Chapter 145

Chapter 10 June III 1 “…Hello?” It was her voice. I hadn’t heard it for some time. “Ah, ummm…it’s been a while.” I adjusted my grip on the phone, trying not to think about how awkward I felt. After a brief pause, the girl on the other end replied a few words at a time. “Sou. I called you many times. But you finally answered.” “Ah…well, I…” After another brief pause, Yuika Hazumi said, “I’m sorry.” “No, with everything that happened, it was bound to end up like this. And I think it’s only natural that you’d feel like skipping school.” “Mm…ah, but listen, I’m fine. I feel all right.” Hazumi’s tone was surprisingly easygoing. “I just noticed that you called me. At that point, I didn’t want to talk to anyone in our class. Not even you. But now, now I’m okay.” “You are?” “Well, I still hate the idea of going to school. But I met up with Ms. Kanbayashi once, and we talked. She told me not to push myself.” “I see. So then…” At this point, I wasn’t particularly concerned with how many days she had attended school, or her graduating, or her going to university. The more important question was… “Do you know about what happened to Tsugunaga and Takanashi’s mom last month?” I asked, thinking there was no way that she wouldn’t. “And at the start of this week, Shunsuke…the twin brother of Keisuke Kouda, who’s in Class 3, he died. And afterward, Keisuke himself and his parents also passed…” Hazumi was aware of the incidents from the month before. But she hadn’t known about what had happened to Shunsuke and Keisuke. That’s the answer I got back. But the way she replied, it sounded just like she was dodging the question, as if it was somebody else’s problem. “So you see”—despite how uncomfortable I felt with her responses, I put some force into my voice—“in short, the ‘calamity’ has finally begun. The ‘countermeasures’ we used in April weren’t successful.” “Because of me?” Hazumi asked. Just like me, she put more force behind her voice. “Because I couldn’t bear to continue ‘not existing,’ is that it? It’s all my fault, is what you’re saying?” “Uh, no. That’s not what I was trying to say.” I was at a loss for words. I certainly hadn’t called to scold her or place blame. “That day, I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I ran away from the classroom, but…but after that, I didn’t go to school at all. So it’s like I became the perfect ‘non-exister,’ right? And you kept on ‘not existing’ after that, too, didn’t you, Sou? And yet…” Though sad- and anxious-sounding, Hazumi also seemed detached from what she was saying. I knew that even if I tried to explain the situation or went over what had happened after she left, she wouldn’t be receptive to me at the moment. “Um, uh…so on a different topic…” I took a breath, then said, “Be careful—that’s what I wanted to say to you, Hazumi. That’s all.” “…………” “After all, it doesn’t matter if you’re never at school; you’re still a member of Grade 3 Class 3. And the ‘accidents’ can affect ‘related individuals’ as well.” I was calling because I wanted to encourage her to be cautious. It was something I thought I needed to do. When it came to the particulars of her renouncing her ‘nonexistence’ and running away, I certainly couldn’t deny my own responsibility, however slight. “You say be careful, but, hmm…” Her response betrayed my expectations. “The thing is, I don’t really believe in it.” “Huh? In what…?” “In that sort of stuff, like, in curses or divine punishment, unscientific stuff like that.” “What? But people have really died…” “All of those were coincidences,” she countered bluntly. “People are always going to die of something, right? Risk is a part of all our lives. So you see, once in a while, unlucky coincidences pile up, and lots of people die. The world is made up of coincidences like that, and they certainly don’t happen because of a curse or divine punishment. That was true for Nakagawa—for Big Brother Nakagawa…” Nakagawa? She must mean Takayuki Nakagawa, the high school student at First Yomi who was killed in a motorcycle crash at the end of April. Maybe she heard that from his older brother? She told me he was a good friend of his. “Ah…you said you were close with him, right? With, um, Nakagawa’s older brother.” I remembered hearing that from someone who saw them together firsthand. When I said that, Hazumi didn’t seem embarrassed. On the contrary, she answered somewhat boastfully, “Mm, that’s right. Nakagawa’s brother is incredibly intelligent, you know. He’s majoring in physics at university. My big brother said so, too. He told me, ‘He’s really capable; he’s a great guy.’” So Einstein here has completely dismissed the “phenomenon” and “accidents” at North Yomi as “unscientific.” And Hazumi’s taking her lessons from him… Is that what’s going on? …Even though he knows nothing. In my mind, I conjured up a silhouette to stand in the place of this older Nakagawa brother I’d never met and found myself with bitter words for him. You don’t know anything. Not one thing about our present reality! “Listen, Hazumi,” I said, tamping down my feelings of irritation. “I’m sure that what he…that what Nakagawa said was perfectly—how do I put this—was a perfectly sensible point of view, but don’t you get it? The ‘phenomenon’ and ‘accidents’ of Grade 3 Class 3 at North Yomi are different. There’s no point bringing science or common sense into this…” “What Nakagawa said was correct.” Hazumi’s assertion was even more forceful. “If you really think about it, it’s too strange, too bizarre. Who would believe that a ‘casualty’ joins the class and causes people to die?” “That’s exactly why—” “And about those ‘countermeasures’ and the ‘non-existers.’ Well, Nakagawa says that’s a form of bullying, and he got very angry about it. If the curse was real, the school and the board of education wouldn’t just let it be, he told me.” “Th…” No more words would come out. It’s pointless, no matter what I say! That was my impression. I pulled my ear away from the phone for a second to sigh quietly so that she wouldn’t hear me. She ran out of the classroom and into the arms of the older Nakagawa… She did that, and now she’s completely inside his field of influence; that’s what I’m hearing. I wonder how deeply infatuated she is? How much are her feelings clouding her judgment? I have no way to tell. “At any rate…well, be careful,” I said finally. “And if at all possible, you ought to get out of Yomiyama…” She didn’t say a word in response. Before I could hang up, she did it herself. That was what happened the evening of Thursday, June 28. 