Dallas was a good man. He pushed Adam into Miki’s arms, but he meant no harm. He just liked to have fun. He sincerely cared about Adam and Amber—and that only made things worse for Adam. It hurt him knowing Dallas was going to be collateral damage in his self-destruction. But he needed him to escape.
His idea was simple: If Dallas booked the flight, it wouldn’t set off any alarms with the authorities. And if he already accepted Adam’s decision to leave, Dallas wouldn’t panic and go to the police to report a sudden disappearance.
Adam sighed, then he said, “I need to leave now. The first flight in the morning. It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m sorry I can’t attend the rest of our meetings, but I will find a way to make it up to you. Just please help me book a flight. I’ll explain everything to you later. If you won’t help me, then I’ll just do it on my own.”
Silence invaded their phone call. Adam looked at the ceiling, using the laws of gravity to stop his tears from cascading across his cheeks. Then he heard Dallas shuffling in bed and muttering to himself.
“Okay,” Dallas said. “I’ll try to book a flight. But I’m not promising you anything, okay?”
“Thank you,” Adam said.
“Don’t thank me, man. You owe me an explanation, and you’re giving me one sooner or later.”
“I will, I will…”
“Get packed. I’ll call you in a little bit, pal.”
The call ended. Adam sat and stared at the phone for a minute, thinking about the words he couldn’t say. After the minute of dreadful silence, he jumped off the bed and started packing. He took his clothes out of the closet and dresser drawers, then he grabbed his toiletries from the bathroom. Each time he zipped up his luggage, he remembered something he forgot to pack—his wristwatch, his cell phone charger, his bottle of mouthwash.
He took a shower after he finished packing. He finally noticed the cuts across his knuckles. Like a teenager who nicked himself while shaving, he placed small bits of wet toilet paper on his wounds to stop the bleeding. He stopped upon hearing a ringing phone. Miki, he thought, eyes wide as he stared at his reflection. No, it’s the police. They’re coming for me.
Then he realized it was his cell phone’s ringtone. He went back to the room. The caller ID read: Dallas R. It had been nearly an hour since their last call.
“Hello?” Adam answered.
“It’s done, man.”
“What’s done?”
Dallas huffed, then he said, “The flight, Adam. I booked the flight you were begging me to book. You remember that? Are you all right, man? Did you hit your head or something?”
“I–I’m fine. I’m sorry. I was just… Never mind. What time does it depart?”
“I think it was around 9 in the morning. I’ll send you all of the details in a minute.”
“Nine in the morning,” Adam repeated. “You couldn’t get anything earlier?”
“Come on, don’t complain. I’m doing you a favor here. Listen, nine o’clock was the earliest flight available. I can’t cancel, either. It was expensive as hell and it’s nonrefundable. You really owe me for this one.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Jesus, Adam, stop apologizing and stop complaining,” Dallas said. He laughed and said, “You’re making me feel like the asshole.”
Adam said, “Yeah, yeah, I’m, uh…” He chuckled, realizing he was about to apologize again. He said, “Thank you, Dallas. I’ll call you when I get back home.”
“All right, bud. I’m going back to bed. You call me if you need anything else. Don’t leave me out of the loop, all right?”
“I won’t. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Talk to you soon.”
The call disconnected. A few seconds later, Adam’s phone buzzed. He received two messages—a picture and a text message. The picture was a screenshot of his flight itinerary.
The text message read: Good luck, pal. You’ll get through this.
Adam assumed Dallas suspected Amber had somehow found out about his affair. It explained his lenient, pitying attitude and his supportive message.
He stayed awake throughout the night, constantly peeking through the front door’s peephole and looking out the window. He expected to find cops preparing to raid his room and police helicopters circling the building. He was afraid Miki would show up, too. He replayed the violent attack in his head over and over—and over and over and over.
At sunrise, he checked out of the hotel and called a taxi. He was concerned about his appearance—the scratches and bruises on his knuckles, the pitch-black circles under his eyes, the bright red veins surrounding his irises, his disheveled clothing. But upon arriving at the airport, he discovered his concerns were unfounded.
Most of the tourists at his terminal looked like him, exhausted and bedraggled. They had long nights of sightseeing, partying, and jet lag.
While checking-in to his flight and dropping off his luggage, he was questioned about his trip by a young airport employee. He was asked about the purpose of his visit, where he stayed, who he stayed with, where he went, and if he enjoyed his trip. Adam answered every question honestly and confidently, although he felt like vomiting throughout the conversation.
After checking his luggage, he made his way through security. He didn’t have to take off his shoes or answer any questions. It was a breeze. He went over to his gate and waited for them to call his boarding group. His flight was scheduled to depart in less than an hour and a half.
Time moved at a snail’s pace at the airport. He kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting a cop or a security guard to tackle him from behind. A few police officers patrolled the terminal, but they paid him no mind. He started thinking of excuses in case he was questioned again. He wondered if he could find asylum at the international airport.
He considered doing some research, he had time to kill after all, but he didn’t want to incriminate himself. Phones are easy to track, he told himself. Don’t make it easy for them.
He boarded his flight forty minutes before departure time. He was given a complimentary cup of sparkling wine before takeoff. Most of the other passengers looked tired but happy. He chatted with his seatmate, a young Japanese student on his way to California, for a couple of minutes. No one knew about his crime, no one really noticed his presence on the plane, but he felt like everyone was gossiping about him.
He saw Miki’s face on the seatback screen in front of him, the window to his right, the plastic cup on his tray table, his seatmate’s eyeglasses—everywhere. The afterimage of her mutilated face was burned into his retinas. He successfully escaped from Tokyo, but he couldn’t escape from Miki. It was a strange sensation—to be haunted by a living person.
He didn’t sleep a wink during the eleven-hour flight.
7
URBAN LEGENDS
“Yurei house shitteru?” Kaito, a 10-year-old Japanese boy, asked as he pointed at an apartment building across the street.
It translated to: ‘Do you know about that haunted apartment?’
His classmate, Yuuto, sat at the top of a slide at the small park and peered at the three-story apartment building across the street. It was an old building with a rusty, discolored exterior, inhabitable but undesirable.
As he slid down, he nodded and yelled, “Un!”
‘Yeah!’
Riku, their female classmate, climbed up to the top of the slide. She squinted at the apartment. She saw an old lady sweeping the narrow road in front of the building.