks so nice sitting there. How can a girl who can barely use a pencil properly handle a knife so skilfully?

Thinking of Miki, I wonder where she's gone off to. She's not in the apartment.

I start to panic and imagine that she's disappeared again - or rather I've been flung into another alternate universe.

But she comes bustling in fifteen minutes later carrying a bag and still wearing her pyjamas with a jacket thrown on over. She has, of course, also already done her make up. Heaven forbid we leave the house without our faces on!

"Sorry. Convenience store," she says quickly, her voice a little strained.

I suppose she's tired. We stayed up until two in the morning. She looks a little worried. It's as if she feels bad for potentially having frightened me.

"Thanks for the meal," I say, pointing to the empty bowls

Her expression softens and she smiles.

"You're so spoiled."

I giggle and lick the last traces of yoghurt from my spoon.

"And you're trying to be sexy again. Stop that," she laughs, turning around and going into my bedroom.

How insulting! I didn't mean to try and be sexy. I was just licking the spoon. And what's with this "trying" thing? I don't try. I am.

I put my dishes in the sink and follow Miki into my room.

She's opening a drawer and looking through it carefully, trying to decide what to wear. I forget about giving her a hard time because my love for fashion and dressing people supersedes all the other loves I have. Except, of course, the one I have for her.

I sidle up to her to see her holding a grey skirt that belongs to her. My mind runs through all the clothing in my drawers and closet, racing to decide what matches and what doesn't.

"What about this?" I suggest, opening up another drawer and taking out one of my favourite tops.

She holds it up to the skirt, holds it up to herself, thinking a bit, and then puts it down.

"Something with a little more colour, maybe?" she says uncertainly.

We repeat the process several times patiently, pulling out various pieces of clothes, holding them up to her face, discussing them in short sentences of only a few words, and conferring with each other through looks. Miki finally settles for a smart, conservative top, but one with a hint of playfulness in its colours.

"I have a meeting today," she explains.

Miki and her meetings. Lately she's been having more. She's quiet about them, but I wonder if something big is going to happen. She's only been working at this new place about a year, but it seems that lots of good luck has been going her way. Many opportunities have presented themselves, and she's been able to reach out and grab them. I am, to say the very least, very proud of her.

"That'll look good," I assure her.

I move off to my bed and lie down on my back, my head and shoulders propped up against the wall. I watch Miki start to take her pyjamas off when she stops and throws me a dirty look.

"All the lazy butt can do is sit and watch me strip?" she asks bitingly.

I turn my nose up.

"It's my room. I can be here if I want," I reply in a snotty voice.

She scoffs, and in one fluid motion, she pulls her pyjama shirt off. The movement doesn't stop there. She keeps going with the momentum and lets go of the top. It goes sailing through the air and lands right on my face. I wince in surprise. Before I can take it off, her pants come flying over to join.

By the time I've untangled the clothing from my head, she's already doing the clasp up on her skirt.

She's unbelievably fast. One of her special talents is speed dressing. If it was an Olympic sport, she would hold the world record. This talent is born from oversleeping and waking up ten minutes before she has to leave the house. She's a demon when she's on a mission.

I prefer it when she's not rushed, however, because that way she's calm and smooth. She takes her time, takes it slowly, savours every minute and everything... and I stop that train of thought before it can get dangerous.

I notice that Miki is struggling with the clasp of her skit. I watch with interest as she fails and fails again to get it right. Finally, she looks up at me sheepishly and saunters over.

Smiling kindly and without a word, I roll up and help her.

"Thank you."

I don't stop there. Having thrown her clothes on in such haste, it looks chaotic on her, dishevelled and untidy, so I tug here and there at her clothes to straighten them out. She looks at me suspiciously at first, but I keep a neutral, if not helpful, expression on my face and she lets me do what needs doing.

"There!" I announce, pushing her back one step and looking at her like she's art. "You are ready to face the world."

Miki grins and twirls around once to present herself.

"Oh!" I gasp in horror. "But not those earrings. No no no. Nothing circular. Not with that top."

I grab her hand and pull her over to my jewellery box where I present her with much more suitable earrings to wear. She thanks me again and puts them on.

"Now," I say with finality, "you are ready to show your face in public."

I turn on my computer to let Miki check her e-mail. She takes a long time, typing up a storm while I read an article in a newspaper from three days ago. When she's finished, she looks weary from all the effort, but she has no time to rest. She has to leave. I look up from the article I'm engrossed in to say goodbye. She picks up her things and leaves with a jaunty goodbye. I return to my reading.

Four minutes later, someone barges in through the unlocked door. I jump up in surprise and my heart races until I see that it's just Miki.

"I forgot," she mumbles in an embarrassed way.

I'm about to ask what, but she comes up to me. She hugs me for a few brief seconds before pulling away and picking up her things.

"Okay, all better."

She looks happier as she leaves again, and I sit down feeling tingly inside.

I finish reading the article and get up feeling giddy. Time to find a job.

News of my quitting has travelled far and wide, and I have received some offers from various labels that are begging me to join them. None strike me as any good. They're too plain. Uncreative, unoriginal labels.

I pick up my phone and check my messages, something I didn't have time to do yesterday. I've got three new ones.

I almost drop my phone when I hear the third message. It's a familiar voice that I haven't heard in a long time.

"We're thinking of a reunion. I heard you're free these days. Call me back and let's talk. Later."

Always cool, always hip, always to the point. That's Tsunku-san for you.

A reunion? I wonder.

This could be interesting. It's been a while since Hello! Project went under. I wonder what sort of things Tsunku has under his sleeve. A reunion under his own personal label? Some other label?  Needless to say, I'm curious to the point of feeling instantly antsy. I decide to wait until nine o'clock to call him back, all the while wondering if he's left a similar message for Miki.

I call him a few minutes before nine, and he's happy to hear my voice, he tells me. We catch up for a few minutes.  Even though we've grown apart since we worked together, he still feels like an uncle to me. He was, after all, the guy that discovered me. The man who started me down this path. I can even say he's the reason why I met Miki, because if she had never come to Tokyo... Well, I don't have to imagine. I know what would have happened.

After the pleasantries, Tsunku gets down to business and starts to talk about his plan with vague and mysterious airs that he seems incapable of ever outgrowing.

"Mostly big names," he says. "You, Goto, Abe, Takahashi, and so on."

"What about Mikitty?" I ask in an off-handed manner, using a nickname that I rarely call her by anymore these days.

"Of course her, too. You still keep in touch?"

"Yeah, still the same old thing," I reply.

I've always had the feeling that Tsunku knew just how close we were when we were in the Project, and that he never said anything to us about it because he trusted us to be responsible. I can never be sure, though. He seems to me like another Shiba-chan - omniscient and very sensitive to the things going on in the people around him.

"Good to hear."

He sounds genuinely pleased.

We discuss a few more points, he asks if I've received a phone call from a man named Matsushima ("he wanted to get in touch with you a few months ago, so I directed him to your company," is Tsunku's explanation, but I have to tell him I'm afraid the man never called), and then we hang up with promises to keep in touch.

I figure I can take a break from looking for a new job for a few days. If the reunion is a go, that'll make my plate quite full. I still receive some royalties from various other projects I've done, so for now I'm okay for money. I shouldn't rush to find a job and then find myself in a situation that's less than desirable.

Maybe I do need a break. The thought of spending some lazy time at home for the next while agrees with me. As for Miki, I'm sure she also likes this break of mine. She's a conniving little weasel, so while she pretends to be excited about cooking me breakfast, I'll bet she's engineering a plan right now to turn the tables and have me cooking and cleaning for her by the end of the week. I promise myself not to let that happen.

I giggle. Sometimes I view us as having not just one kind of relationship, but several. One of them is like a never-ending war between two strong, opposing wills. Another is like a telepathic link where we don't need words to communicate. Yet another is like a counselling office where we go to unload our problems and worries in exchange for comfort and kindness. Then, of course, there's the whole physical side of it, which kind of embodies all the aspects of the aforementioned... and then some.

Oh my.

Time to find something else to think about.

I grab that three-day-old newspaper and read. There's a terribly sad article about a plane crash, but I skip it. That last thing I need to do is depress myself. There's no pleasant news, so I throw the paper down and go out for a lazy walk, wondering what time Miki has a break. I want to call her and talk about Tsunku's plan, but I guess it'll have to wait until later.

She's a busy girl, and right now I’m the complete opposite. Not that I mind. I like all this extra time I have now. I’ve been through a lot and need some time to settle back into my life. Thankfully, I’ve got Miki here to do what she does best - make me whole.

[OTN1]

Chapter 3 of 28

"Miki Miki Mikkiiiiiiiiiiii!" I cry into the phone.

"Hi, Gaki-san," she sighs.

I pause.

"Let's make that twenty days of breakfast, not fifteen," I say in a monotone.

"Okay, okay!" she squeaks.  "Sorry.  What's up?"

"You haven't checked your messages yet..." I assume.

"Um, no, not yet.  I haven't had time to," she says quietly.

"Check them, call whoever you need to call back, and then call me back.  Okay?" I say, chipper.

"What's-" she begins, but I hang up on her with a sneaky smile, excited about the news she's about to find out.

It's lunch time for most working people, but I've already eaten.  I sit on the couch and nod off while daydreaming about Miki, my phone still in my hand.

About half an hour later, my phone starts to ring and vibrate.

"And I was just getting to the good part," I say into the phone.

"Hi...? Of what?" Miki asks, sounding serious and confused.

I love to bother her at work.  She gets very focused there, so when I call her in the middle of a busy day, she always seems a little thrown off balance if I say things that aren't appropriate for the workplace (or things that plain don't make sense).

"Never mind.  I'll show you later."

I grin to myself because I can imagine her nodding thoughtfully and not thinking about anything unclean.

Or maybe that's just what she wants me to believe.  I bet her composed demeanour at work is all an act.  Maybe somebody is within hearing distance and she needs to remain cool.

"Ah, right!" she speaks up.  "Aya, I talked to Tsunku-san."

I let out a laugh.

"Isn't it great? This idea of a reunion?" I ask.

My enthusiasm may be born out of boredom and lack of work, but it feels real enough to me.

"Yeah, it's a great idea..." Miki mumbles and trails off.

I can sense there's a 'but' coming.

"But?"

She hesitates to answer, taking a few breaths and trying to start her sentence a few times over.

"I don't know, Aya.  I'm really busy right now.  I mean, not right now now, but in general.  These days.  I don't know if I could handle what I've got going on now, plus a Hellopro reunion."

My heart cries out to her because she suddenly seems so stressed out.  Before my otherworldly Hokkaido ordeal, I noticed that the stress was piling up on her, but now I think it's about to reach a critical level.  The kind of level where it's my duty to step up and give her a hand.

I forget about the Project reunion for a minute.

"Don't worry about it, Miki.  How about we talk later? Tonight or something," I suggest.

She sighs, maybe feeling bad because she thinks she's let me down.

"That would be good," she says.

Maybe there's something else bothering her.  She sounds so tired.  I don't ask, though.  I've learned that if she has something to tell me, she'll tell me.

"Can I do anything to help you?"

There's a pensive silence for a moment.

"Just be home when I get back?" she asks in a tiny, hopeful voice that almost sounds a bit nervous.

I want to tell her not to worry and that I'm not about to go out and walk into the middle of a gang fight.

"Sure," is all I end up saying.  "I'll be here."

"Thanks, Aya.  Dunno what I'd do without you."

She sounds a little cheered up, and we say goodbye.

Once the phone is disconnected, my day's mission changes from one of lazing around to one of thinking up ways to cheer up my number one Miki.


Miki gets to my place just after eight in the evening.  I study her face carefully and decide that she looks more relieved than anything else.  It's been a long day for her, and I bet she's looking forward to lying down and passing out in comfort.

"What's for dinner??" she asks right after removing her shoes, jumping onto my back excitedly and almost making me fall over.

So much for my "Miki wants to chill out" theory.  I've never seen her more lively.

"Watch out!" I cry as I fall forward and catch myself on the wall.

She gets off of me and goes to the kitchen without any apology.

"I'm starving," she sings, opening up the refrigerator and popping her head in.

I chase after her, muttering under my breath about children and behavioural problems.

"How old are you again?" I ask her, grabbing a handful of her jacket and pulling her out of the fridge.

"Twen-ty-fiiiiive," she sings, taking four steps towards me and backing me up against the sink.  "And how old are you? Thirty-two?"

I jab her in the stomach hard.  She doubles over in exaggerated pain, but stays put, not letting me get away.

"I don't approve of your sadistic values, Aya-chan," she says in a lecturing tone.

I start to laugh in disbelief.  As if Little Miss Aggressive should be talking.

"Anyway," she smiles saucily.  "I..." she moves her face in closer to mine.

"...just..."

Closer.

"...want..."

Closer.  Her nose touches mine and my lips tingle with anticipation.

"...  dinnerrrrrrrrr!"

She jumps away from me and goes back to the fridge, humming an unrecognizable tune to herself.

I feel like I'm in a drama where the woman finds out her boyfriend is an alien, but has to live with him because of some clause in some cosmic contract that states she can't leave him lest the world come to an end.

If I really did write that book about my life, it would be a bestseller, I think, remembering my plan to one day prove to the rest of the world that Miki is clinically insane.

Since I'm bound by many things, though, I follow Miki back to the fridge and put my chin on her shoulder as she studies my food.

"You're in a good mood.  What happened?" I ask.

"I came home and got to see you," she replies as she opens up a container that's holding the last few umeboshi that my mother sent me a few weeks ago from my hometown.

"Home? This isn't your home.  This is my home," I tease.

I reach my arms around her from behind and take the container out of her hands, closing it and putting it back where it came from.  I'm saving those for later.

"'Home is where the heart is!'" she quotes in English.

I know that one.  When she learned it half a year ago, she wouldn't stop saying it to me.  While it annoyed me, it did prove that repetition is the best way to learn a language.

"Indeed," I say, putting my nose into her hair.

"Oh! What's in here?" she ponders aloud, opening up another container.

It's the leftovers from my lunch.

"Can I have this?" she asks like a starving little puppy dog.

I nod and tell her she can finish it off.  I let go of her so that she can heat it up in the microwave.

"You sounded really stressed out today on the phone," I say, leaning against the counter and folding my arms across my torso.

"Oh, yeah.  That.  I've just been having a few rough days lately," she says, now rummaging through the fridge again and taking out an apple.  "I had some disagreements with some, um, colleagues."

She takes out the cutting board and a knife and starts peeling the apple.

"Did you have a fight?" I ask, knowing that Miki is well-known for finding herself in the middle of an argument because she's too stubborn to back down.

"No, not a fight," she says, not looking at me, but focusing on her apple.  "But he and I didn't see eye-to-eye.  It was...  unpleasant."

That's Miki's polite way of saying "I almost ripped his head off."

"Is everything else okay?" I ask, moving to stand beside her and gathering the peeled apple skin in order to throw it out.

She shrugs.

