Kojo Suzuki - Spiral

“Maybe it wasn’t that it implanted it. Maybe the images on the video somehow influenced the victim’s cellular DNA so that it metamorphosed into the mystery virus.”

“You might have something there. I’m thinking of the AIDS virus. We don’t know its origins for sure yet, but it’s thought that something caused human and simian viruses that had existed all along to evolve, and that’s what gave birth to the AIDS virus as we know it. In any case, AIDS is not a virus that has been around for hundreds of years. Analysis of its base sequences clearly shows that it’s something that branched into two strains only about a hundred and fifty years ago. Through some chance event.”

“And you want to find out what that chance event is in this case.”

“Me, I think it involves the mind.” Miyashita leaned forward until his nose almost touched Ando’s.

It was, of course, common knowledge that the mind, as abstract and immaterial as it was, could influence the body in various ways. Ando was well aware of this. One only had to think of how stress could eat holes in the stomach lining. Now Ando and Miyashita were thinking along the same lines. First, the video created in the viewer a particular psychological state that somehow influenced the viewer’s own DNA to metamorphose until the mystery virus which resembled smallpox was born. Then, this smallpox-like virus caused a cancer inside the coronary artery that surrounds the heart, resulting in a tumor. In a week’s time the tumor reached its peak size, cutting off the flow of blood and stopping the heart. But the virus itself was like a cancer virus-its function was to worm its way into the DNA and cause cellular mutation in the coronary arteries tunica media-and wasn’t very contagious. At least, that was what their analysis so far had led them to think.

“Come on, don’t you want to see it?” challenged Miyashita.

“Well…”

“I just want to get my hands on that tape.”

“No, I think it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. You’d end up like Ryuji.”

“Speaking of Ryuji, did you manage to break the code?”

“Not yet. Even if it is a code, forty-two bases is too small a number to work with. It could only contain a few words at most.”

This was an excuse. Ando had in fact tried several times to decipher the code, but every attempt had ended in failure.

“I guess I know how you’ll be spending your holiday.”

That was when Ando first realized that the next day was a national holiday, Labor Thanksgiving Day. And since he didn’t have to work the following day, Saturday, it meant he had a three-day weekend coming up. Ever since losing his son and his wife, he hadn’t paid much attention to holidays. It was nothing but misery to be home alone, and three-day weekends that he had no plans for made him particularly depressed.

“Yeah, well, I’ll give it a shot.”

But spending the holiday trying to read a coded message from a dead man sounded pretty dismal. On the other hand, if he succeeded, then maybe it’d give him some sense of accomplishment. At least it would provide a distraction.

So he promised Miyashita that he’d have it figured out by the end of the weekend. “On Monday, I’ll tell you what Ryuji’s trying to say.”

Miyashita reached across the table and clapped a hand on Ando’s left shoulder. “It’s up to you now.”

After lunch, Ando went back to his office and put in a call to the Forensic Medicine Department of Joji University Hospital, in Utsunomiya, Tochigi Prefecture. A little research had turned up the information that Asakawa’s wife’s parents lived in Ashikaga, Tochigi. Any unexplained deaths in that region would fall under the jurisdiction of the doctors at Joji.

An assistant professor came to the phone, and Ando asked him if there had been any patients who’d died late last month from heart attacks caused by blockage of the coronary artery. The man responded with a curt question of his own. “Sorry, but what are you getting at?” Ando explained to him that they had seen seven deaths from the same cause in the greater Tokyo area, and there were indications that there could be many more victims. He avoided any mention of paranormal phenomena.

This didn’t seem to have assuaged the man’s doubts. “So you’re contacting medical schools across the region?”

“No, not exactly.”

“So why are you calling us?”

“Because your area is at risk.”

“Are you saying we’re going to find bodies in Utsunomiya?”

“No, in Ashikaga.”

“Ashikaga?” The mention of the name startled the man. He fell silent, and Ando could almost sense his grip on the receiver tightening.

“This is a shock. I can’t imagine how you know about it. As a matter of fact, on October 28th, the bodies of an elderly couple were discovered there. We did autopsies on them the next day.”

“Can you tell me their names?”

“Their last name was Oda, I think, and the wife’s name was Setsuko. I forget the husband’s name.”

Ando had already checked on Shizu Asakawa’s parents’ names: Toru and Setsuko Oda. It had to be them. Now they had proof. On the morning of October 21st, Asakawa had loaded a VCR into his rented car and driven to his in-laws’ house in Ashikaga, where he’d had two copies made of the tape and shown to the old couple. No doubt he’d assured them that if they made more copies and showed them to other people within a week, their lives wouldn’t be in any danger. They probably hadn’t needed much convincing, regardless of whether or not they fully believed in their son-in-law’s outlandish story. If there was any chance that their daughter and granddaughter’s lives were on the line, they must have been more than willing to acquiesce. And so Asakawa had had copies made, believing that by doing so he’d saved his wife and child. But on the way home he lost them both at once, and then a week later, the old couple died, too.

“I’ll bet you were pretty surprised by what you found in the autopsy.” Ando could well imagine the staff’s shock at finding the same symptoms in both bodies.

“You can say that again. I mean, given the simultaneous time of death, plus the fact that they left a note, we naturally assumed it was a double suicide. But then we cut them open, and found, instead of poison, strange tumors in their coronary arteries. Surprised isn’t the word.”

“Hold on a minute,” Ando broke in.

“What?”

“You say they left a note?”

“Yes. It wasn’t much of one, but a note was found next to their pillows. It looked like they’d written it right before they died.”

Ando was disconcerted by this development. What did this mean? Why did they leave a note?

“Can you tell me what the note said?”

“Hang on.” The assistant professor put down the receiver, but was back a few seconds later. “It’s going to take me a while to locate it. Shall I fax it to you later?”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Ando told the man his fax number and then hung up.

He couldn’t leave his desk after that. The fax machine was on the middle shelf of a computer cabinet two desks away. He swiveled in his chair forty-five degrees to face the fax machine, and then waited for the transmission to arrive.

He couldn’t relax; he couldn’t even lean back in his chair. Instead, while he waited, he went over the course of events up to now in his head. Reviewing the past was all he could do. He was too distracted wondering when the fax machine would come to life to start a new train of thought.

Finally, the machine started to buzz and a fax began to roll out. He waited until it was finished, then got up and tore it off. He returned to his seat, spread the fax open on his desktop, and read: