“You remember how I saw a ghost there?” Hifumi went on, turning into a sharp curve. The sudden curve threw Yuichi against the door.

“Remember? I went for a job interview in Hakata, and took the road over the pass on the way home? And my headlights suddenly went out. I was scared, and pulled over and started the engine again, and suddenly there was this guy sitting next to me, covered in blood. You remember when I told you that?”

As he pulled up close to a Honda Cub motorcycle lazily tooling down the middle of the road, Hifumi shot a glance at Yuichi.

“I was terrified. The engine wouldn’t start, and this bloody man was sitting in the passenger seat. I must have screamed as I was turning the key.”

Hifumi laughed at this memory, but Yuichi just said, “Hurry up and pass him,” motioning to the motorcycle with his chin.

On the night in question it was just after eight p.m. when Hifumi had driven over the pass. After finishing the interview at the company-he couldn’t recall now which one it was-he was disappointed, knowing he wouldn’t get the job, so to make up for it he went to a massage parlor in Tenjin. Choosing a good massage parlor probably meant more to him at the time than the job interview. After being satisfied at the massage parlor, he went out for some ramen and then headed back home, over the pass.

It was still early, but he saw no other cars headed in the opposite direction, let alone ones headed in the same direction. The woods lit up in his headlights looked eerie, and he began to regret having taken this back road instead of the main highway to save on tolls.

To drown out this lonely feeling he started singing loudly, but his voice only seemed to be sucked out into the forest surrounding him. His headlights-his only lifeline in this pitch-black mountain pass-started to act strangely just as he was reaching the highest point of the road. At first Hifumi had thought something was wrong with his eyes.

The next instant something black flashed in front of his flickering lights. Hifumi slammed on the brakes, clutching the steering wheel to keep it straight. Now his headlights went out completely. Straight ahead was a darkness so deep it was as if his eyes were closed, and though the engine was still running, the incessant chirping of insects from the woods was so loud he wanted to clap his hands over his ears to drown it out. The AC was freezing cold, but he was starting to sweat. He felt as if lukewarm water had been poured all over him.

Just then the whole car vibrated and the engine cut out. And he sensed something-or someone-in the passenger seat beside him. Fear gives us tunnel vision. He couldn’t look to the side, or turn to see what was there. All he could manage was to stare straight ahead.

The engine wouldn’t start. Hifumi let out a scream. He knew something was sitting beside him. But what it was, he had no idea.

… It hurts so much…

A man’s voice said it from beside him. Hifumi tried to drown it out with another scream. The engine still wouldn’t start.

… This is it… I can’t stand it anymore…

Again the man’s voice. Hifumi put his hand on the door, ready to flee.

At that very instant a man’s bloody face was reflected in the windshield. The man was gazing steadily in his direction.

Fusae heard something at the front door. She glanced at the clock, then hurriedly stuffed the manila envelope she’d been vaguely looking at into her apron pocket. On the envelope was written Receipt enclosed. Still seated, Fusae reached toward the gas range and reheated the small arakabu fish cooked in soy sauce.

“Evening!”

Fusae heard Hifumi’s cheerful voice and stood up. “Oh, Hifumi’s with you?” she said, and went out to the hallway.

Hifumi quickly removed his shoes and went in, almost elbowing Yuichi out of the way. “Hi, Grandma. Something smells really good,” he said, peering into the kitchen.

“You haven’t eaten yet? It’ll be ready in a minute, so would you like to eat with Yuichi?”

“I’d love to!” Hifumi happily replied, nodding several times.

“Did you play pachinko?” Fusae placed the lid on the pan.

“No, the slots. But we had no luck. Lost again.”

“How much?”

Hifumi held up his fingers to indicate fifteen thousand yen.

Fusae felt relieved that Yuichi had come home with Hifumi. She knew he had absolutely nothing to do with the murder at Mitsuse Pass, but still the detective’s visit-his questions about Yuichi’s whereabouts on Sunday and the lie she’d told him-left her with an unpleasant aftertaste.

Yuichi had most definitely gone out that evening in his car. But since Mrs. Okazaki had insisted that he hadn’t, even if he had, it couldn’t have been for very long. The same thing had happened before, when Yuichi had taken Katsuji to the hospital. Even when he went out for a couple of hours, Mrs. Okazaki would always insist his car had never left the lot.

“Hifumi, were you with Yuichi on Sunday?” Fusae asked after making sure that Yuichi had gone upstairs.

As she checked the fish in the pan, Hifumi said, tilting his head, “Sunday? No, I wasn’t… Uh-I think he must have gone to the repair place. He was talking about getting a part for his car.” As he spoke, he reached out to snare a piece of fish from the pan.

“Hey, I told you it would be ready soon,” Fusae said, lightly slapping his hand away. Hifumi obediently pulled back.

“Do you have any sashimi?” he asked, opening the refrigerator.

Fusae prepared a plate of food for Hifumi first, then took the clean laundry she’d folded in the evening upstairs to Yuichi’s room. She opened the door and found him sprawled out on his bed. “I’ll be down in a minute,” he muttered curtly.

Fusae placed the clean clothes into the drawers of the worn-out dresser, the one with little bear faces as handles that he’d used since he moved here with his mother.

“The police came here today,” Fusae said as she pushed the clothes into the drawers, deliberately looking away from him. “So there’s a girl in Fukuoka you were writing to? I’m sure you already heard this, but that girl died.”

Fusae turned toward Yuichi for the first time. He was still on the bed, and had only lifted his head. He was expressionless, as if his mind was elsewhere.

“You heard about it, right? What happened to that girl,” Fusae started to ask again.

“Yeah, I heard,” Yuichi said slowly.

“Did you ever meet her, or did you just write to her?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“If you met her, maybe you should at least go to her funeral?”

“Her funeral?”

“That’s right. If you only wrote to her, you don’t need to. But it’s different if you actually met her…”

“No, I never met her.”

Fusae could see that the bottoms of Yuichi’s socks were soiled, the dirt tracing the shape of his toes. Yuichi was staring so fixedly at her that Fusae had the feeling someone else was standing behind her.

“I don’t know this girl,” Fusae continued, “but my gosh, people do some awful things in this world, don’t they… The police said they already know who did it, and that that person is trying to get away and they’re searching for him.”

“They know who did it?”

“That’s what the patrolman told me. He said the man ran off, and they haven’t located him yet.”

“Are you talking about that college student?” Yuichi asked.

“What college student?”

“Isn’t that what they said on TV?”

The certainty with which he said this finally convinced Fusae of one awful fact:

He is mixed up in all this, after all.

“The police really said that?” Yuichi asked. “That that college student is the murderer?” Fusae nodded. She had no idea how far his relationship with the girl had gone, but it was understandable that he’d feel hatred toward the criminal.

“They’ll find him soon. He can’t run forever,” Fusae said, consoling him.