He felt something tug at a corner of his mind. It was as if he was on the verge of some tremendous realization.
Come to think of it…
He’d felt a tug like this once before. A sense of déjà vu that had pricked his memory.
Oh, that’s right. It was in Godou’s room, when…
When he’d seen that puddle of water in front of the door. It felt as if he’d seen the same thing before somewhere.
Right…a person…vanished… And the water…
And then everything clicked.
It can’t be. His thoughts had zeroed in on a single possibility. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet; he was cold all the way to his fingertips, and he started to tremble.
But that’s ridiculous. He tried to deny it, but he couldn’t. Scattered fragments of information seemed to fall into place one after another, like puzzle pieces. It was all coming together.
Those pieces formed a single answer.
“…Um, Shiroshi?” he said, or tried to; his voice wouldn’t cooperate. He swallowed so hard, he could hear it, then he forced his thick, frozen tongue to move. “E-excuse me… I know who made Godou disappear.”
“Oh? Who was it?”
“Probably me.”
“……Pardon?” Shiroshi was wearing an expression Seiji had never seen before. He looked completely stupefied. He cleared his throat, trying to minimize the reaction. “Could you explain it to me from the beginning, calmly?” he asked, encouraging him to go on.
Seiji explained for dear life, and when he’d somehow managed to fumble his way through, Shiroshi seemed to agree with his conclusion.
“…Oh, I see.” Slowly, his hand came up to cover his mouth. “Then this train… It really is Night on the Galactic Railroad, isn’t it?” His murmur sounded almost delirious.
A moment later, there was a heavy thunk.
When they looked over, Tosu had slipped out of his chair and slammed into the floor, without even trying to catch himself. He may as well have been a corpse.
“A-are you okay?” Seiji ran to him and caught his shoulder, then did a shocked double take. Even through the thick fabric of his hoodie, Tosu was frighteningly hot. Seiji could feel the heat of his damp, sweaty skin under his palm… Was this really just a cold?
A chill crawled up Seiji’s spine, along with a premonition.
“It appears it isn’t a mere cold,” Shiroshi murmured, as if he’d read Seiji’s mind. Rising deliberately to his feet, he started toward the restroom. He’d left Tosu behind, though.
“Um, err, just a—” As Seiji started to call after him, he heard a noise.
It was the phone. Its ring shook the frozen air like an ill omen.
Who is that?
Timidly, Seiji went over and peeked at the number display. Then he sucked in his breath.
Room 602—Mao.
“Good evening.”
When he switched the phone to speaker mode and picked up the receiver, he heard a cheerful voice.
It was definitely Mao’s, but the impression it gave was completely different. Not that it was cruel or merciless. It was a whisper that held hints of a faint smile—yes, exactly like Ibara’s.
“How is Mr. Tosu doing? It’s been quite a while since he drank the poison, so it should be about time.”
“Poison,” Seiji echoed, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with the word.
“It’s ricin. I switched his sugar packet for a poisoned one when we had our coffee after dinner.”
Seiji felt his breath catch.
Fear stroked his spine. He’d remembered the scene just before dinner.
“If you don’t mind, could I sit across from you, Mr. Saijou?”
The seat across from Shiroshi had been the one next to Tosu. If she’d switched seats with Seiji then because she’d been planning to kill Tosu…
“You gave me a scare when you knocked his sugar off the table, Mr. Tohno. Since he’s showing symptoms, though, he must have gotten the right one after all.”
“S-symptoms?”
“Violent coughing, fever, joint pain… They all seem like cold symptoms, so I doubt he’s caught on, either. Under the surface, though, his liver, kidneys, and pancreas are gradually failing.”
Seiji’s mind went white, as though he’d been punched in the temple. An invisible hand was on his throat, slowly tightening around his windpipe.
So…even now, when it looked as though all he had was a cold, Tosu was dying?
H-how do we neutralize…?
As if she’d read his mind, Mao giggled. “Unfortunately, Mr. Tosu is already dead. You see, there’s no antidote for ricin. There is a vaccine, but it has to be given ahead of time. That means dying is his only option now.”
No… But Seiji couldn’t get even that word out.
If what Mao was saying was true, Tosu had been slowly dying since he drank his coffee after dinner. At this point, he was right at death’s door.
Shiroshi took the receiver from his hand; he’d come back before Seiji noticed.
“That’s very odd,” he began. His voice was almost flat. There was hardly any inflection in it, let alone anger or outrage. “While ricin is extraordinarily lethal, it works quite slowly. Even when injected, it takes anywhere from thirty-six to seventy-two hours for death to occur. In other words, the possibility that Tosu will die before the train reaches its destination is extremely low.”
“Yes, that’s right. You do know an awful lot, don’t you?”
“I believe the detective’s conditions for victory were for two or more of the sinners subject to execution to be alive when we reach our destination. If that is true, then since Tosu is still alive, we will win.”
There was suppressed laughter in Mao’s voice. “The thing is, one of your assumptions is wrong,” she told him. “Five of the seven sinners on this train were dead to begin with. There are only two ‘survivors’ who can fulfill the conditions: me—the executioner—and Mr. Tohno. If one of us dies, the detective will lose.”
Seiji felt a throb of terror.
The premonition that had been gnawing at him was now a certainty. His earlier suspicion had been correct. Kenji Godou, Fumihiko Tosu, Shiori Nomura, Fumitake Ishizuka, Atsushi Kaganuma: Those five passengers were…
“Exactly. All the others were resurrected for this journey.”
The smile in the young executioner’s voice was just like a certain white-haired oni’s.
It may have even been a sneer.