Book Girl and the Scribe Who Faced God, Part 2 Read online

I called Ryuto on my cell phone. But he didn’t pick up! The sweat that had broken out on my skin chilled, robbing my body of its heat. My head was burning hot.

  It was when I was standing frozen, trembling, in the middle of the living room that I caught sight of a torn-up letter lying on the floor beside the table.

  When I picked it up, I saw the message written on it.

  “Aunt Kanako:

  “Welcome home. I hope you had a good day at work.

  “The publisher mailed you a lot of boxes and papers, so I put them over there.

  “Now I’m going to do as I’ve been planning and—”

  The rest had been torn away, so I didn’t know what it said. I crawled around on the floor hunting for the rest of the letter, but I couldn’t find it.

  What had she planned?!

  Ryuto still wasn’t picking up his cell phone. But Kanako—she might know where Tohko was!

  If I explained the situation to Mr. Sasaki, would he be able to tell me where Kanako’s office was? Actually, the letter had said that packages had arrived from the publisher. There were papers and postcards and small packages sitting together in a pile on the table.

  When I looked through their addresses, I found an invoice from a flower shop and a printed card among them. It looked like a thank-you note from someone who’d attended a seminar Kanako had appeared in, and it said they would be sending flowers. The recipient was Kanako, but the return address belonged to an apartment building in the city.

  I remembered the bouquet of lilies in Tohko’s room. Kanako might have had them delivered to her house since she couldn’t take them at her office!

  The recipient’s phone number was noted on the invoice, and I called it without any hesitation. I was transferred to an answering machine and the introduction played.

  No one home—? No, maybe they just weren’t answering. I spoke quickly.

  “This is Inoue, Tohko’s underclassman. There’s something very urgent I’d like to speak to Kanako Sakurai about, so if you’re there, please pick up. Please.”

  I heard the sound of the receiver being picked up.

  In a haze, I yelled, “Is this Kanako?!”

  “… What do you want?”

  Her voice was as cool as ice. My spine flashed cold, and I shrank in on myself in instinctive fear of someone who was unquestionably superior.

  I swallowed thickly and then asked, “Do you know where Tohko went?”

  “You called here to ask something so stupid?”

  Her voice was tinged with irritation.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s extremely urgent.”

  “She went to be with Yui, if you must know.”

  The call cut off. Kanako had hung up.

  What did that mean, to be with Yui? Yui was dead!

  I tried calling back, but no matter how I yelled for her, Kanako didn’t pick up.

  It felt as if my body was caught in a hot wind, and it was hard to breathe.

  I took the invoice with the address and phone number of her office on it and ran out of the house.

  The apartment was on the same train line as the Sakurai house. With the walk, it took nearly an hour to get there, and then I climbed the stairs.

  It was an old building showing its age and it didn’t have an elevator.

  Considering that after the murder-suicide of her parents, Kanako had gone on living in the same house, maybe she wasn’t a fan of moving.

  Or maybe she didn’t much concern herself about where she lived. The room at the home that seemed to belong to her was frigid and had almost no furniture, either.

  There was no nameplate posted on the corner room on the fifth floor. I stood in front of the door and rang the bell, but there was no answer. I rang it again and again, and finally the door opened.

  Kanako appeared wearing a simple black knit top with a long black skirt, her eyes cold and piercing.

  Even under these circumstances, seeing her up close, she was witheringly beautiful and frosty, as if clad in ice crystals.

  “Why did you come here? I’m busy. Leave.”

  I stopped her from closing the door by putting my body inside the frame, and I begged, “Please tell me where Tohko went! There was a torn-up school uniform scattered around her room—but she wasn’t there! I found a note addressed to you in the living room. That was torn up, too, so I could only read part of it. What was she planning to do?”

  Kanako’s response was cold.

  “What will you do if you find out?”

  “I’ll go see her.”

  “You might not be able to, you know.”

  Her dark voice and empty eyes sent a shudder down my spine.

  Even though I’d told her that Tohko’s uniform had been ripped up, the woman wasn’t concerned in the slightest. It seemed like she didn’t care what happened to Tohko.

  Utter indifference.

  Rejection.

  This woman scares me.

  This woman, who declared without hesitation that being an author meant passing through the narrow gate alone, who had put that into practice and wrote down every detail of the deaths of her own parents and her own friends—she was scary.

  This woman, who in her book calmly murdered the girl who lived in her house with her, the memento of her late friends; this woman, who could treat her as if she didn’t exist—this woman, who lived as an author scared me. She was too unsettling to understand.

  Just having her stare at me, my spine trembled uncontrollably and I wanted to flee.

  Even so, I planted my feet and declared, “I’ll go see her, even if I can’t find her.” Kanako turned her back on me and went into the apartment.

  “Wait, please!”

  I pulled my shoes off and pushed inside, too.

  “If you know where Tohko went, please tell me.”

  Kanako didn’t even turn around. The kitchen was right next to the front door, and her workroom was past that. There was a desktop computer on top of a big, broad desk. In front of it were scattered a bunch of photos showing roads, houses, gardens, school buildings, trees and fields, orchards, art museums, and stuff like that in the area. I suppose it was material for a novel.

  Besides that, she also had a blue memo book and a silver pen, a flower-patterned teacup, a tart piled with strawberries, and cookies lined up on a white plate with a lace pattern around its edges, and there were several translucent purple spoon rests arrayed with a gold fork, spoon, and knife on them.

  Was she having a one-person tea party?

  “Please, Kanako. Her room wasn’t the way it should be! When you said she’s with Yui, where did you mean?! There were tons of letters from Yui addressed to you in Tohko’s room. Does it have anything to do with that?!”

  “Letters from Yui?”

  Kanako had been acting uninterested until then, but suddenly her forehead wrinkled and her face grew harsh as she glared at me.

  “What sort of letters?”

  “They hadn’t been opened, so I don’t know. But if you know where Tohko is—”

  When I said that, she grabbed the memo book and pen from her desk with an exasperated motion, wrote something down, then tore the page out and handed it to me.

  When I accepted it and looked to see what she’d written, I saw an address. Iwate Prefecture? Is that where Tohko was?!

  I was just about to thank her when Kanako murmured in a frigid voice that made me shudder, “That’s the grave of someone who took poison and died out of weakness. I wish that girl wouldn’t come back. But she will.”

  When I lifted my face, I met her fierce, hate-filled eyes. It was the first strong emotion Kanako had shown.

  Eyes like fire, burning insanely—

  Naked loathing—

  My mouth dried out and a shiver ran down my spine.

  So this woman could look like this, too.

  Perhaps Arisa, the main character of The Immoral Passage, the book that had been modeled on the Amanos, had had these same terrifying eyes when she strangled the in
fant Toco. She looked possessed.

  At that thought, my spine chilled even further. Somehow I forced out some words of gratitude, and I left her apartment.

  I don’t understand, Kana.

  The joy of being an author and the ordinary happiness of being a person.

  Both should be important, but if you had to choose only one, which should I recommend that you choose?

  Which do you desire?

  Is a family superfluous to you, Kana? Are children and a life partner an unnecessary weight to you, Kana?

  Do you hate it that much when little Ryu calls you mom? Is it that much of a hassle for you to smile when Tohko calls you Aunt Kanako?

  Ryu and Tohko are both waiting for you to speak to them.

  Even Takumi honestly cared about you. And yet when he died, you didn’t even go to the hospital. And you worked through his funeral.

  While Takumi was in surgery, as I carried Tohko in my arms, I prayed so hard for you to come for him that it almost crushed my heart.

  At the funeral, I felt so bad for Takumi that I held Tohko in my arms, and yes, I wept.

  Can you be happy continuing down that narrow path all alone?

  Are you content living as an author?

  I had another fight with Fumiharu—even though tomorrow we have to go to a wedding—even though the children are sleeping in the next room.

  “Fumiharu, you have a wife in me, a daughter in Tohko, and an author in Kana. You want for Kana to be alone, but you get the joy of having it both ways. You’re not being fair!”

  When I said that, Fumiharu smiled and said, “You’re right. I’m not being fair.”

  His smile was incredibly clear, and gentle, and yet sad, and I couldn’t attack him anymore.

  I’ve looked at the little violet bottle Takumi gave me so many times.

  I took the bullet train to Sendai, then transferred from there to another line, then caught a taxi after that, so that it took nearly three hours for me to reach the temple whose name was written in the note.

  The sky was a dark leaden color, and it felt colder than when snow was falling. The air seemed to cut at my skin and bite into my bones. There were fields and rice paddies on all sides, and the exposed earth was a dusty white and looked cold, too.

  I’d underestimated winter in the north. As I regretted not buying disposable hand warmers at the train station, my teeth chattering, I went into a temple that looked like it might rot away at any moment.

  “Hello?” I called out, and an aged head priest who looked like he was over ninety years old appeared.

  I told him that I had come to see Tohko, and in a gentle northeastern accent, he told me to try the graveyard in the back. That she would probably be there, if she hadn’t already left.

  Running with all my strength, the air scraped at my skin, prickling it. My heart swelled with anxiety over what I would do if she wasn’t there and also with the anticipation of being able to see her in only a few more minutes. My heart was practically exploding.

  When the graveyard came into view with its smoky black and gray gravestones, my pulse quickened all the more.

  But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t see anyone there.

  I was too late—

  Just as disappointment was making it difficult to breathe, a small head with dangling long braids bobbed up beyond a gravestone.

  Apparently she’d stood up from a crouch. Her head was still bent, gazing at a grave…

  The familiar profile…

  The navy duffle coat…

  The academy’s uniform…

  The black braids spilling over her shoulders…

  My throat trembled and a hot lump rose up in it.

  Bursting with emotions, I called out to her.

  “Tohko…!”

  Her braids wavered delicately as she looked at me, her eyes went round, and her face told me that she couldn’t believe I was there.

  I’d finally found her—

  The mere fact of our gazes catching made my feelings ease, made the back of my throat swell, and I thought I might start crying.

  It had been only a brief time that we were apart, but it felt as if we had gone such a long time without seeing each other. My heart fluttered.