"Life is life."

I figure there must be something going on.

"Come on, Miki.  I know you better than that," I say lightly, reaching over to toss the apple skins into the trash.

She stops chopping and looks at me directly.

"These meetings are... close to being concluded," she says carefully.  "I can let you know the... results by the end of the week."

She speaks in such a slow and mysterious tone.  I'm filled with an anxious need to know what these secret meetings are all about.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, my eyebrows knit together with concern.  "You're not in trouble, are you?"

Miki smiles subtly and touches my cheek with her hands that are covered in apple juice.  Somehow, getting my face dirty doesn't seem to matter because she looks so serious.  It's like she's trying to tell me a lot more than the words she's speaking with her voice.  Alerting me to some fact that she's not allowed to talk about, urging me on to guess what's on her mind.

"Don't worry about me, Aya.  I'm fine," she says confidently but with a hint of regret.

Maybe somebody else she works with is going to be fired.  Or maybe they're making some big decision that some people will inevitably suffer from.

I gaze into her eyes and try to decipher a message that might not even be there.  It might just be in my mind.

In my heart, I will it to all be my imagination.  I can understand if she can't give me any information about work.  I respect that we can't tell each other everything about the secret decisions made behind the closed doors of our separate workplaces.  As long as she's not suffering, she can keep all the business secrets she wants.  But if at any point something damages her, I will jump in there to save her.

"Hey, Aya, what was that thing you said you wanted to show me?" she asks with reference to our phone conversation during lunch break, looking back down at her apple and slicing it up neatly.

My mouth widens into a devilish smile that she can't see.

"Hmm," I hum.  "Well, not really show, but... finish up your dinner and I'll let you know."

I lean my shoulder against hers and she looks at me. She sees my smile, and a small, knowing one breaks out on her face. She's figured out what zone my mind is in.  She likes it, and she's amused by me.  Nothing gets her more excited than when I'm feeling... frisky.  She finishes chopping up the apple very quickly and very sloppily.

That night we forget to talk about Tsunku and the Hello! Project reunion.  Who cares about that kind of thing when you have other, more important people - I mean things - to do?

[OTN1]

Chapter 4 of 28

I once had a big secret.  I kept that secret from Miki for too long.  It almost ruined us.  Once we made up (incidentally, it happened in Hokkaido), though, I wanted her to know that I would never keep another secret from her again.  Well, maybe I'd keep things like her birthday and Christmas presents secret.  But nothing else.

Late August, 2005.  I'm nineteen again.  She's twenty.  We have just come back from a lovely vacation in Sapporo.  We have just re-affirmed what kind of relationship we want to have.  We are almost perfect.

We're sitting in my apartment watching a movie.  This time it's some Hollywood action adventure.  It's fun at some points, but overall a little on the boring side.

I get up and walk over to my room while Miki tries to pay attention to movie and keep up with the ridiculously unbelievable plot.  I go through my drawer trying to find something.  I feel it and pull it out.  It's a dark red journal.  My diary.  In it, I lose all my dignity and all my humility, and I write what I really think.  It's the most honest thing that I have.

I tuck it under my arm and walk back to the TV.  I sit beside Miki, who gives me a cursory glance to acknowledge my presence again.  She goes back to watching the movie.

I take the book and hold it out to her.  She sees my movement out of the corner of her eye and she looks over.  She looks down at the object I'm holding and then looks up at me in confusion.  I indicate for her to take it from me, so she does.

"What is-"

"My journal," I reply quickly.

She looks down at the red cover and looks even more surprised.

"Why are you-"

"You can read it," I cut her off again.  "I write everything in there.  Deep, dark secrets to fleeting thoughts."

She frowns and continues to stare at the book in her hands.  There's no lock.  One flip of the cover will reveal everything about me.  She then smiles and hands it back.  My turn to be surprised.

"I don't need it," she says.

I frown.  I thought she wanted to know everything about me.  My honest opinions on everything.  I still haven't shared everything with her.  Not in the way she did in Kobe that first night.  She told me everything.

Everything.

I take the journal in my hands and put it on the couch between us.

"Why not?"

"Because you've already said enough."

What did I say? I can't remember.  She can tell I'm confused.

"You want me to know all those things, right?" she asks.  I nod.  "Then that's enough."

That's enough? It's enough for her to simply know that I want to tell her things? She really doesn't ask for much.  I smile and laugh.

"Right now, though, I'm more concerned about Jack- or Jake or whatever his name is- and how he's going to stop the terrorists," she says, once again turning her full attention to the TV.

My jaw drops.  I've been completely shut out and denied.  I toss the journal onto the table and grab Miki's arm, pulling her towards me.  She lets out a surprised sound and struggles to keep upright.  She falls onto her side and scrambles back up.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Getting your attention," I say, grabbing onto her hands and forcing her to face me instead of the TV set.

She twists her neck sideways and tries to keep an eye on the action on the screen.  I pull at her sharply and she looks back.

"I'm missing the movie," she says miserably.

"You can rewind it and watch it later," I reply crossly.

"But..."

Now she's sounding like the big baby I know she can be.

"Do you want to watch a movie or hang out with me?" I ask her.

"Can't I do both?" she asks timidly.

I squeeze her hands.  Wrong answer.  She ducks her head, afraid I'm going to do something mean to her.

"Me or Jack- er, Jake," I state with a pout.

"Since you're being so mean... Jake.  Or whatever his name is."

I pout some more and look sad and dejected.  She just laughs at me, lets go of my hands, and goes back to her seat to watch the movie.  There's a gunfight going on now, and she leans forward in her spot, absorbed.  I do feel a little sad.  I thought she was just playing around when she was enraptured by the movie.  I thought I could easily convince her to ignore it and pay attention to me, but it seems like she's serious about preferring the movie over me...

I lean forward and pick up my diary quietly and flip through it.  I find an entry about her dated February twelfth, 2005.

Oh, this is embarrassing.  Maybe it's a good thing she chose not to read it.

In the entry, I gush about how much fun we had on the weekend and how she's so funny and cool and cute.  Then I write embarrassing things about wanting to be friends forever and then I even say that sometimes I think we're more than just friends.

I couldn't have possibly meant it in that way, right? I don't even remember writing this entry.  It must have been one of those unconscious things that spilled out of my mind and onto paper, recorded for history.

I read the next entry, which is made a few days later.  It's about work and about how I'm finding it oppressive to be a part of H!P.  It looks like my mind had the same things on it for a long while.

I'm so busy reading the next entry about something silly Tsuji and Kago did during a rehearsal (involving water balloons, a tin can, and our choreographer) that I don't notice a hand sneaking its way around my shoulders.  Before I know it, Miki is sitting right up against me and holding me with one arm.  She's looking down nosily at my journal.  I look up, startled, and I slam the book shut.  She laughs at me again and takes my journal from me.

"What are you reading about?" she asks.

"Nothing," I mumble.

She opens the book to a random page and holds it out to me.

"This page?" she asks playfully.

I shake my head.  She turns to another page.

"This one?"

I shake my head again.  She closes the book and throws it back onto the table.

"Want to tell me?" she asks.

There's something almost seductive about the way she says it.  I feel very hot right now and I shake my head.

"I was just flipping through."

"Come on..." she urges me.

I receive a wave of confidence and I look right at her.

"It was an entry about you."

"Oh?" she seems thrilled.  "What did it say?"

"That you're so cool and cute and lovable," I reply.

She beams back at me.

"Cute," she says, referring to my writing about her.

I notice the TV screen and see that the movie is still playing.

"Your movie is still playing..." I say, nodding my head to it.

She doesn't even look back.

"You think I'm actually interested in that piece of crap?" she laughs.

"But you... you were just..."

She giggles.

"I get a kick out of seeing you pout," she explains.

I hit her hard on her shoulder.

"Oh, likes it rough," she teases me, but then she shuts up quickly as we both remember a certain night not too long ago where we indeed played at it rough and secretly enjoyed parts of it.

Her ears turn red and I'm sure my face does, too.   We chuckle it off eventually.  We have already forgiven each other and moved on.  We just have to remind ourselves.   From that point on, the concept of a secret beyond a surprise or a gift becomes foreign to us.

No more secrets.

That precept still stands today.  I no longer hide my worries from her, and I'm not a weaker person because of it.  I'm stronger if I share things with her and let her help me.

And so on Day Eight of Divine Breakfasts, when her apparent unease continues to grow, I let her know I'm very worried about her.

Day Nine is a day I will never forget.

[OTN1]

Chapter 5 of 28

It's five in the morning.  I can't sleep because I keep having scary dreams about people with no faces running around and sacrificing cats to some kind of spirit.  We watched a scary movie last night, and I'm still tense, my mind filled with frightening images.  It's dark in the room, but I feel better if my eyes are open and I can see outlines of everything around me.

I tell myself not to freak out when I hear a creak come from my living room.

It's not a ghost.  It's not an attacker.  It's just the wind, I tell myself.

My living room always lets out a creak or two.  Everyone's does.  It's just that after watching a horror movie, that creak becomes the footstep of a dead person who has come back to torment and finally kill you slowly with its sharp, bloody claws that dig into your flesh lightly at first and then go deeper and deeper, drawing blood from veins buried under muscle, and draining you dry-

"Miki," I whisper sharply, trying to shut out the image from my head.

I grab on to her arm and shake her.  She doesn't reply.  She looks dead.

"Miki," I say again more loudly.

Again there's no reply and I put my hand on her chest to check for a heartbeat.  She's got a slow, steady beat.

"Miki," I say in my normal voice. 

She stirs and I relax a bit.  She opens her eyes and looks at me.

"Sorry," she mumbles, closing her eyes and rolling away from me.

I huff.  She probably thinks I'm complaining about her being in my way.

"Miki," I say again, shaking her arm.

"Yeah?" she slurs.

"Are you awake?"

I know it's not a very smart thing to forcibly wake someone up only to ask if he or she is already awake, but I don't want to admit right off the bat that I'm scared.

"No," she grumbles, trying to convince herself she's just dreaming.

"Good."

I lie down right beside her and wait for her to ask.  She knows something's on my mind.

"What's the matter, Aya?"

"I'm having bad dreams," I tell her.  "I can't sleep."

"Don't worry.  They're just dreams.  They can't hurt you," she says, quoting what she's said to me a million times before.

She closes her eyes and looks like she's going to go back to sleep with no more words of comfort.

"I know, but I can't sleep anyway," I continue.  "They're scary."

She doesn't respond for a whole minute, and I lie there feeling a little cold.  She finally turns around and raises herself up on her elbow, pulling the covers up to cover me all the way to my chin.  She smoothes my bangs back and pats me on the head.

"When I first met you, I never would have imagined you as someone who'd get scared easily by her dreams."

I smile in amusement.  She used to give me too much credit in the bravery department.  Before, she always thought I wasn't afraid of anything, when the truth is that scary movies have often given me nightmares for up to two weeks after watching them.  It has gotten a bit better since she started sleeping over more often, because my mind is distracted with other thoughts and I can forget I have seen anything scary.  Since she's figured my fears out, she takes good care of me whenever I wake up from a nightmare.  Nowadays, I rarely have nightmares, but when I do, she stays awake if they are really bad and if I'm really desperate.

We don't speak and she continues to stroke my hair gently.  It's so relaxing that it almost hypnotises me.  My eyes close and I drift off.

Two and a half hours later, I'm awoken by Miki.  She's dressed and ready to leave, but she's bent over me, whispering my name softly and telling me to wake up.

"Hmmmm..." I mumble groggily.

"I have to leave now," she informs me.

"Bye."

I turn my face away.  I just want to sleep.

"I won't be back until late," she says in a singsong voice, wiggling her nose into my cheek.

"Mmm.  Bye," I repeat.

I don't want to hold her back and make her late.

She has a mind of her own, of course, and for some reason, she gets up on the bed and lies down beside me, hugging me tightly.  I squirm a bit because I'm still half asleep and would like to keep it that way.

"What's your plan for the day?"

I have no idea.  I'm barely even conscious yet.

"Dunno.  Search for work.  Go shopping," I reply half-heartedly.

Her hold on me tightens.

"I heard it's going to rain today.  Maybe you should stay in."

I open an eye and try to look up at her.

"Weather report last night didn't say anything about rain," I grumble.

"Weather reports change," she says to me in a reasonable tone.

"Okay.  If I go out, I'll take an umbrella."

I wonder why she's talking to me about this, but I don't care to ask because her hold on me loosens and she kisses my cheek in a pleasant way.

"Miki," I say as I start to wake up and remember last night just after we watched that terrible movie.

"Mmhmm?" she asks, her cheek now resting on mine.

"You know last night how we talked about - well, I asked you about that stuff?" I ask carefully.

I feel her cheek tighten up.  Maybe she has her mouth set in a grim line.  She remembers quite well...


We're getting ready to go to sleep when I sit down cross-legged on the bed and draw her towards me, making her sit down in front of me.

"You've been acting strange for the past few days.  Um, not strange, but you seem upset about something.  I don't know if something's going on at work or if you're in some sort of trouble, but can you please let me know?  I hate watching you get all nervous.  I want to help you."

I speak softly but with a firm edge.  It's my signal that I'll let her take things at her pace, but that I won't accept "no" as an answer.  I want her to let me in on what's going on her life.  It's our agreement.  It's in our contract.  Miki's my alien boyfriend, and the fate of the world is dependent on us.

A distant look takes over her face as she looks past me and at the window.  The curtains block her view of the neighbourhood, but she seems to see through them.  Then she looks at me solidly and squeezes my hands.

"I promise you that I'm not in any danger," she says softly.

That's a weird reply.  Why would I think her life was in danger?  I just thought that she was in a miserable situation at work, possibly being harassed by someone, possibly on the verge of being fired.  Maybe the situation is pretty serious, though, if she is making dramatic statements like that.

"I'm going to explain everything to you when I get home tomorrow night.  I promise," she continues.  "But you have to promise to let me go to work and not worry about it, okay?  It'll be all right."

She has officially scared me, but I have no choice but to agree.  A promise from Miki is a reliable thing.  We go to sleep, but I remain unsettled...


"Are you sure you'll be okay today?" I ask after she's recalled the previous night. 

She swallows and nods.

"I'm sure.  I'll come back at around seven o'clock, and then we'll talk," she says with a steady, honest look.

She could establish a nation with that look.  That determination.

It comforts me a bit, but I'm still concerned.

"I'm really really worried about you, Miki," I tell her.  "A lot."

She smiles and pushes herself up so that she's propped up over me, looking at me in the face.

"Thanks for your concern," she says.  "I'm lucky you're here for me."

Her face turns serious again.  No more smile.  She seems to be pondering life's mysteries, or perhaps our history together.  Whichever one it is, I can see in her eyes that a million thoughts are running through her head.

"Take care of yourself today," she tells me.

She speaks as though she's had a prophetic dream and this is her way of warning me.

"You too."

"Oh, and your breakfast is on the table.  It's been ready for a while now," she winks.

