The Gate of Sorrows

by Miyuki Miyabe

  They were. The sender had enclosed something extra with three of them.

  One envelope held a platinum engagement ring with a three-quarter carat Russian diamond that Seigo had given to Ayuko the month before. Their initials and the date were engraved on the inside of the band. In another envelope was a single diamond earring that matched the one on Ayuko’s right ear when she was found. The third envelope contained her leather card case with her train pass and a single photograph of her with Seigo.

  Other than the earring and her clothes, none of Ayuko’s belongings had been found with her body. Her handbag, smartphone and laptop had vanished, presumably taken by her killer.

  Now some of her belongings had surfaced. It wasn’t surprising that the networks had held back the information at first. Only the killer could have sent them.

  I’M ONLY TRYING TO PUT MY BODY BACK TOGETHER

  Was this the killer’s real motive? The newscasters traced the history of the murders repeatedly.

  Shiro Nakanome was the first victim. His left big toe was severed.

  The second, unidentified victim was missing her right fourth toe.

  “Mama” Masami Tono had had her right middle toe severed before being stuffed into a clothes trunk.

  Pharmacist Saeko Komiya, the fourth victim, had lost her right leg below the knee.

  And Ayuko Yamashina had had all ten fingers amputated.

  I’M ONLY TRYING TO PUT MY BODY BACK TOGETHER

  Kotaro wasn’t interested in TV’s analysis of the case. He wanted the killer’s words.

  Late that afternoon the networks finally showed the letter, written on a single sheet of paper. Kotaro took a screenshot and printed out a copy. The situation in the office was so confused that no one noticed him doing it. The island chiefs were too busy putting out fires to ask what he was doing.

  When he heard that a major newspaper was handing out a special edition in front of the train station, he ran to get one. There was a photo of the letter from the killer.

  These were the words the killer had strung together.

  Would an image of the letter be enough? Would he need to say the words aloud? Did he need one of the originals?

  He didn’t know. All he could do was try.

  Kaname arrived for her shift that evening. Because of the emergency, she had pulled the graveyard shift.

  “I can’t concentrate. All I can do is cry. It doesn’t matter whether I’m in my room or in class. I feel better here.” She had dark shadows under her eyes. Even her cheeks had hollowed out over the last few days. “Ko-chan, you should get some rest.”

  “Sure, I’ll do that.”

  “Not just a nap. Go home.”

  “I will. Not quite yet.”

  In the lounge, Kotaro took a bite out of a sweet roll and booted up his laptop.

  He would try again. He would throw another stone into the vast ocean of cyberspace and wait for the ripples to find their target.

  His last attempt to reach Galla had found Yuriko Morisaki instead. What she had told him was very strange, especially the scolding she gave him for meddling in things he didn’t understand.

  He hoped this time would be different. He didn’t need Yuriko now. I’m not the person I was.

  His fingers raced over the keys. He posted his summons again and again.

  GALLA THE GUARDIAN! I HAVE SOMETHING I KNOW YOU WANT.

  He didn’t care who saw his message. If they laughed, that was fine. If they wanted to think he was crazy, they were more than welcome.

  I have what you want.

  Show yourself, Galla.

  Midnight.

  For the third time, Kotaro stood on the roof of the tea caddy building.

  The night he’d encountered Shigenori here, the freezing wind had cut to the bone. Now the night breeze felt good. It damped the heat in his breast and calmed his burning heart.

  The sky looked just as it had that first night. The skyscrapers loomed like vast starships. Looking down he could see the pulsing life of the city, the vibrant lights and pockets of darkness, the haze rising from kitchen vents, filled with the smells of food.

  He dropped his backpack next to the hatch and sat on it, arms around his knees. He rested his head there.

  Kenji’s disappearance was quite a shock, wasn’t it?

  He remembered what Ayuko had said after he’d returned to Kumar.

  Men can be surprisingly fragile when things like this happen.

  That lovely voice. Those gentle eyes.

  Words don’t disappear.

  No one can run from the words they leave online.

  Be careful, Kotaro. If the real world is stressing you out, deal with your stress in the real world. Okay?

  Forgive me, Ayuko, he thought. I have to ignore your advice. In fact, I’m going to do the opposite of what you told me. I can’t handle the world as it is without help from a power that’s real but doesn’t exist. I need that warrior. I need her black wings and the cold light of her crescent blade.

  An entity that was real yet didn’t exist had entered Kotaro’s world. Now he was reaching out to her to create a bond that was real—

  A puff of air caressed his ear. It was not the wind. It came again stronger, tousling his hair.

  He turned around and rose to his feet like a puppet on strings.

  The warrior in black stood before him, wings peaked and half-folded, head cocked slightly, arms crossed on her chest. Galla had answered Kotaro’s call; it had been triflingly simple. There she stood, as real and as unreal as a dream. He hadn’t even heard her touch down.

  “Speak.”

  He took a deep breath. “I want you to hunt someone for me, Galla.”

  Maybe I am hallucinating.

  Kotaro was dreaming with eyes open. He was stepping off the borderline between dream and reality and was about to plummet into the world of dreams.

  Then let it be so.

  “You offer me prey? In return for what?”

  Her voice resonated deep in his chest. She was scanning him; she had to be sure.

  “When two strike a bargain, each must have something of value to offer.” She uncrossed her arms and raised an index finger. The long, sharp nail was as black as her wings. “You summon me to a hunt. Yet you come empty-handed. You would have me act on your behalf.” She wagged her finger lightly, as though admonishing a child. “One does not negotiate in this way.”

  Kotaro stood his ground, but he was shivering so violently that the creature before his eyes almost seemed to shimmer.

  She answered my call. We’re communicating. I can actually negotiate with this warrior.

  “What I’m asking is selfish. I know that as well as you do.” He took a step forward. “But my request has something in it for you too. The prey I’m offering you is a slave to a craving greater than anything you’ve gathered before.”

  Galla gazed at him and placed a finger on her lips.

  “Unbelievable craving. It’s why you came to this world, isn’t it? To absorb craving into that weapon—”

  Finger still on her lips, she shook her head slowly, like a mother gently shushing a fussing child.

  “Be silent.”

  Kotaro’s vocal chords were already paralyzed. Her scan spread from his chest throughout his body. There was no pain or sense of suffering, but he felt as though she’d plunged a hand into his body and was about to turn him inside out.

  “So? Do you understand?” He ground out the words from a corner of his mouth. His jaw was trembling. “My offer is real. I’m not lying. I called you here because I want to do a deal. You—”

  The sensation of being scanned ceased abruptly and he was thrown backward onto his buttocks. He sprawled on the roof, gasping. His heart was pounding irregularly, but he kept talking.

  “You must’ve thoug
ht you’d get something out of this meeting, otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up.”

  A wave of nausea enveloped him suddenly. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. He vomited. Bitter acid spewed from his mouth. He groaned.

  “You never … paid attention to my messages. Why are you here now?”

  Galla took her finger from her lips and tossed her head lightly, swinging her hair behind her shoulder. She approached Kotaro with deliberate steps and began to circle him slowly.

  How was it possible for a creature so large, encumbered with such heavy battle gear, to move so silently? Was it because she was unreal?

  “You summoned me before?” She circled to his left.

  “I posted all over the web. I was looking for someone, anyone who knew something about you.”

  She moved behind him. “I did not know.”

  She seemed to stop. Kotaro tried to turn around, but he was too dizzy. It was all he could do to turn his head.

  “Then why did you come?” His pulse was starting to settle down. He was breathing easier.

  The answer came over his shoulder. “I sensed your craving.”

  You sensed my craving.

  “You do not ask why I gather desire, or why I use my blade to gather souls in this region. Nor do you question whether I am good, or evil.” She moved around to his right. “You seek only to use me, as one uses a tool.” She circled until she faced him again. “Must you truly avenge that woman?”

  She can read my story. She doesn’t need an explanation. She sees right through me.

  She sees that woman.

  “Yes. I have to.” Kotaro nodded. His faced was cold; his chin was covered with drool. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  “I want the piece of shit who killed Ayuko—Ayuko Yamashina. He’s a serial killer. He’s killed five times so far. He cuts off part of each victim’s body. He sent a statement—some crap about putting his body back together. Who knows whether it’s real. Maybe he’s sincere, which means he’s insane. Or maybe it’s just a gimmick, something to torture the public. I don’t care. I’m not interested in what he has to say. I don’t even care why he’s killing people.

  “But the killer’s craving has got to be huge, way beyond the despair or sadness or grief that the average person would feel. It doesn’t matter if he’s crazy or not. The craving of someone who would do what this guy’s done has got to be priceless to you. Am I wrong?”

  The wind whipped Galla’s hair. She flexed her obsidian wings and folded them quickly again, the way a person might shrug his shoulders.

  “You are still a child.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You weep like a baby.”

  Kotaro hadn’t even noticed he’d been crying. That was why his face was cold. He hurriedly wiped the tears away with his jacket sleeve. His nose was running.

  When he looked up at Galla again, there was a faint smile on her lips. “You met a wolf.”

  She sees that too.

  “Yeah. She told me to stay away from you.”

  “The counsel of wolves is ever in vain.” Her tone was not dismissive; instead she sounded sorrowful. “Wisdom is wasted on the passionate.”

  “Do you know this wolf who found me? She seemed to know a lot about you.”

  Galla drew closer to Kotaro. She knelt down on one knee. Even then she towered over him.

  “The shadow of revenge is despair. The souls of revenge and despair are an eternal dyad. Spawned by rage, begetters of sorrow.”

  Her gaze was penetrating. Her pupils opened onto a void beyond Kotaro’s imagination, a darkness with the power to smother the brightest light. Yet it was neither cold nor frightening. This was darkness to enfold a child crying in pain, darkness to conceal and heal.

  “Would you still avenge that woman’s death?”

  Kotaro brought his legs underneath him and sat on his heels.