  I felt like if I looked away, Tohko would disappear. I was standing perfectly still, unable even to blink. Tohko was staring at me, not moving a muscle, either. From surprise to melancholy—I saw her expression change slowly, and my breath stopped in my chest.

  Tohko’s eyes were tearing up just like mine.

  After the trembling silence had gone on—“Are you a raccoon sprite pretending to be Konoha?”—those were the words she ultimately spoke.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Come on, it takes ten hours to get here from Tokyo.”

  “It doesn’t take that long. It was only about four hours.”

  “No way.”

  “It’s the truth. What did you do to make it take so long?”

  “I took an overnight bus… and then…”

  “You should have used the bullet train!”

  I felt like collapsing on the spot.

  What were we doing talking about this all the way out in Iwate Prefecture? Why was there no tension in this girl?

  “Your uniform…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

  Ryuto had gotten me again. But the rage wouldn’t come. The despair and terror I’d felt when I was yelling Tohko’s name at Ryuto’s house and desperately searching for her had melted away completely, and my heart was clearing, as if being bathed in light.

  “Did you come to talk about uniforms?”

  “I’m not that fixated on them.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Tohko closed her mouth, awaiting my answer. Her slightly upturned eyes were tinged as if she was ever so slightly afraid.

  “Does it matter?” I asked and walked right up to her. “I just… felt like taking a trip.”

  Tohko’s eyes grew slightly moist again.

  “Who told you I was here? Ryuto?”

  “It was Kanako.”

  “Aunt Kanako?”

  She seemed surprised by my answer.

  “She told you about this place? You went to see her? But she wasn’t at home today, was she?”

  “I… called her office. I found the number printed on an invoice. And then she told me the temple’s address.”

  I was ashamed of muscling my way into her office of all places, and I couldn’t tell Tohko what I’d done.

  Tohko’s eyes grew even wider; then her eyelids fell and her expression became peaceful.

  “Oh… so Aunt Kanako told you where it was.”

  Her lips curved up and she looked happy.

  “Aunt Kanako is a good, kind person.”

  Why did Tohko cling to Kanako so devotedly? It wasn’t like Kanako tried to hide her loathing of Tohko.

  Tohko did it despite the fact that Kanako had told me, “I wish that girl wouldn’t come back.”

  Seeing Tohko sink her grip into the faintest happiness, my heart wrung tight.

  “… Today was the anniversary of your parents’ death, huh?”

  Quietly, Tohko whispered, “… Yes.”

  She went to be with Yui… so this is what she’d meant. The grave carved with the Amanos’ names was beautifully clean and laid with white flowers.

  “I read Kanako’s novel.”

  Her slender shoulders trembled ever so slightly. She lifted her lowered lashes and looked at me. It was an unsurprised look, a calm, melancholy look that accepted the burden of sorrow.

  “The stuff in Immoral Passage was about Kanako and your parents, wasn’t it?”

  Tohko lowered her gaze again and turned back to face the grave.

  “… It’s a novel. After all, Aunt Kanako wasn’t there that morning nine years ago.”

  In the bone-cracking cold, I perked my ears up to listen to what Tohko said.

&nbs
p; “That morning… my mom and my dad were going to a wedding, so they were all dressed up. My mom was wearing a light violet dress and the lace chiffon on it rustled… It was very pretty. But she was a little deflated and spaced out.

  “I guess the night before, she’d had a fight with my dad… I was in bed in the room next door. I heard their voices and it woke me up. But I was scared, so I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep.

  “My dad was wearing a black suit and a white necktie.

  “His face was gentle like always, and he brushed my bangs aside with his fingers and smiled at me and said, ‘Good morning.’

  “Ryuto told my mom, ‘You’re so pretty, Aunt Yui,’ and he was clinging to her. That cheered my mom up and she smiled, too.

  “It was all exactly like normal…”

  Tohko’s head drooped.

  “My dad and I ate the ‘breakfast’ my mom wrote for us, Ryuto and my mom ate their regular food, and my dad made some coffee… and he drank it with my mom.”

  Coffee?

  Something tugged at me. Maybe because I’d listened to Ryuto’s almost delirious rambling. Juliette had put poison in the coffee…

  “Your dad ate books, didn’t he? And he drank coffee anyway?”

  “Sometimes… he would drink it with my mom to keep her company. My mom preferred tea, but she had coffee in the mornings. She said it cleared her mind and woke her up.”

  Tohko’s tone of voice had a little awkwardness to it. Her words were somber, and she made a slight motion with her right hand partway through, as if she were squeezing a small object. Her gaze stayed off to one side, gazing painfully at the lower part of the gravestone.

  The rest was exactly as I’d heard from Mr. Sasaki and Maki. Tohko and Ryuto were left at the Sakurai household, and while Fumiharu and Yui were headed to the ceremony in their car, there was an accident and they were killed.

  “My mom hugged me and told me to be a good girl and wait at Aunt Kanako’s house. She told me not to misbehave for her…”

  The final promise she’d made with her mother nine years ago.

  Was Tohko keeping it even now?

  Getting better on her own when she caught a cold, always smiling brightly in front of Kanako, so she wouldn’t cause her any trouble…