NOVEL FROG 3 – After Image
For the first time in nearly three years, I saw my parents. My father sat in a chair in a far corner of the room. His face was twisted into a grimace that was further distorted by the effects of age, time had not been kind to him. I recalled the last time I had seen him, the hair on his temples and crown had already grown sparse. Now it was in full retreat. A once flat stomach was engulfed in a thick layer of pudge that spilled past his belt. Glasses obscured amber eyes that had once smiled down at me.
My mother remained regal. Her posture was impeccable, unbowed by time. She towered over the foot of my bed like a matronly goddess made manifest. Only her hair betrayed her age with its perfect black now besmirched by silver-gray strands. A vainer woman would readily dye the truth. Mother would have sneered at the thought.
Her hickory eyes remained eternally distant. You can not draw water from stone nor could the sight of my injuries tug out an ounce of sympathy from her visage. I had anticipated such a reaction. It felt like a shiv had slipped between my ribs as she coldly gazed down at me. This was the price of my blasphemy.
My lips parted. They were parched and eagerly drank up any sound I tried to emit. It could have been gratitude for them finally returning to my life. It could have been a curse for their rejection. It could have been a wordless cry into the void. Perhaps an apology. No matter. Their sudden appearance had rendered me mute. I shut my eyes on them and embraced sleep.
I awoke to a brilliant white light piercing through my eyelids. I instinctively squeezed my eyelids tight and shielded my face in my hands. A thought intruded, Is the end? A chuckle shook my chest, At least it’s painless.
Fumiko Kimura’s face flashed through my thoughts. The cruel brushstrokes of a perverse painter marred her skin with purple bruises. Her eyelids were swollen and caked with dried blood. My stomach ached. It felt as if a great claw had reached inside me and scooped out my guts. Only a choking sob filled the hollow. Did I ever thank her?
Her voice called out to me. It was distant, muffled like a cry obscured by a closed door. A second voice rumbled after and then a third cut shrilly through the air, but their words were unintelligible. The unmistakable sound of weeping followed.
“Who’s there?” I demanded as my heart thumped fitfully. My ears ate silence. The distant sobs faded. I was alone, haunted by visions of Fumiko’s battered face. A viscous river of blue trickled from one nostril and welled between her lips. Her eyes fluttered. Before they could open, a soft voice ended the vision.
“Pardon the intrusion, are you awake?”
I turned my head toward the direction of the voice and unshielded my eyes. Cerulean blue veins pulsed along the edges of my vision. I blinked them away. An ageless nurse in a white uniform stood in the doorway. The wall behind her was white. The walls of the room were white. The fluorescent lights beating down from above were white. The thin sheets on my bed were white. White and sterile.
“Yes,” I answered, “What time is it?”
The nurse glanced at her watch and said, “12:11 PM. You’ve been asleep since you arrived.”
“Is Nat-” I caught myself. “Is Sato-san okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, your friend. Yes, she’s been in the waiting room since you came in. Would you like me to fetch her for you?”
“Please. And thank you for taking care of me.”
The slim nurse graced me with a white smile. “You are most welcome,” she said kindly, “I’ll be right back with your friend.” My gaze drifted towards the IV drip nestled in the crook of my left arm. I didn’t watch her leave. The image of my parents surfaced. I knew they hadn’t been here. It was a stupid dream. My hands balled into fists so tight that my fingernails bit into my palms. I squeezed harder and embraced the pain.
Out of nowhere, Natsumi burst into the room in a tsunami of tears. “Oh my god Akane! Are you okay? I’m so, so, so sorry,” she cried out breathlessly. Every word she spoke spilled out at a random volume between choked-back sobs.
“I tried to catch you when you fell, but I don’t know if you got hurt or not and you didn’t wake up even when the police came and they said you needed to go the hospital to check to see if you had a concussion and I don’t know what I do if you were hurt!” As she rambled incessantly my precious roommate managed to stumble over to my bed and grasped both my hands in hers. They were warm and rather sweaty, but comforting all the same.
In the wake of this outburst, the nurse spoke calmly, “She does not have a concussion. She was dehydrated and, if you’ll forgive me, experiencing shock.”
“It’s okay,” I said to both of them, “Thank you for your concern.” Without another word, the nurse nodded and exited the room. Natsumi continued to bawl softly into my shoulder.
“Hey,” I whispered to her, “I’ll catch a cold.”
The faintest trace of a chuckle joined her song of sorrow. She punched my damp shoulder playfully. “You scared me,” whispered Natsumi as she nuzzled against me. There was an edge to her tone I couldn’t place.
“I’m safe now,” I answered. Absentmindedly, I gently patted her head. Her hair was soft and soothing. “What happened?”
“Well…” she paused momentarily, “I insisted on coming with you immediately. I don’t know what they did with that girl.”
I interjected, “Fumiko.” Natsumi froze in place and glared at me.
“You knew her?” she demanded brusquely.
“Yes, sort of,” I tried to explain but a steel vice clamped down frightfully on my hands. “Hey! That hurts!”
Unabashed, Natsumi flung my hands down and jumped off the bed. She turned away and said to the white wall, “That’s why you were worried. You didn’t want her to see us.”
“What?” Her reaction was bizarre. I explained, “She was a classmate in high school. I haven’t seen her in years.”
“Are you ashamed of me?” Natsumi’s voice was small. Infantile.
My throat tightened, I shouldn’t say it. I must not say it.
“Should I be?” Natsumi responded by silently storming out of the room. A vacuum of distraught lay in her wake. My eyelids slammed shut as I clasped both hands over my face. “You’ve really done it this time Akane,” I whimpered, “What do I do? How do I fix this?”
Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. I can never do anything right. They overwhelmed their basins, trickled down, and stained my cheeks salty with regret. As my stomach tightened I carelessly plucked the IV free from my arm, but before I could chase after my friend a shadow darkened the room. A tall figure stood in the doorway.
“You should rest,” it stated plainly as it stepped forward. A tall man emerged from the shadow. He was broad-shouldered, but his immaculately tailored suit clung closely to lanky limbs. An unlit cigarette dangled between his thin lips. He ignored my tears and asked, “Or would now be a good time to talk?”
“Who are you?” I managed to ask as I reclined back against a stack of pillows.
Without breaking his stride the man pulled out a badge and flashed it at me carelessly. He plopped down into a chair near the room’s lone window. As he peered through cracked blinds he slipped the badge back into his jacket and explained, “Detective Nakamoto. I’m the lead investigator on the case.”
I chose my words carefully. “How can I be of assistance?”
Nakamoto scratched idly at his chin. A pregnant pause came and went. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure you can,” he answered.
His response caught me off-guard. For a brief moment, I wanted to prove my worth. Is this a trick? I wondered as I chose to stay silent. The detective’s gaze remained fixed outside as he blindly extracted a pen and small notepad from his suit coat.
Without looking at me, he asked, “What is your name?”
“Akane Kobayashi.”
“Your date of birth?”
“2002, February 3rd.”
Nakamoto wrote nothing down as he continued, “What time did you find the body?”
The meaning was clear, but I had to confirm it. Shards of glass tumbled down my throat as I forced the question out, “She’s dead?”
The detective fixed his gaze on me. I couldn’t tell what was hidden in his eyes. Surprise? Pity? “Yes,” he confirmed. My tears flowed freely. He callously asked again, “Do you know what time you found the body?”
“Um, 8:40…AM, I think. I’m not sure. Sato-san called.”
“And she called as soon as you found the body?”
The room blurred. I squeaked out an affirmative.
“Did you know the victim?” His voice was distant. A lifetime away.
The muscles of my throat screamed in agony as I tried and failed to answer him. Yes, yes, yes, ran through my mind, but the word would not come out. I nodded.
“Fumiko Kimura - ” began the detective. His voice faded away the second I heard her name. She called out as if she were curled up next to me, repeatedly whispering my name. Sobs wracked every inch of my body. I couldn’t stop them. I wouldn’t. They rang out like a reverberating gong. Filthy hot tears stole my sight as I succumbed.
Two strong arms slipped underneath my shoulders and my head collapsed onto a muscled shoulder. Someone muttered an apology. Did those words come from me? My world was nothing but a stream of tears and aching chest. In that chaos, my arms found a broad back and they mindlessly wrapped around it. An eternity passed by in that embrace. My tears ran dry. A final sob seeped out.
“I’m sorry,” apologized Detective Nakamoto as he gently broke free of my embrace and slid off the bed. “That was unbecoming of me.”
I wiped away a tear and sniffled back another. “No, don’t be. Thank you.”
“She must have been a good friend.”
A lone chuckle shook me. “No,” I admitted, “I didn’t know her well. At all.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he said matter-of-factly, “She had a photo of the two of you. In her wallet.”
His statement struck me like a bolt of lightning. It left me too dazed to respond. An insane jumble of thoughts raced through my mind. Fumiko…had a photo of me? Of us? What?!
“W-we, we were just classmates, once…in high school,” I muttered absentmindedly as I met his stare. Pity was written in his eyes.
“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head earlier?” he asked. Before I could respond he answered the question. “No, they wouldn’t let you sleep if they feared a concussion. Odd. Very odd.”
A swift defense tumbled out. “I don’t understand either!”
Nakamoto stroked the blue stubble on his jaw. “You don’t strike me as a liar. Heh, but I shouldn’t tell you that,” he considered as he contemplated the ceiling, “If you are, you’re more skilled than most. We’ll have to speak again. Yes, that will be necessary.” The detective abruptly met my gaze again. “I’ll be in touch, Kobayashi-san.”
“I-I understand.”
Detective Nakamoto graced me with a stiff bow and took his leave. He left more questions than answers behind. I collapsed onto my back and pulled the covers over my head. This had been the longest day of my life. Sleep would have been a blessing, but a thousand maddening thoughts stirred within. What happened to Fumiko? Was she murdered? Yes, but who did it? And why? When? And the photo?