After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

I should have been more open and accepting with that girl
, Aomame thought. 
I 
should have reciprocated her feelings and held her tight. That was the one thing she 
was hoping for—to be accepted and embraced unconditionally, to be comforted by 
someone, if only for a moment. But I could not respond to her need. My instinct for 
self-preservation is too strong, and so is my determination to keep Tamaki Otsuka’s 
memory unsullied
. 
So Ayumi went out to the city at night alone, without Aomame, to be strangled to 
death, shackled by the cold steel of genuine handcuffs, blindfolded, her stockings or 
underwear stuffed in her mouth. The thing that Ayumi had always feared had become 
a reality. If Aomame had accepted her more willingly, Ayumi would probably not 
have gone out that night. She would have called and asked Aomame to go with her. 
They would have gone to a safer place, and checked on each other as they lay in their 

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men’s arms. But Ayumi had probably been hesitant to impose on Aomame. And 
Aomame had never once called Ayumi to suggest an outing. 
It was nearly four o’clock in the morning when Aomame found that she could no 
longer bear to stay alone in her apartment. She stepped into a pair of sandals and went 
out, walking aimlessly through the predawn streets, wearing only shorts and a tank 
top. Someone called out to her, but she kept walking straight ahead. She walked until 
she was thirsty. Then she stopped by an all-night convenience store, bought a large 
carton of orange juice, and drank it on the spot. Then she went back to her apartment 
to cry. 
I loved Ayumi
, she thought, 
even more than I realized. If she wanted to touch 
me, I should have let her touch me anywhere she liked, as much as she liked
. 
The next day’s paper carried another report, under the heading “Policewoman 
Strangled in Shibuya Hotel.” The police were doing everything in their power to catch 
the man, it said, and the woman’s fellow officers were utterly perplexed. Ayumi was a 
cheerful person who was well liked by everyone, a responsible and energetic 
individual who had always earned high marks for her police work. Several of her 
relatives, including her father and brother, were also police officers, and their family 
ties were strong. All were puzzled as to how such a thing could have happened to her. 
None of them know
, Aomame thought. 
But I know. Ayumi had a great emptiness 
inside her, like a desert at the edge of the earth. You could try watering it all you 
wanted, but everything would be sucked down to the bottom of the world, leaving no 
trace of moisture. No life could take root there. Not even birds would
fly over it. What 
had created such a wasteland inside Ayumi, only she herself knew. No, maybe not 
even Ayumi knew the true cause. But one of the biggest factors had to be the twisted 
sexual desires that the men around Ayumi had forced upon her. As if to build a fence 
around the fatal emptiness inside her, she had to create the sunny person that she 
became. But if you peeled away the ornamental egos that she had built, there was 
only an abyss of nothingness and the intense thirst that came with it. Though she tried 
to forget it, the nothingness would visit her periodically—on a lonely rainy afternoon, 
or at dawn when she woke from a nightmare. What she needed at such times was to 
be held by someone, anyone
. 
Aomame took the Heckler & Koch HK4 from the shoe box, loaded the magazine 
with practiced movements, released the safety, pulled back the slide, sent a bullet into 
the chamber, raised the hammer, and aimed the gun at a point on the wall with both 
hands solidly on the grip. The barrel was rock steady. Her hands no longer trembled. 
Aomame held her breath, went into a moment of total concentration, and then let out 
one long breath. Lowering the pistol, she reset the safety and tested the weight of the 
gun in her hand, staring at its dull gleam. The gun had almost become a part of her 
body.