Completely awake now, I grin and pull her to me.

And then we "say" goodbye.

Oops, I think twenty minutes later at eight o'clock as Miki scrambles up from the bed, swearing like a drunken sailor and adjusting her clothes while I try to help her look put together again.  She grabs a few bags full of papers and runs to the door, screaming that she's late.

"Bye bye!!" I call out cheerfully after her, not being able to resist laughing.

She stops in her tracks and looks back and gives me the most beautiful smile.  Not a hint of stress remains in it.  I mirror the look on my face, and I'm happy that I have been able to help her relax and forget her troubles for just a bit.

Tonight I expect to find out just what her troubles are.

She sprints out the door and I go to the table.  Sitting there is a bowl of cereal, an unpeeled orange, and a glass of tea.  I roll my eyes.  Such an idle girl.  She was doing so well with the breakfasts, too.  This is definitely a setback.

I eat and then tidy up my apartment.

"Tidying up" turns into a full-fledged apartment clean up.  If Miki says it's going to rain, I may as well start on something indoors.

I finish by lunch time and I whip up some noodles while checking my messages.  Someone has called me from a payphone three times but hasn't left any messages.  I also have an e-mail from Shiba-chan.  She tells me that since the Italy project has been scrapped entirely, she's going on another trip even though she recently got back from a camping trip with her family.  She tells me it'll be a short one - Spain for five days - and she'll be back before I notice she's gone.

While I wait for the noodles to boil, I email her back and then send Miki a happy e-mail asking how she's doing.

Neither girl replies right away, so I'm left to myself with my noodles.

The day passes by in a blur.  I'm a bit nervous.  Who knows what sort of news I'm going to hear tonight.

In the early evening, Shiba-chan e-mails me back.  She's leaving in a few hours, so she reminds me that if I need to get in touch with her, I should use her PC mail, not her phone mail.

Still no word from Miki, though.  I sigh and prepare dinner.

Seven o'clock rolls around and I'm hungry, but Miki has said she'll be here, so I wait.  I watch television and lose myself in the second episode of a romantic drama that I wish I had watched from the first episode.

Time flies by and it hits me that it's eight o'clock.  I check my phone but there are no messages.  I hesitate for ten minutes and then call Miki.

It rings seven times before the automated voice mail message plays.  I leave my message.

"It's me.  Where are you?  Waiting for you with cold dinner.  See ya."

An hour passes by excruciatingly slowly.  I hold my phone in my hand and stare at it for most of that hour.  I switch the TV on for background noise and continue to wait.

By ten thirty, I'm panicky.  I've e-mailed her once and called her twice.  No reply to my e-mail, and the same answering machine message plays for my call.  Maybe I'm paranoid, but I have a bad feeling.

At eleven, I call her apartment, but the answering machine there picks up.  I leave a short message asking her to call me back.

At twelve, I put dinner in the fridge.  It has completely slipped my mind for the past few hours, and now I've lost my appetite anyway.

I lie down at one o'clock, my phone still in my hand, my palm sweaty with fear.  I can't stop imagining all the horrible things that could have happened.

But maybe she's all right and she’s just doing one of those crazy things she does sometimes.  She might have gone out to some party with her co-workers after an unexpectedly good resolution to whatever problem they've been facing.  She might be coming back on a late night bus after going to some town to buy something special on a whim.

Or maybe she has fallen and broken her leg in a park while her phone has died because it has run out of battery power.

I call her one more time.  This time, however, no answer machine picks up.  I get an automated message telling me that the phone is turned off or it's out of service range.

I close my eyes and force all bad thoughts out. 

It is in that way I fall asleep.

I wake up abruptly the next morning.  My phone, which is right beside my bed, is ringing.  Through bleary eyes, I check the time.  It's already eight thirty.  The previous night's happening suddenly hits me, and I scramble to answer my phone.

"Hello?" I ask in a rushed voice.

"Matsuura Aya-san?" asks an official-sounding voice.

"Yes..." I say slowly, cautiously.

Who is this man?  I don't think I know him.

"I'm Sugiura Akio from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, Minato Ward division three."

My entire body goes numb.

"We are extremely sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if you would not mind coming to our office to provide us with some information," he says politely.

I swallow the huge lump that has formed in my throat.

"What kind of information?" I croak hollowly.

There's an uncomfortable pause.

"If you don't mind, I would very much rather discuss that in person."

My head starts to spin.  Does this have to do with Miki?  Where is she?

"Okay," I find myself saying.  "What's the address?"

The officer gives me an address, and in a completely blank state, I get ready and head down to the police office.

Walking into the huge building gives me chills.  I have no idea what I'm there for, but it's definitely not good. 

I identify myself to the secretary at the front, and she gestures behind me to a waiting area.  In it are three men in casual business suits and two police officers in uniform.  They see me and stand up.  I assume they are the people I'm supposed to meet.

We walk towards each other.  I hold my breath.

"Matsuura-san, I'm Sugiura," the tallest man of the bunch says, sketching a bow.

He's one of the ones wearing a casual suit.  He looks well put together, just as a police officer should.

"I'm sorry to call you here so suddenly."

I shake my head.

"Not at all."

The five men lead me to an office, where I'm asked to sit down.  A sixth man wearing a police uniform comes into the room and hands Sugiura a plastic bag.  He leaves.  I watch as Sugiura opens the bag and takes out a small object - a cell phone.  He hands it to me.

"Do you know the person who owns this phone?" he asks me slowly.

With a trembling hand, I take the phone.  It's the model Miki uses.  I open it up, and sure enough, there's her Koala background picture from her trip to Australia last spring.  I look through the address book briefly just to make sure.  I recognise all the names.  This is Miki's phone.

I nod, too stunned to form words.  Has she been kidnapped?  Attacked? Or maybe even arrested?

The men exchange solemn looks.

"And whose phone would it be?" Sugiura asks.

"A girl name Fujimoto Miki," I say, annunciating very carefully.

"And her relationship to you?" asks another one of the business suits.

I look at him solidly.

"Best friend."

They exchange worried glances, and for some freakish, crazy moment, I wonder if I'm under arrest for being more than just friends with another girl.

"There's one more thing we need to ask you to do, and we're very sorry about it," Sugiura continues.

"What?" I ask in a low voice.

"If you would come to the morgue with us, we need you to help identify a body."

And with that, my world explodes in my face.

[OTN1]

Chapter 6 of 28

Morgue.

Body.

Identify.

"Matsuura-san."

"...your breakfast is on the table..."

"Matsuura-san?"

"Thanks for your concern."

"Matsuura-san?"

Be quiet.  I'm thinking.

"We're very sorry, but we need to confirm this..."

I drown out his voice with my thoughts.

No.  It's not Miki.  It's someone else.  Just relax.  Relax.  Breathe...

Someone takes me by the arm and I jerk away.

"I'm sorry..." one of the men says.

I look up.

"Not at all," are the first words I mutter.

I stand up.

They lead me through the corridors.  Somewhere along the way, a female officer joins us.  She walks beside me.

Cold metal doors.  Opening slowly.  Cold air on my face.

"This way, please."

I follow.  I'm a robot.

We stop.

"Matsuura-san, if you would."

I look down at a white sheet.  Under the white sheet is a body on a cot.

"I'm very sorry, but can you please take a look at-"

I reach out with a shaking hand before he can finish.  I grasp the white sheet.  Pull it back.

"I'm lucky you're here for me."

I stare.

Her eyes are closed.

She looks like she did yesterday morning.  Sleeping.  But with blotchy skin.  And pale.  So very, very pale...

"Matsuura-san?"

His voice is like a mosquito.  Irritating.  In my ear.

"I'll come back at around seven o'clock..."

I want to wake up from this nightmare right now.

Now.

... but I'm still here.

I reach my hand out.  I touch her face.  She's frozen.

No.  She's dead.

Suddenly an uncontrollable gasp of air rushes into my lungs.  I suck in the cold air of the morgue and hold it in me.  I cross my arms tightly across my stomach and stare at my worst nightmare.

I let the air go.  It flows out of me shakily.

"Matsuura-san..." says the woman softly. 

I look up at Sugiura.  He's looking at me with compassion.  My mouth opens to ask him what's going on.  Why is she here?  But my lips flap uselessly and I can't remember how to speak.  I see him look at another man and they exchange nods.  My reaction has probably confirmed what they suspect.

"This is the body of Fujimoto Miki, is it not?" asks one of the men.

I look at him blankly, my lips quivering.  I manage a slight nod.  I look back down.

Then tears.  They spill out of my eyes.  I grab the edge of the cot and hold on for dear life.  If I let go, I'll fall and smash my skull open on the cold floor.

"Oh, and your breakfast is on the table."

Cereal.  Orange.  Tea.

I look back up at Sugiura.

"W...?"

He comes to stand closer to me.

"We found her in a river.  She drowned.  We... we suspect foul play."

My grip on the cot tightens.

I don't understand.

Foul play?

That means someone did this to her?

I don't understand.  I don't understand.

"A...?"

"Matsuura-san, if you'll come this way, we can leave-"

"No."

My first complete word.

I look down.

Pale, pale face.

She made me breakfast yesterday morning.  She who now is lying in front of me, pale, cold... dead.

A wave of pain hits me and rushes through my body.  I feel sick.  I almost throw up.  I swallow down hard.

"Why?" I rasp out.

"We don't know why yet," Sugiura says gently.  "But we're doing our best to find out.  I promise you."

Don't promise me things.

I touch her cheek again.

"Why do you think it was foul play?"

"Heavy bruising.  Back and arms," one of the officers says in a cold, insensitive voice.

I'd slap him if he wasn't so far away.  Instead, I grab at the sheet and pull it down some more.

"Please-" Sugiura-san says, stepping up and reaching out to stop me.

I shrug his hand away and take one of her cold arms.  Sure enough, there are bruises on her upper arm.  I run my fingers along them lightly.

"Who did this?" I demand.

"We don't know."

"Who?!" I yell.

Why won't anybody answer my question?  How can they not know?

"We don't know yet.  That's why we called you.  We need to ask you some questions."

"No!" I sob. 

I start to cry in earnest.

I look down at the dead body of Miki.  There she lies, flat on her back, half of her covered by a white sheet, half of her naked and exposed to the cold.  No dignity left.  Just flesh, bones, blood, and muscle.  No Miki.  Just a shell.

How??

The pain tears me up.

The pain is soon replaced by anger. 

This is something that can never be forgiven.  Somebody has taken away the most important person in my life.  He or she will regret it.  I’ve decided.

Whoever did this to her... Whoever did this to her is going to die.

Some time during my crying fit, they lead me out of the refrigerated space.

I look back at her body as I step out the door.  They haven't covered her back up yet.  She's all alone.

"Take care of yourself today."

They will pay.

[OTN1]

Chapter 7 of 28

I don't understand what's going on.  They've given me a glass of water and sat me down in that office.  Sugiura sits in front of me.  The female police officer sits beside me.  The other men stand.  They hover like ghosts.  I feel like I'm being interrogated.

In my mind, all I see is Miki's face.  Her dead, cold face.  And in my heart, I feel nothing but pain and anger.  Pain and anger...

They've told me they're going to ask me a lot of questions.  I don't care.  I'll answer whatever they ask.

"Can you first describe to us in detail how you knew Fujimoto-san?"

Speaking in full sentences is hard, but I try.

"I got to know her through work.  We were idols together."

I'm sure everyone in the room knows that already.

"We became friends and remained friends after we left the company we worked for."

Sugiura takes notes.  I wonder what he's writing exactly.

"And how often would you see her?"

I have to answer this truthfully.

"Just about every day."

He writes down some more.

"And how well did you two know each other?"

How can I describe that?

"Very."

Sugiura looks up at me from his pad of paper.

"Can you elaborate?"

I nod.

"We share just about everything.  Secrets, clothes...  I - we - we just know everything about each other."

It doesn't sound right.  There are no words to describe it.

"Knew.  W-we knew."

Past tense.

"Was Fujimoto-san disturbed in any way lately?  Was she being harassed?"

I think hard.

"Not that I know of," I mumble.  "She was stressed out at work, but she didn't tell me what it was about."

Sugiura looks up again, his eyebrow raised.

"And yet you two share everything with each other?"

I nod silently.

"But she didn't tell you what was bothering her at work?"

I shrug.

"She said she was going to tell me yester-"

I choke up and look down, blinking rapidly and clenching my fists to keep from screaming out a sob.

Sugiura waits a few moments before he continues.

"Are you aware of Fujimoto-san ever receiving any threats?"

I blink.

"No.  Never.  She would have told me."

Scribble scribble scribble on his paper.

"What about people that she knew that might have wanted to hurt her?"

I'm starting to think that this conversation is pointless.  There was nobody that wanted to hurt Miki.  She never did anything to piss anybody off.  She minded her own business and was a hard worker.  She argued with people, but not over things that would make them want to kill her. 

"No, nobody," I say firmly.

"So nobody with a grudge against her?"

"Maybe it was some crazy fan of hers," I mumble.

John Lennon had been killed that way, right?

"Were you aware of any unstable fans that were stalking her?"

"No, there were none!" I yell, fed up.

He takes the hint and backs off.

"Let's take a break.  Would you like something to drink?"

I shake my head and look down at my hands on my lap.

Miki's dead...

It's no time to drink.

"Would you like to get some fresh air?" the woman asks.

I shake my head blankly.

I sit in my chair.  Some of the men leave.  Some stay, looking awkward in the silence.  I stare ahead and try to grasp the enormity of what's going on.

Miki is dead.  Dead.  Somebody pushed her into a river and now she doesn't breathe anymore.  I saw her just a little over twenty-four hours ago.  She was alive.  Soft and warm.  I can remember every single detail.

Who could do this to her?  Had she bothered someone so much that he or she had decided to kill her?  Had she looked at a gang member the wrong way while coming home?  Had it been an accidental push?

"I want to ask questions," I say aloud.

The woman straightens up.

"What questions?"

"Who found her body?"

The woman exchanges glances with another officer.  They tell me to wait for Sugiura to come back.  He does so with a fresh mug of coffee.  One of the officers takes him aside and speaks to him quietly.  He looks over and me and comes back to sit in front of me.

"A jogger saw a body washed up on the side of the river at around five this morning."

What a frightening sight...

"How did you get her phone?  It still works."

"We found the phone about half a kilometre away.  It was on the riverbank.  There were signs of a struggle."

I absorb.  Sugiura studies me carefully, and perhaps after seeing I'm starving for any piece of information, he continues.

"Our estimates at the moment state that she died perhaps four hours before her body was found, placing time of death at around one in the morning.  The beginning of decomposition has no..."

I suddenly don't want to hear the details.  I start to feel dizzy.  Sugiura continues to go into detail about her blood, her skin, rigor mortis, how being under water delays decomposition... and I can't hold it in any longer.

I bolt out of my chair and out the door, looking for a washroom.  I spot the sign for one and I run to it, my heart racing, my stomach churning.  My throat is constricted as I try to hold everything down.  I can hear people running after me and calling out, but it sounds very distant.  My ears are stuffed with iron that weighs me down and converts their words into a muffled, foreign language.

