4
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Hark, the glad sound! the Savior comes,
the Savior promised long;
let every heart prepare a throne,
and every voice a song.
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He comes the prisoners to release,
in Satan’s bondage held;
the gates of brass before him burst,
the iron fetters yield.
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I could hear the voices in song leaking out from the open driver’s side door. It was the Christmas music special on the radio. The saintly voices of boys and girls spoke to me as I gripped my flashlight.
The awaited savior has returned.
So let’s give him a big welcome.
I was fairly certain that’s what the lyrics meant. I felt a chill. Now that the sun had gone down, the temperature was dropping. Maybe I should go back to the car. I could look all I wanted to, but I wasn’t likely to find the girl. The trunks and branches of dead trees jumped to life in the illumination of the flashlight, gray like rocks. The car headlights shone into the space dead ahead. I should move the car to the shoulder of the road before another vehicle came along.
I regretted letting my subject get away. The girl had seen through to my real intentions, and so she had disappeared into the deciduous tree forest. She had run off, not paying any notice when the bandage she had so awkwardly wound around her hand got caught on a branch and was pulled off. The words I had spoken perhaps contained something to heighten her awareness of the danger I presented. Maybe it was the talk about Rosalia? At any rate, I had definitely failed somehow.
But I realized there was no need to be so defeatist. For two reasons. The first was that her bag was still there in the backseat. I opened the rear door and picked it up. An utterly ordinary black school bag. There might be something inside to tell me who she was. I checked the interior with excitement. There was almost nothing in it. A single paperback of Night on the Galactic Railroad. Perhaps right from the start, she had left the bag as camouflage. A little tool to make me think she wasn’t going to run off or anything—she had left her bag, she’d come back once the train passed. As proof of this hypothesis, I couldn’t find any sign of the digital camera that would have been tucked in there. It was clear she had taken the important items from the bag.
But that was fine. There was one more good reason not to lose heart. The black sailor-style uniform she wore. I had a clear memory of the school crest embroidered on it. I would find out what school she went to. As long as Morino wasn’t a fake name, finding her would be easy. And even if it was a fake name, if I knew the school she attended at least, I’d be able to find her someday.
This wasn’t the end yet. My tie with this girl Morino hadn’t been completely severed. I wanted the look on her face when she was dead. I didn’t need anything else. What experience could be more incredible than turning the lens on her deceased face and pressing the shutter? I would love this subject body and soul. My thirst had returned. A thirst that could only be quenched by a face in death, just like seven years earlier. A longing for water in the burning desert. Surprisingly, this feeling was not unpleasant.
I returned the girl’s bag to the backseat and went to slide into the driver’s seat. At that moment, I heard the vibration of a cell phone from somewhere. It wasn’t my phone. I pricked up my ears and sought out the origin of the sound. In the woods, not that far from the car. I found it soon enough when I went to look. Morino’s cell phone had fallen atop the dried leaves. A light-emitting diode flashed as the device vibrated.
Had she dropped it? I picked it up and peered at the LCD screen. A message indicating an incoming call. The caller was apparently set not to display, however; no name was shown. Someone was calling Morino. Maybe her family? Or that friend?
Phone in hand, I waited for the caller to hang up. But the vibration showed no sign of stopping.
I went back to the side of the car, leaned against it, and took several deep breaths. I felt like the temperature had dropped radically. I focused on moving my finger, sluggish because of the cold, and pressed the Accept Call button. I held my breath and put the cell phone to my ear.
“Hello?” A boy’s voice came through the receiver to me. It wasn’t as low as an adult’s, but it wasn’t high like a child either. Most likely, he was also in high school, like Morino.
“Who are you?”
“A friend of Morino’s.” His voice was calm. It didn’t waver at all, even when he heard my voice coming through the connection instead of the girl’s. The hand I gripped the phone with started to sweat.
“Morino? I just found this phone. I guess Morino would be its owner then?”
“Yes, that’s right. Earlier, I advised Morino to run away.”
“Run away?” My heart beat faster.
“I was the one who suggested she leave her cell phone.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to speak with you.”
I felt as though the breath expelled by the boy was hitting my ear through the phone. Disturbed, I hung up.
I got into the driver’s seat and closed the door. Turning off the radio left only the sound of the engine. Darkness hung around the car, a gloom so black that one could be forgiven for wondering if someone had simply pasted drawing paper colored completely with black crayon over the windows. I was desperately thirsty. My mouth was sticky with thick saliva as though I had just woken up. I was assaulted by the absurd sensation that I was being swallowed up by some unknown something. My body was frozen from venturing out into the cold night.
I fiddled with Morino’s cell phone, opening up any number of menus. She might have information about the boy in her phone. Before I learned more about Morino, I first wanted to know about this boy. To get rid of this unfamiliar eeriness that had been planted in me when I spoke with him. I didn’t believe Morino had had enough time when she ran off to delete her messages. I poked around and there was the email, just as I expected.
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Sent 16:20, December 6
I ended up getting a ride from that person before! (^_^;)