  “Yes. I don’t just want revenge. I want justice. I want to protect this region. I don’t want the killer to kill again.”

  Galla shook her head, never taking her eyes off him. “Revenge is not justice, though they may seem alike, as a statue to a living person.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because my region is the birthplace of the souls of words.”

  “It doesn’t exist!” Kotaro cried out in anguish, though he did not know why. “You don’t exist! You and your region and words—everything was created by people of flesh and blood! You’re just a shadow conjured up by people who are real!”

  A shadow must follow its maker. It must do as its maker wishes. It must go where its maker goes.

  I’m begging you.

  Galla lowered her gaze and considered her answer.

  “You are naïve,” she murmured finally. “You do not know what you have to fear.”

  Kotaro was crying again. It’s the wind. It’s been in my eyes this whole time.

  “I brought a clue with me, Galla. It’s the killer’s statement. The words of the killer. You can find people by tracking their words. That’s what you said before.”

  He made to open his backpack, but Galla stretched out a hand and stopped him. Her gaze struck him like an arrow.

  “Then let me take away your craving—for revenge. The craving that drove you to summon me. I will take your burden here and now. Would you not be satisfied with that?”

  Kotaro spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Never. I’m sorry, but I never want to end up like Shigenori. I want the man who murdered Ayuko. I want the serial killer. Find him for me. I want to see his face. You can have his craving. You won’t kill him, right? Empty his mind and leave his body to me.”

  “And what would you do with it?”

  “I’ll give it the treatment it deserves.”

  He’ll probably be like a tame cat. Smiling and peaceful. That’s what happened to Shigenori.

  But she’s right—what happens to a serial killer without a motive to kill? Would his conscience awaken and torture him for his sins? Would his personality collapse? Would he even remember what he’d done?

  It doesn’t matter. I want to see this wretch lose his humanity with my own eyes.

  “You do not grasp the value of what you stand to lose.”

  Bathed in the radiance of the skyscrapers, on the roof of a lonely island in the night of the city, the skinny young man and the black-clad warrior locked eyes.

  “You will regret this.” Galla’s eyes narrowed. Kotaro watched her pupils morph into the vertical slits of a cat.

  The eyes of a demon.

  “You shall have what you seek. Show me the words.”

  Her wings spread like a black banner in the wind and engulfed him.

  A back street in West Shinjuku.

  Kotaro’s legs were sound. He could stand. His lungs worked and he could move his arms. He had his backpack.

  There was a gap. He’d left Galla, left the tea caddy building—

  Something was wrong with his eyes. His field of vision was too narrow.

  He started walking. The light from the street lamps flickered. A few places were still open. Steam billowed into the street from a ramen shop.

  He felt suddenly famished. He parted the half-curtain at the door and went inside. A beefy man behind the counter welcomed him. His head was crowned by a twisted white towel.

  The shop was crowded and hot. There were salarymen in suits and women in loud outfits. An old man read the newspaper.

  A TV blared behind the counter. It was long past midnight, but the station was still running a news show. An announcer stood next to a large chart with text boxes and photos, talking with a panel of celebrities. Now and then she peeled off a section of the chart to reveal more information. Everyone in the shop was watching. The sound bounced off
the hard plastic tables.

  “The killer’s MO is truly sickening, but at least he wasn’t the one who took the video.”

  “It must not have occurred to him to make his point that way. Maybe he’s not Internet-savvy enough to upload a video,” one of the celebrities said.

  “I don’t think it was that. He would’ve worried about someone tracing him.”

  Kotaro took a seat at the end of the counter, next to the wall. He rested his elbows on the counter and rubbed his face tiredly. He took his hands away from his face, looked at them, and rubbed his face again. His left eye was blind. Closed or open, he couldn’t perceive even a glimmer of light. The darkness was as profound as the void in the warrior’s eyes.

  Their agreement was sealed. His left eye was his link to Galla.

  The Hunt

  1

  “Kotaro? Are you okay?”

  Kazumi was sprawled in front of the TV. Kotaro sat at the kitchen table, clenching his fists and opening them again slowly, trying to see if he could detect anything with his left eye.

  Nothing seemed wrong with the eye. It wasn’t watering or dry or painful. He could blink. He just couldn’t see. It was as though thick black paper had been pasted over his retina. He had the sensation of seeing, but all he could perceive was darkness.

  “Ko-chan! Aren’t you even listening?”

  Kazumi wouldn’t leave him alone. He glanced over at her. In his narrowed field of vision, he could see she’d twisted her head toward him. She looked irritated.

  “What?”

  “I mean, this program. It doesn’t bother you?”

  It was variety show that pretended to be serious news. The lead segment was an “exposé” of Ayuko Yamashina’s private life, with a panel of guests speculating about the killer’s identity. Every detail was sensationalized. The real point seemed to be to strip Ayuko’s friends and family of their last shred of privacy.

  “How come you’re not in school?” Kotaro said.

  “It’s Sunday. Is something wrong with your head? You got back in the middle of the night. Since then you’ve been totally out of it.”