The Complete Ring Trilogy

by Kōji Suzuki

  3

  October 13—Saturday

  Asakawa had thought of taking the week off work, but then decided that using the company’s information system to the full would give him a better chance of clearing up the mysteries of the videotape than holing up in his apartment pointlessly cowering. As a result, he went in to work, even though it was a Saturday. “Went in to work,” but he knew full well that he wouldn’t get any actual work done. He figured the best policy would be to confess everything to his editor and ask that he be temporarily taken off his assignments. Nothing would help more than enlisting his editor’s cooperation. The problem was whether or not Oguri would believe his story. He’d probably bring up the previous incident yet again and snort. Even though he had the video as proof, if Oguri started out by denying everything, he’d have all sorts of other arguments arrayed to support his view. He’d skewer all sorts of things his way to convince himself he was right. Still … it would be interesting, Asakawa thought. He’d brought the video in his briefcase, just in case. How would Oguri react if he showed it to him? More to the point, though, would he even give it a glance? Last night he’d stayed up late explaining the whole sequence of events to Yoshino, and he’d believed. And then, as if to prove it, he’d said he absolutely didn’t want to see the video—please don’t show it to him. In exchange, he’d try to cooperate however he could. Of course, in Yoshino’s case, there was a firm foundation for that belief. When Haruko Tsuji and Takehiko Nomi’s corpses had been discovered in a car by a prefectural road in Ashina, Yoshino had rushed to the scene and felt the atmosphere there, the stifling atmosphere that had the investigators convinced that only something monstrous could have done this, but that kept them from saying so. If Yoshino hadn’t actually been there himself, he probably wouldn’t have accepted Asakawa’s story quite so easily.

  In any case, what Asakawa had on his hands was a bomb. If he flashed it in front of Oguri’s eyes threateningly, it ought to have some effect. Asakawa was tempted to use it out of curiosity, if for nothing else.

  Oguri’s customary mocking smile had been wiped from his face. Both elbows were planted on his desk, and his eyes moved restlessly as he went over Asakawa’s story once again with a fine-toothed comb.

  Four young people almost certainly watched a particular video together at Villa Log Cabin on the night of August 29th, and exactly a week later, just as the video had predicted, they died under mysterious circumstances. Subsequently, the video had caught the eye of the cabin manager, who had brought it into the office where it calmly waited until Asakawa discovered it. Asakawa had then watched the damned thing. And now he was going to die in five days? Was he supposed to believe that? And yet those four deaths were an indisputable fact. How could he explain them? What was the logical thread to connect all this?

  Asakawa’s expression, as he stood looking down at Oguri, had an air of superiority that was rare for him. He knew from experience just what Oguri was thinking right about now. Asakawa waited until he thought Oguri’s thought process would have reached a dead end, and then extracted the videotape from his briefcase. He did it with exaggerated dignity, theatrically, as if laying down a royal flush.

  “Would you like to take a look at it? You’re quite welcome to.” Asakawa indicated with his eyes the TV by the sofa under the window, flashing a composed, provocative smile. He could hear Oguri swallow loudly. Oguri didn’t even glance in the direction of the window; his eyes were fixed on the jet-black videotape that had been placed on his desk. He was honestly trying to decide what to do.

  If you want to watch it, you could just press play. It’s that easy. C’mon, you can do it. Just laugh like you always do and say how stupid it is, and shove it in the video deck. Do it, give it a shot. Oguri’s mind was trying to issue the command to his body. Stop being such an idiot and watch it. If you watch it, doesn’t it show that you don’t believe Asakawa? Which means, right, think about it now, it means if you refuse to watch it, you must believe this cock-and-bull story. So watch it already. You believe in modern science, don’t you? You’re not a kid afraid of ghosts.

  In fact, Oguri was 99% sure that he didn’t believe Asakawa. But still, way back in a corner of his mind, there was that what if. What if it were true? Maybe there were some niches in this world that modern science couldn’t reach yet. And as long as there was that risk, no matter how hard his mind worked, his body was going to refuse. So Oguri sat in his chair and didn’t move. He couldn’t move. It didn’t matter what his mind understood: his body wasn’t listening to his mind. As long as there was the possibility of danger, his body would keep loyally activating his instincts for self-preservation. Oguri raised his head and said, in a parched voice:

  “So, what is it you want from me?”

  Asakawa knew he had won. “I’d like you to relieve me of my assignments. I want to make a thorough investigation of this video. Please. I think you realize my life is on the line here.”

  Oguri shut his eyes tightly. “Are you going to get an article out of it?”

  “Well, regardless of how I may appear to you, I’m still a reporter. I’ll write down my findings so everything isn’t buried with Ryuji Takayama and myself. Of course, whether or not to print them is something I’ll leave up to you.”

  Oguri gave two decisive nods. “Well, it can’t hurt. I guess I’ll have a cub take your feature interview.”

  Asakawa bowed slightly. He went to return the video to his briefcase, but couldn’t resist the temptation to have a little more fun. He proffered the tape to Oguri once again, saying, “You believe me, don’t you?”

  Oguri gave a long sigh and shook his head. It wasn’t that he believed or disbelieved; he just felt a tinge of uneasiness. Yeah, that was it.

  “I feel the same way,” were Asakawa’s parting words. Oguri watched him walk out and told himself that if Asakawa was still alive after October 18th, then he’d watch that video with his own eyes. But even then, maybe his body wouldn’t let him. That what if didn’t feel like it was ever going to go away.

  In the reference room Asakawa stacked three thick volumes on a table. Volcanoes of Japan, Volcanic Archipelago, and Active Volcanoes of the World. Figuring that the volcano in the video was probably in Japan, he started with Volcanoes of Japan. He looked at the color photos at the beginning of the book. Mountains belching white smoke and steam rose gallantly into the sky, sides covered with brownish-black lava rock; bright red molten rock spewed into the night sky from craters whose black edges melted into the darkness; he thought of the Big Bang. He turned the pages, comparing these scenes to the one seared into his brain. Mt Aso, Mt Asama, Showa Shinzan, Sakurajima … It didn’t take as long to locate as he’d feared. After all, Mt Mihara on Izu Oshima Island, part of the same chain of volcanoes that included Mt Fuji, is one of Japan’s more famous active volcanoes.

  “Mt Mihara?” muttered Asakawa. The two-page spread for Mt Mihara had two aerial shots and one photo taken from a nearby hilltop. Asakawa recalled the image on the video and tried to imagine it from various angles, comparing it to these photos. There was a definite similarity. From a perspective at the foot of the mountain, the peak seemed gently sloped. But from the air one could see a circular rim surrounding a caldera, in the center of which was a mound which was the mouth of the volcano. The photo taken from a nearby hilltop especially resembled the scene in the video. The color and contours of the mountainside were almost the same. But he needed to confirm it, instead of just relying on his memory. Asakawa made a copy of the photos of Mt Mihara, along with two or three other candidates.

  Asakawa spent the afternoon on the phone. He called people who had used cabin B-4 in the last six months. He would have been better off meeting them face to face and gauging their reactions, but he simply didn’t have that kind of time. It was tough to spot a lie just from a voice on a telephone. Asakawa pricked up his ears, determined to catch the slightest crack. There were sixteen parties he needed to check out. The low number was due to the fact that the c
abins hadn’t been equipped with individual video decks when Villa Log Cabin opened in April. A major regional hotel was torn down over the summer, and it was decided to transfer the large number of VCRs it no longer needed to Villa Log Cabin. That was in mid-July. The decks had been installed and the tape library assembled by the end of that month, just in time for the summer vacation season. As a result, the brochure didn’t mention that each room had its own video equipment. Most guests had been surprised to see the VCR when they arrived, and thought of it as nothing more than a way to kill time on a rainy day; almost nobody had expressly brought a tape for the purpose of recording something. Of course, that was if he believed the voices on the phone. So who had brought the tape in question? Who had made it? Asakawa was desperate not to overlook anything. He chipped away at people’s responses time and again, but not once did anybody seem like they were hiding something. Of the sixteen guests he called, three had come to play golf and hadn’t even noticed the VCR. Seven had noticed it but hadn’t touched it. Five had come to play tennis but had been rained out, and with nothing else to do had watched videos: classic films, mostly. Probably old favorites. The last group, a family of four named Kaneko, from Yokohama, had brought a tape so they could record something on another channel while watching a historical miniseries.

