The Gate of Sorrows

by Miyuki Miyabe

  Kotaro’s message to Makoto said to meet him at nine at the tea caddy building.

  The place is empty. It’s dark, but don’t worry, it’s not weird or anything.

  Kotaro had added “It’s urgent” and Makoto had seemed to understand. He didn’t ask what was up. He just did what Kotaro asked, as though resigned to his fate.

  There’s no power, so put a full charge on your laptop. I want to see some of that old technique of yours, so get that charged up!

  When they met up in front of the building, Makoto’s expression was darker than the night around them. There was no breeze. It was humid, and they were both sweating.

  “So, this place is empty?” Makoto looked up at the building, but Kotaro had already started for the service entrance.

  “Yeah, totally empty. There’s rumors about a ghost, but I haven’t seen it yet.”

  Kotaro was thankful he hadn’t returned the key to Shigenori on their last visit. The old man hadn’t asked. He probably knew it was pointless.

  Or maybe he thought there was nothing worse I could do with it. In that case, you’ve got another think coming, old man. I’m about to do something a lot worse.

  Kotaro led the way up the stairs, flashlight in hand, not pausing until he was on the fourth floor.

  “From here we go up to the roof.” He lowered the ladder and motioned Makoto to climb.

  Makoto finally broke his silence. “Can’t we stay here? Up there we’ll be exposed.”

  “Why should you care?”

  “You said you wanted to see my old technique. Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”

  Makoto’s dark expression wasn’t sorrow or regret. It was a mixture of resignation, a bit of anger, and deadly self-assurance. His question had a hint of humor in it. Kotaro didn’t answer.

  Makoto smiled grimly. “How’d you hear about me? It’s not like you to pay attention to rumors. I was pretty sure you stayed away from gossip.”

  “Ashiya told me.” Kotaro didn’t feel like saying “Kaname.” “But she told me because I asked her. I was worried about you after that walk to the station. You seemed really down.”

  “I see. She would tell you, in that case.”

  The two stood facing each other in the dark, each with his laptop slung over his shoulder. Kotaro’s flashlight lit a circle on the floor. In silhouette, they looked identical.

  “I need you to do something for me, Miyama.” Not Makoto, now. “A little hacking. I need information. I’m not going to steal anything or cause trouble for anybody. But this is the only way I can get what I need. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

  The silhouette facing him was silent.

  “It’s the website of a nursery school. There’s data about the kids, so security’s gonna be tight. I want to see what the parents and staff posted there. Images, too. I want to see everything, wall to wall.”

  Makoto was silent for a moment before answering. “So why are you asking me?”

  “Come on, you’re the guy with the mad skills.”

  “If all you want is to get into some nursery school site, you didn’t have to come to me. You don’t know how, but that doesn’t mean it’s hard.”

  Kotaro exhaled slowly. He felt strangely calm. There was no sense of tension. It was the darkness. The darkness in the tea caddy building was his friend now. How much terror, how much astonishment had he experienced here? How many secrets?

  The darkness was warmth. It gave him strength.

  “You’re right. I don’t know the first thing about hacking. That’s why I need you.”

  “Why should that matter to me?”

  “If you don’t help me, things will change.”

  He’d stepped off the cliff. There was no turning back. Kotaro Mishima was about to become a bad guy.

  “If things change, see, BB Island is gonna be the least of your problems. I can arrange that real easy. You were right about me and rumors, I don’t bother to listen. But when I heard about your past, hey, it was like I couldn’t help it, you know? It totally blew me away to find out you were hiding your hacker past this whole time. So if I can’t trust you anymore, that’s gotta bother me,” Kotaro said. “If I’m bothered, Kaname’ll pick up on it. We’re your best friends. Everybody knows it. If we’re uncomfortable working with you, that’s a bad sign, right? And once it’s all over Drug Island, it’ll spill out to the rest of Kumar.”