I get to the washroom and burst into a stall.  I fall to my knees and proceed to throw up the entire contents of my stomach.  I clutch the toilet seat with weak, sweaty hands as I gag and cry.  The pain is unimaginable and my chest feels like it's going to explode.  I can barely take a breath.  Every time I do, I feel sick, and my stomach tries to dispense something that is no longer there.  Long after the remnants of yesterday's lunch and breakfast are dispelled from my body, I remain kneeling there, dry heaving and wishing I was unconscious or dead.

It takes some time for my stomach to calm down.  I flush the unsightly mess and sit on the floor, crying.  I feel worse than I've ever felt before.  My entire life has been a breeze compared to this moment.

I just want her to be alive.  We don't even have to be friends.  We can hate each other.  But I want her to be living and breathing.

Why has this happened?  First I get thrown into a strange world where Miki doesn't exist.  Then I find her when she's on the verge of being proposed to by her stupid boyfriend of two years.  Then I spend an unexpected and pleasant night with her before getting thrown back to where I belong.  Then I have less than two weeks to become re-acquainted with this Miki that doesn't even know I've been gone.  And then... she ceases to exist.  She's killed by someone, but I don't know who.

I've seen her dead before my own eyes.

Another wave of nausea passes through my body.  I hunch over the toilet, but nothing happens.  I sit back down and sob.

That's when I notice that the woman who's been sitting in the interview room is now in the washroom with me and helping me stand up.  She turns on the water and hands me a towel and an unwrapped toothbrush and toothpaste set.  She asks if I'm all right.

Of course I'm not.

But I don't say that.  I thank her and clean my face and brush my teeth as she cleans up the mess I've made in the stall.  I feel weak.  My arms and legs shake as I go through the motions of cleaning up.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this and see all that," she says, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I want to tell her to take it off.

"But if it's any consolation, your answers to our questions can really eventually help us find out who did this."

I sniff and wipe my eyes carefully.

"I want to find who did this now," I say darkly.

Once I've composed myself, the woman helps me back to the room where I answer the rest of Sugiura's questions.  Some of them don't seem relevant, but I answer them anyway in as much detail as possible.  His final question strikes a chord deep inside me.

"If you had to guess and tell us one thing about Fujimoto-san's recent behaviour that seemed off, what would it be?"

I know without a doubt what it is.

"Her attitude towards work.  Lots of meetings - more than usual - and I got a feeling something bad was going to happen.  I didn't suspect this, though."

Sugiura thanks me for my time and tells me he'll keep in touch.  He asks about Miki's family.  I tell him I'll contact them and that they'll make the funeral arrangements.  We part on those terms.

I feel so old.

One of the officers drives me back home.  We are silent the whole way, me sitting in the back and him glancing in the rear view mirror ever so often to check up on me. Once we get to my building, I get out with a "thanks" and go up to my place.

The minute I'm home, I collapse on the floor and start to cry.  I've left Miki all alone in a cold room with only a thin sheet of cloth to cover her.  And her skin is ruined, and she can't breathe, and her blood doesn't flow, and her body is breaking down and...

I don't know how long I cry for.  Two years?  Two minutes?

The tears start to wane as I feel the beginnings of an emotion that is almost foreign to me because I rarely feel it: rage.  It's bottled up inside me and now it's spilling out.

Who did this?

I think hard.

Her work.  Someone at work.  It has to be.

But why?  Was she going to get a tour or an album that somebody else wanted?  Was somebody jealous of her accomplishments?  What was the motive?

But why didn't she answer her messages all day?  If she wasn't killed until one in the morning, she would have been alive when I mailed her.  What made her lose contact?

It doesn't add up, and I grit my teeth in frustration.

But then I kick myself in the head.  Did she even show up at work yesterday?  Maybe something happened before she got there.

With a quivering hand, I call up the main office.

"U-Con records, main office.  How can I help you?"

"H-hi, Tsuyoshi-kun?" I ask in a trembling voice.

Tsuyoshi is the youngest employee at U-Con records at age nineteen.  He answers phones and makes coffee while keeping in mind his future dream to be a music producer.  We've met in person a few times in the past year when I've gone to see Miki, but our relationship is mostly a phone one.  I've called Miki many a time at work and chatted with this young, sweet boy when she hasn't been available.  Miki always teases... would always tease me about Tsuyoshi having a huge crush on me, and that since I loved to hear my own voice and he loved to keep me talking, it was the perfect relationship.  All I ever had to say to that was that he was a surprisingly mature boy and that if she wasn't careful, my inner cougar would emerge before I turned thirty and I'd dump her like a pail of water for him.  Of course I never really meant it.

"Oh, Matsuura-san!" he says cheerfully.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask, skipping our usual small talk.

"Uh, sure."

"Did Miki show up at work yesterday?"

"Yup.  Same as usual."

I begin to feel like I'm facing a life-sized jigsaw puzzle that has no solution.  The pieces don't match.

"What time did she leave?"

"Hmm.  Just before seven.  Around six forty-five, I'd say.  I left a bit after her at seven."

Just before seven.  That means she would have been at my place by seven thirty, eight if she dawdled and went to a bookstore or something.  It doesn't make sense.

"Thanks, Tsuyoshi-kun."

"But it's odd.  She hasn't shown up for work today yet."

I swallow down the sob that threatens to escape.

"Actually, there's a reason for that.  She won't be going to work anymore."

His silence is a confused one.  I explain in a few words what has happened.

"I..."

He's stunned into forgetting how to speak.

"Oh..."

I hear him swallow over the phone.

"I'll let the, um, boss know..."

"If you need to talk to me, call me on my cell phone anytime."

The offer is private, not business.  I'm speaking to him, not U-Con, and he knows that.  I feel bad because I've essentially just pointed a finger at this company he answers phones for.  I'm sure the police will be crawling all over the walls soon, and Tsuyoshi might get confused.  He's so young.

I know he hasn't done anything wrong.  He adores Miki and respects her even more than most people who are close to her.  To him, she is - was - his older sister.  I'm the older sister's hot friend who he's nuts over.

We somehow end the conversation.  He mumbles goodbye.  I hang up and stare at my phone.  I know that I have to call Miki's family, but I can't bring myself to do it.

I dial a number.  It goes directly to an answering machine.

"Hi!  This is Shibata.  I'm away for the week.  Send me an e-mail."

I curse.  I've forgotten that she's in Spain.

Why is she there?  When I need her the most, she's gone.

I take my cell phone out and write her an e-mail.  I'm not sure what to say to her.

Shiba-chan.  Miki's dead.  I don't know what to do.  Please call.  Anytime.

I press 'send' and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

My phone call to Hokkaido is painful.  I speak to Miki's mother.  She's in denial for the first minute and refuses to believe that it's actually me on the phone.  However, I start to cry and it hits her that her cherished daughter is gone.  I give her all the information I know and tell her that I'll keep in contact.  She wants Miki's body sent to Hokkaido, and I tell her I'll inquire about that at the police station.  There's no question I'm invited to the funeral.  Miki's mom knows I love Miki like my own sister (although nothing more than that).  I'm treated like family.

After the phone call, I lie down on the floor and let my mind wander for a few hours.

I ponder the same questions over and over.

Why?

Who?

And I think about the things Miki and I will never do together again.  We'll never go to the zoo together, go shopping together, listen to music together.  Never ever again.  I'll never scold her again, she'll never pester me again, we'll never laugh it off again...

I wallow in my pain and sorrow until my phone rings.

[OTN1]

Chapter 8 of 28

I jump up from the floor and run to my phone.

Shiba-chan!

"Hello?" I ask, on the point of tears.

"Hello, this is Sugiura.  Could you come down to the office?  We have some more things we need to discuss."

My heart drops, but I remind myself that he might have some news.  I say it's okay, and he sends a patrol car to pick me up.  It comes within seven minutes, and I sit in the back feeling alone and cold.

Just like Miki's body.

I can't shake the sense of dread I get when I walk into the police department building again.  This time when I meet with Sugiura, he looks much sterner.  I wonder what he has to say.  He's got another man in the office with him.

I sit down.

"We're moved our investigation to Fujimoto-san's apartment," he informs me.

My stomach lurches, but I hold myself down.  It was bound to happen, yet I still feel like protecting Miki's privacy.  It's an invasion that feels disrespectful.  That's her apartment, and only she can give people permission to enter.

I notice that Sugiura is eyeing me strangely.

"Oh.  And?" I ask.

"Your fingerprints.  They're all over."

I frown and go on alert.  I don't know where this is heading.

"How did you get my fingerprints?" I demand.

Sugiura and the other man exchange nervous, guilty looks.

"Listen," Sugiura says, facing me again.  "We take all precautions.  We're very thorough in our investigation."

What a bastard.  Such an evasive answer.  I hate him.  I bet when that woman cleaned up the washroom this morning, she didn't just clean up.  She must have lifted my prints.  Bastards.  All of them.

"I did not kill her," I say in a hard, dangerous voice.

I'm offended by the mere suggestion.

"We don't think you did," Sugiura says in a calm, reassuring voice.  "We just want to know why your prints are on everything in her apartment."

"Because I go over there a lot," I say tersely.

Sugiura frowns.

"And you touch everything?  Your prints are on all her furniture, her books, her bowls, her stove... everything.  We checked thoroughly."

Oh yeah?  Did you check her body?  'Cause my fingerprints are all over that, too.

"I said I go over there a lot," I repeat firmly.

Sugiura seems to want to continue, but his partner stops him with a look.  Sugiura concedes.  He moves on.

"Are you aware of Miki keeping any sort of record or journal?"

All other thoughts in my head cease.  Journal.  Of course!

"No.  If there isn't one in her apartment, then I guess there isn't one at all." I find myself saying. 

Lying.

I know the real answer to the question.  I also know what I'm doing now is impeding an investigation.  Withholding information.  But I can't let them read the journal that I'm fairly sure Miki usually keeps at home.  If they haven't found it, it's probably at her workplace.  It's the only other place.

They ask me a few more questions and then let me go.  Sugiura's partner offers me a ride home, but I decline.

As soon as I'm out of their company, I ring up Tsuyoshi.

"U-Con Re-"

"Tsuyoshi!" I say quickly.  He starts to ask in a shaky voice how I am, but I cut him off.  "Have the police been by yet?"

"N-no, not yet."

He sounds shaken and confused.

"Good.  I need you to do me a favour."

"Anything," he says obediently.

"Can you go into Miki's office room without anyone seeing you?"

There's a pause.

"Yeah.  I'm going in now."

I hear him walk, open a door, and then close it.

"All right.  Now look in the top drawer of her desk for a key.  It should be in a little red box from a tea company."

I hear him rummage around.

"Got it."

"Now open the bottom drawer with that key."

I hear him comply.

"What am I looking for?" he asks.

"A book.  It should have little puppy dogs on the front."

He goes through whatever is locked away in that drawer.

"Found it."

"Good. Now please take it with you.  Don't let anyone see it or you.  I'll be by soon to pick it up.  If the police come, do not tell them you went into the office this afternoon.  If they ask if I called, you can say yes, but tell them we just talked about Miki."

"I got it."

He sounds even more confused.  I wish I didn't have to scare him like this.

But there's no way I'm letting those dirty investigators get their hands on Miki's most intimate thoughts.

And I've realised that if I have the journal, I can search for hints myself.  Find out who did this for myself.

"I have to go now," I say quickly.  "See you later."

I hang up and head for the train station.

I understand fully what I have just done.  My relationship with the investigators just got tricky.

That's okay, though.  I don't care.  I don't feel like playing by their rules.  They're not getting anything done.  It's quite obvious they're not doing a good job if they're coming to me and accusing me of having something to do with this murder.

My rage surfaces it again and this time I channel it towards all those know-it-all detectives.

They don't know a thing.

[OTN1]

Chapter 9 of 28

I go immediately to U-Con Records.  Tsuyoshi is sitting at the front desk looking spaced out.  He's all alone.  Nobody else is in the reception foyer.

He sees me and stands up.

"Hey," he says, holding up something.  "I've got it."

He hands me a UNIQLO bag.  Nice touch.

"Thank you," I say with the deepest gratitude I can muster.  "This will really help."

"Matsuura-san?" he asks as I turn around to leave.

"Yes?"

"How can you do that?  Manage to keep going?"

He looks like a lost boy who has no family, no answers, no clues.  If only he knew I felt even worse than that.

I smile at him sadly.

"Tsuyoshi-kun, I'm barely here."

With that, I leave.

I catch the train home in a daze.

It's almost five thirty by the time I get home.  I sit down and have a glass of water.  Halfway through it, the phone rings.  I almost don't answer it because I don't want to talk to Sugiura anymore.  I cave in because it might be important.

"Hello?"

"Aya-chan.  What happened??" are the first words out of Shibata's mouth.

I break down and explain as much as I can.  How Miki wasn't in touch all day, how she didn't come over after work, how I went to the morgue, and how Sugiura harassed me with suspicious questions.

A shocked silence follows my explanation.  Someone calls out something I can't understand in the background, but Shibata ignores the noise.  I sit there for about thirty seconds before she takes a breath to speak.

"I don't... I can't even think," she states.

"Shiba-chan..." I mumble sadly. 

The one who's supposed to be a steady rock, a voice of reason, and never phased, has become speechless.  It makes the crime that much worse.  It doesn't even make sense to the most sensible of people.

"I, um..." she trails off distractedly as the voice in the background calls again.

She covers the mouthpiece and calls out in response to the voice.  She comes back on the line.

"I'll come back as soon as possible."

The polite side of me that doesn't like to impose on people wants to yell out "no, that's not necessary", but my grief and anger overwhelm me and keep my mouth shut.  Shiba-chan is the best friend I have on this Earth right now, and I need her like I've never needed anyone else in my life.

"I'll e-mail you a number.  Call me if you need anything in the next few hours.  I'll get in touch with you once I manage to get a flight."

"Okay."

"I'm staying with a family named Romero.  They speak a little English.  Just ask for me."

I nod again and mumble another reply.

"Aya-chan, just... just hang in there.  Don't do anything stupid.  I'm coming soon."

We hang up.

Don't do anything stupid?  I look down at the bag sitting beside me.  I've already done something she'd probably consider stupid.

I open the bag and carefully take out the journal, running my finger along the edges, tracing all four sides.  I wonder what Miki would think if she saw me now, holding her thoughts in my hands and preparing to read them.  Would she be embarrassed?  Try and stop me?  Urge me on to read?

I stand up and go into my bedroom, sliding the door shut and sitting on my bed.  I look to my left and see Mr. Monkey lying on his side by the wall.  I pick him up and squeeze him tightly.  I put him in my lap.

I take a deep breath and I flip the cover open.  The first page is blank.  I turn it over, handling the pages gingerly as if they're pieces of a holy manuscript.

