Chapter 7
OMEN
I
Mima faced the camera and nailed her final pose, leg raised high. When the assistant director gave her the okay sign, she took in deep, shoulder-raising breaths.
Her head felt heavy. She slumped over, her arms resting on her thighs and her back arched. She held that position for a while. The nervousness and exhilaration had evaporated in an instant, and now she felt that if she moved another muscle she might collapse on the spot.
Then, with conscious effort, she pushed strength into the muscles at her core and stood up straight. She felt better immediately.
With slow footsteps, the idol headed for her green room. She left the recording studio and was proceeding down the narrow hallway when Tadokoro came to meet her. Her manager wore a secretive smile. Maybe he saw strong CD sales on the way.
“What a show!” he said, draping a pink cardigan over her shoulders. Keeping his arm around her, he walked her to the green room.
When she didn’t see her assistant inside, Mima asked, “Where’s Rumi-chan?”
Still grinning, Tadokoro said, “She went home already.”
“Oh, she did?” Mima’s shoulders drooped in disappointment. “I’d hoped we could go out for some tea or something on our way home.”
“That wasn’t very nice of her, then,” Tadokoro said matter-of-factly. He produced a taxi voucher from his pocket and handed it to Mima. “Go on home. Get some rest tonight.”
Then he gave her a wave goodbye and left.
Suddenly alone in the green room, Mima felt suddenly overcome by loneliness.
“What’s with them?” she said to no one. “How could they leave me by myself at a time like this? I don’t know what Rumi has going on, but it can’t be so important she had to just run off like that.” Mima puffed out her cheeks. “This is so lame.”
She threw off her costume and unceremoniously stuffed it into her bag, before quickly changing back into street clothes.
When she exited the TV station’s rear doors, a cluster of passionate fans—all men—were waiting for her, heedless of the late-night hour. When they saw the idol, they waved at her and broke out into cheers. She gave the men a smile and a little wave before climbing into her waiting taxi.
As she looked at her fans from the rear passenger window, a pang of anxiety bloomed inside her, an almost physical pain in her chest. The feeling confused her—where could it come from? She put both hands to her breast as the anxiety deepened into relentless dread.
She asked herself, What am I worrying about? The sales of my single? Where my life goes from here? No. It wasn’t either of those things. It was something more urgent—something far, far more urgent.
Suddenly, she heard the voice speaking inside her.
Mi-Mima-san…
And then she knew what it was she feared.
She was worried about that stalker. In all the excitement over the debut of her new song, she had nearly forgotten about that creep. But now his specter had begun reasserting its dominance over her thoughts.
But why now? Why was he causing her all this distress all of a sudden?
Mima shook her head forcefully, trying to banish his shadow from her mind. Rather than vanish, the phantom’s presence loomed larger still.
Mima’s sixth sense knew.
Step by inexorable step, that dreadful stalker was coming for her, a vicious beast, fangs bared.
II
Short of breath, her arms filled with bags, Rumi climbed the stairs to Mima’s apartment. She had to hurry if she wanted to be ready before Mima came home.
Once she reached the apartment door, she fumbled for the key and opened the lock. She scurried to the kitchen and placed the plastic convenience store bags on the counter. Various canned goods and fresh fruit spilled out from the bags. She set the ingredients out efficiently, thinking through the menu in her head—hors d’oeuvres, salad, and then a creamy vegetable soup for the main dish.
I’m so glad Mima-san’s new song is going to be a hit! she thought with a little smile.
Perhaps even more than the singer herself, Rumi had been worried about what would happen if Mima’s fans rejected her new direction. When Rumi’s dreams of becoming an idol were broken, Mima had become her emotional bedrock. By projecting her dreams onto Mima, Rumi had found a new purpose in life.
Rumi didn’t know how Mima saw their relationship, but to Rumi—at least in a sense—the two of them were one unit. Mima’s happiness was Rumi’s happiness; Mima’s sadness was Rumi’s sadness.
From the bottom of her heart, she hoped Mima would become Japan’s top musical artist, and the assistant had pinned much of those hopes on this new song. After all, it was the first step for the singer to grow from a mere pop idol into a true artist.
To Rumi’s delight, the new single was on its way to becoming a huge hit. She couldn’t wait for Mima to come home so she could congratulate her.
She looked at her watch. It was just past eleven. Any time now, she thought.
Redoubling her speed, she began peeling the onions when there was a knock at the door. Rumi looked up from her work with some confusion. Who could it be at this hour?
Not Mima-san, Rumi thought, her body stiffening. Mima-san would have used her key to unlock the door.
The assistant cautiously approached the door. Oh, that’s right, she thought, relaxing. It must be Tadokoro-san.
Letting out a breath of relief, she unlocked the door. Maybe that Murano Yuji would be with him. She thought of his carefree smile and blushed.
She turned the knob and opened the door, revealing the dim glow of the hallway’s nighttime lights. Standing in their illumination was a lone man.
Rumi gasped.
It wasn’t the manager. It certainly wasn’t Murano Yuji.
Who was it, then?
She stared at the man’s face. A warm bead of sweat ran down her spine.
She had seen this man before, somewhere. But where?
Suddenly, it came to her. She recoiled and moved to shut the door. This was the last person in the entire world she ever wanted to see again. It was the man who had stood in the hall outside the K-TV green room, hidden in the shadows of the steel emergency exit door.
When she had faced him then, she’d been too scared to look upon his face. Even now, the murky hallway light left most of his features obscured by darkness. But she had no doubt that this man and the one she had faced before were one and the same.
It was his smell that did it—a dreadful smell she had never encountered before that day—or since.
Faster than Rumi could close the door, the man’s hand was on the knob. With incredible strength, he forced the door back open, sending her tumbling to the entrance floor.
The man stepped inside, and for the first time she got a clear look at him.
His long, disheveled hair hung over a craggy, angular face with little eyes, a big nose, and thick lips. He stood with a slouch and was stocky around the waist.
The man spoke. “You’re that assistant girl.” His voice was hoarse and unpleasant.
Still on the floor, a wide-eyed Rumi looked up at him and nodded once.
“You’re Mima-san’s assistant,” the man said.
Rumi nodded again and again.
“Well, I want you to assist me now,” he said with a smirk, strangely and vaguely shy. He looked her in the eyes while she shook her head violently from side to side.
“No!” she shouted. “Absolutely not. Who do you think you are, coming into another person’s home like this?”
The man leaned over her, right down into her face. He stared her down. “I’m going to make you come with me whether you like it or not. Look me in the eye. Do you see how serious I am? I want your help and I’m getting it.”
Rumi pushed at him with both hands and said, “Don’t get any closer! I’ll call for help. The walls here are thin. Someone will come right away!”