2 The atmosphere in the classroom the next day was awful. Utterly depressing. A bouquet of white lilies had been placed on the desk of Keisuke Kouda, who had died in a car accident the day before. Meanwhile, the flowers for Tsugunaga, who had died earlier, were gone. Including these two, there were four empty seats in total. The other two belonged to Hazumi, whose absence was ongoing, and to Makise, who was in the hospital— Now that we’d ceased using “non-existers” as our “countermeasure,” there was no need for the old desks and chairs that we’d brought over from the old classroom in Building Zero. The desk and chair I’d been using since April had already been cleared away that morning, replaced by a new set. The teachers in charge of each subject class had also been notified of the end of the “countermeasures.” During Japanese language class, I was called upon to read from the textbook for the first time this school year. We also did the usual “stand, bow, sit” at the start of classes and had a roll call to check attendance. It had become a standard classroom environment, free from “non-existers,” just like I had experienced in previous school years. But even as things seemed to go back to normal, an awful weight was bearing down on us. The weight of the “calamity.” If you included Joukichi Kanbayashi’s death from illness, a total of seven “related individuals” had lost their lives in May and June. Despite that, there was no way to avert it, so we weren’t doing anything. We couldn’t do anything. A sense of failure and helplessness. Anxiety and irritation. And fear and uneasiness that we couldn’t shake no matter what. During the breaks between classes, a succession of peers I hadn’t spoken to even once since April (like Tajimi’s childhood friend Aonuma, and Nakamura from the soccer club, and Tsugunaga’s best friend Fukuchi from the girls, and so on…) came up and practically forced themselves to interact with me. It was all bland small talk, and answering them one by one somehow put me in a melancholy mood… It even seemed like things had been easier for me back when I “didn’t exist.” During homeroom, Ms. Kanbayashi told us that the Kouda family was planning to hold a funeral the day after tomorrow but that it would be private, for relatives only. “So, everyone, please say your good-byes to Kouda in your heart…” She teared up a little as she addressed us, then leaned against the podium when she finished and sobbed loudly for a while. Even from my seat in the back row, I could see her shoulders and knees shaking terribly as she wept. 3 “Want to come over for some coffee?” I got the call from Izumi not long after I hung up the phone with Hazumi. I was grappling with how to answer the sudden invitation when she cleverly added, “Mama baked an apple pie, so I thought you might like to enjoy it with me. Let’s see, give me about ten minutes? Then come over.” About ten minutes later, I arrived at her apartment, <E-1>. “Ever since Kouda passed, you’ve been down, so it’s been hard to approach you. I totally get it, since you were friends since first-year biology club, and I know I need to leave you alone to deal with it…but there was that accident on the day of his funeral, right?” The fragrance of the Inoya-blend coffee that she had treated me to once before was hanging in the air of the apartment. As she poured coffee into cups from the pot, Izumi continued. “It’s really horrible, isn’t it? I mean, the whole family?” She kept going, sounding sad and a little angry. “Even if the ‘calamity’ is some kind of ‘supernatural natural phenomenon,’ even if it doesn’t have a will or intent, that’s not how it seems to me anymore.” “You sense some kind of malice?” “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something. How about you, Sou?” she asked. I shook my head side to side without saying anything. It wasn’t a question of whether I felt or didn’t feel something. I didn’t even want to acknowledge that there could be some kind of ill will at work. So I rejected the whole line of questioning outright. Shortly after we brought the coffee over to the living room table, the doorbell rang. Izumi answered, “Coming!” and headed for the door. The person at the entrance was Izumi’s mother, Mayuko. She’d come down to bring us a freshly baked apple pie. “…Seems like the elevator is acting up a little.” I could hear the entryway conversation between mother and daughter from the living room. “I just called it from upstairs, but it didn’t come. I went down the stairs, but my attention was focused on the pie tray, and I was afraid I might lose my footing… I’ve got goose bumps!” “Geez! Be careful, Mama,” insisted Izumi. Her voice cracked with tension and wariness. “You should never rush on the stairs. If the elevator’s acting up, hurry and call a contractor.” “Yes, yes.” After replying to her daughter, Mayuko turned toward me, standing in the living room. “Welcome, Sou.” “Thanks for having me. And, um, I’m looking forward to the pie.” “It came out very nicely, if I do say so myself. Make sure and eat plenty.” “Thank you.” “It sounds like there have been all sorts of difficulties at school, but try not to get too depressed, okay?” “Uh…sure.” “See you later.” She turned back to Izumi. “You’ve got one more friend coming, right? Don’t keep them too late.” “I know. Thanks, Mama.” “Good night.” As soon as Mayuko had left the apartment, I turned to Izumi and asked, “Who’s the other friend?” “Huh? Didn’t I tell you?” “I didn’t hear anything about it… Yagisawa?” “Bingo,” she answered readily, then smiled cheerfully. “But getting back on track, you’ve been wearing a brooding, scary face all day long, Sou. I’m worried, and so is Yagisawa. I got a call from him saying he wanted to come talk to you, so that’s why.” “In that case, he should have gotten in touch with me directly.” “Like I said.” Izumi glared at me playfully. “You really didn’t seem approachable, yesterday or today. It was almost like you were more of a ‘non-exister’ than when you were actually a ‘non-exister.’ Your whole body was radiating with hostility, like you would say, I really don’t want to talk, or Leave me alone, if we spoke to you.” “…………” “I completely understand how you feel. After all, I ended up being a total failure of a countermeasures officer… But look, there’s certainly nothing good about staying down in the dumps. Here’s your coffee. Let’s have pie after Yagisawa gets here.” I wrapped both hands around the cup that Izumi had poured for me and took a sip. It was delicious, but as I drank it this time around, the faint bitterness passing over my tongue seemed to soak down all the way into my heart. “Um…about your conversation with Auntie Mayuko just now…,” I started, checking Izumi’s expression, “nearly losing her footing on the stairs…that could have been an opportunity for the ‘calamity’ to strike, huh?” That’s why she’d cautioned her mother so intensely earlier. “Apparently, there was an ‘accident’ involving an elevator in the past, so…,” she answered, nodding meekly. “In fact, it happened three years ago, when your friend Misaki was in Grade 3 Class 3.” Mr. Chibiki had also told me about the elevator accident that had claimed the life of a “related individual” during the 1998 school year. In fact, it was supposed to have happened at Yumigaoka Municipal Hospital… “So we have to keep our guard up. The ‘calamity’ doesn’t affect just the Class 3 students; it can also befall our families.” Izumi was pensive as she reconfirmed this fact. I nodded wordlessly, my eyes still fixed on her face. Now that the “countermeasures” of April had ended in utter failure, we were completely powerless. We had no choice but to pass the days in anxious terror of the unpredictable “calamity” that could strike anyone at any time… “Let’s go into the other room for a little while,” Izumi suggested suddenly, setting her coffee cup down. By the other room, she must have meant the soundproofed piano studio. I’d only ever been in there once. “Come on in.” She left the table and held open the door to the other room in invitation. “For some reason, I’ve got the urge to play piano. Will you join me?” 4 The western-style room was about seventeen meters square, and in the center stood an elegant grand piano. But the lid was closed, with all sorts of things—magazines, notebooks, memo pads, pen cases, and so on—scattered about carelessly on top of it. It was obvious that Izumi didn’t ordinarily play much. “It’s been a while, so I’m probably out of practice.” With that preface, she sat down at the bench and gently opened the keyboard cover. Gingerly, she spread out the fingers on both hands and lowered them onto the keys. Then she began to play a beautiful, haunting melody. “Do you know this song?” Izumi asked me as she was playing. “I do remember hearing it before. Um…” “It’s a very famous tune. Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata,’ first movement.” “‘Moonlight’…” “I’m not in the mood for Chopin’s ‘Funeral March,’ okay?” I figured that the people who’d died were on her mind. “Anyway, in a book that I read in my second year of middle school, there’s a scene where they play this song to send off the deceased. It left quite an impression on me, so…” She continued the performance. As I watched and listened to her play, I let my eyes drift closed. Carelessly, I backed up against the window curtain. A foul odor suddenly filled the air, and my nose started itching… Huh? Is that the smell of dust? For just a second, I got the impression I was standing somewhere that had been uninhabited for a long, long time. When I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, scenes of a dilapidated, deserted room seemed to float up in my mind’s eye… …Thud. There came a low reverberation. Below my range of hearing. This is— What is this? The question bubbled up in my mind, but a moment later, it completely vanished… I heard the sound of the keyboard cover close nearby. I saw Izumi, wearing a somewhat dejected expression after ending her performance partway through. “What’s up?” I asked. “Why did you stop?” “You didn’t notice?” Izumi asked me back. “One of the keys wasn’t playing the right note.” “Really?” “It’s way out of tune. It’s because I almost never play anymore…but I can’t just play it like this, can I? Poor piano. I’ll have to ask Mama about it.” Izumi let out a huge sigh and stood up, then returned to the living room. Just as I was about to follow her, a piece of the clutter sitting atop the instrument caught my eye. “Hey, hang on,” I called out to stop her. “This is—” I held it up to show her. “When was this photo taken?” Izumi turned around and glanced at the picture I was showing her, then mumbled an answer, as if it was nothing. “Ah, we took that on the day of the entrance ceremony. In the classroom.” The school entrance ceremony—April 10. The day after the opening ceremony. By then, we’d already started the “countermeasures.” Hazumi and I had taken on our roles as “non-existers,” so we hadn’t gone to school… “During homeroom that day, Ms. Kanbayashi said we should take a commemorative photo as a unit. Apparently, she always takes these kinds of group photos of her new class at the start of every school year.” As she explained, Izumi folded her arms sternly. “It sounds like she always takes them on the day of the opening ceremony, but since we knew that this year was an ‘on year,’ she couldn’t very well take a photo with you two ‘non-existers’ in it. The next day—the day of the entrance ceremony—you and Hazumi didn’t show up, so we took it then.” A group photo of Grade 3 Class 3 taken in the classroom. Certainly, that’s what this was. Hazumi and I, who’d skipped that day, weren’t in it. And neither was Makise, of course, who was already in the hospital by then. And since Ms. Kanbayashi wasn’t in the picture, she must have taken it herself. “We’re supposed to make a graduation album, so we’ll have to take another sometime. You can be in there with everyone when we do, Sou.” Izumi got that far before her expression stiffened abruptly. After that, she didn’t say anything else. With a long sigh, she lowered her gaze to her feet and bit her lip. Brushing her bangs back with both hands, she pressed one of her palms against her forehead. She was obviously dealing with many conflicting emotions, even if she didn’t seem cognizant of herself. Of course, I realized, I’m not the only one suffering. I’m not the only one who feels trapped, who doesn’t know what to do… 5 Yagisawa arrived just as we were returning to the living room from the piano room. Apparently, he’d biked over in the light drizzle that had been constantly falling since the night before. He removed his flashy orange raincoat in the entryway and came into the living room, blotting himself here and there with a towel that Izumi had handed him. When he saw me, he raised a hand. “Yo! You look a little better, huh?” I showed him my best scowl. “What happened to Keisuke and his family was a huge shock for me, too. I went to the same elementary school with the twins, you know. I totally get why you’re sad, but nothing good’ll come of you moping in here forever, you know. Right?” “Uh…yeah, sure.” Even in this situation, Yagisawa maintained his characteristically optimistic demeanor. “Man, I hate when it rains half-assed like this. I’d rather just resign myself to a downpour.” “How so?” “Like, tearfully turn down an invitation for coffee and apple pie.” He shrugged jokingly. “And it’s already getting late. If I didn’t come on my bike, there would be no bus to get me home.” “Be careful on your way back. Of accidents and stuff…,” I warned him instinctively. Yagisawa’s smile disappeared immediately. “I know that,” he answered. “That’s why I’m wearing the flashiest-color raincoat I could find. I’ve got an extra light on my bike, too…” Izumi prepared his coffee, and the three of us ate Mayuko’s handmade apple pie. As we were eating, Yagisawa’s eyes came to rest on the class photo I had brought out from the piano room and set on the corner of the table. “Ah, that picture?” he mumbled. “We took that back in April, huh?” “Anyone need more coffee?” Izumi interjected. “Yeah, I’ll have some,” Yagisawa replied. “Sou?” “All right, me too.” “We should take one with you, too, Sou,” Yagisawa suggested out of the blue, completely serious. “Huh?” I looked back at him. “A commemorative photo, I mean. Right? You’re good at photography, aren’t you?” “Mm, kinda.” I nodded. Film and film development cost a lot of money, so I rarely had the chance to actually capture things with a camera. Typically, I just formed an imaginary viewfinder with my fingers and clicked away. “Well, let’s do it one of these days, then,” he insisted. “You want me to take a commemorative photo like this one?” I asked. “Mm…ah, no, not like this.” As he spoke, Yagisawa looked slightly confused. He shook his head gently right to left, then nodded to himself. “It doesn’t have to have everyone in it. For example, we could take one with the three of us—you, Akazawa, and me. As a memento of this ‘calamity’ year or something.” He got that far; then he broke into a guileless smile. “Of course we’re all going to live through this, so we’ll have it to look at later when we get together to reminisce…right?” “Set in your optimism to the very end, I see,” I muttered. “If I wasn’t, I don’t think I could go on.” “Well…” “Hey, you guys, here.” Izumi came back from the kitchen, holding something out to us. “What is it?” Yagisawa first cocked his head a little and took it from her, then let out an excited, “Oh!” I took mine next and gasped, “Ah!” “My treat, okay?” Izumi said with a brilliant smile. “Let’s go see it together over summer break, okay?” They were advance tickets to Jurassic Park III, premiering at the start of August. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure we talked about this the last time the three of us were here together. Just then, my cell phone began to vibrate in my jacket pocket. I took it out, examined the display, and let out a sigh too faint for the others to hear. Without answering it, I silently returned the phone to my pocket. “Is it okay for you not to take that?” Yagisawa asked. “Ah, yeah.” “By any chance was that her—was it from Misaki?” Izumi asked. I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t.” The phone call had been from Tsukiho. I knew what she wanted to say without answering. She was going to tell me about how she was coming here and bringing Mirei on Sunday. I had no idea what I would have said if I had answered her phone call then and there, or even what I wanted to say. I really didn’t know, so…so I didn’t pick up. I couldn’t. I evaded. “Hey, Sou?” Izumi said. Her smile from earlier was long gone. Staring at me with a straight face, she asked, “Um, so, about what Ms. Kanbayashi said today at school…that there have been years when the ‘calamity’ started but it stopped halfway through?” “Mm-hmm?” “That happened three years ago, right?” “Yeah.” I nodded. “That was an instance when it happened.” “I know it’s true that they stopped the ‘calamity,’ but I don’t understand how they did it,” Izumi said. “I asked Etou about it, too, to be sure. And her cousin, who was in Grade 3 Class 3 three years ago, also said that she didn’t know the ‘how,’ that it wasn’t clear. But…” Still staring at me, she continued. “I wonder if maybe Misaki would have an inkling.” She narrowed her almond-shaped eyes abruptly. “If it was just that she was in Class 3 three years ago, her recollection would probably be the same as Etou’s cousin, but I don’t know, there’s something about her, like she’s privy to things other people aren’t…” “Misaki—is that the North Yomi graduate who Sou’s friends with?” Yagisawa asked. “When was it? You told me a little bit about her, right?” “Mm, yeah.” Nodding at Yagisawa and Izumi, I answered, “I’m on the same page as you two; I’m certain that something can be done… That’s why I’ve asked her about it several times already. But Misaki always gives me these ambiguous responses. It seems like it’s hard for her to answer my questions. Or maybe that she doesn’t want to be straightforward. That’s how it seems to me.” “Oh, really?” Izumi cocked her head. Picturing Mei’s face in my mind, I said, “I’m almost certain that there’s some sort of complicated reason for it. It’s like she’s somehow unable to answer with more than a few words…” “In that case, we need to find a way to get her to speak with us, despite what’s holding her back,” Izumi suggested, her voice sharp. “Even just a little something would be all right, but if she can give us any kind of clue…you know? Right now, we can’t do anything except sit here and cower before the ‘calamity.’” I knew as much, even without Izumi telling me. I’d thought the same thing myself. But after seeing Shunsuke on Monday… How do I put this? My mind had completely frozen up, and I’d lost my ability to look forward… That’s why I hadn’t been able to contact Mei yet. I thought back to the phone call I’d received from her on the day of Shunsuke’s funeral. I hadn’t been able to answer, but she had left me a voice mail. At the end of her message, I believe she said something like this: —Even if the “countermeasures” have failed, there’s still… She said there’s still…which probably means there’s some other way to stop it. I think that was what she was trying to get across. “I understand,” I answered under Izumi’s serious gaze. “I’ll try reaching out to Mei tomorrow.” 6 “It sounds like there’s been more misfortune at school.” I was sitting in the exam room at the “clinic” in the annex of Yumigaoka Municipal Hospital. “I heard that two more third-years passed away this week.” Nodding slightly in response to Dr. Usui’s inquiry, I told him that one of the students who died had been the head of the biology club that I was part of and that the other had been a classmate of mine. “The deceased were close friends of yours this time, right?” “Yes.” After some hesitation, I confided in him that I’d been the first to arrive at the scene of the horrible accident that had claimed Shunsuke, the head of the biology club. “Oh.” Dr. Usui must not have expected that, because his eyes bulged in shock. But he maintained his polite, calm tone of voice, just like always, as he said, “That must have been very difficult for you…and I’m sure that what you’ve just told me isn’t the full account. Did the shock of that moment make you flash back to the incident three years ago?” “Uh…yes…when it happened, I couldn’t do anything…at all…” I confessed that a sudden, dizzying panic had overtaken me and that I had passed out on the spot. “Mm-hmm. That’s understandable.” The doctor nodded, maintaining his usual demeanor. “Was that the only time you lost consciousness?” “Yes.” “Have you been able to sleep properly at night since it happened?’ “No. Not much.” “When you wake up, are you experiencing vivid flashbacks?” “…………” When I wasn’t able to answer, he scribbled something down in my chart, then said, “At any rate, I’m going to give you some sleeping medication. If you continue to sleep poorly and have frequent nightmares despite the pills…and also if you start suffering bad anxiety during normal day-to-day activities, then please don’t hesitate to come see me. Even if you don’t have an appointment, it’s okay. Call this department directly, and we’ll get you in.” “All right. Thank you.” Dr. Usui closed my chart and stroked the whiskers around his mouth. “Hmm.” He lowered his voice somewhat. “And yet, the disturbing—no, tragic incidents continue to occur. Now, unexpected accidents can happen anywhere, of course, but still…” He frowned keenly and muttered, “Let me see…” “Is it that legend you mentioned?” I asked, anticipating what he was working up to. “What kind of stories have you heard, Doctor? You told me there were some strange legends related to ‘death.’” “I do hear some irresponsible rumors on occasion. Unscientific stories about places being cursed and so on.” Unscientific, you say? I cast my eyes down, recalling my phone conversation with Hazumi the day before last with unpleasant feelings. “Ah, well.” Dr. Usui lowered his voice even more. “Actually, my daughter was a little worried about that, you know.” “Your daughter…” That little girl I ran into after my April counseling appointment. If I remember correctly, her name was Kiha. “Kiha?” “Oh! Have I introduced you two before?” “Uh, no. One time when I was here before, I bumped into her outside the examination room. She said hello to me.” “Did she? She’s surprisingly friendly toward strangers.” He grinned, nodding to himself. Then he stopped stroking his beard abruptly. “I don’t really know where or how she heard it, but one time, she suddenly blurted out that more people were going to die at your middle school.” “She’s still in the lower grades at elementary school, right?” “She’s a second-year now.” Dr. Usui grimaced and blinked his small eyes. Then, for