The entries start in February of this year.  She's not one for many words.  She doesn't lie to herself or beat around the bush.  Not anymore.  She's grown up a lot since I first got to know her.

With an uttered apology, I begin reading the small, compact handwriting.

[OTN1]

Chapter 10 of 28

February 6th
I got a new book to write in.  My other one ran out of space.  Sometimes I hate keeping this thing.  It's so embarrassing to read back over.  But sometimes I get so bored on my own.  Also, I can't possibly say every single thing that's on my mind to the people that matter.  Maybe when I'm done with this - or better yet, at the end of the year - I'll give it to Aya to read.  I don't think I'd mind at all.  She knows everything about me anyway.  These are just things I forget to say or that are too embarrassing but that I know she knows.

February 26th
Happy birthday to me!
Of course Aya forgot.  I know she does it on purpose.  I'm gonna get back at her good one day and teach her a lesson.  She'll regret she ever neglected me on my birthday.
I'm at work now and it's a slow day.  I've been sitting here trying to think of ideas.  We're having a meeting next week and I want to ask some questions about procedure and stuff like that.  I'm relatively new here, so I'm not quite sure how everything works.
It's weird to have a desk in an office.  I'm a performer, not a salaryman.  When I got to work this morning (after Aya all but ignored me when we woke up), some of my new coworkers sang happy birthday to me.  After work, we're going for drinks.  Ever since Katherine has been "on loan" to us from her company, we've all been partying a lot more.  Maybe it's an American thing.  And here I was thinking Japanese were big drinkers.  At least she speaks Japanese fluently.  God forbid I have to use my horrible English on her.
I hope Aya calls 20 times to find out why I'm late tonight.  Hah!  Aww, but maybe I'll send her an e-mail before it gets too late.  Don't wanna worry her.  Maybe at 8:30.

February 27th
Bad hangover.  I've felt nauseous all day, but I can't go home yet.  I'm waiting for Fujinuma to get out of a meeting so that I can talk to her about my new single.  Killing time now.
Last night we went out and drank too much.  I don't know how late I got home, but I remember Aya was there.  She was pissed off at first because I ended up not calling and she was expecting to hang out with me.  I ranted about how she forgot it was my birthday, and if she wanted to forget, that was fine by me, but that she shouldn't expect me to not make other plans.  She actually said sorry to me.  Ha!  I won that round.  But she wouldn't let me drink anything else even though I wanted to with her.  Apparently I fell asleep on the floor.  I only know that because this morning, she complained about having to drag me onto my bed.  I guess that was her birthday present to me.
But... I'm not actually mad at her, and I know she's not mad at me.  Just the same game we play.  Our power struggle.

March 15th
I can't stand it when Hashimoto gets on my case.  I know I go flat when I do lives.  He doesn't have to be such an asshole about it.

March 16th
Hashimoto can piss me off as much as he wants.  Aya's really good at cheering me up.  It's like living with bliss and ecstasy right beside you, every touch like heaven, every word like music.

March 17th
We've had a spell of really cold weather.  Aya's gone south for a tour for a couple of weeks so I'm all on my own.
I find I get stupidly poetic in the winter.  Things are dark and it feels like I can let loose under that cover of darkness and be a bit more sentimental.

March 30th
I'm worried about getting old.  Fujinuma asked me to do something three times, but I kept forgetting.  What'll happen when I start to find grey hairs?  Or get wrinkles?  I don't want to be unable to do things I do today.  If I want to climb a mountain, I want to be able to.  If I want to recall every single details of the past, I want to be able to.  If I want to stay up all night, I want to be able to.  None of this wishy washy "maybe I can, maybe I can't" crap.

April 3rd
My bathroom sink pipe exploded on me.  It was disgusting.  So much gunk flowed out of it, and it stank.  I had to get an emergency repairman to come and fix it, but it took him three hours to get here.  They were busy with other emergencies.  I sat on the balcony and drank coffee to get away from the smell indoors.  Cherry blossom viewing from my own apartment.  Haha, very pathetic.
By the time the guy came to fix the sink, I was wired, and I think he noticed.  He joked around with me for a bit, and I loved it.  I've been feeling so out of touch lately.  I haven't spoken with many people lately, and since Aya's been on that tour, I haven't really made the effort.  Hah, I can blame my loneliness on her.
Anyway, when the guy left, he gave me his card, but I looked at it later and saw that he'd written his own number on it.  I wonder if I should call him up just to make Aya jealous.  I still have to get my revenge for my birthday.  I'd go out for coffee with him while she's in Kyushu, and then I'd make sure she found out.
...
Of course I'd never do that!  Ha!  I could never.  I wouldn't want to.  There's a line that I won't cross.  We like to joke and tease each other, but not in a spiteful way.  We actually do like each other and get along.  We don't hold back around each other, but we treat each other with respect.  Sometimes, though, I wonder if

April 9th
I forgot what I was going to write last time.  I was interrupted by the phone.  It's bothering me.  Ug.  I "sometimes wonder" about a lot of things.
Tomorrow I have to film my Music Fighter appearance.  I'm still preparing for it.  They always make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt because they can't relax.

April 19th
Maybe this was what I meant to write about on April 3rd.
I'm pretty brave, pretty confident, pretty blunt.  I don't really care what unimportant people think of me.  But with people I respect, I care deeply.  Aya's one of those people.  I endear myself to her and get close to her because I like her so much.
I think many people have a best friend who is different from their favourite friend.  A favourite friend is someone they like to do stuff with and have the most fun with.  A best friend is someone who might not be a partier, but he/she has some big effect on the person's life.  He/she helps that person and that person can be perfectly honest with him/her.
As for me, I'm lucky because Aya's both my best friend and my favourite friend.  She's my idol, the person I respect most, the person I worry about most, the person I love most, and the first person I call up when I want to go to a movie.  But what am I to her?  I know we don't really talk about that out loud because sometimes you can't define it in words, but still... Sometimes I wonder if she likes me as much as I like her.

May 2
Do I treat people badly?  I had a confrontation with Noriko today and she told me I'm not so nice all the time.  I think she misunderstands me.  I'm not rude, but I don't baby people when they need to hear the truth.  I don't soften the blow.  I tell them what they need to know, not what they want to hear.  Not many people understand that.  I don't want to make enemies because of it.  I wish people were more understanding.

May 17th
I've got Fujinuma backing me up at work.  Some seniors got upset because I just swept in here and got myself a bunch of golden opportunities.  Lots of promo work, lots of lives, two singles, and rumours of an album.  Fujinuma told them off.  Love that woman.
Katherine went back to her country a couple of days ago.  I kind of miss having her around, but I'm glad we won't be partying so much anymore.  I swear I've gained three kilos from beer alone since she's been here.

May 31st
I got the green light for an album.  Celebration time!

June 4th
I hate Kuniko with a passion.  She and Ohashi can go to hell.

June 10th
Best day ever!!

June 15th
Did I mention before that I love Aya to death?  When she says things like she did yesterday, I can't believe that I'm alive and on this world.  She came over to my place after work and waxed rhapsodic on how wonderful I am and what an inspiration I am to her.  I wasn't upset and I wasn't searching for comfort or ego-boosting, but I got it anyway.  I wonder why she does things like that.  It makes me feel impossible good.
Yesterday she carried on for a good ten minutes before pausing.  I don't usually feel real embarrassment around her, but yesterday I couldn't talk because I was so embarrassed, not to mention touched.  Later on when we went to sleep, I wanted to thank her some way, but I couldn't even begin to.  I just lay there, and by the time I did think of something good to say, she was already asleep.  I hope she knows how grateful I am for everything she's done for me.  I think she knows.  She knows that sometimes I don't say everything I want to say.  So... when I don't say things, I hope she can feel the words coming from me.  Maybe radiating off my skin.

June 23rd
I'm so worn out.  It's been a crazy busy week.  I want to stop and breathe, but there's no time.  Gotta do my best till the end.

July 5th
Ug.  So hot.  Can't breathe.

July 6th
Katherine called our office.  We all talked with her.  She's crazy.  But I kind of love that.

July 13th
Save me!  Hottest summer in 76 years.  How?!  Why?!

July 20th
Fuck you, Aya.  No, really.  Stop bitching about everything that I do.  I'm allowed to have a life.
God, she is so annoying when she acts all morally superior or whatever.  I know how to take care of myself.  I can handle the work.  I'm not a twig that's going to snap easily.  I can take a few bumps.  She doesn't have to lead me and take care of me all the time.
Fuck you.  Take me seriously for once.

July 22nd
I feel really bad for writing what I did.  We talked.  She was just worried for me 'cause she cares.  I know that, but I guess I've been a bit tense with all this work lately.  She told me she takes me seriously and I believe her.  I take back those nasty words.
Waiting for her to come over now.  All I want is a hug and that'll be enough.

August 28th
Had another dumb fight with Aya again.  I think the heat makes us cranky.  That and all the work.  It's all good now.  I don't like having ill feelings between us, but in a way it's good.  We let all that steam out.  And of course the after part.  Haha, we should argue more often.  Kinda turns me on.

September 3rd
Terrace Café, 5:15.... ?

September 4th
It looks like I've got something potentially good.  That was an interesting meeting.  Now that I've got this album...

September 30th
I've been so busy at work, plus all these extra meetings.  I deal with some strange people sometimes, but I guess I like them well enough.  I've been neglecting some things at home.  I've been neglecting some people.  It makes me feel bad.

October 17th
Fucking hell.  She's going to be gone for three months.  Stupid Italy.

October 24th
Aya leaves tomorrow evening.  My time is stretched between work, meetings, and her.  I want to spend all of it with her.  Three months... I think I might cry.  Actually, I am crying a little right now.  I don't want her to leave.  She's so cheery and happy, even when she's not.  To me, she's always shining in some way.  If somehow she can come home early, I'll be so thankful.  I try to be strong for her, but it's tough when you love someone so much that you're rendered weak and susceptible to all sorts of emotional bullets.  I'm watching her right now. She's fast asleep, but I couldn't fall asleep no matter how warm I was.  I had to write something.

October 27th
Ha!  I swear she was abducted by aliens.  All her crazy talk.  But I love her.  She's staying.  Oh, she's staying!!

October 28th
I'm so weirded out right now.  What have I gotten myself into?

October 31st
She's so perfect.  Why is this happening to me?  I've never been more terrified in my life.  They say if I tell anyone, they'll kill her.  I believe them.

November 6th
I can't move from my office.  They know I'm going to say something tonight.  They just know.  I can't call, can't talk to anyone, can't even write about it here.  I'm going to keep this book here tonight.  I don't want it with me.  I just want to be back home with her.  That way I can try to make sure nobody gets hurt.

I'm so scared.

[OTN1]

Chapter 11 of 28

What the...?

I put down the book, my hands trembling.  I'm filled with even more of the same sick feeling that's been inside me ever since the police called.

Somebody was harassing her.  Somebody threatened her.  But what was it about?

I go back and read the entire book once more.  It doesn't take too long.  I focus on the last three entries.  They sound very mysterious.  Is the "her" she's writing about me?  Did someone threaten to kill me?  What kind of secret did Miki have that made them threaten people close to her?  What did she do to aggravate someone to the point of doing that?

I flip back to the entry on June 4th. 

Kuniko.  Ohashi.

I wrack my brain trying to remember who they are.  As far as I can remember, though, they're just fellow co-workers on the same label as Miki.  If memory serves correctly, Kuniko is a b-grade singer (according to Miki), and Ohashi is some older guy who can dance but whose singing is nothing to write home about.  Could they have done something to her?

No, that would be too obvious.

What about Noriko?  I know Noriko from a party a few months ago, but she doesn't strike me as a dangerous person who would want to kill someone.

Nobody does.  Nobody at her work would do that.  She would have told me if there was anyone she thought was going to hurt her.

But then I look at the second last entry. 

They say if I tell anyone, they'll kill her.

Why would she believe these people?  She could have told me anything and nobody else would ever know.  How bad was this thing she knew?

Reading this journal has caused me more confusion than I thought it could.  It's answered none of my questions.

I briefly consider handing it over to the police, but I stop that thought.  There will be too much to explain.  I've already lied to them, and I've even involved Tsuyoshi.  I have to keep silent.  Anyway, the things Miki has written about are too personal.  I don't want anyone to know them.  I don't care that they involve me.  I just want to protect her last bits of dignity.  She wouldn't want her life to be an open book to just anyone.

So that leaves me with a big question mark floating over my head.  Who was harassing Miki, who killed her, and why?

I need to answer these questions, because once I do, I will find the people responsible and rip their throats out.

I drop the book from my hands and grab the covers on my bed, squeezing hard.  The rage resurfaces and I want to scream.  I hold it in and take a deep breath, counting to ten before I let go and exhale.  I open the book again and read slowly from the beginning.

I wish I'd gotten her a birthday present.  I had meant to "forget" her birthday this year because I was going to surprise her after work, but then she went and got drunk at some other party and ruined it.  I felt really bad, but I never told her that I had planned to do something for her.  I guess now she'll never know...

It breaks my heart to read her entry where she wonders if I like her as much as she likes me.  Of course I do.  She's also my favourite friend and my best friend.  I begin to cry because now I can't tell her that.  I think she knew, though.  She probably let go of that fear after writing it down.  She must have known because she never wrote about it again.  If it bothered her, she would have written about it.  Right?

After reading about how we argued (the memory of those arguments comes back, and now I miss them more than anything), I stop at the first entry for the month of September.

"Terrace Café, five-fifteen, September third," I read out loud.

The Terrace Café is our place.  We go there a lot because of the nice atmosphere, and nobody bothers us.  I wonder what kind of meeting she had there.

It's odd, though.  That café isn't exactly a place where one would think to have a meeting.  And why that particular one?  There are dozens of other places in Tokyo in which to have meetings.

She also seems to have been caught off guard by it.  Her question mark probably shows that she's not the one that called the meeting.

So who did?

When I find you I'm gonna kill you, you bastard.  Rip your heart out and see how you like it.

My hands itch to call Shibata and tell her about these things I've discovered, but there's no point.  She's either on her way over here if she managed to get a flight for today, or she's getting ready to leave and shouldn't be disturbed.  I hope she calls me as soon as she lands.  I need to talk to someone I can trust completely.

I read the same few pages over and over again.  It seems impossible that almost a whole year's worth of unspoken thoughts are contained within these ten pages.  I guess she really does tell me everything.  Did.  She really did tell me everything.

(No.  Thinking in the past tense hurts too much.  I can't do it.)

Maybe she just doesn't like to write much.  She said so herself.  She's not the most eloquent writer, but then again, neither am I.  At least I can get into it and get all flowery and dramatic.  She's too shy, even with herself.

I flip through the blank pages mindlessly until I discover something.  There's some writing on a few of the pages near the back of the book.

The third last page has a poem written on it.  As I read it, I realise that it's the song that she was trying to write before she di- no.  Just... the song that she was trying to write.  At the bottom of the page, she's scribbled some things.  There are some pictures that I can't quite make out.  Maybe animals or people.  And there's my name with a heart around it.

I read the song over and over again.  It's pretty terrible, but suddenly it means a whole lot more.  I can't stop the tears as I look at this ridiculous song and think of how she's never going to work on it again.  I'll never hear her sing it in the shower again.

I throw the book down and yell at the top of my lungs.  Nothing intelligible.  A mess of gibberish.  I scream out words of death and killing, and I bawl my fists up, pounding them down on my bed.  I fall forward and cry into the blankets, sobbing out that I want to kill whoever killed her.  That I won't rest until I've found him.  I tell her that I'm sorry for letting this happen to her.

I lose control for those five minutes, and then pull myself together.  I have to keep sane.  Whoever did this to her is still out there, and I'm sure I can't be safe if they are.

I turn to the next page and I grow even sadder.  It's an entry that she didn't write in the main part of the book for a silly reason.  I read it quietly in my head.

June 23rd
I can't keep this a secret anymore!!  But I have to write it back here just in case Aya reads my journal before the 25th.  You never know.  Sometimes I keep it at her place, but I don't tell her.  I mean, of course I trust her, but still.  Like I said, you never know.  Hahaha!  I don't think people usually flip to the back of a book when they read, so let's hope this works. 
Anyway, for her birthday, I got her this stupid book she's been going on about wanting to read.  Not just that, but I got it signed by the author.  Yesterday he had a two-hour autograph session at Kinokuniya.  Aya had to work and she complained ad nauseum about not being able to go.  I ignored her pretty much all day, and I managed to get time off to go to the session.  I got the book signed and addressed to her.  I can't wait to see her reaction in a few days.  She'll either worship me for thinking of her and taking time off, or kill me 'cause I got to meet her favourite author.  I hope it's the first one!

I remember that clearly.  I thought she was going to give me a taste of my own medicine and ignore me on my birthday, but no.  When I woke up to my screeching alarm and grudgingly got out of bed to go to work, she was already up and in the living room watching TV.  A rare thing for her.  She saw me and tossed me a bag that I barely caught.  I opened it and saw that book and smiled... and then when she told me to open it to the first title page, I almost died.  For a moment I did feel jealous that she'd gotten to meet him, but that quickly changed into gratitude, and I didn't think that I could ever say "thank you" enough times.

I start to feel myself losing control again, so I grab my cell phone and check my e-mail for that number Shibata has sent me.  She's included the directions for long distance calling.  I yank my phone off the hook and dial quickly.

It takes a while to connect.

The ringing starts.

After four rings, someone picks up.

"Dígame."

"Eh... Shiba.... eh... Ayumi?"

"No.  Ya se fue.  Hace como veinte minutos."

This requires a different approach.

"Ahh... Japanese?  English?  I look for Ayumi," I say into the phone in English.

"Ahh, sorry.  She has left.  She buy a ticket for, eh, a plane.  Ehh, twenty minutes since gone."

I just barely understand.

"So sorry.  Thank you.  Bye!" I say quickly, and I hang up as the other person says something along the lines of "it's okay, bye."

So she's managed to buy a plane ticket?  Or she's out buying one now?  Either way, I can't talk to her for a while.

My life is a waiting game right now.  I pick up the journal and I re-read it.

This time around, something nags at the back of my mind.  After the Terrace Café entry in September, she speaks about her meetings as if they're separate from her work. 

I've been so busy at work, plus all these extra meetings.

My time is stretched between work, meetings, and her.

It might just be my imagination or my paranoia, but something is not right about that.  But there's no way for me to find out.  I should have asked Tsuyoshi to grab her agenda book while he was in her office. 

Tsuyoshi.  Of course.  Who else would know better than him?  He's the secretary.  He's sure to have handled scheduling, or at least seen the calendars fifty times per day.  He'd probably be able to answer my questions.

I know I have to have his cell phone number somewhere.  I'm fairly certain he gave it to me a few months ago, something which Miki teased me about a lot.  I look through my address book and find it.  There must be some lucky star on my side for the time being.

I dial up the number and wait patiently.

"Hello?" asks a tired voice.

"Hi, Tsuyoshi-kun," I say. 

It takes him almost no time to identify who I am.

"Oh, hi.  What can I do for you?" he asks with unimaginable hope in his voice.

"Do you have time now?  I just want to ask you a question or two."

"Sure.  Does this have to do with Fujimoto-san?"

His voice weakens at the mention of her name.  My stomach weakens, too.

"Yes," I say quietly.  His silence is my pass to continue.  "Did Miki-chan have a lot of meetings?"

"Yes, but not more than any of our other employees.  She's- she was popular with the bosses, so she got lots of extra opportunities, but no extra meetings."

"What about outside of the company.  Did she have any outside meetings at any cafés or restaurants?"

"Um..." Tsuyoshi thinks hard.  "I can't recall ever seeing one on the schedule."

"What about-"

"Wait," he says, interrupting me.  "I've got my giant agenda book from work.  I bring it home sometimes.  I've got everybody's bookings written in there.  Let me get it."

"Thanks."

I wait while he runs over to wherever he keeps the book.

"Okay, I've got it here.  Do you have any particular date in mind?"

He's on the same wavelength as me.

"September third.  Anything out of the office scheduled for around five fifteen?"

He flips through pages and then stops.

"Nope.  Nothing for September third.  Actually, she had no meetings here or outside."

Suspicious.

"And nothing on the next day either?"

"No.  Nothing."

So this meeting she had must have been... personal?  But it sounded like it was work-related.

"What about after that?  For the months of September and October.  Can you tell me what kinds of meetings she had?"

Tsuyoshi flips through the pages of his book, no doubt memorising when and where Miki had meetings.

"They're all meetings in the office.  Nothing outside.  No business lunches or anything like that."

I try not to yell out in frustration.  What were these meetings she was going to?!

I take a deep breath to calm myself.

"Tsuyoshi-kun, can you think hard about Miki during the months of September and October?  Was there anything that seemed off about her?  Did she do or say anything strange?  Maybe act out of character?"

I can hear him breathing as he thinks.  I've probably scared him more than I should.  I can feel him wanting to ask me questions, but he's being polite.

"Nothing strange, but she did leave early quite a bit in the past half month.  Well, not early.  She used to stay overtime till seven or eight, but lately she was leaving at four-thirty or five.  It sounded like she was just busy at home.  It happened maybe two or three times a week."

An icy hand grips my heart.  As far as I knew it, she was working at her U-Con office until late and then going home right after.  Now I'm hearing that sometimes she left early some days and essentially disappeared for a few hours.  I have never been a maniac about keeping track of her.  She has - had - her own life, and who was I to need a record of how she spent every single minute of her day?

But it just seems odd that she never talked about it with me.  Why wouldn't she mention these extra meetings?  Why did she make everything she did sound like it was part of her official work?  I have a very bad feeling.

"Did anybody strange call for her?  Or did one person call her frequently?  More than usual?" I ask, my voice shaking a bit.

"Um... no.  I mean, you call - called - her more than anyone.  Other than that, nobody seemed to call her too many times."

Oops.  Did I really call her that much?  No use dwelling on that now, though.

"I see..."

I run a shaky hand through my hair and try to think.

"Matsuura-san, was Fujimoto-san in any trouble?  I mean, you mentioned the police earlier..." Tsuyoshi asks timidly.

"Sorry.  I honestly don't know.  She might have been in trouble, but as the victim.  So the police didn't show up there today?"

"No."

I'm positive that they'll show up tomorrow.

"Tsuyoshi-kun, I know I'm asking a lot of you, but can you keep this quiet?  That we talked about Miki's schedule?  I think the police are looking in the wrong direction, and with me being nosey, they're going to think I have something to do with it.  I need you to trust me for a bit..."

I know that I really am asking a lot of him.  He can say no anytime to me, deny me information, and go straight to the police with what we've talked about.

But he's a very loyal boy.  I've learned that.  I have faith in him.

"Matsuura-san, I would rather be arrested and thrown into the slammer than let you down.  If somebody did hurt Fujimoto-san, I want him brought to justice."

I almost shed a tear at the love I hear in his voice.  Definitely not your typical nineteen-year-old boy.

"Thank you.  You can't imagine how much that means.  I have to go now, but keep in touch, okay?"

We say goodbye and hang up.

I look down at the journal entry for September third.

Terrace Café.

I have a feeling that whoever I'm looking for, he or she is connected to that meeting.  It has to be.  There's no other explanation.

I'm taking a gigantic leap here.  I don't know how to be a cop.  There's a reason why I never finished high school.

But to do what I'm going to do, I need somebody by my side.  I need some brains.  I need someone with common sense.  I need Shiba-chan.

Hopefully she'll be here soon.

I turn off the lights and lie down on my bed, the journal right beside me, Mr. Monkey above my head.

Sleep takes a long time to come, but when it does, I'm grateful, because for a few hours, I can escape from the gut-wrenching pain that I'm trying to cover up by playing detective.

[OTN1]

Chapter 12 of 28

RIIING! 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.

[OTN1]

Chapter 13 of 28

Lunchtime comes and goes as I wander through the streets.  For four hours I walk around with no point and too many bad thoughts, torn between being sad and being angry.

The minute after I get home, Cho calls me and informs me that I can go down to the morgue and make whatever arrangements I want because he has spoken with Miki's mother.  He has the audacity to sound annoyed.  I almost tear into him, but I let it go.  Let the imbeciles remain imbeciles.

Caring about nothing, I make my way back to that horrid, cold place to take care of the paperwork.  I'm just barely polite to the people working there.  I don't know what I'm doing, so I have to let them tell me what to do.  I turn into a nervous wreck because it's all so complicated.  There's no need for it to be.  I just want to send her to her hometown.  Why can't it be like buying a train ticket?

I get out of there feeling frustrated, as if I've accomplished nothing.  I didn't even get to see her.

I go home in a daze after calling Miki's mother to apologise and inform her that everything has been taken care of.  She thanks me and tells me she'll call me later with details about the funeral.  She chokes up when she says that word.

Funeral.

I simply block it out.  If I can't hear it, it doesn't exist, right?

It's three o'clock by the time I get home.  Shibata should be landing soon.  Fifteen minutes later, my phone rings.  I've received mail.

In line at customs.  Will call as soon as I'm home.

I send her back an e-mail.

Welcome back.

It seems full of sarcasm and bitterness.  As if I'm saying "welcome home, Shiba-chan, to our lovely country, my hell on Earth, my nightmare."

I sit and re-read Miki's journal over and over again until the phone rings again at four-thirty.

It's Tsuyoshi.  I don't have to ask him a thing because he launches right into it after I pick up.

"Everything went fine.  They didn't ask about the second phone call even though I'm sure they pulled the record and saw your number.  They didn't ask about the 'prints either.  They only asked if I usually went into Fujimoto-san's office.  I said I sometimes went in to clean up her desk."

I sigh.  That's good news.

"So I think we're safe," he concludes.

He sounds thrilled.  Excited.

"This isn't a game," I snap at him out of the blue.  "If you think this is fun, I refuse to have anything to do with you."

I regret speaking to him so harshly, but he has to know that this is serious.  This is about a life that has been taken.  A life that was important to me, and one that I will never forget.

"I-I'm sorry..." he apologises weakly,  "I didn't mean that."

I rein my anger in.  I'm channelling it at the wrong person.

"Sorry.  I'm tired."

I don't think I sound that sorry, but Tsuyoshi cuts in and apologises some more and says I shouldn't be the one to feel bad.  We end our conversation on an awkward note and I go back to my thoughts.

I sit and contemplate what to do.  Where to go from here.  Once this is all over - once the killer is caught - what am I supposed to do?  I have no job, and any desire to find one has left me completely.  I have a gaping hole in my heart that can't be filled in by anything.  Not my family, not a million friends like Shiba-chan, not a drug.  I'm lost.

It's my fault, though.  It's entirely my fault for living in such a happy and carefree way.  Before all of this, I had never thought that anything bad could happen to me or the ones I loved.  I had always taken my safety for granted, and I had never stopped to think about what I would do if I were faced with some sort of danger or tragedy.  I let myself get close to Miki and I somehow let her make me like her.  I gave in to her charms and without even being sure why, I couldn't let go.

And now I sit here, broken-hearted because I bothered to care.  Half a person because I gave away part of myself.  Maybe it would have all been better if I had never met her.  Then I wouldn't feel like I was paralysed and being pecked at bit by bit by a hungry raven.

That's selfish.  You know what you are?  Selfish and idiotic,  I tell myself. 

I'm swimming in my pain like a spoiled child.  The ultimate injustice has been committed.  It's not time to think about myself.  It's time to think about her.  This crime against her must be uncovered, her killer brought to justice.  All her memories should serve as reminders of just how damned lucky I am to have met her at all.  I shouldn't be sitting here saying, "oh, boo hoo, me.  Look at my pain."  This is about something bigger.

But even though I tell myself that, I still can't stop hurting and feeling sorry for myself.

Time passes slowly as I struggle with this problem.  I pick up one of Miki's books and flip through it, looking at the bright pictures and the bold captions.  It's a travel guidebook for East Asia.  On the shelf there are seven or eight more books, all guidebooks for different regions of the world.

So much for taking another overseas trip together.  I sigh and imagine what it would have been like.

At six-thirty, my phone rings.  I check my mail and bolt out of the room.

Shiba-chan's back.

I throw on a jacket, gather whatever I need to show her, and leave my apartment, mailing her back as I rush out the door.

~

DING DONG

I stand outside Shibata’s apartment, unable to be still.

Five seconds later, the door opens.

"Come in," Shibata says when she sees me.

I manage a thankful nod and step inside.  Beyond her, I can her suitcase on the floor.  It's open and half empty already.  She's in the middle of unpacking.

"Have a seat," she says once I've taken off my shoes.

I sit on her couch, clutching my bag in my hands.

"Want something to drink?"

I shake my head once.

Shibata stands there watching me.  I find myself unable to speak.  If I talk to her about it in person, it's going to be real and final.  If I keep my silence, I can pretend Miki's still alive and it's all just a bad dream.

"Want to tell me what you've been up to?"

I move shakily and pull the journal out of my bag, holding it up to her.  She walks over and takes it from me.  She opens it up to the first page with writing on it and then looks right back at me.

"What is this?"

"That's Miki's journal.  It proves that whoever killed her... Uh, she knew him."

Shibata looks at me, uncomprehending.

"Aya-chan, I know you don't want to talk about it, but I need to know what you've been up to the past two days.  What have you found out?"

Slowly, I start to explain exactly what has been going on, leaving out no detail.  I talk about lying to Sugiura because of his unspoken accusation, Tsuyoshi helping me out, calling Miki's mother, seeing the body, and the investigation at U-Con.  I turn into a blubbering mess at some point, and Shibata comes to sit down beside me, putting an arm around my shoulders as I cry into her shoulder.  The tears pour out of me and her shirt becomes damp.

"...so all I have to go on in this journal.  And- and that cafe that we go to together."

