Okiku always knows how to get to the heart of the matter.
I dip below the water, blowing bubbles out of my mouth before I resurface. “You’re right. I don’t feel bad at all, and I feel bad about not feeling bad. But we can’t allow our personal feelings to get in the way. We break the law every time we kill one of these murderers. Let’s not add killing future murderers to the list, because that category doesn’t leave a lot of people outside it. It…it keeps us from being them, you know?”
“It prevents other innocents’ deaths.”
I close my eyes. “Even so. I’m sorry, Ki.”
This time, she takes a little longer to respond. “I understand.”
“Good. Now come here, and let’s hug it out.”
“No.”
“Don’t be shy. I can barely see you in all this steam. Oh hey, maybe I’ll be the one to go there.”
I splash noisily toward her, but by the time I make my way there, she is already out of the spring, shaking her head at me and my peculiar enthusiasm.
“Come on,” I cajole, laughing, but she ignores me and drifts back into the room.
Without Okiku around to tease, there isn’t much else to do, so after a few minutes, I emerge from the spring, slip into a fresh yukata, and crawl onto the futon.
I pick up my phone and stare hard at the photo I took of myself. Okiku curls up on the floor beside me, watching me watching. Nothing crawls out of the picture. Nothing curls around my features like it did in Kagura’s photograph. Nothing moves.
Chapter Nine
The Village
I don’t realize the extent of the search party until we arrive at the base of Mount Fuji, near the entrance to Aokigahara. The area is teeming with people, mostly police officers and volunteers. There are also reporters with cameras—many of them foreigners—harassing a few of the cops. I assume the media’s on standby in case there are any developments.
A few of them zone in on us, though the animation in their faces dies as we make our way to where a crowd of volunteers waits for instructions.
I shift my feet, unable to hide my unease. I don’t like reporters, though I admit past experiences may have colored my judgment. Okiku is less biased than I am. She drifts between a reporter’s summation of events and his cameraman, peering inside the lens while the former prattles on. I’m sure anyone in the audience with an inclination toward mediumship is going to get a kick out of that broadcast.
I haven’t slept much. I woke up in the early hours of the morning and reread the diary and the notes on The Book of Unnatural Changes so many times that I’m sure I could quote the book verbatim by now. But I don’t feel tired. If anything, something in those pages gnaws at me, but I don’t know what exactly or why I feel on edge.
Auntie dropped us off after extracting promises that we keep her informed as soon as we learn anything. Saya, who shouldn’t be traipsing about forests at her age anyway, decided to stay behind with Auntie to keep her company.
“I didn’t think there would be this many people,” Callie admits, looking around.
“Yeah, well, nothing says ‘Pull out all the stops and leave no stone unturned’ like a cable network breathing down your neck because you’ve lost their reality TV stars slash meal tickets.”
“But that’s a good thing, right? I don’t think they would have been this proactive if only Kagura was missing.”
I remind her that the ghost hunters are the sole reason Kagura is missing, making Callie’s case for them null and void.
One of the volunteers in charge signals for attention, silencing Callie’s attempt at a comeback. It’s probably better that she doesn’t know about my distorted photo. I’m not sure what it means myself. I remember the photo Kagura sent, with her face as disfigured as mine and most of her companions missing their heads.
I don’t know what the disfigurement means, but I’m almost certain that the lack of heads means that they’re dead.
I tug at the backpack I’m wearing. Earlier this morning, I stole into Kagura’s room and pilfered supplies. I plan to apologize to Kagura if—when—I find her, but I still feel guilty. I half expected Callie to be suspicious, because she always seems to have a nose for knowing when I’m up to no good. But other people in the group are carrying knapsacks, and so far, she’s oblivious.
The volunteers are divided into small groups, each led by at least one person familiar with Aokigahara. Callie doesn’t understand as much Japanese as I do, so I relay the instructions to her as our leader drones on.