Chapter 8
CONFRONTATION
I
Mima ran.
She ran through the nighttime streets. She ran until her legs ached, until her heart strained—but still she ran. She weaved through Tokyo’s south-central Azabu district, moving through back roads lined by quiet, upscale apartments and residences, turning right here, left there.
She wondered how long it had been since she ran like this. In her first year of high school, she’d placed fifth in her school’s marathon race. That was probably it.
She’d walked from her apartment to the old K-TV studio building once before. She had no reason to measure how long it took, but it had to have been more than ten minutes.
I don’t know how that freak kidnapped Rumi, but he’s using her to get to me. He’d threatened to kill her if she was even one second late.
Mima spurred her aching feet into a full-on sprint. As she ran, she felt her thoughts grow clear. A cold rage against her stalker began to swell throughout her body. If she said she wasn’t afraid, she would have been lying, but far more anger filled her heart than fear.
She had only known this man through his calls and his letters, but his voice and his handwriting had revealed enough of his character to thoroughly repulse her. Now they were going to meet face-to-face, and she fully intended to tell him exactly what she thought of him.
On and on Mima ran—to keep Rumi safe and to put that creep in his place.
Before Mima stood a Daruma Shipping distribution center. The facility’s broad, metal gates were closed up, their bars offering a view of several dozen large trucks stationed in a large parking lot. Circling the grounds was a long stonework wall dotted with an occasional red-tinted light. The former K-TV studio building was just on the other side.
Still running, Mima followed the wall. There were few streetlights in this part of Azabu; she couldn’t run at full speed, since she couldn’t make out the ground at her feet. Only the dim red lights ahead served to guide her way to the studio.
Suddenly, the wall ended, revealing the former TV building in the distance. Against the dark night sky, the building formed an even blacker silhouette, a long flat slab reminiscent of a giant crocodile. Mima ran straight for the crocodile’s great black mouth.
The studio hadn’t been used for three years. About a year ago, she’d heard that the building was going to be torn down and replaced with a shopping and recreation center.
Mima climbed the stairs to the front entrance. Crisscrossed chains barred shut the sliding glass doors; a sign read NO TRESSPASSING. Cobwebs and dust had accumulated along the doors’ upper track. No one had been in or out for months. Mima peered in through the glass and saw nothing but a deep darkness. She wondered if the building even had working electricity.
Mima circled around to the rear entrance. It, too, was chained up. Only the emergency exit off to its side was unlocked. That door stood half open.
That must have been where the man had gone in.
Mima readied herself and opened the door wide. The hinges released a metallic shriek that spurred her onwards.
A pungent, musty smell greeted her nostrils. At her feet lay messy piles of scrap lumber and cardboard. The hallway had become just another storage space.
It was dark; Mima could hardly see anything at all. She proceeded down the corridor slowly, taking care not to trip over anything. After a little while, a faint light spilled out from a side passage.
Her eyes had become so adjusted to the dark that even that faint light seemed eye-piercingly bright.
Drawn in by the light, Mima came into a room.
It was a green room. Mirrors with little counters lined the side walls, and a sink stood at the back. Hanging from the ceiling was the source of the light, a fluorescent tube in a yellowed, dangling ballast.
Did that mean the building’s power was on?
While Mima squinted up at the light, a voice came from behind her. “I brought a portable generator,” the man explained.
Mima gave a start and turned around. The man was standing there. Mima took a good look at him. This is him. This is that freak.
“Finally, we meet,” he said. His smile chilled her to the core; it put a burr in the pit of her stomach.
The man had long and greasy hair, cow-like eyes, and lips that were much too red. As she inspected his face, she felt the terror of minutes ago begin to creep its way back over her. Mima tried to guess what this man had in store for her, and the question made every hair on her body stand on end.
The man said, “Mima-san, look at this.”
He pointed to the T-shirt he was wearing. When she saw what was on it, her eyes went wide.
It was a character from an anime TV show called Be an Idol!, which had heavily featured Mima in its advertising. Once her involvement had finished, she’d had little enough reason to think about the show—but she remembered the T-shirt. It was a prize from a promotional giveaway held when the anime first aired.
The man puffed out his chest with pride. “I’ve kept really good care of it.”
Then he took a step toward Mima.
The idol took a step back. She asked, “What about Rumi? Where is she?”
The man furrowed his eyebrows and muttered, slightly disappointed, “Mima-san. You were two minutes late.”
Mima slumped to the floor. “You—you killed her? Did you really kill her?”
The man suddenly burst into a gleeful belly laugh. When the laughter subsided, he made a gesture with his hand.
From behind him, Rumi appeared. “M-Mima-san,” she said.
“Rumi-chan!” Mima ran to her as they called out each other’s names. “Rumi-chan, you’re all right!”
The two women hugged each other tight.
The man gave another chuckle. “I’m sorry to have given you such a scare. I was never going to kill her. All that matters is that you came. Beyond that, she means nothing to me.” He spread his arms wide. “Now, you’re probably wanting to know why I summoned you here. Isn’t that right?”
Still holding on to Rumi, Mima glared at her tormentor. “I am,” she said. “I very much want to know why you’ve done this to us.”
The man’s gaze turned distant as he said, “I wanted to protect you.”
He reached for a paper shopping bag that was sitting on the floor and pulled it over to him. From inside, he retrieved a poster. “This is a life-sized poster of you, Mima-san. It’s from when you made your debut.” He unrolled the sheet. “You were so adorable back then.”
He caressed Mima’s printed face gently. She felt it as if were her real flesh he was stroking. A chill ran through her body.
“I wanted to make you remain as you were then,” he explained. “I wanted to keep you as you were. That’s why I called you all those times. I even wrote you. But no matter what I did, you insisted on changing.”
Rumi pushed Mima’s arms away, then got to her feet. She walked up to the man and thrust a finger at him. “Just who the hell do you think you are, talking like that? It’s up to her if she wants to change or not change. What she does is none of your business!”
Mima took Rumi’s hand and pulled her back in, away from the man.
He gave Rumi a sharp look, quickly losing his temper. “Don’t—don’t upset me! I’m not saying any of this for my own good. This is for Mima.”
“And I’m saying it’s none of your business!” Rumi shouted. “I’ll make this as clear as I can. You’re no man; you’re a coward—from your creepy phone call harassment to your threatening letters… to the very way you brought us here!”