The Gate of Sorrows (47 page)

“None of this is a delusion. I witnessed everything myself. So did you. You met her. She harvested your craving but not your memory. You’ve got to remember what happened. How could you forget?”

Kotaro covered his right eye and peered at Shigenori. He saw a Shadow, a bedlam of words, sitting across from him.

Faintly glowing threads. Hazy, blurred threads. Thick, writhing threads like inky black ropes. A Shadow in the shape of a man, filled with an infinity of dancing words, the words and thoughts and feelings of an iron-willed detective. Memories. Experiences. The sum total of a life, crying out from the darkness.

Kotaro read his story.

“You saw her niece again, didn’t you? The older woman who lived near you, the one who died. She was terrified of the gargoyle.”

Shigenori stiffened. “Tae Chigusa.” His voice rasped with surprise and fear.

“Right, I remember. She had a niece. You saw her again and you apologized. You told her that her aunt’s death was your fault. You shouldn’t have—”

“Okay. That’s enough.”

“—gotten her involved.”

“I said cut it out!”

Kotaro uncovered his right eye. Shigenori looked suddenly older. His shoulders sagged wearily.

“Galla gave me the power to read people’s stories. You can’t deny what you just heard. You heard it in reality, in this world, where we live and breathe. Some things are real but they don’t exist in our world. Don’t run away from them. Help me. Your craving is coming back. I can see it.”

It
was
coming back, otherwise Kotaro wouldn’t have asked for Shigenori’s help. Bereft of his craving, he’d been like a cat curled up on a sunny windowsill without a care in the world.

“If you think I’m making a mistake, if you want to stop me, then help me.” Kotaro wasn’t making sense. He had to laugh. “I need you, detective. If I go it alone, I might screw up again. Do you really want that?”

Shigenori gave him a level stare. Kotaro stared right back.

The ice in their coffee melted slowly.

“Take me to Galla,” Shigenori said at last. “There’s something I’ve got to know.”

Kotaro looked out at the lights of Shinjuku from the roof of the tea caddy building.

Shigenori’s operation had been a success. He’d scrambled up the ladder ahead of Kotaro without a trace of that shambling gait he’d had when they first met. His shortness of breath after he reached the roof was almost reassuring.

This time there was no need to hunch their shoulders against the cold. The night was humid, almost sultry, but Shigenori still wrapped his arms around himself, as though secretly regretting ever coming here.

Earlier, as Kotaro unlocked the service entrance, Shigenori had muttered, “If I’d been smart enough not to give you that key, we could’ve avoided this whole mess.”

Kotaro was tired of this refrain, but didn’t reply. The tea caddy building was deeply symbolic for both of them. But if he called to her, Kotaro knew Galla would come to him anywhere.

Galla, we have things to talk about.

A silver thread as slender as a hair drifted lazily across his left field of vision. He turned just as the warrior touched down gracefully on the edge of the roof.

He motioned toward her with a jerk of his head. Shigenori saw her too and shrank back a few steps. The warrior’s eyes were fixed on him as she silently folded her wings.

“Why are you here, old man?”

Shigenori trembled, not from fear, but because Galla was real. He had almost managed to convince himself that everything that had happened on this rooftop was a dream induced by the anesthetic they gave him during the operation. He was fighting the truth, but his memory wouldn’t let him win.

“The boy told me what happened,” he said, sounding slightly intimidated. He motioned to Kotaro. “He said you took something from me. I want it back. Then we’ll talk.”

Galla’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at Kotaro.

He was caught off-balance. He hadn’t expected Shigenori to play his first piece this way. “He wants his craving back, Galla,” he said finally.

“I
see
what he desires.” She tossed her head and swept her long black hair off her shoulders. “But I do not understand. Listen, old man. You relinquished your craving and found peace. Yet now you seek more suffering. Why?”

Shigenori flushed with anger. “Because it makes us human! No matter how hard they are to bear, we guard our feelings and our memories and cling to them and live with them. That’s what it means to be a person.”

His breathing was ragged. He was wheezing like a winded sprinter. Kotaro had never seen him this upset.

“I never asked for peace. I don’t remember asking
you
. I’m a docile old fool, thanks to your meddling.”

So he knows it after all.

