The Gate of Sorrows

by Miyuki Miyabe

  The third floor was divided by a partition wall. The door in the wall was open. The area beyond looked like a bedroom.

  Aizawa rubbed his cheeks nervously. “This floor was supposed to be an apartment.”

  Shigenori leaned through the door and looked around. He saw the remains of a once-fancy bathroom. The toilet was missing.

  “So the building had tenants?” Shigeru was huffing slightly. The stairs were starting to tell on him.

  “Only on the first and second floors,” Aizawa replied. “Whenever a tenant left, they tore out the interior fixtures. That’s why the toilets are missing.”

  Aizawa looked from Shigeru to Shigenori uneasily. “Wasn’t the district association notified? Someone died on this floor.”

  The two men gaped at him in surprise.

  “Not recently,” he added anxiously. “It was about six months after the building was finished. Under the original owner.”

  That would have been during the building’s nightclub phase, yet the news never reached the ears of people in the neighborhood.

  “Who was it?” asked Shigeru.

  Aizawa shook his head. “A young woman. There was a party. She had too much to drink and collapsed. They brought her up here to sleep it off. When they checked on her later, she was dead.”

  It sounded like acute alcohol poisoning. Maybe she’d been mixing something with her alcohol. The tea caddy party scene was notorious.

  “I wonder why the news never got out,” said Shigeru. He was leaning against the wall. Shigenori took the opportunity to sit down and rest his leg.

  “Well, it’s not like someone killed her.”Aizawa was growing increasingly nervous.

  Shigeru chuckled teasingly. “Mr. Aizawa, you’re in the real estate business and you’re scared by a building where someone died?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “I’m not scared. And Labbra Technofusion isn’t a real estate company. We manage talent.”

  Shigenori was also surprised. Shigeru had given him the impression they were dealing with a real estate agent. The young man had certainly come across that way.

  “The owner’s ex-wife was a model. Popular too, for a while. She was on TV all the time.”

  And her new husband managed talent. It made sense.

  “But this place still scares you.” Shigeru wouldn’t let it go.

  “Okay, it’s creepy, I guess.” Aizawa sounded embarrassed as he peered anxiously around the empty floor. “There were rumors that the woman who died was having an affair with the owner. My boss said it was pretty obvious.”

  “Rumors are rumors,” said Shigenori.

  “True. You know, she must’ve had a grudge against the owner and his wife—”

  “And that means there’ll be a ghost. Did your boss tell you that too?” Shigeru laughed. He waved the camera casually. “What do we do if there’s something strange in these photos?”

  “Don’t even say that. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a ghost. That’s why no one ever rented this floor, probably.”

  Shigenori smiled. “The layout up here isn’t very practical, and the building itself is rumored to be cursed as it is.”

  “You don’t believe in ghosts? With all the things you must’ve seen on the job?”

  “I’d be more worried about the people behind the owner. Young wheelers and dealers often have underworld connections.”

  “Is that your detective’s sixth sense?”

  “It’s common sense. Somebody gets very rich very fast. It attracts the wrong kind of people. Otherwise why would selling the building be so complicated?”

  They climbed to the fourth floor. Again the stairs were covered with a thick layer of dust.

  “If someone was here, they didn’t come up these stairs,” said Shigenori. He couldn’t walk for long with his bad leg, but the pain was bearable with frequent pauses to rest. That’s how it was with spinal stenosis. Shigeru was having a harder time. His legs were getting heavy and he was panting nonstop.

  “Sorry, can I give you a hand?”

  Aizawa offered his hand and Shigeru took it without hesitation. “Thank you.”

  Half of the fourth floor was empty. The other half was taken up by a machine room housing the elevator motor, water pump, circuit breakers and other electrical equipment.

  “Why did they put all this up here? Why spoil the view?” Shigeru asked.

  “I think they were going to put it in the basement, but they couldn’t get the permit,” Aizawa said.