  Asakawa put down the receiver and cast an eye over the data he had collected concerning the sixteen groups of guests. Only one looked pertinent. Mr and Mrs Kaneko and their two grade-school-aged kids. They’d stayed in B-4 twice last summer. The first time had been the night of Friday, August 10th, and the second time they had stayed two nights, Saturday and Sunday, August 25th and 26th. The second time was three days before the four victims had been there. Nobody had stayed there on the Monday or Tuesday following the Kanekos’ stay: the four teenagers were the very next people to use the cabin. Not only that, the Kanekos’ sixth-grade son had brought a tape from home to record a show. The boy was a faithful fan of a certain comedy series broadcast every Sunday at eight, but his parents, of course, controlled the TV, and every Sunday at eight they made a habit of watching the annual historical miniseries on NHK, the public television network. There was only one television in the cabin, but knowing it had a VCR, the boy had brought a tape, thinking to record his show and watch it later. But while he was recording, a friend came over to tell him that the rain had let up. He and his younger sister ran off to play tennis. His parents finished their program and turned off the television, forgetting that the VCR was still recording. The children ran around on the courts until almost ten, then came home all tuckered out and went straight to bed. They, too, had completely forgotten about the tape. The next day, when they were almost home, the kid suddenly remembered he’d left the tape in the VCR and shouted to his father, who was driving, to go back. This turned into quite an argument, but eventually the boy gave up. He was still whimpering when they got home.

  Asakawa took out the videotape and stood it on his desk. Where the label would have been stuck the words Fujitex VHS T120 Super AV glinted in silver. Asakawa redialed the Kanekos’ number.

  “Hi, sorry to keep calling you like this. It’s Asakawa again, from the Daily News.”

  There was a pause, then the same voice he had spoken to before said, “Yes?” It was Mrs Kaneko.

  “You mentioned that your son left behind a videotape. Do you happen to know what brand it was?”

  “Well, now, let me see,” she replied, trying not to laugh. He heard noises in the background. “My son’s just got home. I’ll ask him.”

  Asakawa waited. There was no way the kid’d remember.

  “He says he doesn’t know. But we only use cheap brands, the kind you buy in packs of three.”

  He wasn’t surprised. Who really paid attention to what brand of tape they used every time they wanted to record something? Then Asakawa had an idea. Hold on, where’s the case for this tape? Videotapes are always sold in cardboard cases. Nobody just throws them away. At least, Asakawa himself had never thrown away a tape case, neither for an audio cassette or a video tape.

  “Does your family store your videotapes in their cases?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Look, I’m very sorry, but could you please check to see if you have an empty case lying around?”

  “Huh?” she asked vacantly. Even if she understood his question, she couldn’t guess what he was getting at, and it made her slow on the uptake.

  “Please. Someone’s life may depend on it.” Housewives were susceptible to the “matter of life and death” ploy. Whenever he needed to save time and get one moving, he found that the phrase had just the right impact. But this time, he wasn’t lying.

  “Just a moment, please.”

  Just as he’d expected, her tone changed. There was quite a long pause after she set down the receiver. If the case had been left at Villa Log Cabin along with the tape, then it must have been thrown away by the manager. But if not, then there was a good chance the Kanekos still had it. The voice returned.

  “An empty case, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I found two.”

  “Alright. Now, the manufacturer’s name and the type of tape should be printed on the case …”

  “Let’s see. One says Panavision T120. The other is a … Fujitex VHS T120 Super AV.”

