Time: 22:47. Rain drummed against the window of Takumi's apartment monotonously, like a metronome counting down the seconds to the end. The city outside the window drowned in fog, neon signs blurred in the wet air, reflecting in puddles on the asphalt. The room smelled of stale tobacco.
The phone on the table vibrated, bouncing on a stack of unpaid bills. Unknown number. Takumi stared at the screen as if it were a grenade with the pin pulled. He knew who it was. He always knew.
- Hello? His voice trembled despite all attempts to sound normal.
- Takumi. Kaoru's voice was soft, almost tender, like silk wrapped around a knife blade. You're still not sleeping.
He swallowed. His throat was dry.
- Kaoru… What happened?
- Nothing terrible. A pause. A rustle, probably she was turning a page of a book or running her nail across glass. I just need to talk to you. Come to me. Now.
Takumi closed his eyes. He remembered how two days ago, drunk and angry, he had told Kimura about the plan to eliminate the witnesses. He had just hinted, nothing specific… But Kaoru always knew. She always knew too much.
- Okay, he said. I'll be there in twenty minutes.
- Don't forget your umbrella. She laughed, a light, crystal laugh, as if they really were just friends arranging a meeting. The rain is so nasty today.
Kaoru's house stood on the outskirts of the city, in a district where rich people once lived, but now only she and her grandmother remained. The mansion was two-story, clad in dark wood that had turned black with age, like an old bruise. The roof sagged, the gutters rusted, and the garden was overgrown with weeds, hiding broken garden gnomes and rusty children's swings. It seemed the house was breathing, slowly, heavily, like a dying animal.
Takumi pushed the gate. It creaked like a scream. The paving stones were covered with moss, and the lantern by the entrance flickered, casting long, trembling shadows.
*Click.* The door opened by itself, as if it had been waiting for him.
Inside, it smelled of incense, wax, and something sweet, too sweet, like rotting fruit. The hallway was paved with black-and-white tiles like a chessboard, and on the walls hung paintings in gilded frames: landscapes, portraits of unfamiliar people with faded faces. The floor creaked underfoot as if someone was walking behind him.
- Kaoru? he called.
There was no answer. Only an echo.
He went further. The living room opened before him like a maw, huge, with high ceilings and stucco that was crumbling, exposing gray plaster. A black leather sofa stood in the middle of the room, with a pillow neatly placed on it, embroidered with a rabbit. The fireplace was lit, the fire crackled, casting orange reflections on the walls covered with old photographs. In one of them, Takumi recognized himself, laughing, hugging Kaoru by the shoulders. "Summer festival, three years ago."
- You came. The voice came from behind him.
He turned around.
Kaoru stood in the archway leading to the dining room. She was wearing a black dress with a high collar that hugged her figure like a second skin. Her hair, loose, dark brown, fell over her shoulders. In her hand she held a glass of red wine. Or was it not wine?
- Are you… alone? Takumi asked, trying not to look at her hands. At the fingers that might have just been holding a knife.
- Kim is taking care of some matters. She took a sip, watching him over the rim of the glass. But that doesn't matter. Sit down.
He sat down. The sofa was cold, like a corpse.
Kaoru approached, sat down next to him, too close. Her thigh pressed against his, warmth penetrating through the fabric of his jeans. She smelled of jasmine and something else, sharp, chemical. Chloroform? Poison?
- You look tired, she said, running her finger along his cheek. Her nail scratched the skin, not hard, but enough for him to feel a drop of sweat run down his neck.
- Kaoru, what's going on? His voice broke. He clenched his fists. You're scaring me.
She smiled. The smile didn't reach her eyes.
- And you shouldn't have scared me, Takumi.
And then he understood.
She hugged him.
Gently, like a sister. Like a lover. Like a spider wrapping its prey in silk.
Her lips touched his ear:
- Forgive me.
A prick.
A sharp pain in his neck, like a snake bite. He jerked back, but his body no longer obeyed him. The world spun, the floor slipped out from under his feet. The last thing he saw was her face leaning over him, beautiful and merciless, like the moon over a cemetery.
- Sleep, Takumi, she whispered. When you wake up, we'll talk.
He woke up from the pain.
His throat burned as if he had swallowed broken glass. His arms and legs were tied with thick, rough ropes cutting into his skin. He lay on a large oak table, the same one where they had once drunk sake and laughed at stupid jokes. The walls of the room were paneled with dark wood, and a chandelier made of black metal hung from the ceiling, covered in cobwebs. The windows were covered with heavy fabric that let in neither light nor sound.
Kaoru sat on a chair nearby, watching him. She was now wearing a rabbit mask, white, with black slits for the eyes and long ears sticking up. In her hands she twirled a scalpel, catching the reflections of the fire.
- Ah, you're awake. Her voice sounded muffled, distorted. Good morning, Takumi.
He jerked, trying to sit up, but the ropes cut deeper. Blood ran down his wrists, dripping onto the floor.
- Kaoru… what the fuck is going on?!
- You know. She stood up and walked over to the table with the tools. There lay: a chainsaw, scissors, a hammer, a set of surgical instruments, a bottle of clear liquid. You told them about our plan. About Asura. About everything. You really showed off in the hospital? The doctor told me everything.
- I… I didn't mean to! He wheezed. Tears flowed down his temples. I was just… I was drunk, I wasn't thinking!
- But I was thinking. She picked up the chainsaw and pulled the cord. The engine roared, filling the room with a deafening growl. I always think, Takumi. Unlike you.
- Please… He began to cry. A warm stream of urine ran down his legs. We're friends! We're like brother and sister! You can't!
Kaoru leaned down and touched his forehead with cold fingers.
- We were friends. Her voice became quiet, almost tender. But you betrayed me. And I don't forgive traitors.
She straightened up. She brought the saw to his throat.
- You fucking psycho bitch, I hate you, you whore's daughter.
And she pulled the trigger.
Blood gushed out like a fountain, splattering the walls, ceiling, and her dress. Takumi twitched and wheezed, but there were no more sounds, only wet gurgling and the crack of the blade cutting through bone. Kaoru didn't look away. Her hands were steady, her movements refined, like an artist working on a masterpiece.
When it was over, she turned off the saw. She removed the mask. Her face was pale, but her eyes were burning.
- There we go. She wiped her face with a handkerchief and threw it on the floor. Now no one will know.
She took a knife and carefully cut the ropes. Takumi's corpse collapsed to the floor with a dull thud. Kaoru put on rubber gloves, took out a large black trash bag and plastic wrap from the closet.
She spent two hours cutting the body into pieces. Arms, legs, torso, everything neatly, as if following an anatomy textbook. She collected the blood in a bucket, adding bleach to it. She crushed the bones with a hammer so they would burn better.
Then she carried the parts to the basement, where an old furnace stood. She stacked them inside, poured kerosene over them, and set them on fire.
The fire burned brightly, illuminating her face with an orange glow. She sat on the steps, watching as the flames devoured the last remains of Takumi.
- Goodbye, buddy, she said quietly.
When only ashes remained of the corpse, she collected them in a metal bucket, carried it to the bathroom, and flushed it down the toilet. The water swirled in a vortex, carrying away everything that was left of Takumi.
Kaoru removed her gloves, washed her face, and put on a clean dress. Then she picked up the phone and dialed Kim.
- Everything's ready, she said. You can come over.
She looked at the clock. It was 3:17 at night.
- Tomorrow will be a new day, she whispered to herself, stroking the rabbit mask lying on the table.
It definitely will be.