Introduction

Narisawa Shinji | Apartment 104

The rain hammered down on the tiles of the first-floor balcony, the gray sky above offering no promise of reprieve. The world often seemed to pause during weather like this, as if it was urging all souls willing to listen, to reflect on themselves and the world, nothing and everything all at once.

In a corner of the balcony, just beyond the rain’s reach, sat a man. His unkempt three-day stubble framed a restless face; eyes blue as the night sky peered through a limp and greasy curtain of brain hair. He sat uneasily in a battered plastic chair that had clearly seen better days, though he seemed unbothered by its condition. A shabby black tracksuit clung to his frame, completing the image of neglect. On the small table before him sat an overflowing ashtray and a half-empty bottle of sake, from which he took increasingly shorter sips.

With a sharp click of his lighter he ignited yet another cigarette, was it the sixth, was it the seventh? He had lost count by now; with a sigh he dialed the sole number in his phone again.

His hands were shaking more and more. Was it the alcohol? Everything that was going on here?

Every peep of the dial tone grated on his nerves more than the previous…its monotony punctuated by his muttered curses, until finally, someone answered. His heart skipped a beat. Finally.

“...Thought you weren’t picking up anymore. I’ve been trying for the fifth time now God damn it”

"Yeah, sorry. It’s been a busy day. What’s up? Have you finally calmed down and figured something out?"

“I wish. It’s getting worse every day. It’s like the walls are watching me, and even the damn dripping tap has started following a rhythm.”

"Cut you some slack. How long have we known each other now huh? Six years? After everything we’ve been through, I guess I should give you the benefit of the doubt, but your story still sounds crazy dude. But whatever, why are you calling?"

As though the world itself was eavesdropping on their conversation, a taxi pulled into the street below at that very moment, stopping in front of the four-story building. A young woman, perhaps twenty years old, stepped out.

Her shoulder-length black hair fell messily across her face as she hefted her belongings from the car. The taxi driver showed no inclination to help her, and her tired demeanor suggested she expected no different. She had a cute oval shaped face with soft and smooth features.

They had a fair complexion and a subtle, natural glow that underlined large and expressive eyes, even though particularly annoyed at that moment. Her eyebrows were neatly shaped and complemented the overall balance of her youthful face, especially together with her small nose.

She seemed like someone who didn't belong here, not yet. The sounds of the rain were only interrupted by the man's heavy breathing. He watched her. For every movement she made, he moved closer to the railing without getting up yet. It was as if he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame and her resemblance to…

"Hey, you're dead or what?"

“I’m on the balcony. She's just pulling up.”

"Oh, the new tenant? So? You think it’s her? You've got such a good eye for women after all."

“I don’t know. Time will tell, it's not as if she has a sign on her head... If it’s not her, I’m done for. I don’t have much time left. This house has already taken too much from me—I barely remember who I am anymore.”

Behind him, an eerie silence settled. Filled with thoughts that didn’t feel like his own—or were they? He wasn’t sure anymore. Even worse, he wasn’t certain he wanted to know. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

He looked around, the dark corners of his apartment seemed to disappear into something darker than shadows. His breathing quickened.

His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to find something specific. But there was nothing. He took a long swig from the bottle, as if trying to drown the weird feeling creeping up inside of him.

"Just let me do it. If what you say is true, then she'll end up like the guy before, you just have to push her in the right direction, if necessary, I'll intervene myself."

“Easier said than done. I’m not exactly trustworthy-looking, but I don’t have a choice if I don’t want to end up as a husk.”

"A husk? Oh, right. That’s what you call them…"

“Yes, exactly.”

The mere thought of that fate sent a shudder through him. He tipped the bottle back again, gulping greedily. The alcohol barely touched him now; soon, even its taste would fade.

"Contact me if something happens or you need something. Otherwise, I’ll send you everything I’ve found by Monday. The connections are there, but I don’t know how much it’ll help us with so little time left, IF this all is true after all."

“Better than nothing. I’ll take any chance to get out of here.”

"I know. I don’t want to lose my best customer. But are you absolutely sure about dragging a stranger into this? Espe-cially such a young innocent woman?"

The alcohol burned in his throat, squirming like a living thing within him, clawing its way out. He had avoided pondering such questions. His life mattered more than that of a stranger, didn’t it? Especially now, when the plan was already in motion. Why worry about it?

She was a stranger who was supposed to do nothing more than help him save his life. It wasn't personal, she was just this one person who happened to move into the right apartment.

Maybe she survived.

Maybe she was different from the others.

Maybe…

Just Maybe.

"Yes. I’ve been through worse, and I don’t plan on dying here.”

"Alright, then. I’ll hang up and get everything ready. Expect Monday."

“Thanks. Take care.”

"Bye Bye."

“...”

He hung up, staring at the phone for several long seconds before slipping it into his pocket. Dragging deeply on his cigarette, he watched the smoke swirl around him. Below, the young woman continued hauling her bags from the taxi.

Unsteady, he rose and leaned against the balcony railing, peering down. His eyes brimmed with sorrow so profound he couldn’t name it, even if asked. How could he? All he knew was this: the young woman below was his last and only hope—his only chance to escape this house.

“Shinji”

He froze. Nothing would make him turn around. It was all in his head. The voices, the melodies, the rhythm of the dripping tap that he imagined.

“Shinji-kun...”

“Shin Shin”

“Shin...”

It was as if someone was holding a red-hot iron to his neck, forcing him to turn around. No, it was impossible, why now? Sweat trickled down his face as he turned and stared into the darkness of his apartment, the remaining embers of his cigarette falling to the floor as the melody of a music box began to play the lovely tune he knew so incredibly well. There was no one there.

The voices were in his head.

Slowly he dragged himself back into the room, barely getting his feet over the threshold, and looked around.

No one was there.

He went further in, looked in the dark corners, on the bed, in the cupboards.

Nothing and no one.

Finally, he looked in the mirror. This big old mirror that had been here before he moved in and looked in complete shock at the hand that was clearly visible on his shoulder.

“Shinji”

The voice was right by his ear.