Happy End.

Day 1. Part 2

Amano’s hand reached for his trouser pocket, Aru’s hand stiffened around the pencil. He wasn’t very good with his left hand when it came to writing, but when it came to fighting, …dad had said it was best to develop both sides of his body. But instead of the knife, Amano pulled out his cell phone, opened it.

‘I have a Diary on my phone, see?’

The screen went white and little scribbles appeared on it – kanji. Wow, this guy was quite meticulous, it seemed. There was an entry every second minute. Albeit a short one, it was still an entry. Aru himself had tried keeping a diary many times, but had to give up eventually, as he would skip days and forget about it altogether. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle the discipline, just that he had nothing to write about. Amano stared out over the hills, up at the reddening, orange sky.

‘This diary allows me to see the future. I can see about ninety days – three months ahead.’

Aru clicked on the dials, scrolling down. With a sigh he thrust the phone back into Amano’s hands.

‘Bullshit. Tomorrow’s entry is empty.’

‘That’s because the game hasn’t started yet. I decided to come early.’

This guy was unbelievable. Aru covered his eyes with his right hand, he really didn’t have time for this. He was already thinking up a witty remark to put an end to this stupidity, when Amano said

‘We should disable some of the diary holders before the game starts, like the Serial Killer.’

That caught Aru’s attention right then and there.

‘The Serial Killer? You know who he is? My father has been investigating that case for months.’

Amano smiled.

‘Follow me.’

The guy stood up and offered Aru his hand. With a puzzled look Aru got up on his own (without Amano’s help), securing the schoolbag on his shoulder.

‘So, where do we go?’

Amano grabbed his wrist and headed east, where the pale moon hung low in the sky. Aru didn’t feel good about this, didn’t feel good about it at all. Very soon they came to an apartment block, a simple place – so ordinary Aru could have walked past it every day on his way to school, for all he knew. The street lamps began to flicker on, as the sun had finally set, telephone wires zinged up above their heads.

‘Amano, I have a bad feeling about this…’

‘Relax, we have surprise on our side. Without his diary, he won’t suspect a thing.’

Aru felt a light squeeze on his hand, and Amano rung the doorbell. They waited. Then the speaker buzzed and a gruff voice came out the speakers:

‘Who is this?’

He sounded annoyed as hell. It gave Aru the shivers.

‘Mr. Hiyama? It’s Amano Yukiteru, from class 2B. I was asked to deliver the new text books to your place, can I come in?’

Amano spoke in a very light-hearted, sing song voice. Aru raised an eye-brow at him. There was a pause. The speaker buzzed with the rattling of a sigh, and then there was Hiyama’s voice again.

‘I don’t remember anything about any textbooks,’ he said. ‘Who sent you?’

‘Uh…the deputy head teacher?’

‘She wouldn’t occupy herself with textbooks, she has more important things to do.’

Amano’s face flushed bright red, his mouth fell open and his eyes went wide, a low sound escaped his throat.

‘Well, what did you come for, and why can’t you just tell me the truth?’

‘Excuse my friend, Mr. Hiyama, he wanted to discuss his studies with you, but is too ashamed to say so,’ Aru spoke into the speaker.

‘And who are you?’

‘Fukino Youta, sir.’

Amano shot Aru a look. ‘I’m not giving him my real name’, Aru whispered under his hand.

‘Youta, huh?’ the speaker rattled. ‘Okay, you can come up, I think I remember a Youta...’

It was a pretty common name, after all. The speaker died out and the door beeped, at which Amano pushed it open.

‘Great thinking, come on!’

They ran inside, finding the right floor, and climbing up with the elevator. Amano counted the floor numbers with impatience, while Aru watched Amano, examining the design of the cabin and the buttons. The doors opened. Amano’s hand rested on the knife in his trouser pocket.

‘Let’s go.’

Aru had to admit he was more than a little unnerved. Door 52, a rug saying ‘Welcome Home’, and Totoro stickers on the kitchen window. Aru wondered if they’d hit the wrong house, when Amano stopped and wrung the doorbell.

‘Rule No. 1,’ dad had said, ‘don’t leave any fingerprints.’

Well that was down the drain. They heard footsteps, the door unlatched, opened. A tall man with shoulder-length hair stepped forward, looking rather pissed. He leaned against the door frame, arms folded.

‘What, did I fail you?’

Amano’s right hand tightened around the knife, but he forced an embarrassed smile on his face. He scratched the back of his head with his free hand.

‘Well, uh…yeah,’

‘I give good scores to students who deserve it. I don’t make any exceptions.’

‘But, is there some kind of extra class I can take? Some kind of preparatory one? I really need this score, please.’

The teacher frowned, running a hand through his hair. For the first time he looked away from the boys, lost in thought. That was when Amano attacked. Aru’s eyes went wide – he never saw that coming.

First thing Amano did was shove Hiyama inside, tripping him in the process. When Mr. Hiyama lay on the floor, startled to defenselessness, Amano jumped on top of him, baring the knife. Aru watched blood cover pure white walls, the knife slashed and cut through the man’s neck, oozing out and running over Amano’s hands. Aru took a step back, his hands hit the gallery railing. Suddenly all of it seemed like a bad idea, a very bad idea. He wanted to make a run for it, but some sick curiosity in his brain made him stay. Even though he was dead, Hiyama’s fingers were still moving. Blood trickled over Amano’s nose when he got up, gesturing Aru to follow.

Aru gulped. He carefully side-stepped the body, trying not to leave any trails. Amano walked inside the kitchen, washed his hands, the knife, Aru pointed at the blood on his face, Amano washed that as well. Then he carelessly wiped himself dry on a kitchen towel, and left it there. Aru picked it up quickly, tucking it inside his schoolbag. He followed Amano through the thin corridor, up to the farthest room, they stepped inside, Amano turned the light on and Aru gasped. Pictures, many pictures, a collage hung on the wall, all with the victim’s faces, circled with a red marker. But what unnerved Aru more were the photos spread out over the table: those were pictures of Amano.

‘Stop, don’t touch that! That’s evidence,’ Aru cried when he saw Amano lift a finger to it.

‘We can’t let the police get involved,’ said Amano, his eyes turned stone cold.

Oh yeah, right. Aru had forgotten he was dealing with a mad man. He put a hand on Amano’s outstretched arm.

‘We can’t go around leaving our fingerprints, either,’ he said, trying to coax his ‘friend’ away from the table.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Amano shoved him away, and snatched the pictures from the table. Then he marched away, back to the front door.

‘Wait, what do you mean ‘it doesn’t matter’?! The cops will be here in no time, this man has a family!’

The kid-sized shoes in the doorway and the Lego constructor in the living room were a tell tale sign, not to mention the Totoro stickers. Amano grinned, stepping right in the pool of blood, and leaving red marks everywhere he went.

‘Let them come,’ he said.

Aru stared after him. Then Amano grabbed Aru’s wrist and pulled him out of the apartment, turning to a speedy run. Aru was panting and breathing rapidly, trying to keep up, the schoolbag rammed uncomfortably into his side. He frowned, was that a lighter Amano threw over their heads? …but why?

Boom.

An explosion rampaged the gallery, bricks were falling, flying, dust settled in his hair. Aru coughed as they neared the shaft of stairs. Then Amano rushed him past it, down the stairs, into the street, where they mingled in a small crowd of spectators that had already gathered in the commotion.

‘A gas explosion?’ said a woman nearby.

‘They say the pipes got pretty weak, better check my own!’ a man cried.

Aru slowly turned to face Amano – the guy was smiling.

[End of Second Chapter]