Out

by Natsuo Kirino

  'I won't give up,' she called. 'But I want to know why you're after me.'

  'Because of what you did to me.'

  'Then you've got the wrong person. It's Yayoi Yamamoto you want.'

  'I'm done with her.'

  'Done how?' she said. Her voice was trembling now, with fear or from the cold. She must be cold; her feet were bare and she had nothing on but a T-shirt and underwear. Moving quietly over to the ramp, he bundled up her clothes and tossed them in a corner to make sure she didn't get them back. Just then, she spoke again from the darkness. 'You took her insurance money, didn't you? Then why isn't that enough? Why've you got it in for me?'

  'I'm not sure myself,' he murmured in her direction.

  'Because you lost your business?'

  'That's part of it,' he said. But it's also because you're the only one who knows the real Satake, the one who tore off the scab that had formed over all that time.

  'But not the whole story,' Masako said, her voice calmer now. 'You also like me, don't you?' This time he didn't answer, but he edged toward her through the dark. 'It seems a bit weird, doesn't it? I'm forty-three, past the age when men notice you; and I was never that kind of woman. You must have some other reason.' His heavy boot clattered against a can and Masako fell silent. He listened, trying to tell where she'd gone.

  There was a faint noise behind him, and he spun around and began hunting her in the other direction. She was trying to force open the shutter at the delivery bay and slip out. Lunging through the dark, he caught her just as she'd managed to get her upper body through the opening. He grabbed her legs and dragged her back in, then slapped her hard across the face. As she collapsed on the dirty concrete floor, he shone his flashlight on her, wanting to see her face. She shook back her hair and glared at him. It was the same - the same look as before. He grabbed her by the hair and forced her to keep looking at him.

  'You are a fucking bastard!' she said, spitting the words at him.

  'Yes, I am.' He peered into her angry eyes. 'But I've been waiting for you.'

  'You're dreaming,' she said in a steady voice.

  'No, I'm not,' he said, studying her face for a moment. The other woman's features had been as sharp as a knife, not really like this one's at all. This was Masako Katori staring at him now, her eyes loaded with hostility. Their faces were different; Masako's lips were thinner, more severe. But the eyes were identical. His heart filled with joy and anticipation, like a rising tide. How high could she take him? Would the pleasure he'd kept locked away for seventeen years return again? Would she be able to show him what that other experience had meant?

  He ripped off her T-shirt, leaving her in nothing but her plain white bra and panties, but she continued staring at him.

  'Stop,' she said. 'Kill me now.' Ignoring her, he stripped off her underwear. At this, she began to struggle again, but he held her arms and, lifting her up, carried her to the rack. He lay on top of her to stop her thrashing. She gasped under his weight and then went limp. He found the rope he'd brought with him, tied one end to each wrist, and then pulled her arms over her head to fasten them to the rack. 'It's cold!' she yelled, her body writhing on the icy metal. He watched her for a moment in the beam of the flashlight. Her body was thin, almost desiccated, and her breasts were small. He slowly began undressing.

  'Go ahead and scream,' he told her. 'No one'll hear you.'

  'You may not know it, but they're tearing down the building next door,' she said.

  'And you're full of shit,' he said, slapping her again. He'd meant to hold back this time, but her head snapped to one side from the blow. He didn't want to overdo it, to have her die before he was ready; and it would be boring if she were unconscious. He was worried for a moment, but then her head turned and she fixed him with her cold eyes again. Blood was trickling from her lips.

  'Kill me quickly,' she said. The other woman had been just as insistent, screaming at him to kill her while he was beating her. His excitement built as his mind raced back and forth between the two women, between reality and dreams, as if it were riding a highspeed elevator. He bent over her and bit her bloody lips. Then, with her cursing through clenched teeth, he forced himself between her legs.

  'Dry as a bone,' he muttered.