  It would be simple. Kaname was such a straight arrow that planting the seeds of doubt in her mind would be easy.

  “But if we keep showing everyone we’re behind you, I bet your BB problems go away. Whoever it is that envies you or is spreading gossip about your past is gonna end up the odd one out. Wouldn’t that be better?”

  The darkness in the room seemed to amplify his voice and kick it back at them.

  Wouldn’t that be better … ? Wouldn’t that be better … ? Wouldn’t that be better … ?

  Makoto spoke slowly. “There’s another way. A quicker way. I’ll quit.”

  “That’s the worst thing you can do.” Kotaro smashed the ball back over the net. “If you leave Kumar because of that, you’ll end up back where you started, but this time it’ll be worse. You can try to go straight, but wherever you go, it’ll follow you. Your attitude will go to hell, and you’ll start hacking again just to get back at the sons of bitches. Except this time it won’t be malicious pranks. If you’re gonna go bad, may as well make a living at it. You’ll end up a criminal.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Makoto was calm.

  “Because that’s how people are. If you try to go straight and people don’t give you a chance, you’ll go off the rails for good.”

  No. That’s not what I want to say. I saw him, Makoto—the giant that follows you everywhere, full of poisonous insects, their sickening buzzing … always clinging to you, standing over you, stepping on your heels, waiting for you to stumble. And when you do, he’s going to devour you and digest you. He wants to turn himself into you. He’s waiting for his chance. He doesn’t want you to whittle him down to nothing. He wants to absorb you.

  “You can’t quit Kumar,” Kotaro murmured. Again the darkness threw the words back at them.

  You can’t … You can’t … You can’t …

  “Stay with us, Makoto. You’ve got a mountain to climb. You’ll have my full support.”

  “And to get that, I have to do what you say?”

  “Yep. You help me, I help you. It’s a transaction.”

  Makoto didn’t answer. The darkness was just as silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was clear and pure, as if the sediment of doubt had been filtered out of it.

  “As soon as I learned to use a PC, people were calling me a prodigy. My parents were the first to notice. My tutor—he was this college student who lived in the neighborhood—gave me my first real coaching. He was a very nice guy. Had a very positive outlook on life.

  “Everything about coding seemed so effortless. Everything I learned I could apply right away, and the more I applied, the more I learned. My tutor always gave me great feedback. He said I was this genius.”

  Geniuses don’t know they’re geniuses, Kotaro thought.

  “Even when I was messing up websites, there were people who thought I was some kind of wizard. I never really got it. Why? It was so easy to do. But Seigo understood. ‘Defacing websites isn’t challenging enough for you, is it? It’ll never satisfy you. So—do something else.’ That’s what he said.

  “His logic was simple, but it really knocked me back. I wonder why.” The silhouette shook its head. “I guess he just knows how to persuade people.”

  Yeah, but I don’t want to think about Seigo now.

  “Then we’re all set,” Kotaro said. “Seigo convinced you, and I’m his sidekick. That should convince you too.”

  “You’re not Seigo
,” Makoto said cuttingly. His answer hit like an arrow. “Mishima, look. I haven’t changed. I’m a coding prodigy with not much understanding of a lot of things. But there’s something very important that I do know.”

  Kotaro was getting impatient. Come on, out with it.

  “You want to strike a deal with me. To get there, you went through a one-way door. I know exactly what that means, but I don’t think you do.” He laughed quietly and set his bag on the floor. “I came prepared. Let’s get started. I haven’t done this for a while. I’m actually a little nervous.”

  Kotaro didn’t want to watch. He knew he was even guiltier than Makoto. He was the one pulling the strings.

  He went down to the third floor. The air here seemed thicker, with a dustier smell. He leaned against a wall and slid down to the floor with his knees drawn up.

  Kotaro had never examined this floor closely before. In fact, this was the first time he’d actually stepped into it. The beam from his flashlight showed an open door to what must have once been a private living space. There was a clothes closet. He could see a washbasin in a bathroom off the main room. The toilet was missing.