Did he see the tranquil expression on his face in the mirror? Was he shocked by the emptiness in his heart? Yet Shigenori was gradually recovering, just as Yuriko had said he would. His anger was proof of it.

“Then you shall have your craving,” Galla said. She thrust her right hand toward Shigenori with the sure, swift motion she used to aim her darts. Kotaro closed his right eye quickly.

Bolts of blinding light leapt from her outstretched fingers, each one a different color—a rainbow hurled like a knife at Shigenori’s Shadow. The blade of light plunged into its heart, melting and mingling with the whirlpool of words.

The words jostling inside the Shadow came into focus and stood out sharply, coalescing into streams with similar forms and hues, flowing in new directions. Not all flowed smoothly or in the same direction. Some of the flows clashed or oscillated up and down. Everything throbbed with energy. The Shadow that was Shigenori Tsutsuki stood with feet planted firmly, shoulders thrown back, head held high.

Desire makes people human. People aren’t body bags stuffed with accumulated experiences and thoughts in the form of words. They are living beings with a will and intentions.

Shigeru staggered back suddenly, as though he’d received a body blow. He dropped to his knees, shaking and gasping.

“Give me a hand. Help me up,” he said to Kotaro. He looked fiercely at Galla.

“Are you all right?” Kotaro asked.

“Just give me a hand.”

He stood up, stamped the concrete a few times and inhaled deeply. Then he turned on his heel and punched Kotaro in the face.

Kotaro’s vision flashed red. He stumbled and fell to one knee. “What the hell was that for?”

Shigenori rounded on Galla, face twisted with fury, and said in a commanding voice, “Bring me Keiko Tashiro. This punk took it on himself to sacrifice a murder suspect. He had no right.”

Galla gazed back at him impassively, arms folded.

Kotaro was astonished.
What’s wrong with giving a murderer the punishment she deserves? You spent your life doing that. Aren’t you the fisher who gathers people’s sins?

Almost as if he’d heard his thoughts, Shigenori gave him a steely glance. “You defied the rule of law. Why can’t you see that, punk?”

Kotaro didn’t appreciate this new nickname. “Rule of law, my ass. All you’re saying is she didn’t get a chance to tell her side of the story. Give the devil his due, huh? You sound like a human rights lawyer.”

Shigenori sagged with disappointment. He gazed sadly at Kotaro. “You’ve changed,” he said softly.

Kotaro frowned defiantly. If he’d been a genuine punk, he would’ve flipped the bird.

“It looks like you’ve had a bad influence on Mishima,” Shigenori said to Galla. She was still gazing at him, stone-faced. He shook his head. “Maybe it can’t be helped. But you’re dealing with the law now. Bring her back. In our world, suspects get due process. There are no kangaroo courts.”

Galla’s symmetrical features made her face hard to read at the best of times, but now the faintest flicker of pity and regret passed across it.

“True, I can bring the woman back—” she began.

“Then get on with it.”

“—but not as she was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Craving gnawed at her for years. It became her.”

Kotaro flashed back to the maggots writhing in Keiko’s Shadow.

“After too many years, there was hardly a person left. Once I harvested her—” Galla hesitated, seeking the right words. “Strong craving is like acid. It eats away at the vessel that holds it. The vessel that was Keiko Tashiro was badly damaged when I took her. Without its craving, the vessel collapsed. That is all I can tell you.”

“Is she dead?” Shigenori said.

“Not dead. Her craving and her will became one, and they live on in my blade. Together their energy is terrible. But embodiment is forever beyond her grasp. Were I to bring her here, you would see only a lump of protoplasm, like that from which you evolved. A primitive slime.”

She turned to Kotaro. “Would you see her once again? See her, and know what she has become? Perhaps you would tread on her? Grind her beneath your heel?”

Kotaro held a hand to his throbbing cheek. “Is that what happened to Kenji?”

“No. His craving was a burden, but it did not usurp his mind.”

Kotaro sighed with relief. “Can he come back? If he wanted to?”

“Yes. If that is his wish.”

Kotaro wasn’t sure whether he should ask the next question. He wasn’t confident that he wanted to know the answer, but he had to ask.

“Did Kenji do something, Galla? Did he … hurt someone? Like Keiko did?”

Instead of answering, Galla stepped off the edge of the roof and sat down on the wall. Kotaro had never seen her sit as an ordinary person would. Her legs were so long that her knees pointed to the sky.

“I mean, maybe he did something bad a long time ago—I think it must’ve been long ago—and he couldn’t forget it and it kept tormenting him. Was that why he asked you to take him out of this world? Did he want to erase his past, or go back and fix what he’d done, or get forgiveness? Was that it?”

“Is that what you believe?” Galla asked finally.

“The Kenji Morinaga I know didn’t have a desirous bone in his body. He was calm and logical, and never anything but kind. But something was burning inside him. He had to find out why those homeless people were disappearing without anyone caring.”

Kotaro had always assumed that compassion had driven Kenji’s search for the missing homeless. But what if he was wrong? Maybe it had been guilt. Maybe Kenji had needed to repay some sort of debt.

Shigenori cut in roughly. “Only Morinaga can answer that. If he didn’t tell you, don’t waste time speculating. If he doesn’t want to come back, there’s nothing we can do. But Tashiro—”

“Give it up, man. She’s not coming back. She can’t.”

“Stay out of this, punk.”

“You have no regrets?” Galla said to Kotaro.

“None whatsoever.”

“I see.” She gazed at him thoughtfully. “It is not as I thought. It is difficult to read the stories in this region.”

“What stories? Read them how? This is all nonsense,” Shigenori spat the words angrily.

Galla crossed her long legs and said crisply, “Then I am sorry.”

For one astonished moment, Kotaro thought he was seeing Ayuko. Galla had the same slender legs, the same haunting profile, the same long hair. His breath caught as the sensation of being in her presence came rushing back.

Shigenori took a step toward her and folded his arms defiantly. “Galla. Is that your real name? Or maybe ‘real’ isn’t the right word?”

“It is not my name. But in the language of this region, ‘Galla’ is close enough.”

Shigenori looked up at her suspiciously. “The place you come from—where words are born. Do you have your own language?”

“An excellent question,” Galla said. “We have no words. We
are
words.”

“Blowing smoke won’t work with me, Galla.”

“Then you’d best keep it out of your eyes.” She almost seemed to be enjoying this back and forth, but her smile evaporated at Shigenori’s next question.

“Why are you gathering our cravings? You say that weapon of yours gets more powerful by absorbing our energy. What are you planning to do with it?” He was in his element. The interrogation had begun.

“Mishima was an ordinary young man. Because of you, he conspired to murder someone. It’s all your doing.” He jabbed a finger at her.

“That’s not true,” Kotaro said. “She didn’t trick me. I made my own—”

“Stand down, Mishima.” Shigenori turned back to Galla. “You asked him if he had any regrets. When he said no, you acted surprised. Don’t play me the fool. He took a life and has no regrets. You made him what he is.”

“Yes. I used him. I had need of him,” the warrior said finally. Her tone was matter of fact.

Galla’s need. Galla’s mission. Kotaro had never questioned them. There hadn’t been time. All he’d cared about was how her power could help him.

“I must face my enemy. At all costs, I must prevail. That is why I fortify my blade.”

Shigenori kept the pressure on. “What enemy? Are you at war?”

“My enemy is the Sentinel. He guards the Nameless Land.”

Shigenori had said blowing smoke wouldn’t work, but now he was lost in it. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s where stories are born and return,” Kotaro said.

“Who told you that?” Shigenori swung on him.

“Hey, I’m just the messenger. I heard it from a ‘wolf.’ Cute, too. She showed up at school and told me all kinds of interesting stuff.”

Shigenori stared blankly. “Are you on something?”

“Of course not. What he says is true,” a new voice said.

A girl’s voice! Kotaro recognized it instantly. “Yuriko-chan!”

Her arrival was even stranger this time. It was as though she’d walked through an imaginary door and out of the shadows at the edge of the roof opposite Galla—not as a hologram or a vision, but by folding time and space.

Galla looked at her impassively. Shigenori staggered backward and fell on his buttocks.

“Is that a ghost? People say this place is haunted by a young woman. No, it can’t be …”

Though it was early summer, Yuriko was dressed just as when Kotaro first met her, in a heavy leather jacket and retro boots. Her glossy black hair was tied in a ponytail. The peculiar pendant gleamed around her neck. She flashed a pretty smile at Shigenori.