  “This wasn’t built as a residence. Maybe they didn’t care,” Shigenori said. “Anyway, the fourth floor isn’t exactly high up.”

  The owner was evidently more interested in having a place to do things away from prying eyes. If he’d wanted a good view, Shinjuku was full of high-rise condominiums. He would’ve had his pick of places to live.

  There was no stairway to the roof. Instead there was a trap door in the ceiling above a ladder that folded up and away when not in use. Pulling the cord attached to the ladder unfolded it down to the floor.

  “Is this how they got the statue up there?” Shigeru said. He put a hand to his lower back and looked up at the ladder doubtfully.

  “Shigeru, you should stay here,” Shigenori said. “I’ll go up with Mr. Aizawa.”

  “Are you sure? What about your leg?”

  “I’ll be careful. Sorry, I’ll need your camera.”

  Aizawa climbed first. At the top of the ladder, he turned to give Shigenori a hand up.

  The sunlight on the roof was dazzling. The panoramic view was unimpeded and impressive, belying the building’s height.

  “Would you look at that!” Aizawa didn’t mean the view. “What is that, anyway?” Shigenori saw what he was looking at and tensed.

  The gargoyle at the edge of the roof was surrounded by a ring of broken fragments. Aizawa went closer to pick one up. It was a pointed ear. There was a hand with talonlike nails and part of the edge of a wing. The largest piece must have been the torso.

  Shigenori took a deep breath.

  The gargoyle that had been placed here as the building’s finishing touch, glowering down at the neighborhood, upsetting some and fascinating others, had been shattered into hundreds of pieces.

  Now a different gargoyle sat in its place. A rod like the handle of a mop was balanced on its shoulder, projecting up and back.

  Someone had installed a new statue here to replace the original. If Tai Chigusa was to be believed, it had happened a week ago, during the night of the big storm.

  Aizawa squatted down and hefted a fragment. “This is some kind of plastic. It’s not metal or stone.” He sounded disappointed. “Cheap material. Was there a pair of these things up here? Somebody smashed one of them, I guess. But why did they leave all this up here?”

  Shigenori walked cautiously across the roof to the gargoyle and peered at it closely. It seemed to be the same shape and color as the first statue. He’d never seen it up close before and couldn’t be sure, but they seemed very similar.

  “No, there was only the one statue. Someone’s made a switch.”

  “What?” Aizawa tossed the fragment aside and came closer. Shigenori went around to the other side of the statue and started in surprise.

  There was a large crescent blade at the end of the pole. It was close to the statue’s body, as if the squatting gargoyle were trying to conceal it.

  A sickle. The new statue was holding a weapon.

  Shigenori touched the gargoyle’s right shoulder with his palm. He jerked his hand away.

  It was warm.

  The winter sun shone down out of a clear sky. It was almost noon. The statue would naturally be warm. Logic dictated that. But there was something different about the warmth under Shigenori’s hand. It pulsed from inside, like the heat of blood.

  “What�
��s this made of?” Aizawa tapped the top of the statue’s head a few times. It made a dull sound. “Metal, maybe? It doesn’t sound like plastic.”

  “It seems very heavy,” said Shigenori. He indicated the broken pieces around the statue with his jaw. “Not like those fragments.”

  “Yeah.” Aizawa gave the statue a few more taps. “It’s warm. I guess it’s the sun.” He looked at the fragments and narrowed his eyes. “Anyway, if people are going to smash things, they should clean up afterward. Shall we collect these pieces?”

  “No. Let’s leave this the way we found it. I don’t think there’s any danger. They’re not going to blow off the roof.”

  Shigenori took a few photos. He took a close-up of the gargoyle’s hand on the sickle. Fingers and handle seemed to be bonded together, or all of a piece; there was no visible join. The sickle didn’t look very likely to fall into the street.

  The gargoyle itself was baffling. It wasn’t mounted on a visible base. It didn’t seem fixed to the roof, yet it was absolutely stable. The two men tried to move it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Mr. Aizawa, let’s go back down. I’d like to take a look at the elevator.”

