Suicide Forest (29 page)

Using her free hand, Nina began parting his
hair for signs of blunt-force trauma. Her fingers focused on a spot
near the back of his skull. She leaned closer. I did too.

The bump was nearly identical in size and
location to Tomo’s.

I
pulled the
sleeping bag back over Ben’s corpse and stood on suddenly rubbery
legs. I took Nina’s hand and led her to Mel and John Scott, who
were emerging from the trees opposite us.

“Ben has the same injury as Tomo,” I
said.

“So…someone killed them?” Mel said
dubiously. “Both of them? How?”

“He obviously hit them on the back of the
heads with something,” John Scott said.

“But
why
?”

“Because whoever it is, he has fucking
problems, that’s why.”

I was staring at John Scott, my mind
sluggish, still struggling to come to terms with what was going
on—and that’s when pieces clicked into place. How indifferent John
Scott had been to Ben’s death, only concerned about diverting the
blame from himself. How little Suicide Forest had seemed to bother
him thus far. How he’d been carrying the rock to cut Tomo down—as
if he’d known we were going to find him strung up.

“Why did you have a rock?” I asked him.

He frowned at me. “What?”

“When we went looking for Tomo. You were
carrying a rock. You used it to cut him down. You knew he was
dead.”

“What are you talking about?”

I stepped toward him. “You
knew
.”

“Ethos, I think you better cool down.”

“You killed them, didn’t you?”

“Have you fucking lost it?”

I swung at him. He dodged the blow and
landed an uppercut beneath my jaw. But I didn’t go down and used my
height and weight advantage to pull him into a headlock. He
pummeled my body with short jabs, and somehow the headlock became a
front facelock/reverse headlock. I lost my balance and dropped to
my rear, keeping my hold around his neck, driving his head into the
ground.

Mel and Nina, both yelling, tried to pull us
apart. I was almost crazy enough to go after them too—almost, but
not quite.

I released John Scott, bringing my knees to
my chest, ready to kick out at him if he tried anything. He rocked
back on his ass and spat dirt from his mouth.

“What the fuck, dude?” he said, wiping at
his lips.

Mel stared at me. “Ethan, what is wrong with
you?”

“He killed Ben and Tomo,” I said.

“Why would I want to kill them?” John Scott
barked.

“Why are you here? Why did you come on this
trip?”

He flicked a hand. “Mel invited me.”

“I know about you two. Yeah, I know about
your past. You fucked her in college. Are you still fucking
her?”

“You’re mad, Ethos.”

“Ethan, please,” Mel said.

I shoved myself to my feet and whirled on
her.

“Are you?” I demanded. “Are you still
fucking?”

“No,
we are not
! Okay?”

I backed away from them. I didn’t believe
her. I didn’t trust anyone.

I bumped into Nina.

“Ethan—” she began, touching my arm.

I wrenched free. “Did you and Ben know John
Scott from before too?”

Nina frowned. “From before? From before
when, Ethan? Before we met you randomly at the train station?”

“Was it random?”

John Scott whistled, like I was crazy.

“Shut up,” I told him. “I’ll break your
fucking face. I swear I will.”

“You’re upset about Tomo, Ethan,” Mel said.
“We all are. But you have to get a hold of yourself. You’re not
making any sense.”

“You three always stuck together,” I said to
Nina. “You, Ben, and John Scott. You did mushrooms together. You’re
telling me you’ve never, ever met before this weekend?”

“That is exactly what I am telling you,
Ethan. And I did not do mushrooms.”

“You’re lying.”

“Ethan, think back! You first approached Ben
and me. You did. No one else.”

I shook my head in frustration, because I
knew she was right. Still, I couldn’t let this go. John Scott had
something to do with all of this. I ran my hand through my hair and
paced back and forth.

“Who killed Tomo then?” I said, glaring at
each of them. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Who the fuck killed
him?”

No one had an answer to that

I
stalked off
deeper into the forest. I didn’t want to be around anybody right
then. Mel, however, came running after me, telling me I shouldn’t
be on my own. I tried to ignore her, but she latched onto my
arm.

