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If I keep up like this
, he thought,
I’m going to turn into a Moss
Monster. Starting with my tongue, green moss will spread here and there on my skin,
like the shell of a turtle that lives in a swamp
. The very thought was disheartening.
He sighed, and in a voiceless voice decided to stop worrying about his tongue. He
turned off the light, slowly undressed in the dark, and snuggled into his sleeping bag.
He zipped the bag and curled up like a bug.
It was dark when he woke up. He turned to check the time, but his clock wasn’t where
it should be. This confused him. His long-standing habit was to always check for the
clock before he went to sleep. So why wasn’t it there? A faint light came in through a
gap in the curtain, but it only illuminated a corner of the room. Everywhere else was
wrapped in middle-of-the-night darkness.
Ushikawa felt his heart racing, working hard to pump adrenaline through his
system. His nostrils flared, his breathing was ragged, like he had woken in the middle
of a vivid, exciting dream.
But he wasn’t dreaming. Something really
was
happening. Somebody was standing
right next to him. Ushikawa could sense it. A shadow, darker than the darkness, was
looming over him, staring down at his face. His back stiffened. In a fraction of a
second, his mind regrouped and he instinctively tried to unzip the sleeping bag.
In the blink of an eye, the person wrapped his arm around Ushikawa’s throat. He
didn’t even have time to get out a sound. Ushikawa felt a man’s strong, trained
muscles around his neck. This arm constricted his throat, squeezing him mercilessly
in a viselike grip. The man never said a word. Ushikawa couldn’t even hear him
breathing. He twisted and writhed in his sleeping bag, tearing at the inner nylon
lining, kicking with both feet. He tried to scream, but even if he could, it wouldn’t
help. Once the man had settled down on the tatami he didn’t budge an inch, except for
his arm, which gradually increased the amount of force he applied. A very effective,
economical movement. As he did, pressure grew on Ushikawa’s windpipe, and his
breathing grew weaker.
In the midst of this desperate situation, what flashed through Ushikawa’s mind was
this:
How had the man gotten in here?
The door was locked, the chain inside set, the
windows bolted shut.
So how did he get in? If he picked the lock, it would have made
a sound
.
This guy is a real pro. If the situation called for it, he wouldn’t hesitate to take a
person’s life. He is trained precisely for this. Was he sent by Sakigake? Have they
finally decided to get rid of me? Did they conclude that I was useless to them, a
hindrance they had to get rid of? If so, they’re flat-out wrong. I’m one step away from
locating Aomame
. Ushikawa tried to speak, to tell the man this.
Listen to me first
, he
wanted to plead. But no voice would come. There wasn’t enough air to vibrate his
vocal cords, and his tongue in the back of his mouth was a solid rock.
Now his windpipe was completely blocked. His lungs desperately struggled for
oxygen, but none was to be found, and he felt his body and mind split apart. His body
continued to writhe inside the sleeping bag, but his mind was dragged off into the
heavy, gooey air. He suddenly had no feeling in his arms and legs.
Why?
his fading
mind asked.
Why do I have to die in such an ugly place, in such an ugly way?
There
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was no answer. An undefined darkness descended from the ceiling and enveloped
everything.
When he regained consciousness, Ushikawa was no longer inside the sleeping bag.
He couldn’t feel his arms or legs. All he knew was that he had on a blindfold and his
cheek felt pressed up against the tatami. He wasn’t being strangled anymore. His
lungs audibly heaved like bellows breathing in new air. Cold, winter air. The oxygen
made new blood, and his heart pumped this hot red liquid to all his nerve endings at
top speed. He coughed wretchedly and focused on breathing. Gradually, feeling was
returning to his extremities. His heart pounded hard in his ears.
I’m still alive
,
Ushikawa told himself in the darkness.
Ushikawa was lying facedown on the tatami. His hands were bound behind him,
tied up in something that felt like a soft cloth. His ankles were tied up as well—not
tied so tightly, but in an accomplished, effective way. He could roll from side to side,
but that was all. Ushikawa found it astounding that he was alive, still breathing.
So
that wasn’t death
, he thought. It had come awfully close to death, but it wasn’t death
itself. A sharp pain remained, like a lump, on either side of his throat. He had urinated
in his pants and his underwear was wet and starting to get clammy. But it wasn’t such
a bad sensation. In fact he rather welcomed it. The pain and cold were signs that he
was still alive.
“You won’t die that easily,” the man’s voice said. Like he had been reading
Ushikawa’s mind.
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