I lift my head up to look at her.  She's deep in thought, a frown of concentration on her face.  I can see what she's thinking.  For the first time in my life, I think, I can read her like a book.  I can see it all in her eyes - her shock, her sadness, her anger, her defensiveness...

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when it happened," she says.

Those words trigger a landslide in me and I start to bawl.

"I can't do this," I cry, leaning back against the couch and covering my face.

I find it hard to breathe, gasping in air only to expel it as wild sobs.

"Yes, you can.  I'm going to help you.  We'll find out- find out something.  Don't lose hope."

But I can tell from her voice that she's unsure.  "What can we do?" it asks silently.  "What can we figure out that the police can't?"

The hum of the refrigerator mixed with my crying is the only sound we hear for some time.

[OTN1]

Chapter 14 of 28

I end up staying the night at Shibata's camped out on her floor beside her bed.

After I finish crying, we get ready for bed because she's exhausted.  She hasn't slept since she bought her plane ticket to come back.  We lie down in her room and talk.  I somehow find the power to speak about something other than the tragedy.  I tell her about the days before Miki's death and what we did, but when I playfully scold Miki in absentia for being silly and childish, I feel an instant pang in my heart that reminds me to cherish every single moment, annoying or not, because there will be no more new ones made from now on.  Forever.

We talk a bit about what to do with my investigation.  At first Shibata is a little reluctant.  She tells me it's neither very smart nor safe to go against the police, but she quickly descends from that moral high ground and tells me she'll help me out.  Our next move, we agree, is to go to the Terrace Café and ask the owner about Miki.  The owner knows my face since Miki and I have been going to that café for quite a while now.  She's a mysterious woman, the owner, but she seems like the type who can keep quiet and offer a bit of assistance from the shadows.  I'm sure she likes me and Miki since we patronise her shop loyally.

Shibata yawns all through our talk, but not once does her voice or mood give away how desperately she must want to fall asleep.  She stays attentive to what I have to say until I fall asleep first, and that's just one of the countless things that shows what a wonderful and selfless person Shibata is.

The next morning I wake up feeling much more rested.  It still hurts, of course.

I look up and see that Shibata's already out of bed.  The poor girl's internal clock is still haywire.

I hear soft sounds coming from outside the bedroom, and when I open the door, the strong smell of coffee attacks my senses. 

"Good morning," Shibata greets me.

She's standing in the living room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other.  She's just about to sit down.  She's already dressed for the day, making me feel like a late-rising sloth.

"Good morning," I reply, looking up at the clock on the shelf beside her.

It's only half past seven.

"Want some coffee?" she asks me, starting to get up.

I wave a hand no, but my stomach growls.  It occurs to me that I can't remember the last time I had a meal.

"But could I have something to eat?" I ask.

I don't like to ask, but it's now about my third day with no meal.  I'm beyond manners.

"Of course," she says, getting up to prepare something for me.

I sulk behind her guiltily.

"So, are we going to that café today?" she asks out of the blue.

My jaw hardens.  That's right.  We're on a mission.

"Yes.  As soon as it opens."

Shibata finds me something to eat, and I'm surprised that I'm able to hold food down in my stomach.  The sick feeling inside me recognises that my body needs nutrition in order to continue.  Although the truth is that I feel my anger could fuel me for centuries without food and water.

We discuss what to ask the owner of the café.  Shibata is indeed clever.  I would have gone in there and asked questions recklessly.  She takes a more controlled approach.  It's as if all my organisation skills and all my common sense have ceased to exist.  She has to tell me things that, three days ago, I would have been telling Miki to keep in mind.

I ask her to tell me about Spain to distract me.  She talks about the things she was able to do in her short time there, how she met the family she stayed with, and other interesting facts that I try to focus on.  But at the back of my mind, I can only think about myself and about Miki.

We could have gone to Spain.  We could have had fun there.

In the middle of relating a story about her plane ride home, my cell phone rings.  I pick it up and am not happy to hear Sugiura's voice coming from the receiver.

"What is it?" I ask rudely.

"Ah, I'm sorry to bother you, but as you know, we have searched through Fujimoto-san's apartment and her workplace," he says.

Congratulations, I think bitterly.

"Good," I say flatly.

"And I just want to apologise for, um, the second interview I had with you."

I frown.  This seems like a good thing, but is it really?

"Oh?"

Sugiura clears his throat almost nervously.

"I made an error," he admits.  "I even implied that you might have had ill intentions.  But upon further review of the case details and of the victim's personal effects, I find I misjudged you hastily."

"Huh?" I stammer, a strange feeling starting to rise up in me.

"We found several letters in her apartment, including a will-like note in the event that anything unspeakable ever happened to her.  It's clear that my suspicion of you and your fingerprints being all over her apartment was spawned because I was not aware of all of the facts."

Oh brother.  This is uncomfortable.

"Oh..." I mumble into the mouthpiece.

Now I know what he's talking about.  He's somehow pieced together just how close Miki and I are.  Were.  And now he's changing his mind about previous suspicions.  I would much rather he remained clueless, but if it clears my name, I guess I have to allow it.

"Two orders of business," he sets out in a completely different, strong tone.  "First, we have removed any mention of your name in the official press release that we gave out earlier this morning."

Press release?  Of course.  The murder of a fairly high-profile singer doesn't go unnoticed.  I'm sure people have been trying to reach her for the past two days and have begun to wonder.  Now the world will know.  But I'm curious what it would have said with my name included.  And even more curious as to what made them take my name out of it.  They could have easily and (truthfully) left in my name, saying I was the one to identify her- her body.

"Second, while we are still conducting our investigation at Fujimoto-san's apartment, I deemed it appropriate that you be allowed to come by and pick up several things that I believe you should have."

Great.  Just great.

I suck in a breath and put all my confidence into my voice.

"Thank you, Sugiura-san.  That would be nice."

But don't think this means I'm going to give you the journal, I think.

Not that he knows about it.

"Please ring before you come back down to the department so that we're ready to receive you."

"Could I head down there now?" I ask.

He says that it's fine and actually more convenient if I go now.  I tell him I'll be there in an hour and a half, and I hang up, not sure what to feel.  Relief?  Embarrassment?  Nothing?

I explain to Shibata what the conversation was about, and she asks if I want her to come with me.

"No, it's all right.  I'll go alone.  No use showing your face down there."

The less the police know about my friends, the better.

I finish eating, get ready quickly, and leave, thanking Shibata for letting me stay over and telling her I'll call as soon as I'm finished at the police department.  We'll head to the café together later.

~

When I arrive at the department, the receptionist tells me I can go ahead to Sugiura's office.  I walk there slowly, wondering what to say to him.  I don't want to have to explain myself.  A part of me is worried that he's going to demand why I didn't tell him the whole truth before.  But why should I have to?  He's the one who should be bowing down and apologising to me.  I'm the one who has lost a loved one.  I'm the one who was shocked with the news.  I was the one who had to tell Miki's mother and Tsuyoshi, and Shibata.

I knock at the door.

"Come in!"

I walk in, shutting the door quietly and avoiding eye contact.

"Matsuura-san, thank you for coming down this morning," Sugiura says, standing up quickly from his chair.

His entire attitude has changed.  His voice is back to the softer, kind one he used when he first met me.  His posture is even less intimidating than when I last saw him.

"I have some things that, well, they belong to you now.  Here you go," he says, picking up a paper shopping bag from his desk and handing it to me.

I don't know what to say.  I've left tonnes of things at Miki's apartment over the past five years.  The detectives have no way of knowing what's mine and what's hers.  I don't even know anymore.  It's not like I label all my clothing.  I don't write my name on the DVDs that I keep by her television set and force her to watch.  Although I guess to most people, the existence of two toothbrushes and a couple of hairbrushes in the bathroom would instantly trigger the assumption that two people live there, not just one.

I accept the bag with thankfulness.

"We've included a copy of the, ah, will-like note.  We've had to keep the real one for legal reasons."

I nod vacantly.

When did Miki write something like that?  More importantly, why would she have written something like that?

"I'm very sorry about all of this," he continues, becoming aware that I'm not going to be very talkative.  "We're still working hard to investigate.  I have to tell you the truth, though.  We have very few leads.  We're doing our best to involve as many people as possible, but I'm afraid with high-profile individuals, it becomes very tricky.  The people we need to talk to don't speak up as much, and conversely, too many people who have nothing to do with it want to say something.  It's very tricky to sort through all of the..."

I tune out as he rambles on.  This man needs a lesson in sensitivity and policemanship (if such a word exists).  This is not what I want to be hearing at the moment, and I question whether he should be telling me all of this anyway.  Aren't there rules about having to keep things quiet and classified?  Maybe I've watched too many movies.

Once he's finished speaking, he looks at me expectantly and I tune back in.

"I beg your pardon?" I ask quickly, trying to hide my clueless state from him.

"I asked if you were all right."

At least he bothers to ask.

"I'm a little overwhelmed," I say honestly.

He nods sympathetically.  As if he can understand my pain.

He cannot possibly.

"We'll keep you updated on our progress.  Don't lose hope," he says to me.

I say goodbye to him and I leave, holding the handle of the bag tightly in the sweaty palm of my hand.

On the train, I pull out my phone and e-mail Shibata.

Sorry, but I have to stay at home for a bit.  I'll get in touch later.

I need to see what's in this bag before I can go anywhere.

Shibata e-mails me back and tells me to take my time.

I sigh and rest my head back, closing my eyes, willing the train to go faster, wondering what's in the bag, and begging for Miki to be alive again.

[OTN1]

Chapter 15 of 28

I get home and sit on the couch to open the bag that I've wanted to tear open ever since it was shown to me.  Now that I'm in the safety and comfort of my living room, I can let go and react in whatever way I want to the contents, shielded from the prying eyes of the world by four walls and a roof.

I look in and see a miscellany of objects that confuses me.  They aren't mine at all.  They're either Miki's, or they're things I've never seen before.  I pull them out one-by-one and line them up on the space beside me.

First there's a pair of socks.  They're black and they're wrapped in plastic.  The price tag is still on the wrapper - ninety-nine yen.

Second, there's a red album.  I open it up and see that Miki has pasted pictures and written or drawn things around them.  She's even pasted in other pieces of papers - ticket stubs, receipts, and so on.  It's a homemade scrapbook that I never knew she had made.

Third, there's a stuffed toy animal.  It's an iguana that I thought she had gotten rid of almost two years ago.  It has small, googly eyes and a little forked tongue that's poking out of its mouth.  She used to keep it beside her pillow, but I wasn't a fan of it.  I would often take it and slip it between the head of the bed and the wall so that I wouldn't have to look at it.  I thought she'd given it away or thrown it out because of my aversion to it.

Fourth, there are some papers that are stapled together.  They look like photocopies, so I assume this is the "will-like note" that Sugiura mentioned.  It's all in Miki's handwriting and looks nothing like a legal document.

Fifth, there's one of those cheap notebooks that you can buy at the hundred yen store.  The front is a chequered pattern of blue and pink.  In the corner is written, "Please read this, Aya."

Finally, flat against the bottom of the bag is a rectangular piece of paper.  I pick it out, almost having missed it.  I recognise the name right away.  It's a ticket from a Matsuda Seiko concert.  Not just any of her concerts.  The one where Miki and I met.

I look at this unexpected and seemingly nonsensical treasure trove of items and I decide to start with the most official-looking papers.

I pick up the photocopies and begin to read.


May 22nd, 2009.

To whom it may concern,

This is my will.  I have not made any formal document because I refuse to think about that until I am much, much older.  I've written out this note in the event that something unexpected happens to me and I die before I can say any last words.  There are some things in my life that mean something to me, and I want the important people I know to have them.

As for all of my physical belongings, such as clothes, books, and other items, I think it's appropriate that they be given to my friends and family.  I want to give the duty of deciding who gets what to Matsuura Aya, since I trust her judgement.  I don't want to make things difficult by naming a dozen different people, so I have chosen one person to be my final voice on this earth.

I would like any money in my bank account to be sent to my parents.  I have attached their names and address on a separate piece of paper.  Any paycheque owed to me should also go to them.

Finally, to Matsuura, I would like to ask that a certain bag be given to her.  I keep it at work.  It's in my locker in my dressing room at the main studio.  I have attached an address on another separate piece of paper.

I don't know how to write a will, but I hope that even something this simple will make it easier to sort out my affairs if I ever do die suddenly.

That is all.

Fujimoto Miki


I flip to the separate papers that are stapled to this plain note.  One has her parents' names and their address in Hokkaido written on it.  The other has another note.

Since I have switched workplaces, I now keep the bag in the bottom drawer of my desk.  It's locked, but there should be a key for it nearby.

And then she's written the address of U-Con records.

Miki had written a will all this time ago and I had never known.  She'd never mentioned it to me.  She'd named me as someone whose judgement she trusted, her last voice on earth.  Me.

My mind heavy with thought, I decide the notebook is the next place to check.

I take it in my hands carefully and open it up.  The first page is blank, just like the first page of her journal.  It's one of her peculiar "things."  The second page is where her writing starts.  It's undated.

Hi, Aya-chan.

I know this is really weird of me to do, but I was sitting here thinking, and I started to worry that if anything ever happened to me and I died suddenly, I wouldn't be able to give you some things that I'd want you to have.  I wouldn't be able to say some last words to you.  The thought of just leaving you hurts me too much, and I start to cry if I think about it excessively.  That's why I'm writing this.

If you're reading this, then I'm either dead or in some deep coma that I'm not expected to wake up from.  Either way, I can't talk to you, and you can't talk to me.  Are you sad?  I am.  Or I would be if I could feel sad in death or a coma.  I don't want you to be sad, though.  I want you to be happy that you're alive.  I don't want you to worry about me.  We've had good times together, and every day is like an adventure because of you.

We make a good team, I think, but if we have to part ways, then at least we've learned from each other.  Well, I think I've learned a lot more from you than you could ever learn from me.  I wasn't really grown up when I met you.  Maybe I tried to be, maybe I looked like I was, but I really wasn't.  I know you know that.  You weren't really that mature either, but you've always had this sense around you that makes people look at you and go "cute... and clever!"  Or at least that's what I've always thought.  Maybe other people look at you differently, but that's how I look at you.  We started to grow up together, and I think we've come a long way since we were silly teenagers.  Some parts of us have hardened up, some have softened up.  I think I kind of got really hard and then you softened me again because you reminded me about how good life is when there are so many things worth living for.

Don't cry!

Maybe I'm being silly to expect you to be crying over me - sounds a little egotistical - but I think I know you well enough to be able to make that assumption.  I mean, I'd totally cry over you if you wrote something like this and I was reading it.  Well, okay, the truth is that I'd cry if you broke a nail.  I love you that much, you know?

Before I say anything else, I just want to quickly explain why I've collected some of these things and given them to you, although I'm sure you can figure out some of them.