“Let go of me, Mel,” I said dangerously, and
for the first time ever I contemplated using my strength against
her.

“I know you’re mad at John,” she said,
almost tripping over her words to get them out, “and you’re mad at
me, but you shouldn’t be. John and me—I lied. We never slept
together.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We never slept together. I made that all
up.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true, Ethan. I swear to you. I’m so
sorry.”

“You made it up?” I frowned, confused.
“Why?”

“Shelly—she really bothers me, Ethan. She’s
so pretty. You had those pictures of her on your computer, then she
calls you on your birthday. Then the messages. Then her calling you
here
—I don’t know. I had almost put her behind me, but that
was too much. I couldn’t deal with it. I was so mad at you. I knew
you didn’t like John. So I made up…that stuff about us. And, well,
it all seems so stupid now, doesn’t it?”

“So why’s he here then?” I said. “Why did
you invite him?”

“I told you the truth before. We’re just old
friends. He called, wanted something to do. I mentioned we were
going to Fuji and suggested he come. That’s it.”

“Jesus, Mel,” I said, at a loss for words. I
wasn’t sure if I was more angry at her for the deception, or
relieved there was nothing going on between her and John Scott.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Really, I am. It was
stupid. And—and I love you, Ethan. I love you so much. I would
never, ever…”

The wall I’d thrown up finally crumbled. I
pulled her against me, kissing her on the top of the head.

“I love you too, Mel,” I whispered.

Back
at the
campfire, with a cooler head than before, I acknowledged the
conclusion that everyone else had already accepted. Somebody was in
Suicide Forest with us, stalking us, somebody we didn’t know
anything about. He was the predator in the dark. The bogeyman in
the closet. The cancer in your cells. A threat you knew little
about, couldn’t see, couldn’t predict—and thus against which you
could do little to defend yourself. Understanding this, Aokigahara
now seemed not only ominous but sinister. It had become a
co-conspirator in Ben and Tomo’s deaths, both holding us captive
and concealing a murderer.

Mel, who was sitting next to me, holding my
hand, said, “Where are the police? What’s taking them so long? We
need to get out of here right now.”

“It’s only a bit past eight,” I told her.
“They’re likely just getting to the parking lot.”

“How long’s it going to take them to find
us?”

“I don’t know, Mel.”

“Maybe they do not come,” Nina said.

“Why wouldn’t they come?” Mel said. “We
called them, right? They know we’re here. They have to come. Don’t
they, Ethan? They have to come?”

“They should be coming,” I said.

“But what if they do not?” Nina pressed. “We
cannot remain here any longer. Your friend is very sick. We must
go.”

“She’s right,” John Scott said. “We can’t
spend another night here.”

“What if the police arrive after we’ve
left?” Mel said. “What if we can’t find our way out of here on our
own?”

“Yesterday you were all for leaving.”

“And you were all for staying. That was
then. This is now.”

“We’ll wait until noon,” I stated
decisively. “That will give the police another couple of hours to
reach us. If they don’t show for whatever reason, then we’ll still
have four or five hours of light to find our way out of here.
Anyone have a problem with that?”

No one did.

John
Scott and I
discussed making a second litter, but elected to wait first to see
what the police brought with them. Instead we used Ben’s litter to
transport Tomo back to camp. The sight of the two bodies lying next
to each other reminded me of how developing countries would line up
bodies side by side on a hospital floor for identification by
family members after some disaster, such as a tsunami or collapsed
building. It was impersonal, indecorous, and hit home the fragility
of human life. You could win a hundred-million-dollar Powerball
jackpot one day, then drive your brand-new Ferrari headfirst into
an oncoming Mac truck the next. Death isn’t picky, doesn’t play
favorites. It doesn’t care in which country you were born or how
much money you had amassed in your brief existence or how happy you
are. It’s supremely patient and rightly so, for it knows you can’t
escape its reach. One day you too would be lying on that hospital
floor or on a stainless-steel gurney in a morgue.

It had already won. It would always win. In
other words, we were born to lose.