  The exact same name as on the videotape he held in his hand. Since Fujitex had sold countless numbers of these tapes, this was hardly definitive proof, but at least he’d taken a step forward. That much was certain. This demon tape had originally been brought there by a sixth-grade boy, it was probably safe to conclude. Asakawa thanked the woman politely and hung up the phone.

  Starting at eight o’clock on the night of Sunday, August 26th, the video deck in cabin B-4 is left recording. The Kaneko family forgets the tape and goes home. Then come the four young people in question. It’s rainy that day, too. Thinking to watch a movie, they go to use the video deck, only to find a tape already inside. Innocently they watch it. They see incomprehensible, eerie things. Then, the threat at the end. Cursing the evil weather, they think up a cruel bit of mischief. Erasing the section that tells how to escape certain death, they leave the video there to frighten the next guests. Of course, they hadn’t believed what they’d seen. If they had, they wouldn’t have been able to carry out their prank. He wondered if they remembered the tape at the moment of their deaths. Maybe there hadn’t been any time for that before the angel of death carried them off. Asakawa shivered—it wasn’t just them. Unless he could find a way to avoid dying in five days, he’d end up just like them. Then he’d know exactly how they felt when they died.

  But if the boy had been recording a TV show, then where had those images come from? All along Asakawa had thought that someone had shot them with a video camera and then brought the tape there. But the tape had been set to record from the television, meaning that somehow these incredible scenes had infiltrated the airwaves. He would never have dreamed it.

  The airwaves had been hijacked.

  Asakawa recalled what had happened last year at election time, when, after NHK had signed off for the night, an illicit broadcast had appeared on the same channel, slandering one of the candidates.

  The airwaves had been hijacked. That was the only thing that fit. He was faced with the possibility that on the evening of August 26th, these images had been riding the airwaves in the South Hakone region, and that this tape had picked them up, purely by chance. If that was true, then there must be a record of it. Asakawa realized he needed to contact the local bureau and find out some facts.

  4

  It was ten when Asakawa got home. As soon as he entered the apartment, he softly opened the bedroom door and checked the sleeping faces of his wife and daughter. No matter how tired he was when he got home, he always did this.

  There was a note on the dining room table. Mr Takayama called. Asakawa had been trying to call Ryuji all day long, but he hadn’t been able to catch him at home. He was
probably out and about on his own investigations. Maybe he has something, thought Asakawa as he dialed. He let it ring ten times. No answer. Ryuji lived alone in his East Nakano apartment. He wasn’t home yet.

  Asakawa took a quick shower, opened a beer, and tried calling again. Still not home. He switched to whiskey on the rocks. He’d never be able to get a good night’s sleep without alcohol. Tall and slender, Asakawa had never in his life had an illness worth the name. To think that this was how he was sentenced to die. Part of him still felt it was a dream, that he’d reach ten o’clock on October 18th without having understood the video or figured out the charm, but in the end nothing would happen and the days would stretch out before him as they always had. Oguri would wear a mocking expression and expound on the foolishness of believing in superstitions, while Ryuji would laugh and say, “We just don’t understand how the world works.” And his wife and daughter would greet their daddy with these same sleeping faces. Even a passenger on an airplane falling from the sky can’t shake the hope that he’ll be the one to survive.

  He drained his third glass of whiskey and dialed Ryuji’s number a third time. If he didn’t answer this time, Asakawa was going to give up for the night. He heard seven rings, then a click as someone picked up the receiver.

  “What the hell have you been up to all this time?” he shouted, without even checking to see who he was talking to. Thinking he was addressing Ryuji, he allowed his anger full vent. Which only served to emphasize the strangeness of their relationship. Even with his friends, Asakawa always maintained a certain distance and carefully controlled his attitude. But he had no qualms about calling Ryuji every name in the book. And yet, he’d never once thought of Ryuji as a truly close friend.

  But surprisingly, the voice that answered wasn’t Ryuji’s.

  “Hello? Excuse me …”