  The darkness was quiet and cooler than upstairs. He killed the flashlight and set it on the floor. He rubbed his face and laid his head on his folded arms. For several minutes, he sat there without moving.

  Someone was whispering.

  It was a rustling that he felt rather than heard. He raised his head.

  Darkness. Abandoned, forgotten darkness.

  He closed his right eye.

  She stood right next to him, a phantom spun from silver threads. Her graceful, diaphanous form undulated gently, unsteadily, like an image under windswept water.

  Her body’s silver threads were whispering. Kotaro could hear them with the Eye. Each was murmuring the same word, alone and in unison.

  lonely lonely lonely lonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonely

  Kotaro watched, entranced, as time seemed to stop.

  I’m looking at a ghost. Come to think of it, Tsuzuki said something about a young woman …

  Words that were spoken years ago, here, by a lost young woman. Thoughts in words, still wandering in search of acceptance.

  The phantom turned away, as though satisfied that Kotaro understood its message. Still undulating gently, it drifted through a wall and disappeared.

  Kotaro noticed other word traces in the room. These were fainter and less distinct than the ghost, as if they had been worn away. They writhed weakly, shapeless blobs of jelly that never quite assumed a distinct form.

  They’re crying …

  Was it because they were forgotten? Were they bitter at being left behind?

  I won’t cry.

  Yesterday, after talking to Kaname, he’d found himself crying. He was determined that that wouldn’t happen again.

  Lonely? No, I’ve shut that word away for good. I’m not going to leave a trace of my loneliness anywhere in this world.

  Because I’m a hunter.

  “Mishima?” Makoto called down the stairs. “We’re good to go.”

  Kotaro opened his right eye and banished the lonely, fluttering phantoms. He stood up.

  The man who stopped Shigenori before he could open the door to Naka-chan—who led him without a word down an alley and bundled him into the back of a parked Corolla—was in his forties, not a big man, certainly not muscular. His eyebrows sloped downward, framing perpetually narrowed eyes. The way he’d blinked when Shigenori looked him in the face betrayed deep discomfort.

  Another man waited behind the wheel. This one looked to be twenty-five or twenty-six at most, rail-thin, with a pale face and a nervous expression.

  Shigenori didn’t resist. He knew he was heading for an unmarked police car as soon as the older man flashed his badge. They took him to a corner conference room on the fourth floor of Tomakomai Police Station South.

  Shigenori wondered how many hours he’d been here. He looked at the clock on the wall; the hands were about to touch nine.

  The room had a long table with five chairs. More folding chairs leaned against the wall. The cream wallpaper was sun-faded. The calendar didn’t offer anything to relieve the eye, just the dates.

  Shigenori could see an ashtray on a stand outside, in a corner of the balcony. That must be the designated smoking area. Stuck in this room with no one to talk to, he suddenly felt a powerful urge for a cigarette.

  He’d told them the truth: address, name, background, everything to the last detail. The only thing he’d fudged was his motivation for being here. He’d come through Tomakomai with his wife four or five years ago on a vacation. They’d dropped by Naka-chan and been impressed by the sake selection. The grilled mackerel and the scallop sashimi had been wonderful. After he heard of Nakanome’s death, he’d waited for a chance to stop by his house or the izakaya and offer a prayer. That was all. That was really the only reason he was here. He was a civilian now.

  Maybe he’d pushed the “civilian” thing a little too hard. It certainly hadn’t worked as well as he’d hoped. Now the two detectives who were unlucky enough to cross his path were probably in a huddle with their superiors, planning their next move. No, they’d be finished with that; they’d be running a background check. He’d given them two references, former subordinates who could vouch for him. Just trying to be helpful, detectives. Of course, these aren’t people who just sit around waiting for someone to call. They’ll be hard to reach, probably. More work, detectives.

