“I–I–I’ll get help,” he stammered. “D–Don’t die. D–Don’t… Pl–Please don’t die.”
He dug his hands into his pockets. He had his wallet, but he didn’t have his cell phone. Miki’s cell phone lay on her nightstand. He stumbled towards it before sliding to a stop next to her bed. I can’t put my fingerprints on everything, he thought. I wouldn’t be able to unlock it anyway. He looked back at Miki as he stepped away from the bed. Like Jesus Christ on the cross, she lay there with her arms outstretched. She was breathing, but she didn’t open her eyes or move an inch. There was nothing he could do to help her without getting himself arrested.
Adam clasped his hands in front of his mouth and, in a quavering voice, he said, “I–I’m sorry. I can–can’t be here right now. I can’t… I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He lurched back to the entryway. He put on his shoes without tying them, then he tucked his hand into his hoodie’s sleeve to unlock the door without touching it directly. He ran out of the apartment. He slowed to a jog in the narrow street outside, then he walked briskly on the sidewalk around the corner so he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. Hood over his head, he headed back to the subway station.
Miki’s head lay in a puddle of her own blood, her hair soggy and heavy like a wet mop. Her eyes opened to slits. Bloody tears turned her blurred vision red. A smile was carved onto her face, but the bruises and bumps and mutilations gave her an expression of enormous, unforgettable agony. And the silence in the room—the silence of true loneliness—was just as painful.
She felt like she was dying because of the pain. Yet, at the same time, she felt like she was just starting to live. In many ways, the pain of death was similar to the pain of birth.
Adam had taken everything from her.
But he also gave her a purpose.
6
ESCAPE FROM TOKYO
Adam’s vision pulsed with adrenaline, objects growing and shrinking around him. The running water at the sink was loud but muffled, as if he were listening to a roaring river while drowning in it. His hands were red and swollen, burned by the scalding water, but he kept scrubbing and scratching himself. The webbing between his knuckles was bruised and cut by Miki’s skull and teeth. He couldn’t tell if he was washing off his own blood or hers.
From the corner of his eye, he saw something move in the mirror in front of him. He gasped and jerked his head up, then he looked to his right. A drunk salaryman stood in front of the sink next to him.
The salaryman’s hands were already soaked, streams of urine running across his skin like veins. He rinsed his right hand for five seconds and then shook it a little to dry it off. During his entire time in the restroom, he didn’t take his left hand off his briefcase. He walked out without taking a second glance at Adam.
The man’s intrusion snapped Adam out of his trance. He listened to the sound of the water splashing on his numb hands, a train barreling away from the station somewhere below him, and the salaryman’s footsteps. As soon as he heard the door close, he lathered his hands in soap once again, rinsed them off, and then dried himself with a paper towel.
It was almost midnight, but a few people still wandered Tokyo Station. Some rushed home after their late-night cram school sessions and their exhausting overtime shifts at work. Others shambled about like zombies, drunk from partying all night and exhausted from sightseeing all day. A couple of cops patrolled the station, checking on the drunks, helping lost tourists, and preserving the peace.
Adam made his way up several flights of stairs. He exited the station and headed back to his hotel. He couldn’t remember its exact address, but he found it after walking in circles in the area for about fifteen minutes. The receptionists in the lobby welcomed him with a synchronized bow and a ‘irasshaimase.’ He nodded back at them without making eye contact. He went straight to the elevators and up to his room.
He secured every lock on the door before leaping onto his bed and grabbing his cell phone from the nightstand. He sent Dallas a text message.
It read: I gotta go.
He sat in bed and nibbled on his fingernail as he stared at his phone. Fifteen seconds passed before he began to panic.
He sent a second message: It’s an emergency.
Another fifteen seconds passed without a response from Dallas.
Adam’s third message read: 911 911 911.
Dallas didn’t respond. Adam thought about barging into his room. They were staying in the same hotel after all. But he couldn’t muster the courage to face him. He couldn’t even face himself. He wanted to break every reflective surface in the world just so he didn’t have to see himself. He had committed an unforgivable crime.
He called Dallas instead. He held the phone to his ear and listened to the ringback tone. Each ring shook his skull.
“You know what time it is?” Dallas answered, voice drowsy. Adam’s throat dried up. His mouth hung open, lips moving slightly up and down, but no words came out. Dallas said, “Adam?”
Adam grunted, then he croaked out, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”
“I know it’s you. I can read the caller ID, moron. What do you want, man? I got a meeting in the morning.”
Adam grunted again, then he said, “I, um… I have to go.”
“Huh?”
“Dallas… Don’t make me explain this to you. Okay? Just trust me. I have to go home as soon as possible.”
“Wha–What?” Dallas stuttered.
Adam bit his lip to stop himself from dry heaving. He heard Dallas sitting up in his bed and turning on the lamp on his nightstand—click.
Dallas yawned, then he said, “Hey, man, I hear you but I don’t get you. What are you talking about? What’s going on, Adam? What are you saying?”
‘I beat my stalker and I cut her face open and I think she’s dying.’ Adam choked on those words. He was poisoned by his guilt, and a confession was the only antidote. Images of his wife, his perfect life, and his promising future flashed in his mind. His cheeks inflated as he puked a little in his mouth. He swallowed while sneering in disgust.
Speaking slowly, he said, “I… need… to… go… home.”
“Why? Are you okay? You’re making me worried, pal. Seriously, what’s going on?”
“It’s a… a family emergency.”
“Ah, shit, man. Is Amber okay?”
“She’s, uh… She’s fine.”
Dallas chuckled in relief, then he said, “All right, let’s stop beating around the bush. You’re going to give me a heart attack, man. Come to my room or I’m coming to yours. Let’s talk about this.”
“I’m not there,” Adam responded as he looked around his hotel room. “I’m at a… park.”
“A park? What park?”
“Please, Dallas, help me. I need to go home… right now. This is a family issue, a–a personal problem. Okay?”
“Adam, I don’t mean to sound like an ex-girlfriend or a disappointed parent, but I don’t like your tone. You’re scaring the shit out of me. You sound like you’re about to jump in front of traffic or something, man. Can we meet? Can we talk? I mean, we can get you a ticket home anytime. Let’s deal with this issue first. Personal or family or whatever, let’s do this together. We’re partners, right? We’re friends, aren’t we?”