I rubbed my eyes with my fingers. I was
bumming myself out with these depressing thoughts, but I couldn’t
help it. Tomo’s death had dragged me down to a low I had only
experienced after Gary died—a low I’d told myself I would never
allow myself to sink to again.

John Scott went into army mode and began
fashioning spears for us. He dismantled Tomo’s tent, placed the
aluminum support poles flat on the ground, scavenged a rock the
size of a five-pin bowling ball, and hammered the ends into sharp
points. He gave one to each of us. I hefted mine in my hand. It was
roughly three feet long, hollow, and light. I thought you might be
able to impale a fish with it, maybe even a squirrel, but I didn’t
say anything. John Scott seemed proud of his handiwork, and the
girls seemed reassured to be holding weapons.

Armed and on guard, we huddled morosely
around the fire and waited for the police to arrive. Mel chewed her
fingernails, something I had only seen her do on a few occasions
when she was either stressed or excited. Nina sat quietly, saying
nothing. John Scott smoked his cigarettes and said inane things
every so often like, “I wonder if Tomo got a look at the asshole’s
face?” or, “If see this fucker, I’m going to drive this pole
through his heart.”

I kept to myself, trying to recreate what
happened to Tomo exactly. Sometime in the early morning, after we’d
heard those chilling screams, he must have wandered into the trees
to relieve himself. The assailant, who I’ll call John Doe, snuck up
behind him and struck him on the back of the head with a blunt
object. There was no reason for Tomo to venture the one hundred
yards or so to where we found his body, so John Doe must have
carried him this distance. Tomo, however, was the height of an
average adult Japanese male, which meant John Doe was likely
abnormally large and strong because it would be extremely difficult
for someone to carry their own body weight that far in the dark. In
fact, he’d probably have to be about my size.

This gave me pause. In the four or so years
I’ve been in Japan I had only encountered one Japanese taller than
me—and the guy was an anomaly, likely suffering from gigantism,
standing well in the seven-foot range. I suspect he worked nearby
my school because I often saw him during the morning rush out of
the train station to the surrounding office buildings. On a few
occasions I noticed him walking—though “lurching” would be a more
accurate description of his gait—next to a four-foot-nothing guy
who had a condition which caused him to drag his left foot along
the ground. This pairing of extremes seemed too coincidental to be
happenchance, and I always wondered if they were friends by default
of being outcasts.

Anyway, the point was that the percentile of
Japanese men of the physical stature to haul Tomo away like a sack
of flour would be very small. So could John Doe belong to a
different nationality then? I doubted it. The prospect of a
murderous six-foot-four Dane or Russian hanging out in Aokigahara
seemed ludicrous.

My eyes fell on Neil, and I wondered why he
had been spared. After all, he would have been the easiest target.
He was already incapacitated and isolated from the rest of us. So
why hadn’t John Doe gone after him? Because he was no threat?

Was John Doe saving the weakest for
last?

“You guys were supposed to be keeping
watch,” Mel said abruptly. “You said you were going to take turns
keeping watch.”

“We did,” I said, knowing where this was
leading.

“So this happened on Tomo’s shift?”

“No,” I said. “It happened on mine.”

“And you saw nothing?”

“I was asleep.”

“You fell asleep?”

“I was never woken up.”

“Who was supposed to wake you up?”

I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t
blame John Scott. I wanted to, but it wouldn’t be fair. It was me,
not him, who had volunteered his service. He didn’t believe in
ghosts, just as I didn’t. How foolish would he have felt, sitting
up in the cold while everyone else was asleep, watching the trees
for an imaginary enemy. After an uneventful thirty minutes, I
likely would have dozed off as well.

Nina and Mel, however, were not so
forgiving. They glared at John Scott with ice picks in their
eyes.

Nina said, “Why did you not wake Ethan
up?”

John Scott shrugged. “I fell asleep.”

“God! You are so—”

“I suppose you’re going to pin this one on
me too?”

“This isn’t about you!” Mel jumped in. “Tomo
died
. He’s
dead
. Do you get that? How hard is it to
stay awake for a couple hours?”