  They hadn’t even offered him a cup of tea. Every now and then the older one would stick his head in the door and mumble an apology for keeping him cooling his heels. Sometimes there’d be another face behind him. One of the brass, checking him out. Shigenori always waved a hand genially. No problem, detective. Please get on with your work. Don’t mind me, detective.

  But he really needed a cigarette. He was dying for one. He didn’t care if he ended up going back to them after all these years—

  The door opened and the two men came in.

  “We’re very sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Tsuzuki.”

  The one with the drooping eyebrows apologized, pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. Fatigue had merged with the look of discomfort in his eyes. Shigenori half-expected him to complain about it. His nervous young partner stood next to him, leaning a hip against the backrest of the chair. He already needed a shave; his beard was starting to turn the pale skin around his mouth blue.

  “That’s quite all right,” Shigenori said agreeably. He was enjoying the opportunity to talk, though he couldn’t hide the fatigue in his voice. “I’ve just been sitting here. You two seem to be very busy. What is it that seems to be the problem?”

  The younger man’s cheek twitched. His eyes flashed with irritation and the corners of his mouth turned down. His partner chuckled uncomfortably, which made his eyebrows droop even further.

  “It took us a little bit of time to check your bona fides. My boss—well, he said to make it thorough.”

  He reached inside his coat and extracted a card. “Torisu, Detective Section. My partner’s Matsuyama.”

  Shigenori accepted the card politely. Torisu’s rank was sergeant. Matsuyama didn’t seem to have a card. He just stood there scowling.

  “I’m sorry,” Shigenori said. “I’m afraid I don’t carry cards anymore. I’m unemployed at the moment.”

  Torisu waved a hand affably. “It’s all right. We know. We spoke with Detective Imai at the Metro Police. He gave us an earful about you.”

  Shigenori made a mental note to drop by the station and thank Imai when he got back.

  “Really? I’m afraid I’ve put you to a lot of trouble. But really all I wanted to do was say a prayer for Nakanome. That’s all.”

  “Yes, yes.” Torisu nodded. Without missing a beat, he added, “Is that why you were scoping out
his parents’ house earlier?”

  Shigenori was startled. His reaction must’ve been obvious to both of them, but the angle of Torisu’s eyebrows didn’t budge. His squint showed no trace of acknowledgement.

  “After that, you checked out his high school and the cooking school. Do I have that right?”

  They tailed me. I really am over the hill. Didn’t notice a thing.

  “You’re very thorough, detective. So you had me marked as soon as I arrived at his parents’ place.”

  “Marked? Oh, I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  Torisu was being slippery. Shigenori decided to go with the flow and play his next card.

  “So you must have the house under surveillance. Do you think there’s a chance the killer might come back?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Matsuyama snapped, with a shrill edge to his voice. He really is wet behind the ears, Shigenori thought. He felt a stab of nostalgia. He’d once had men just like this under his wing.

  “Watch your manners, now,” Torisu said to his partner.

  “But sergeant!”

  Torisu ignored him and smiled grimly. “The killer issued a statement after the fifth murder, in Tokyo. We thought it might be better to stay alert, in case he decides to circle back.”

  “I see. But those letters were sent to the media. There wasn’t any mention of the victim’s family. As far as I know, the killer hasn’t contacted the relatives of any other victims, either.” Shigenori smiled thinly. “Of course, maybe he did and it just hasn’t been announced.”

  Torisu blinked with surprise, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “We’re foot soldiers. We just follow the policies laid down upstairs. They’re the ones with the inside dope. We don’t know the details. The case is being run out of Central.”

  Tomakomai Central Police Department. Interesting.

  “Can I speak freely, Mr. Tsuzuki? Your eyes … they’re a little too much on point, if you know what I mean. The way you walked your route today didn’t exactly have ‘citizen’ written all over it. So you see, we had to have a chat with you.”

  “Is that so? Did I look that suspicious?”