Page 13 of The Red Collar
Sometimes they got talkative. Those who remembered the most about their life and passing shared very graphic and gruesome details of their deaths. A few shared other kinds of personal info that Shinjididn’twant to hear.
But his privacy was the one thing that suffered the most. Living with dead people watching his every move was uncomfortable, and he couldn’t bring visitors home. Fortunately, the majority of his ex-boyfriends were part of the Onmyoryo and could also see ghosts, so they understood the issue.
The taxi reached Shinji’s home, and the ghost followed him out of the car and into the apartment block. Shinji unlocked his apartment on the first floor and invited the ghost inside.
Though less shocked, the jogger still looked lost, not yet fully grasping his situation. His gaze trailed over Shinji’s apartment, checking out his furniture, as if he hadn’t seen such things before. Many ghosts did that. It was their way of struggling to remember what it felt like to be alive and to connect the images of that time with whatever they were seeing while in spirit form.
“Are you all right?” Shinji asked.
Well, as all right as a ghost could be, anyway. The jogger stared at him for a few long seconds before nodding slowly.
“Good.” Shinji grabbed the notepad from his suit jacket’s pocket and tore out a piece of paper, then picked up a ballpoint pen from the living room’s low table. He sat on the small sofa and looked at the jogger. “Do you remember your name now?”
“I think so… I’m… I’m Yamato Daichi.”
“All right. Very good.” Shinji tried to sound encouraging, though he knew it didn’t help much. “What about your home address?”
“I don’t remember,” Yamato said, voice trembling. “I don’t even know if I have a family.” The thought seemed to break him, and he stared blankly at the floor.
“It’s okay. It’ll come to you. For now, knowing your name is very helpful and we might be able to find your family.”
Not as helpful as Shinji made it out to be. There were probably many men named Yamato Daichi in Tokyo. He’d have to research and see whether the jogger’s face appeared anywhere along with the name. He’d have to do it discreetly too, without Hayashi finding out. There was no way he could explain to the chief that he managed to discover the victim’s identity out of nowhere. If Yamato appeared in the missing persons database that would make it much easier.
“Tell me,” Shinji said, “do you remember the moment it happened?” These types of memories triggered some ghosts. They’d scream, cry, even lash out at Shinji. It’d take hours or days to soothe them and convince them to talk again. But it was a risk he had to take.
“It’s all blurry,” Yamato said, an icy breeze wafting from him. “I jog early because I like the morning air before the streets get crowded.” He paused a second as if this thought surprised him, then continued, “Not sure what happened next. I think I spoke with someone.”
“One person or more?”
“I don’t know… But I felt a sharp pain in my arm.” He rubbed his bicep where Suzuki had found the needle wound. “I struggled and grabbed onto that person’s clothes… I think… and snapped off a thread. I could feel it between my fingers. Then…”
Shinji waited for Yamato to gather his thoughts. Judging from the fearful look that took shape on his face and the way his hand lurched from his bicep to his throat, he’d remembered something terrible.
“Next time I came to, I couldn’t move,” Yamato said. “But it felt like I was drowning.”
That must’ve been from the wire choking him which meant the sedative either didn’t work or it was not meant to keep the victim knocked out for long.
Sickening.
“I blacked out again,” the ghost said, “and when I opened my eyes, I was staring at my dead body. It was a horrible sight.” Tears started falling down his face, then disappeared into thin air once they dropped from his jaw.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Shinji said, though he knew being sorry wasn’t enough to make Yamato feel better. “My superior officer and I will do our best to find and bring the murderer to justice.”
“Your superior… the guy with the mean look on his face?”
Shinji chuckled. “Yes. He’s Chief Inspector Hayashi Teruo, homicide detective with the TMPD.”
“He seemed suspicious of you,” Yamato said. “Kept questioning you. That’s when I realized maybe I should stop talking.”
Shinji smiled and nodded. “He’s very… thorough. But that’s to be expected for someone working in this field.” He paused. “Do you remember anything prior to your morning jog? Any other important events?”
Yamato shook his head.
Shinji folded the piece of paper and put it in his notebook. “Please remain here in my apartment. I know it’s difficult hovering in one place, but I need to be able to reach you in case you remember something else.”
“I understand.”
Shinji left Yamato in the living room and went to his bedroom. His suitcase lay on the floor, only half emptied and his work suits hung on the door of his wardrobe. He placed a fresh shirt on an empty chair and decided that unpacking was a problem for another day. Maybe tomorrow night or maybe in the next century. He was too tired to care.