  'Bastard!' She thrashed about, trying desperately to fight him off, to keep her legs closed, but he forced her open and entered her. It felt amazingly hot, but she screamed with pain, perhaps because she was too dry. When he saw the look in her eyes, he realised she must have less experience than he would have thought. He began to move, ever so slowly. He hadn't been with a real, flesh-and-blood woman since that day in Shinjuku, since that dark dream. The thing deep in his soul began to writhe, rise up and become real, promising to take him with it wherever it was going. To hell, and heaven. It was only in the final moments of sex with her that the gap between them could be bridged. This was what he'd been born for, and this was what he would die for.

  But then, suddenly and too soon, the first time was over.

  'Pervert!' she called him, spitting bloody saliva at him. He wiped the spittle off his face and rubbed it back in hers. Then he bit her breast to punish her. She tried to scream, but the sound died in her throat behind her chattering teeth. The first light of dawn was shining through the windows above them.

  -

  As the sun rose higher in the sky, light came streaming into the factory, and their surroundings slowly became visible. The panelling had fallen from the walls, exposing the bare concrete underneath. The partitions that had separated the kitchen and bathrooms had come down, leaving only the bare faucets and toilets. Oil cans and plastic buckets littered the floor, and a mound of empty soft-drink bottles lay near the entrance. But even in the light, it was still a bleak, cement coffin.

  Hearing a noise behind him, Satake turned. A stray cat had wandered into the factory, but when it caught sight of him it ran off. There must be rats. He sat down on the floor, crossed his legs, and lit a cigarette. Then he watched Masako struggling on the rack, her whole body shivering in the cold. In a while, the light would reach them; and when it did, he would rape her again, only this time he'd be able to see her face as he did it. He would wait until then.

  'Cold?' he said.

  'Of course I'm cold.'

  'Sorry, you'll just have to wait.'

  'Wait for what?'

  'For the sun.'

  'I can't! I'm freezing!' she said. There was rage in her voice, but

  her words were slurred now from the beating. Her cheeks were swollen and the lower lip was puffy. Even from a distance, he could see that her body was covered with goose bumps, and he remembered that he'd thought of using a knife to scrape them off. But it was still too early for that. That was for the very end.

  He pictured the thin, sharp blade sliding into her. Would it give him the same deep thrill it had all those years ago? It was that thrill alone which had defined him ever since, and he longed to feel it once again. He pulled a black leather sheath from his bag and put it quietly on the floor.

  The sunlight had at last reached Masako's body. As it crept over her, she seemed to relax, and her pale, bluish skin began to take on colour, as though it were thawing out. Satake stood up and came closer.

  'Did you make all those lunches on something like this?' he said. Masako just stared at him. 'Did you?' he said, grabbing her jaw.

  'Why do you care?' She was too cold to speak clearly, but her anger was unmistakable.

  'I bet you never thought you'd be tied up on one.' She twisted away. 'Tell me,' he said. 'How do you cut up a body? Like this?' He held her neck and ran his finger down her front, pretending to cut from her throat to her pubic bone. The pressure of his hand left a pale purple line on her skin. 'How did you come up with the idea of chopping him up? What did it feel like when you were doing it?'

  'What does it matter?'

  'Because you're just like me. You've gone too far to go back.' She looked into his eyes.

  'What happened t
o you?' she said.

  'Spread your legs,' he ordered, ignoring the question.

  'No.' She pressed her legs together, and when he bent over, trying to work his way in, she kneed him in the face. He tried again, delighted that ^she still had some fight left in her. The winter sun played on her face, and as he lay there on her, he saw that her teeth were clenched and her eyelids tightly shut.

  'Look at me,' he said, trying to force them open with his fingers.

  'No.'

  'I'll poke them out,' he said, pressing his thumbs into her eyes.

  'Then I won't have to look at you.' When he took his hands away, her lids opened a crack. Wild black eyes showed underneath.

  'That's right. Hate me more.'

  'Why?' she asked, sounding as if she might actually want to know.

  'You hate me, don't you? Just like I hate you.'

  'But why?'

  'Because you're a woman.'