  They climbed carefully down the ladder. Shigeru was waiting at the bottom.

  “What did you see?”

  “Let’s just say things are a little strange.” Shigenori gave him an “I’ll tell you later” look. The three men descended to the first floor.

  The elevator doors opened onto an alcove behind the stairs. With the power off, they had to pull the doors apart by hand.

  “Leave this to me,” said Aizawa. “I might be afraid of ghosts, but not of a little heavy lifting.”

  He started pulling the doors apart, grunting with the effort. The doors were covered with dust. His palms and fingers left smudges on the polished metal surface.

  When he got the doors open about a foot, the older men helped by pulling from either side. The doors quickly slid open onto a dark void.

  “Give me your flashlight,” Shigenori said to Aizawa. Still holding the door open, he leaned in and shined the flashlight upward.

  “Careful, now,” said Shigeru.

  Shigenori was astonished. The shaft was empty. Someone had removed the car. Now there was nothing but cables dangling from the top of the shaft.

  “What in the world—?” Aizawa craned his neck upward, baffled. “How did they get the statue onto the roof?”

  “Who knows?” was all Shigenori could answer. He felt his leg going numb again.

  The two men parted with Aizawa in front of the building and went to Shigeru’s tobacco stand for coffee. Shigenori walked Shigeru through the scene he’d found on the roof of the building. Shigeru looked at the photos carefully.

  “It’s makes no sense. I wish I’d seen it with my own eyes.” He looked intrigued. “It’s like some kind of setup. Like those reality things they do for TV.”

  But if someone wanted to shoot an episode of television on the roof, they would’ve notified Labbra Technofusion. Even if the plan was to do it without telling anyone in advance, that didn’t explain how the statue was transported to the roof. A crane? That was impossible; the whole neighborhood would’ve noticed.

  “Well, what do you think we should do?” Shigeru asked.

  “Watch and wait. That’s all we can do. If someone’s planning a location shoot, as you suggested, there’ll be more activity soon enough.”

  “I guess you’re right. No harm done so far.”

  “Tell Tae what’s going on and not to worry.”

  “I will. There’s a new statue, that’s all. I’ll tell her not to worry about that pole falling. She told me she’s too scared of the building to walk past it. When she goes shopping she takes the long way around. But—” Shigeru looked thoughtful. “She said the statue moves sometimes. What about that? She keeps saying it’s not her imagination.”

  “People’s eyes play tricks on them,” Shigenori was quick to answer. “Even when they’re completely confident, they still make mistakes. I’ve seen it happen hundreds of times.”

  “Really? I’ll tell her, then.” They both chuckled as Shigenori got up to go. But as he walked home alone, supported by his cane, he didn’t feel like laughing.

  Tae said the statue moved. Sometimes it even changed its pose. And it was warm. Shigenori was certain it hadn’t been heat from the sun.

  Oh, what a crock. Tae’s eyes were playing tricks on her. And the heat he’d felt was warmth from the sun.

  Okay, if we’re going to think foolish thoughts, how about this? If the statue can move by itself, we don’t need to worry about how it got to the roof. It got there by itself. All it had to do was spread its wings. Shigenori slapped his forehead with his free hand.

  Toshiko was waiting when he got back. “What did Shigeru want?”

  “Oh, nothing much.”

  Shigenori didn’t want to get into details. Instead he sat down at his laptop. He’d only been using a PC on a daily basis since his retirement. He was still learning. Searches were tricky; he had a hard time thinking of the most efficient search terms.

  Still, he managed to call up a selection of gargoyle images from around the world. The statue on the tea caddy building didn’t seem too special. It was an ordinary gargoyle.

  The sickle gave him more trouble. Entering the Japanese term returned a succession of fantasy weapons and tools. It took some effort before he found what he was looking for.

  Scythe. So that’s what it was called in English.