some reason, he continued in a wistful tone of voice. “You know, that girl’s always had something a little strange about her. She… No, it’s not worth worrying about. I’ve said too much.” After shaking his head slowly once, he looked back at my face. “Anyway, try not to worry about curses and the like, no matter what urban legends you hear. The most important thing for you, Sou, is to maintain a sense of emotional balance. You need to try and put some mental distance between yourself and the deaths that have happened around you…” Saturday, June 30, late morning. Once again, I found myself unable to tell Dr. Usui about the “phenomenon” surrounding Grade 3 Class 3 at North Yomi. 7 Afterward, I caught sight of the woman who looked like Kirika at the hospital again. After my counseling session ended, I moved from the annex into the main building through the connector as I’d done before. From there, I headed for the first-floor lobby of the clinic building, where the cashier’s window was located. On my way, I saw someone. She didn’t seem to notice me, so I missed my chance to say hello, but I was certain it was Kirika. Compared to the last time I had talked to her in person (at the start of February at the “Blue Eyes…” gallery, I believe), she looked extremely haggard. My hunch that something was wrong with her must have been right, since she was here at the hospital. Despite my curiosity, I passed her, finished paying as always, got my medicine from the pharmacy counter, and headed for the exit. And then, as I was on my way out— “Sou?” Someone unexpected called out from behind me, catching me by surprise. It was Mei. When I turned around, I saw her standing there in her First Yomi uniform. “Oh, ah…um…” Caught completely off guard, I faltered in my confusion. Why is she here now? Did she come with Kirika or something? Or maybe something’s wrong with her and she’s here for an exam? “Um, ah, uh…” My mind was just spinning fruitlessly, so I couldn’t get any proper words out. Mei stared at me somewhat listlessly. “I know you had plans to come by the gallery this evening, Sou, but—” Mei Misaki was not wearing an eye patch. Squinting her left eye, which was a regular prosthetic instead of her “doll’s eye,” a little, she quickly closed the distance between us. “But we just ran into each other. What should we do?” she asked. Her somewhat listless look remained. “Should we talk here?” “Um…ahhh…” I was still struggling to get any words out when the cell phone inside my trousers pocket rudely interrupted us. “Ah, sorry… My phone…” I couldn’t ignore it, so I pulled it out. Just as I expected, the display showed Tsukiho’s name, along with her phone number. I sighed despite myself. I wondered how many times she’d called me in the past few days. I hesitated for a second and, out of the corner of my eye, saw Mei tilt her head in a question. In the end, I didn’t pick up. Without checking to see just then whether or not she had left a voice mail, I put the phone back in my pocket. “You don’t need to answer?” Mei asked. The way she said it told me that she could tell who the call had been from. “It’s all right.” Somehow suppressing my distress, I took a deep breath. Then I said, “Mei, do you have time to spare now?” “What?” “I mean, um, are you done with your business at the hospital…?” I felt like it would be difficult to tell her that I had just seen Kirika, so I didn’t mention it. Before I could ask whether she was unwell herself, she suggested, “All right, shall we go?” “Ah…what?” “There are lots of people here, and it’s noisy. It’ll be hard to talk unless there’s no one else around, right? I’m sure somewhere like the roof would work…” 8 As I’d promised Izumi and Yagisawa the night before last, I had made up my mind and called Mei the previous night. I’d told her everything, including that Shunsuke and the others had died, which indicated beyond a shadow of a doubt that the “calamity” had started, at which point we did away with the need for “non-existers.” In addition, I had asked again about the possibility of stopping the “calamity” somehow, but as I had expected, Mei gave another ambiguous answer. “Three years ago—how did you stop the ‘calamity’ of the 1998 school year?” After repeating my question as if she were carefully digesting it, Mei had started to say something—“About that…”—before trailing off. I silently waited for her to continue, and she remained quiet for a long, long time before speaking again. “I think it would be better to get together and talk in person, rather than over the phone,” she’d suggested. “Would you come over tomorrow afternoon, say around four o’clock? I’ll be waiting in the gallery basement. I’ll tell you everything I know down there. Though I’m unsure how much I’ll be able to reliably say…” So that morning, I had left my apartment intending to go by her house later that evening. After my hospital visit, I was planning to spend some time at the library in Daybreak Forest until the hour arrived, then head for the gallery in Misaki. However, before that could happen, I unexpectedly ran into her here… I had no doubt that she was also at least a little surprised by the coincidence. When we stepped off the elevator onto the roof of the hospital, the rain that had been coming down continuously since that morning had cleared up. But the sky was covered in massive gray clouds, hanging heavy and low. It looked like the rainy season might continue on forever. A strong wind was blowing. The wind was humid and awfully warm, so no matter how it buffeted me, it did nothing to remove the sweat welling up on my skin. Mei walked along the outer wall of the rooftop structure that housed the elevators, and I followed after her. Her short bob was disheveled by the wind. When she reached a particular spot, it suddenly died down. There, Mei stopped walking and looked back at me, then flattened her body a little against the wall. It was a spot right where the structure acted as a windbreak. “Is it your first time here?” she asked. I answered, “I’ve never been to this building. I’ve never been hospitalized.” “Three years ago, Sakakibara stayed here twice, you know.” The name “Sakakibara” came up suddenly, and I put myself on guard, feeling a little tense—that’s how it felt. “Sakakibara had, let me remember, um, a collapsed lung…a spontaneous pneumothorax?” “Right.” Mei nodded. “I came here to visit him the second time, and we came up to this rooftop together. When the weather’s clear, you can see every corner of Yomiyama.” “Is that…so?” I was acquainted with Koichi Sakakibara. I had met him several times and talked about all sorts of things in the several months between my arrival here in Yomiyama and when he and Mei had graduated from North Yomi. I mostly saw him when he was with Mei, but I had also talked one-on-one with him. Koichi had heard about my history and my family’s special circumstances from Mei beforehand and understood it perfectly well, so he was always nice to me. Not out of some kind of strange sympathy or pity but a very natural kindness. They were both a huge help to me back then, at a time when I was suffering considerable, profound heartbreak and was in a weakened state. I was still very grateful to him. Once Koichi graduated from North Yomi, he returned to his home in Tokyo and entered a high school there. At the same time, I became a middle school