The concert ticket is obvious.  We first met there, right?  Well, I've cherished you from the moment I met you, and that old ticket is proof!  I mean, not in a creepy way or anything.  You know that.  But like I already told you, when I met you, I liked you right away.  I thought, "we could be best friends one day," and I was right.  I kept that ticket.  Actually, I lost track of it for a while, but I re-found it again recently.  I knew it had to be in my room somewhere.  I would never throw something like that out.  I want you to have it.  That ticket is more than just a ticket to a Seiko-san concert.  That ticket was a ticket to your heart. 

(If I'm in a coma, please come to the hospital and pull the plug and let me go in peace because I can't believe I said something so corny.)

The socks.  Do you remember your first birthday present to me?  Probably not, because I think you bought it at the hundred yen store two minutes before you saw me.  So here you go.  The cheapest pair of socks I could find for you.  It's my payback.

Besides Mr. Monkey, this other little guy is my favourite of my stuffed toy animals.  I keep him at work nowadays.  I know you don't really like him that much, but he's cute and important to me.  Please take care of him.

I made that album for you.  It's not just pictures of you and me, so don't get all confused when suddenly you realise I have other friends (hah!).  I've written what I think under the pictures.  The album is a collection of a bunch of my good memories from the past few years.  I've had lots of fun times at work, during free time, out with friends, and, of course, with you.  That album is like a slice of my mind.  Please keep it for me.  If I'm not around to remember it, you can for me.

Then this notebook.  These are just my ramblings.  Feel free to ignore me.  I know you like to pretend to.

There aren't many things that I have left to say to you.  You know how I think already.  I think the biggest thing I want to say is "thank you."

Thank you thank you THANK YOU!

From the bottom of my heart.  Thank you for looking out for me, for understanding me, and for being my big sister even though I'm older than you.

And with that, imagine I've just given you a big, slobbery kiss on your cheek, 'cause you hate when I do that. 

I want you to think of me and laugh.  I want you to smile and do that thing you always do.  That "oh, Miki, why do I even bother trying to train you" kind of look as if I'm a dog that you're just about to give up on.  If you think of that, then it'll surely be easier not to cry.

Lastly, whatever has happened to me, I don't want you to blame yourself.  You've always been so good to me, even when you're mean to me (hah, I get the last word on that), so I know that you'd never hurt me or let me get hurt on purpose.  Whatever happened to me was out of your control.  Even if there was a tiny thing you "could have done," remember that life is about choices.  We all make them.  Sometimes we make good ones, and sometimes, unfortunately, we make bad ones.  I have absolute, one hundred per cent faith in all of your decisions.  It doesn't matter if they're good or not because I know they're backed up by your heart, which is nothing but good.

Goodbye, Aya.  I love you veeeeery very very much!

(You know, sometimes it's embarrassing to say that, but it's even more embarrassing to write it out like that.  God, I hope I never die unexpectedly just so that you never read this.)

-Miki

I've never thought that giggling insanely and sobbing could be done simultaneously.  The unique thing about Miki is that she's always been able to make me feel all these strange, new emotions that I didn't know were possible, and the gigglesob, I have just discovered, is the strangest of them yet.

I read the letter and I laugh out loud, followed immediately by bursting into tears, followed by giggling that annoys me because I'm supposed to be sad, followed by more tears that won't stop falling.

This surprise package has been the only real breath of fresh air I've had in the past few days, but it has also reminded me of the extent of my loss.

For once, I decide not to think about it too deeply.  I take my time, and for the next while, I flip through the scrapbook of pictures and read the notebook over and over again.  The pages are part of Miki, and now in my possession, they whisper her thoughts to me.

[OTN1]

 Chapter 16 of 28

There are several moments when I lower what I'm reading and look out across my apartment while thinking.  I think of my replies to some of her statements.  I touch my cheek because the image I have in my mind of her kissing it is so vivid that it actually feels like it's wet.

Miki is more thoughtful than I ever imagined.  To have worried herself into writing a final message just for me (and nobody else - not her parents, not any other friend) is proof of her love.  I've never considered writing something of the sort.  That just goes to highlight the differences in our personalities.  Opposites attract, and I guess that can apply to us in some ways.

These thoughts of hers are pure.  I assume they were written before she was ever threatened.  She wasn't writing desperately against time.  She took it easy and really thought it through.

She thanked me.  She praised me.  She loved me.  I will never forget.  Take my memories from me and I will still remember her.  She is part of me.  How can I forget myself?

After having my quiet, alone time, it's time to get back to the battlefield.  Time to go to the café.

I call Shibata and have her meet me at the station closest to our destination.  When we meet, she asks me how everything went.  I explain in broad terms what was given to me.  I mention the will and that Miki left some old things of hers in addition to a note, but I don't go into detail.  It's humiliating enough that Sugiura has more than likely read the notebook.  Miki's innermost thoughts and embarrassing admissions don't have to be broadcast to the world.

Shibata and I stop speaking for a while, both quietly preparing ourselves before we reach the entrance to the café.

"Just follow my lead," she says to me.

It's funny.  I'm the one who frequents the place, not her.

We walk in.  A wind chime at the door signals our arrival.  A server who I've never seen before (new staff, I assume) welcomes us and lets us choose our table.  We sit in a secluded corner and order hot tea.  After it arrives, we sip for a bit and then we call the server over.

"Is the owner in by any chance?" Shibata asks.

The girl's eyes widen and she stammers that yes, the owner is here and that she'll go and get her right away.  I think she's terrified that we're disgruntled customers who are going to complain about the service.

The owner arrives shortly.  Her face is set in a calm expression, her hair half pulled back in her usual style.  She's wearing a white apron over her business attire.  She's obviously been manning the kitchen.

"What can I do for you?" she asks.

Shibata starts by introducing herself and asking if she has time to talk.  The owner introduces herself as Ochiai Kiyomi.  In all the years I've been here, I've never known her name until this moment.  Astounding.

Ochiai says she has some free time since business is slow at the moment.  She takes a seat and I introduce myself.  With grace, she accepts my introduction as if she only knew my face before, not my name.  I'm sure she already knows, though, because there used to be a poster of me on the vending machine just across from the shop.  I have to face it.  There aren't many people alive in Tokyo that don't know my name.

Shibata is about to start with the questions, but I just can't be silent.  I need to talk to the owner - no, she has a name now.  Ochiai.  I need to talk to Ochiai honestly because she has the face of someone who can be trusted.  I cut Shibata off in mid-sentence.

"Ochiai-san, please, I need your help," I plead.

Her head turns to me immediately, and she's all ears for what I have to say.  I hear Shibata take a breath in, but she doesn't stop me.

"You know I'm a frequent customer here, and I usually come with another girl, Fujimoto, right?"

She nods, and I wonder for a moment if I sound like some spoiled customer who's about to ask if she can start a tab so that she doesn't have to pay every time.  Or something like that.

"Something really bad..." I take a deep breath, "really bad has happened.  There's been a murder, and she's been, um... she's..."

I trail off because I can't say it.  My voice box won't let me utter those words.

Ochiai gets the point, though.  She nods once very slowly.

"In a journal that she kept, she mentioned coming here once for a meeting.  It was in September, and it took place either on the third or the fourth.  I think finding out about that meeting will help a lot.  Do you remember?"

Ochiai breathes a few times as she looks pensive, her eyes unfocused, staring at the nothingness in front of her.

"I admit that I don't remember that specific date, but it sounds like the right timeframe for when it started," she says in her mellow voice. 

My ears prick up.

"Started?  What started?"

"The frequent meetings."

The words stab into my head like picks that have broken through hard rock and hit gold.

"I need you to tell me everything.  What were these meetings?  With whom?  How often?" I ask desperately, keeping my hands in my lap to hide the fact that I'm fidgeting, twisting my fingers nervously.

"They started around September.  Fujimoto-san came in one day and met a gentleman for what looked like a business meeting."

A suspect.

I have a suspect.

I almost go into convulsions, I'm so worked up.

"Who was he?  What did he look like?  Has he been here before?!"

I bombard her with so many questions that Shibata puts a hand on my arm and stops me.

"Aya, chill out," she says, looking at me squarely.

I don't want to "chill out".  I'm on the verge of finding out who was harassing Miki.  There will be no stopping from this point onwards.

Ochiai doesn't look taken aback at all.  She begins to tell me all she knows.  She speaks slowly, but everything she says is clear.  Her tone tells me that she will tell me everything she knows and asks only for patience as she tells it.

"I still don't know who he is, but he had been here before the meetings started.  He came maybe once a month for the past year or two.  Not exactly what you would call frequent.  We have never spoken.  Prior to recent months, he usually came alone, but sometimes brought a friend with him.  He's a handsome man and he dresses well.  He seems like he would be very popular with the girls.  He gets stared at a lot.  He's young, but not as young as you girls."

I commit to memory everything she says.

"The first time I ever saw Fujimoto-san come here without you, Matsuura-san, was in September.  Maybe the third or fourth.  She came in and sat alone, looking like she was waiting for someone.  It was around five or six in the evening.  That man - I don't know his name - showed up and spoke with her.  It seems she was waiting for him.  They ordered drinks and had a chat and left an hour and a half later."

What did they talk about?  Why this café?  Where did they go afterwards?  I want to ask, but I know that if she hasn't already told me, she probably doesn't know.  I bite my tongue.

"After that, they began to meet frequently, sometimes coming in together, sometimes meeting at a table.  It was always around the same time.  They both looked like they were coming directly here after work.  They would sit, chat, drink tea or coffee, and then leave together.  They always left together."

I'm trying to figure it all out, but it just doesn't make sense.  What could they be talking about?  How did she meet him in the first place?

I look at Shibata to ask her opinion, but I'm taken aback by her expression.  She's looking at me curiously, an eyebrow raised ever so slightly.  "Sounds suspicious, doesn't it? " her expression screams at me.

I know exactly what she's thinking, and no.  No.  Not after what I just read in that notebook.  That mysterious guy could be more handsome than Johnny Depp and ten times a better person to her than I am and she would still only want me.  She is - was - kind of stubborn (or stupid) that way and wouldn't know a good thing if it came up to her and smacked her in the face three times.

"No," I say solidly.  "Miki was not-"

"I didn't say that," Shibata says, raising her hands in a show of good faith.  "Just keep everything in mind."

I refuse to believe that Miki would be going behind my back like that.  I mean, she was going behind my back with these meetings, but it wouldn't be something that would hurt me.  Or at least not like that.  Not my heart...

"Please listen.  This is only half the story so far," Ochiai says quietly.

I've forgotten that she's there, and I wonder what my outburst has sounded like to her.  Shibata and I hush up as she continues.

"The two of them met together once or twice a week for all of September, and then around the beginning of October, more people began to come to the meeting, all men. They seemed to be the man's friends or colleagues.  I'm not sure.  He would introduce them to Fujimoto-san.  Sometimes only one additional man came, sometimes two, sometimes three.  They were the same group of four men - the main man and his three colleagues.  The meetings followed the exact same format as the solo meetings between Fujimoto-san and the first man."

A group of colleagues.  There's more than one.  There are four.

I shoot Shibata a triumphant smirk along with a raised eyebrow.  "See?" my face says to her.  She doesn't know Miki like I do.

"I was just saying," she mumbles under her breath defensively, but she lets it drop.

"I began to realise that they were more business-type meetings.  Sometimes they took notes.  Other times they passed papers around.  They were always amicable.  Never any arguments.  Fujimoto-san always seemed quite pleased.  Then things changed around the middle of October."

"What happened?" I ask, my nervous hands coming to a stop.

"The meetings became more frequent.  Three or four times a week, still at the same hour.  They seemed to talk a lot more.  It didn't seem like fun get-togethers anymore.  There was a lot of note-taking, and sometimes I could hear them raising their voices.  It was usually Fujimoto-san who became agitated."

It kills me to hear this. 

What were they talking about?!

"This continued until a few days ago.  I've been expecting them back any day now.  Sometimes three days pass between meetings.  They're due for another one soon."

I stare at Ochiai and she blinks.

"Although perhaps given recent tragic events, I would assume the next meeting might be held off."

I nod and look at Shibata for insight, but she looks just as confused as I do.

"Ochiai-san, how do you know so much?  How do you remember all these details?" she asks with a frown.

I have to admit that I'm also wondering how she's been able to recall all of that so easily.  It's as if she just made up any old story just to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible so that she can get back to work.

"Shibata-san, in my line of work, I have no time to myself during the day.  My work keeps me busy, whether I'm balancing accounts, writing up schedules, or helping in the kitchen.  Every weekday evening at around five-thirty, I take my only break of the day and I sit and have a coffee in the corner where I can observe my little shop.  It's my time to reflect on the atmosphere of this place I've created and to notice what works and what doesn't.  Even on my break, I'm constantly working, thinking up ways to make this place better.  But atmosphere and decorations aside, nothing is more important to me than the people who come here.  One of my hobbies has always been to watch people, so that's what I do.  I look at my shop and I watch people in my spare time.  I have watched Fujimoto-san and you," she nods to me, "come in here and I've learned a great deal of your personalities just from looking.  I can tell you all sorts of things about some of the customers that are in this shop now, and we have never spoken before.  I'm a person of intuition.  I also happen to be blessed with a very sharp memory.  Not photographic, but closer to it than most people's memories."

Her passionate soliloquy comes quite unexpectedly, but she's easy to understand.  Easy, but eloquent.  I think she likes speaking like that.

"A person of intuition?" Shibata asks.  "Then would you mind if I asked you to tell us what your intuition is about these meetings Miki-chan and these men were having?"

Shibata and Ochiai.  Probably the two most intuitive people I know.  What a sleuthing pair they would make.

"To be perfectly honest, I have had a very bad feeling about those meetings.  The man seems nice on the outside, but there's something in him that I don't like it.  Call it my sixth sense, but there's something broken in him.  He's hurting inside.  I know that Fujimoto-san is-" she breaks off and looks at me apologetically before continuing, "-was a nice person.  A kindred spirit.  I think she got mixed up with the wrong people."

But for what??

The billion yen question.

Ochiai makes it clear that she's told all that she can remember, and she hints that she has to get back to the kitchen.  Before she leaves, though, she faces me directly.

"I want to help you.  Please come back and we'll talk again.  I have a feeling this is not over."

She disappears into the kitchen.

I'm touched by her willingness to help, but chilled by her last words.  Those men are still out in the open, and if they are the ones that killed Miki, nobody is safe.  Shibata and I leave the café.

Once outside, we stand in the street.  It's a little chilly.  Winter is coming.  We share a look and try to read each other's expressions.  What do we think about the conversation we just had?

A hopeless feeling seems to dominate the air around us.

While it feels like we've learned a great deal, we've really learned nothing.  We don't know who these men are and what they were talking about with Miki.  We don't know how they got in touch with her and where they are now.

It's like a ten thousand yen note has been attached to the end of a fishing line that dangles before our faces, the fishing pole strapped to our backs.  We can see the prize and walk towards it, but we can never get it because it's constantly one step ahead of us.

We're doomed I think.  Absolutely doomed.