  A long-handled tool with a crescent-shaped blade. Originally the scythe was used for cutting grass or reaping crops, but sometimes also as a weapon. It became widespread among European peasant farmers in the late sixteenth century, and served them as a weapon when they were mobilized as soldiers. The scythe was never used as a weapon by regular troops.

  Shigenori’s eye stopped on the last sentence of the entry.

  The skeletal Grim Reaper, the personification of death, is never without his scythe.

  The gargoyle was armed with Death’s weapon of choice.

  5

  After three days dredging textboards for Black Box Island, Kotaro took a day off to deal with classes he’d been skipping. When he got to work on the afternoon of the fifth day, Seigo told him he could go back to Drug Island. It was business as usual.

  “The police aren’t making progress and the net has quieted down.” The patrollers had come up empty. The media had moved on.

  “If you need help again, just let me know,” Kotaro said.

  “Will do.” Seigo nodded and peered at Kotaro, slightly concerned. “But forget that. Listen, Ko-Prime. Don’t get into this stuff too deep, okay?”

  “Do I look obsessed?”

  “Not exactly, but you look gloomy. Maybe all this depressing content is getting under your skin.”

  Perhaps the poison was having an effect after all. But it wasn’t coming from the Toe-Fetish Killer. It was the students badmouthing Mika Sonoi.

  The day after Kenji advised him not to try fixing the problem himself, Kotaro asked for permission to run Kumar’s web-spider software on his laptop. Seigo didn’t ask him why. He just walked him through the procedure for using the software outside the office and approved his request. He probably thought Kotaro wanted to put in extra time patrolling for clues to the Toe-Fetish case.

  Kotaro had a different goal. He didn’t exactly plan to ignore Kenji’s advice, but he wanted to help Mika.

  The attacks had started at the beginning of summer break, with an update to a personal page on a mobile-access deep net site for students at Aoba Middle School. The owner of the page was a girl with the handle Glitter Kitty.

  “I love it that Gaku is nice enough to come to practice, but the way Mika throws herself at him really ticks me off.”

  It looked like Gaku was a third-ye
ar student, a former star member of the soft tennis club and general heartthrob. He was “nice enough to come to practice” because he was taking time to coach the first- and second-year students during summer break, though as a third-year student he’d already ended his extracurricular activities and was focused on high school entrance exams.

  Glitter Kitty had erupted sporadically throughout the break. “Everyone else is so devoted to Gaku.” “Mika’s so phony-cute.”

  Aoba’s soft tennis team had its own clearnet social networking page. Glitter Kitty didn’t post comments like that to the team page, nor did anyone else. The posts were always wholesome and pure, maybe awkwardly so. “Let’s work hard and make the top four in the fall nationals!” “Today’s practice was great! Everyone worked so hard!” “Our doubles are totally in sync. We’re in the zone for the nationals!”

  Glitter Kitty was making her jealous comments outside official channels. No one on the team posted reactions to her comments during the summer. Maybe they weren’t even aware of them at that point. Had Glitter Kitty deliberately kept her page secret?

  She wrote that Gaku had also taken part in the team’s summer camp. He’d paid a lot of attention to coaching Mika, Glitter Kitty fumed. “She totally drives me crazy. I’m so ticked I might actually barf.”

  Still, the comments were Glitter Kitty’s personal vendetta. She was still at it when the second term began in September.

  Things changed completely at the end of October. Other members of the club—most of them girls—started posting frequently to Glitter Kitty’s page, and most had something negative to say about Mika. She was stuck-up. She was a showoff. Veiled references to the Mika thread even popped up on the team’s clearnet site. “Recently one of our members is violating team etiquette. She should reflect on her behavior carefully.” “People who join for reasons other than tennis are bad for the club.”

  What had happened? The darknet thread didn’t point to anything definite. One of the comments was “It’s not Gaku’s fault.” That meant he was involved, but since “how” was common knowledge, there was no need to say it. Why don’t they set up a wiki or something, thought Kotaro. Just to keep the details straight. But these girls didn’t know anything about the web. They were just following the herd and yapping away at each other.