Kojo Suzuki - Spiral

“What should I do?” Ando wept. He was incapable of coining to a decision on his own.

“That’s your problem,” Miyashita said-not cruelly, but with calm self-possession.

“But I don’t know what I should do.”

“Think about it. If we get in Sadako’s way, you and I, we’ll be killed on the spot. She’ll just find someone else to assist her, that’s all.”

Miyashita was probably right. Everything was clear when he thought about it coolly. Ando’s meeting up with Sadako had not been pure chance. She’d been watching him. None of it was accident, not his brush with her in Mai’s apartment, not his rooftop encounter with her, not their meeting at Sangubashi Station. She’d foreseen that Ando would ferret out the truth, and she’d made her moves. Suddenly, Ando felt it was simply impossible to outmaneuver Sadako. All he had to do was make one false move and the ring virus in his body would start to wreak havoc on him.

Miyashita had seen this immediately and drawn the obvious conclusion, but Ando still couldn’t quite make up his mind.

“Are you saying I should cooperate with her?”

“What else can you do?”

“What about humanity?”

“Come on, stop acting like you’re a delegate for the whole species. Besides, you’ve already decided, haven’t you? Consider the reward, for God’s sake. Are you telling me you mean to pass it up?”

“But it’s not fair. What do you get out of it?”

“I’ll consider it a sort of insurance policy. One day I might be glad I had it, you know. We’ve no idea what life has in store for us.”

Ando realized he was cornered, snared. Decades from now, he would be in the history books, and not as a hero. He’d be remembered as the traitor thanks to whom the human race was driven to the brink of extinction. That was, of course, if there was still a human race to remember him. If the species ended, so did its history.

Why did I ever get involved in the first place?

Remorsefully, Ando thought back to how it had all begun for him. How could he forget it? There had been Ryuji’s autopsy, and then the code, RING. It was meant to inform Ando of the existence of a report, Ring. He’d read that report. If he hadn’t read it, he wouldn’t be in this mess now. If only he hadn’t read it…

Something interrupted Ando’s reflections. A thought. There was something else going on here.

“Ryuji,” he muttered. Miyashita gave him a worried look. Ando paid no attention, though, as he pursued this new line of reasoning. He was beginning to think he saw a will at work behind all the events he’d accepted as random. Had Ryuji really sent him the words “ring” and “mutation” in code out of pure goodwill? Just to tell Ando to pay attention? Ando began to doubt that. He began to see those hints as course corrections, delivered at moments when Ando seemed about to get off track. Why had Ryuji done such a thing?

There was something else, too. Just why had Mai ended up watching the killer video anyway? If it hadn’t been for the coincidence of her watching it on the very day she was ovulating, Sadako would never have been reborn. Where had Mai gotten the tape?

At Ryuji’s place.

Why had she gone there?

Ryuji’s article was missing a page.

But was it really missing a page?

Only Ryuji knows.

Everything came back to Ryuji.

Ryuji, Ryuji, Ryuji.

He and Mai had been intimate. It wasn’t strange if he knew her menstrual cycle. She’d been guided by him on that very day.

Oh Lord…

Ando looked at Miyashita’s face, at his eyes narrowed with concern, and whispered, “It’s Ryuji.”

Miyashita’s eyes narrowed even further: he didn’t understand.

“Don’t you see? It’s Ryuji. He’s been the one pulling the strings all along. He’s behind Sadako.”

As Ando repeated the name, he felt his suspicions harden into certainty. Ryuji had been playing all of them. He’d written the script.

Outside the window the sounds of the city at night eddied and swirled. A car passed by on the Metropolitan Expressway with a grating noise as if it were dragging something heavy behind it. Like fingernails on glass it sounded at first, then turned into loud male laughter, an eerie shriek coming from someplace far away. Ando thought it was Ryuji’s voice.

He called out to empty space. “Ryuji, are you there?”

Naturally there was no reply. But Ando could sense him. Ryuji was present. The man who had joined forces with Sadako to hunt humanity for sport was in his room, watching how things went, laughing derisively at Ando for noticing too late to do anything about it.

A light came on in Ando’s head as he surmised what Ryuji wanted. Something he was unable to obtain without Ando’s cooperation. Ryuji’s occult motives were finally clear, but it didn’t do Ando any good. It was too late, the course of events was beyond his influence. The only thing left for Ando to do was to join his voice with Ryuji’s, with the chuckling in the dark.

On a day so clear it was hard to believe it was still the rainy season, Ando went to the beach. Two years ago to the day, at this very place, his son had died. It wasn’t that Ando made a point of coming here on the anniversary. He hadn’t come the year before. But today he had a reason to be here.

Unlike two years ago, the waves today were gentle as they approached the shore. White sand stretched away on either side, and here and there anglers stood casting their lines. It was still early summer, and there were no bathers, only two or three families picnicking on plastic sheets.

Ando felt as if he’d been transported back to that fateful day. The waves were different, and there was a seawall stretching out from the shore that hadn’t been there before; even the contours of the dunes had changed. To Ando, however, everything was just as it had been. The last two years now seemed to him nothing but one long nightmare.

He sat on an embankment from which he could look down over the beach. Sunlight as bright as midsummer’s hit him full in the face. Shading his eyes with his hand, he squinted at a small figure playing at the water’s edge. The figure didn’t approach the water, but squatted in place, barefoot on dry sand, digging holes and making sand piles. Ando couldn’t take his eyes off the figure.

He thought he heard someone calling his name. Wondering if he’d imagined it, he looked around. He saw a stocky man who was walking along the top of the embankment, headed straight for Ando.

The man wore a striped long-sleeve shirt buttoned right up to the top. The shirt looked about to burst; the man’s chest and upper arms were amazingly well-muscled. His short neck was wrinkled above his painfully tight-looking collar. The man’s blocky, angular face was sweaty, and he was out of breath as he approached, swinging a plastic bag from a convenience store.

Ando recognized him. The last time he’d seen the man, it was at the medical examiner’s office, back in October.

The man sat down beside Ando, shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Hey, long time no see.”

Ando didn’t reply. He didn’t even meet the man’s eyes, but kept his gaze on the small figure playing near the waves.

“Man, you just disappeared without telling me where you were going. What kind of way is that to treat a friend?” The man took a can of cold oolong tea from the bag, cleared his throat, and drank it dry in a few gulps. When he’d finished, he took out another can and offered it to Ando. “Thirsty?”

Ando accepted the can silently and popped the ring pull.

“How did you know I was here?” Ando asked calmly.

“Miyashita told me that today was the anniversary of your kid’s death. The rest was guesswork. You’re not that hard to figure out,” the man laughed.