student. At first, I would talk to him on the phone sometimes about how things were going, but before too long, we gradually fell out of contact… Mei, on the other hand, had kept up a close friendship with Koichi even after they were separated after graduation. It was something I was acutely aware of whenever Koichi was mentioned. I worked to convince myself that to Mei, Koichi was like a special “comrade” who had survived the same “calamity,” and that’s why they were close. And yet—sometimes, when I heard his name come out of Mei’s mouth, I felt a twinge in my chest that I couldn’t quite identify. I wonder why? Why does that happen? Ah, I can’t. I can’t think about this too deeply. “Why did the ‘calamity’ stop partway through the year three years ago?” Mei questioned herself slowly, with her back against the gray wall. The roaring sound of the wind echoed across the roof. “You said that summer vacation was the turning point, right?” I repeated the information I already had, looking for confirmation. “You all stayed somewhere together in August, and while you were there, the ‘calamity’ claimed many victims… But then, in September, the deaths suddenly stopped. Is there any chance that something special happened on that trip?” “Ah, about that—” Mei started to say, then cut off. Just like she had on the phone the night before. “The reason the ‘calamity’ stopped was actually…” After a short pause, she stammered out, “A-aside from three years ago, even earlier—during the 1983 school year, too, there was another case of it stopping halfway through. They stayed in the same place over summer vacation that year, too.” “So something really did happen on the trip?” “Something did…yes, right. Something happened then. Something…” As she spoke, the strength gradually left Mei’s voice. She put her right hand to her forehead and stopped talking, then shook her head slowly, looking uneasy. “Please tell me what happened.” I took a step closer to her as I asked, “What was it? Why did the ‘calamity’ stop? Please, Mei, if you know, tell me…” “I used to.” She took her hand off her forehead and said, “I had to have known.” “Had to?” Unable to grasp what she’d just said, I stared at her pale face. Despite the afternoon sunlight, she reminded me of a doll draped in shadows. “What does that mean…?” The wind roared loudly again. Maybe because the direction of the wind had changed, the wall we were leaning against ceased to work as a windbreak, and a strong breeze blasted us from the side as we faced each other. My voice was completely drowned out in the wind, and Mei’s hair and clothes were violently disheveled. Almost as if the wind had chosen that very moment, just then— From inside my pants pocket, I felt my cell phone vibrate. That’s definitely from Tsukiho again. My attention was split. My emotions were a whirlwind. Today is June 30. Tsukiho said she was coming to see me with Mirei in tow on July 1, so that’s almost here—that’s tomorrow. She wants to talk about when she’s going to get here, where we should meet up, and what we should eat. I know that. I know, but I… “Your phone.” I heard Mei’s voice. The powerful wind suddenly died, almost like it had chosen that moment in particular. Now that the noise was gone, she could hear my phone vibrating. “It’s probably from your mother,” Mei said and smiled faintly. She was looking at me, and in her right eye, the one that was not a prosthetic, I saw a slight shade of sadness… “Is it all right not to answer it?” she asked again. “You have to answer it, don’t you?” Ah, I thought, Mei is always right. I have to take this call right now. That’s right. I mustn’t run away. I can’t avoid this anymore. I pulled my phone out and checked the display screen, then pushed the button to answer. “Hello? It’s Sou.” 9 “Ah, Sou? This is Sou, right? I’ve been calling you, but you weren’t picking up, so I was worried…” Tsukiho dutifully delivered her lines. She sounded almost exactly how I’d imagined she would. She was constantly trying to play up her affection for me, but she was way off the mark. That’s how it sounded to me. “…Are you all right? Sou. You’re not feeling unwell or anything?” “I’m fine.” For the time being, I suppressed my emotions the best I could and answered, “I’m feeling just fine.” “Ah, thank goodness.” After repeating “thank goodness” with great relief, Tsukiho got to the question at hand. “As promised, I’m coming to see you tomorrow and bringing Mirei with me. Let’s eat lunch somewhere together, okay? Okay? Is there anything you’d like to eat…?” Tsukiho is coming tomorrow. She’s bringing Mirei and coming to this city. To Yomiyama. “…And then I’ll need to say hello to Sayuri and everyone else, too.” When I had heard that much, I cast aside any doubts and opened my mouth. Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out bit by bit, I demanded clearly, “Don’t come.” The moment I said it, I squeezed my eyes closed. “Ah?” I heard Tsukiho voice her surprise. “What’s wrong, Sou? What happened?” “Don’t come to Yomiyama.” “Huh? Huh? Why not?” I could tell from her tone that she was extremely dismayed. “Why would you say that…?” “Because I don’t want you to come.” I gripped the phone tightly and raised my voice slightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mei, observing silently. Her gaze was quiet and a little sad. “I don’t want to see you.” I raised my voice again. “I don’t want to see you or Mirei. So don’t come here.” “What’s wrong, Sou?” Tsukiho was totally flustered. “What do you mean, what’s wrong? Why visit all of a sudden?” “It’s not sudden!” Then I cut her off. Raising my voice even more, I unleashed all my emotions at once, as if to strike her with my words. “Have I ever once…at any point, have I said that I wanted to see you? That I want you to come to Yomiyama? Have you ever tried to imagine how I’ve been feeling since moving here, how I still feel?” “B-but—” Tsukiho’s response was frail. She was surprised and confused by my unexpected “rejection.” I’m sure this was a big shock to her. It was probably the first time since that summer three years ago that I’d spoken to her this way. “Don’t say that… Come on, Sou. I…I, you know, I really, I always… If we could, I’d like us to get back to how it used to be…” “That’s enough. Don’t come here!” This time, I was practically shouting. It would be a lie to say that I didn’t care about her feelings, about whether she had ever had any second thoughts, but in this current situation, those were secondary, maybe tertiary concerns. Because I— I had already wrung this answer from inside my own heart… “Don’t ever show up here!” I shouted, squeezing my eyes shut again. “Not just tomorrow but forever!” “Sou…” “Listen to me. I never want to see your face again. I don’t want to spend time with you, and I don’t want to hear your voice.” “Sou, honey…you can’t—you’re lying.” “I hate you!” “Sou…” “Have you forgotten what happened three summers ago? I remember. I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget how cruel you were after what happened to Teruya…” “…………” “I was in the way, so you kicked me out without a second thought. Mr. Hiratsuka and his household were more important than your own son. And the child you had with him—Mirei—took priority. Right? Do you think I still love you after going through all that? Do you think I didn’t learn to resent you?” She was speechless. I imagined there was no way she could keep her cool, after being suddenly called out like that. Instead of a reply, I could hear quiet sobs. Nevertheless, I continued pouring it on. “Do you get it? Don’t come for a visit. Don’t ever come near me again. And definitely don’t come here—to Yomiyama.” Speechless. The weeping continued. Twice I heard the word sorry in the gaps between sobs. “All right, I’m hanging up.” A strong wind suddenly blew against me again. I let my hair get disheveled as the wind blew it up on end and went back to using a low voice with my emotions in check. “Don’t call me again.” 10 I hung up the phone, and, still gripping it in my right hand, I gazed up at the dark sky. Gazed up so that the tears pooling in my eyes wouldn’t spill down my cheeks. So that the tears wouldn’t make me lose composure and burst out crying right there. “Your mother—Tsukiho was planning to come and see you, right? Tomorrow was the day?” Mei took one step toward me. “You haven’t seen her in a while? Tsukiho, I mean.” I lowered my gaze to answer her question. “It’s been about two years since we last met.” “I see. Hmm.” Mei nodded and stared straight at me. I didn’t want her to notice that I was crying, so I turned away. The wind roared, somewhere much farther off than it had been until now. I had just said exactly what I needed to say to Tsukiho. But still, my heart continued to ache… Before long, Mei spoke. “…You love her, don’t you? You love her all the same. But you got angry enough to tell her you loathe her.” Ah, of course, Mei can see right through me. I guess…she’s probably right; I don’t hate Tsukiho as much as I just said I do. It is true that I have a lot of resentment toward her…and I think it’s horrible what happened three years ago and how she’s treated me since. My sorrow and pain have never gone away. Neither has my anger. But while that may be true, I’ve never once been able to detest or “hate” her from the bottom of my heart. “I don’t really know whether or not I love her,” I said. My mixed-up emotions were gradually settling down. “But I don’t think it would have been a good idea for her to come to Yomiyama during this time, especially since Mirei would be with her. So I was being honest when I told her I didn’t want her here.” “Because the ‘calamity’ is going on, right?” Mei asked. I nodded deeply. “That’s right.” “Because both Tsukiho and little Mirei are ‘related individuals’ within two degrees of you.” “…Yes.” “Tsukiho doesn’t know about the ‘calamity’?” “…Probably not.” She might have known about it once. At the very least, she had probably been told a certain amount about the situation fourteen years ago, when the whole family left Yomiyama with Teruya. But I was certain that in the months and years since then, she’d let herself forget. “How kind of you, Sou,” Mei stated, taking another step toward me. “As long as they’re in Hinami, they’re ‘out of range.’ But if they come to Yomiyama, an ‘accident’ might befall the two of them, so…” I cast my eyes down, trying to avoid Mei’s gaze. Finally, the tears spilled out of my eyes and down my cheeks. My voice threatened to make a sound in spite of me, so I suppressed it with every ounce of my strength. Mei silently left my side, put her back against the wall of the elevator housing, and stared up at the cloudy sky. The wind had stopped again. In the strange stillness that had suddenly arrived, I heard her sigh. 11 After several minutes passed, Mei spoke up. “I’ll tell you everything in order. This is a continuation of our earlier conversation, okay?” “Ah, okay.” I had to switch my mind back over. For now, I wasn’t worried about Tsukiho and Mirei coming to Yomiyama. So now I had to listen intently to what Mei had to say. “I’m sure that something happened on the summer trip. And I think I used to know what it was. I’ve told you that much.” “…Yes.” “I say I think because I’m not entirely sure.” “You aren’t?” “Yeah. About my own memories. What I mean is—” Tilting her head slightly, with a look of distress on her face, Mei continued. “I can’t remember clearly. Almost three years have passed since then, but that part of my memory is incredibly vague now.” “Is that…?” I remembered something and asked, “…Is it because of the ‘phenomenon’?” “Right.” She nodded, looking uncharacteristically anxious. “It’s one of the ‘memory problems’ that occur alongside the ‘phenomenon.’ And I think that mine is a special case somehow.” “How so?” “When the ‘extra person’—the ‘casualty’—slips into the class, memories and records that wouldn’t otherwise be consistent get altered and falsified so that everything matches up. Once the ‘phenomenon’ ends and the ‘casualty’ disappears, all the evidence of that person goes back to how it was. After that, the memory of who was the ‘casualty’ for that year gradually fades away, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, depending on the person, and everyone forgets who it was. This is the basic pattern. But for something that breaks the mold, take that folder of Mr. Chibiki’s.” “Ah, okay.” “There, he makes a note of the names of the ‘casualties’ in years when the ‘phenomenon’ occurs, and those names don’t disappear; they remain on the page. That means that we can see who joined previous classes as ‘casualties’ in the past. You’ve gotten him to show it to you, too, right, Sou?” “Yes.” I was also aware of the peculiarity of the “Chibiki File” kept in the secondary library room. While all sorts of other memories and records regarding the “casualty” who appeared during an “on year” would gradually “fade” and “dim” and “disappear” after the end of the “phenomenon,” I’d heard that for some reason, only the memos in that file folder seemed to be overlooked. “Still, there’s one thing that isn’t even recorded in his notes. That would be the names of the ‘casualties’ in the years when the ‘calamity’ stopped halfway through.” That’s where Mei stopped talking. She put her hand on her forehead and pondered something briefly. “I’ll tell you everything in order,” she repeated, as if urging herself on. “It happened during summer break three years ago. Just after it began, through a strange sequence of events, the story of a certain person was handed down to us. Matsunaga, I think his name was. He was a graduate of the class of ’83 at North Yomi, and when he was in his third year, he was in Class 3.” “1983…the other year when the ‘calamity’ stopped, right?” “Right.” Mei nodded slowly and started telling me the story in her usual quiet voice. But the way she was speaking, it was like she was carefully scrutinizing every word that came out of her own mouth. “Three years ago, we were also wondering if there wasn’t some way to stop the ‘calamity’ after it began, and just like you right now, we tried to look for some clues. What we found was Mr. Matsunaga’s story…” Three years earlier—in 1998—fourteen years had passed since the graduation of Katsumi Matsunaga from North Yomi. One time when he was in a drunken stupor and not in his right mind, he had claimed that “I was the one who helped everyone in Grade 3 Class 3 back in ’83.” However, once he sobered up and came back to himself, he had absolutely no recollection of what he had said. Basically, he had completely forgotten his experience during middle school, but— According to Mr. Matsunaga’s drunken complaint, he had somehow left something behind in an old classroom in order to pass some important information about the “calamity” on to his successors. Hoping against hope, the students had gone searching for that “something,” and they had actually found it… “We found a cassette tape, a recording in Mr. Matsunaga’s own voice.” Fixing her gaze on a single spot in midair in the space between us, Mei continued. “On the tape was the explanation of how he stopped the ‘calamity’… I heard it, too, that tape. During the summer trip—” “And so you learned how?” I hadn’t meant to interject, but I was excited. “You learned how, didn’t you? How to stop the ‘calamity’?” “I must have, but—” At that point, Mei shook her head uneasily again. But I could hardly hold my excitement in and asked, “But surely you implemented it, and that’s why the ‘calamity’ stopped three years ago, right?” “I think that’s what happened. That must have been it, but…” “You can’t recall clearly? Or you don’t remember?” “…………” “Why did the ‘calamity’ stop? Who stopped it and how? Give me something, even just a little…” “In Mr. Matsunaga’s year, fifteen years before us, they also went on a class trip to the same place as we did during summer vacation. I know that for sure, but—” “Is there any special meaning to the trip itself?” “We went to visit Yomiyama Shrine together.” “Like, to do a cleansing ritual at the shrine?” “But three years ago, we didn’t end up visiting…” “And Mr. Matsunaga’s class did go, right? To visit the shrine.” “That’s right. But in the end, their visit had no effect…” “…………” “‘To you future underclassmen, who might be suffering the same things we did…’” “What’s that?” “It’s from Mr. Matsunaga’s message, the one that was on that tape. He probably figured he was going to forget what happened sooner or later, just like everybody else, and left it behind. That’s why I’m certain that in some form or another, it must be a problem related to my year’s ‘casualty’… The fact that my own memory has gotten so vague in such a short time is further proof, I guess you could say.” Mei stopped talking and went back to thinking. She put her hand on her forehead again and shook her head slowly back and forth, then finally— “How can I put this…? I feel like I can see a vague outline of what happened. And there are images of certain things in the fog… Ah, but in the end, I just can’t get a clear picture. It’s like I can’t manage to make any sense of it. Fragmented words and images appear in my mind. But I can’t say for certain how far I can trust them.” “Uh, Mei… Um, well, has this condition been going on for a long time? Not being able to recall things well even when you try, I mean?” She nodded wordlessly, then continued. “That’s why—that’s why even when you ask me questions about it, I can only give you vague answers. I’m relying on ambiguous images to guess what happened, and I wouldn’t want to say something careless.” “Ah…so that’s why.” As I answered, I was suddenly struck by an idea. “And what happened to the cassette tape that had Mr. Matsunaga’s story? Is it still around somewhere?” “It seems like…it’s not around anymore.” Mei shook her head weakly. “On that trip three years ago, a big fire broke out, and most of the building burned down. The tape probably burned, too.” “There must have been others besides you who heard the tape, right? What about them?” “I tried reaching out to them, but no one remembered the contents.” After answering, she added, “By the way, back then, I was keeping a sort of diary from time to time. I’m sure I would have written in the diary about whatever happened at that lodge on the trip. Thing is, I looked through it, and the passages I’m sure I wrote have disappeared or gotten stained by something that made them unreadable…” When I heard that, I felt slightly dizzy. The alteration of records… No, in this case, it’s more like elimination? Or erasure? Can the “phenomenon” of North Yomi’s Grade 3 Class 3 really cause that to happen? It’s almost like…yes, all I can think is that it’s like some malicious spirit is at work here… “Well,” I said and let out a long sigh, “I guess that means there’s nothing to be done about it. We’re done for…” I dropped my shoulders dejectedly. As she looked at me, Mei’s gaze remained calm and a little sad, as before. “Back then—” Mei abruptly opened her mouth. The wind roared in the distance. Mingling with that sound were the voices of a number of noisy crows somewhere. “Back then, Sakakibara was at the heart of it all.” I let out a gasp of surprise and looked Mei straight in the face. “What do you mean by that?” “It’s a hopelessly vague way of putting it, I know,” she admitted. “But it’s undeniable that three years ago, on that class trip, something was done to stop the ‘calamity.’ As for what that was, well, I can’t picture anything clearly, but…but when it happened, Sakakibara was there. He was in the center of whatever it was—he was at the heart of it…that much I remember.” Koichi Sakakibara. I recalled his face as he had appeared two years ago, before we’d fallen out of contact. All the words we’d exchanged in the handful of months we’d spent together came back to me as I pictured his face. “So that’s why,” Mei continued, “maybe, if it was him—if you talk to Sakakibara, he may not have forgotten yet. That’s the feeling I get. He was at the heart of the matter, and that means his memories ought to be stronger than mine. Also, Sakakibara left Yomiyama after graduation and has been in Tokyo this whole time.” “And if he’s outside of Yomiyama—‘out of range,’ then the effect on his memories is weaker?” “Probably, I think. So…” Mei told me that for that reason, she had been trying to get in touch with Sakakibara in order to talk about this problem with him. Especially since last month, after Tsugunaga died in the way she did and we had conclusive proof that the ‘calamity’ was starting. She had tried many times. However— “So far, I haven’t made contact once.” Mei frowned wearily. “Why is that?” I asked. “Isn’t he in Tokyo?” “That’s what I thought, but apparently, as of this spring, he’s not in Japan.” “He went abroad? And he’s still there? That’s a long trip!” “Apparently, it’s not just a short vacation. Sakakibara’s father is a researcher and flies around here and there for fieldwork, right? He’s traveling along with him.” “Here and there…huh?” “I tried calling his cell phone lots of times, but it never went through, so I called his house phone, and a house sitter answered and told me. She said that he would be coming back to Japan in the fall.” Mei frowned even harder and exhaled heavily. She seemed exhausted. “What about e-mail?” I asked. “Did you try that?” “I sent him one, but that didn’t work, either. Maybe there’s a problem with his computer.” “Hmm.” “I can think of all sorts of possibilities. But since I want to hear from him as quickly as possible, since I need to hear from him…I left a request with the house sitter as well. I asked her to call me immediately if Sakakibara or his father made any kind of contact…” …Koichi Sakakibara. Murmuring that name in my mind, I looked up at the sky above my head. The cloudy sky still stretched out, low and dark, just as it had when we’d first climbed up here. I hope that we can get in touch with him—with Koichi—soon. I hope that he remembers what he did three years ago. At that point, all I could do was pray. It was incredibly frustrating.