  'Then kill me!' she yelled. She doesn't understand yet, he thought. The other one did, but not her. He slapped her again, this time out of irritation. 'There's something wrong with you,' she said, 'something broken inside.'

  'Of course there is,' he said, stroking her hair. 'Just like there's something broken in you. I knew it the first time I saw you.' Masako said nothing, but her eyes were wide open, with real hatred showing in them. He kissed her for the first time, tasting the salty blood on her lips. Blood had begun to ooze from where the ropes were cutting into her wrists - just as it had that other time.

  He reached down and picked up the knife. Flicking off the sheath, he put it on the rack. She flinched at the cold, dangerous thing lying next to her head.

  'Frightened?' he said. She shut her eyes, her body still shaking. Satake peeled the lids open again, searching behind them for fear, or the hatred that overcame fear. He entered her, searching inside her now. But searching for what? The other woman? Masako? Or was he looking for himself? Was it illusion or reality? Little by little, though he had no sense of time, her body seemed to be melting into his, her pleasure becoming his pleasure, and his hers. If they went on to the end, he felt he would vanish, disappear from this world, and he'd have no regrets if he did. He had never been at home here anyway.

  He felt a desperate need to join her, to merge together. As he sucked at her lips, he realised with a twinge of sadness that she was looking at him with the same hungry stare.

  'Does it feel good?' he said, his voice almost tender. She gasped but didn't answer. They were doing it together now, partners in it. Sensing that she was close to climax, he reached for the knife. He must get further into her. He could feel something stirring inside himself, feel the warmth spreading through his body. Together, they were heaven-bound.

  'Please,' she whispered.

  'What?'

  'Cut the ropes.'

  'I can't.'

  'If you don't, I can't come. I want to come with you,' she pleaded, her voice low and raspy. He was ready now, so why need the ropes? He reached up and sliced through them. She wrapped her freed arms around his back and clung tightly to him. He reached behind her and cradled her head in his hands. He had never done it like this. Her fingernails dug into his back as their bodies moved together. When he was nearing the end, he cried out, feeling at last he'd overcome it, the hatred in him. But just as he was fumbling for the knife again, out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint of light. At some stage Masako had picked it up, and was on the point of using it. He grabbed her arm, knocking the knife to the floor, then punched her in the face.

  She lay on her side for some time, her hands pressed to her cheeks. He climbed off and bawled at her, gasping with fury.

  'You stupid bitch! Now we've got to start from the beginning!' It wasn't so much that she'd tried to stab him but that she'd spoilt the sensation he had worked so hard to bring back. But more than anger, he felt grief, that she hadn't shared his feelings.

  She had lost consciousness. He touched her face where he'd hit her. If he began to pity her he wouldn't be able to kill her, and that deep need would never be fulfilled. She was right, there was something broken in him. He wrapped his arms around his head.

  -

  She woke up a short time later. 'Let me go to the bathroom,' she said. She was trembling violently and her head was still flopped to one side. He had hit her too hard. If he used her up like this, she might die before he could get what he wanted.

  'Go on, then,' he said.

  'It's cold,' she said. She sat up unsteadily and slid her legs to the floor. Reaching down slowly, she picked up her jacket and slipped it over her bare shoulders. Satake followed her as she made her way to the toilets in the corner. There were no posts or walls, just three seats that seemed to have sprouted from the floor. They were grey and grimy and there was no way of knowing whether the plumbing still worked, but Masako lowered herself on to the nearest one as if she had no more energy to waste. Ignoring Satake, she began to piss.

  'Hurry up,' he said. She rose slowly and started back across the floor, but her legs were wobbly and she stumbled over an oil can, planting her hands on the ground to keep from falling flat. Satake ran over and grabbed her collar, dragging her to her feet. She shoved her hands in her pockets and stood for a moment, apparently dazed.

  'Come on,' he said, raising his hand to hit her again. But before he could do it, he felt something cold brush across his cheek. It was like being stroked by an icy finger. The other woman's finger? Feeling as though he'd been touched by a ghost, he glanced around the empty plant, then touched his cheek with his hand. Blood was pumping from a deep gash.

  7

  Long before, when it had all begun, Masako had just lain there, motionless, feeling the cold seep into her. Her body seemed to be functioning, but her mind felt heavy, as though she were still caught between sleep and waking. Forcing her eyelids open, she stared into a black void that seemed to stretch far overhead. Somehow, she had found her way into a cold, dark hole. There was a faint light far above - the night sky, barely visible through a row of small windows. She remembered looking up at the starless sky a few hours earlier. Her sense of smell was returning, and with it familiar odours: cold, damp concrete and mould. A moment later she realised she was inside the abandoned factory.

  But why were her legs bare? She ran her hands down her body and found she was wearing nothin g but her T-shirt and underwear. Her skin was as dry and icy as a stone, as if it no longer belonged to her, and she was chilled to the bone. Then, suddenly, she was staring into a bright light. Squinting, she raised her hand to shade her eyes.

  Satake's voice called her name. So he had her. She let out a groan, remembering how his arms had grabbed her in the parking lot. He would toy with her for a while now and then kill her. She was trapped here in this nightmare world, just when her exit was in plain sight.

  Furious at her own carelessness, she stared into the light and yelled, 'You bastard!'

  Almost immediately he answered with an odd command: 'No, you should say, "Fucking bastard! What a lousy trick!"' And for the first time she realised that she'd been caught up in some fantasy of his, that he was trying to relive something that had happened to him in the past. The full horror of the situation began to dawn on her: Satake's vendetta had more to do with this unknown past than with Kenji. She'd been right when she told Yayoi that they had woken up a monster.

  Moments later, she managed to kick him in the groin and, slipping past him, ran off into the dark. Her head was filled with one desire as she ran: just to vanish into thin air, to hide and never be found again. Satake frightened her in a primitive way, the way nightfall frightens a child afraid of the dark. But it was more than him that she was fleeing; it was something in her own darkness that this man seemed to have aroused.

  The debris on the floor hurt her bare feet and caught around her ankles - chunks of cement, scraps of metal, plastic bags and other, unidentifiable things that squashed unnervingly underfoot. But she couldn't worry about that now. She ran here and there i
n the dark, avoiding the beam of the flashlight and searching for an exit.

  'You might as well give up,' he called from somewhere near the entrance. She told him that she wouldn't. He seemed reluctant to tell her what he wanted, but she was sure now that it wasn't simply revenge. She would have liked to know what was driving him. As his voice rang through the damp air, she imagined the expression on his face.

  Something told her he was on the move now, using the sound of her voice to track her down. She crept toward the delivery bay as quietly as she could. There was another rusted shutter there, and she might be able to pry it open. In the meantime, Satake was playing the flashlight over the interior, as though in a game of hide-and-seek. She reached the delivery bay, worked her way on to the waist-high concrete counter, and pushed up the small metal shutter, not caring now about the noise. Freedom was just a step away, if she could get out in time. Squirming her head and shoulders through the opening, she smelt the air outside, fragrant with the odours of the ditch.

  When he dragged her back inside and beat her, she felt no real pain, only huge disappointment at getting that far, with freedom within reach, and then probably losing it for good. And she still had no idea why it was her, and not the others, that Satake had singled out.

  -

  Now she was tied to the old conveyor belt. Even after her skin warmed the metal a bit, she could feel the cold creeping in from the edges, stealing her body heat. She had never felt cold like this, but she still wasn't ready to give up. As long as she was alive, she would will her body to resist the freezing metal underneath her. She began to twist back and forth, hoping that movement would warm her. If she didn't, she was afraid her back would stick fast to the rack.

  He hit her in the face again. As she groaned with pain, she searched his eyes for signs of madness. If she could be sure he was mad, then she might resign herself to what was happening. But he wasn't. Nor was this just some sick amusement. He was beating her to see how much he could make her hate him. For some reason, he needed her to despise him, and when he'd brought this hatred to a peak, he would kill her.