Jon Athan

AM I BEAUTIFUL?

WARNING

This book contains scenes of intense violence and some disturbing themes. Some parts of this book may be considered violent, cruel, disturbing, or unusual. This book is not intended for those easily offended or appalled. Please enjoy at your own discretion.

PART I

1

THE ENCOUNTER

November 10, 2017

Adam Miller watched her from across the busy bar, eyes burning with desire. He didn’t hear or see anyone else. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on. She stood five-one—five-three in her casual high-heeled boots—with a slim but curvy figure. Her silky black hair reached down to her shoulders. She wore a black dress, her legs swathed in matching stockings.

Her brown eyes, although deep and dark, glowed in the room’s dim lighting. Her face was round and smooth, lips vibrant and plump, nose small and wide.

She sat on a stool at the bar, sipping on a Strawberry Sangria. She was alone but approachable, smiling tenderly at the other patrons. She wasn’t like the other young women in the bar, cell phones practically grafted to their hands and their eyes glued to their social media apps while shrill, screeching laughter escaped their mouths.

“You’re very, very lucky.” A man’s voice snapped Adam out of his trance.

He wrenched his gaze away from the young woman and found himself sitting at a booth. His business partner, Dallas Reynolds, sat beside him and two Japanese men in suits sat across from them. They visited the British pub for a nomikai—an after-work drinking party to mark a company’s accomplishments, welcome new team members, and build relationships with new and existing partners and clients.

The group celebrated a successful business meeting between their travel agencies. They had agreed to a partnership.

Adam looked at Suzuki Hayato, the older Japanese man, and then at Watanabe Yuki, the young salaryman. He couldn’t tell which one had spoken to him.

Buzzed from the alcohol, Hayato pointed at the bar and said, “I see these young girls watching you. Do you know why?”

“I didn’t notice,” Dallas said with a smirk. He definitely felt the leering eyes on him. He took a swig of his beer, then he asked, “Why do you think they’re staring, Mr. Suzuki?”

“I told you, call me Hayato,” the Japanese man responded before taking a sip of his alcohol. He sucked his teeth and grimaced, then he let out a satisfied sigh. He said, “To answer your question, it is because you are… gaikokujin. That means… person from a foreign country.”

“Foreigner,” Yuki said.

“Yes. Yes… Foreigners. And in this country, this beautiful country… Japanese people love foreigners,” Hayato said, chuckling. He spoke slowly so as not to slur his words. He said, “You are… kakkoii. That means… I think you say it is ‘cool.’ Cool style, cool music, cool movies. Western culture is ‘cool’ to us Japanese people.”

Dallas said, “Well, thank you very much. A lot of Westerners love Japanese culture, too, you know? Glad to see the feelings are mutual.”

“But, but, but,” Hayato mumbled, staring down at his drink.

The alcohol was getting to him, but he decided to take another swig. He held his glass up to Yuki. There was a hint of reluctance in Yuki’s smile, but he couldn’t reject his boss. He had to drink until his boss was ready to quit. It was an unspoken rule of the nomikai culture.

Hayato continued, “But some people love foreigners. They love you people so much that they want to date you because you are foreigners. They want to marry you. They want to live with you. They want to have your babies. Hāfu babies, uhh… ahh… mixed? Yes, mixed babies, okay? We call those people ‘gaijin hunters.’ Gaikokujin is gaijin, and gaijin is gaikokujin.”

“They both mean ‘foreigners’ in Japanese,” Yuki clarified.

Hayato said, “So, you are berry, berry…” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head upon catching his mistake—‘Not berry, very.’ He paused to lick his lips, then he said, “You are very, very lucky. I think… maybe… you can have any woman here.”

Dallas chuckled, then he said, “I think you’re being a little too kind. I mean, look at us. We’re in our thirties. Pretty much our late thirties. I don’t think any of these girls are really interested in us. Not like that at least. Maybe they want to talk, but I don’t know about living together or having mixed babies.”

“But it is true.”

“What do you think, Adam?”

Adam listened to their conversation while watching the woman at the bar. He rubbed his clean-shaved jaw and pursed his lips.

He said, “I don’t know, really.”

“It is true,” Hayato repeated with a note of frustration in his voice.

Dallas said, “Okay, okay. Well, what do you think, Yuki? Are ‘gaijin hunters’ real? Could my friend here get laid tonight?”

“Don’t say that,” Adam responded. “You know I have my girl at home.”

“I didn’t say ‘Will you get laid tonight,’ I said ‘Could you get laid tonight.’ We’re speaking hypothetically here. So, what do you think, Yuki? What are Adam-kun’s chances here?”

In the Japanese language, -kun was an honorific suffix used to refer to male colleagues. Dallas used it playfully to connect with his new business partners. Yuki glanced around the bar. They were surrounded by expatriates, tourists, and salarymen. There were some Japanese women at the bar. Most of them chatted with the foreigners, although a few enjoyed drinks alone or with other Japanese men.

Yuki nodded and said, “I think most of the girls here would be happy if one of you spoke to them.”

“Oh, really?” Dallas said, a grin stretching across his face. He threw his arm around Adam and said, “You heard our friends here, Adam. Why don’t you test their theory?”

“Shut up, man,” Adam responded.

“Hey, I’m serious.”

“I’m serious, too. Be quiet.”

“Try it,” Hayato said with a casual shrug. “As you Americans say: What could, uh… paa… possibly go wrong?”

Adam could argue with Dallas—they were close friends after all—but he couldn’t afford to offend Hayato or Yuki. They visited Japan for business.

He said, “I’m sorry, sir, but I have a wife at home. You’ll have to excuse me.”

Dallas said, “Come on, buddy, you can’t leave now. Listen, no one’s telling you to cheat. We just want to see if it’s true. Are these girls gaijin hunters? And if they are, would they be interested in guys like us?”

“If you’re so curious, why don’t you test it out yourself?”

“Because we’ve all seen you checking out that girl at the bar.”

Adam’s heart sank while Dallas laughed inwardly and Hayato cackled out loud. He felt like he had heard his wife’s voice come out of Dallas’ mouth. Excuses swirled around in his head.

‘Isn’t she an actress? I thought I recognized her from somewhere.’

‘I was just daydreaming.’

‘She looked at me first!’

Adam opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t say a word. So, he blushed, laughed, and shook his head. The other men laughed at him.

“Look, I’m not going to lie to you. I’m curious, too,” Adam said.

“I knew it,” Dallas responded.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m married. Really, guys, I’m… I’m married. Not dating, not flirting with anyone, married. We’re trying to have a baby for crying out loud. You know this, Dallas.”

“I’m just saying that I see you eye-fucking her and I think you should talk to her. You don’t have to leave with her or anything like that. Honestly, I’m on your side. It would suck if you cheated on Amber. She’s a friend of mine, too, you know? But… But for science, I feel like you should just go over there and chat with her to see what she’s all about.”

“Science,” Adam repeated sarcastically, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“What do you think, Mr. Suzuki?”

“I think… you should… stop calling me ‘Mr. Suzuki.’ I told you that many times before,” Hayato said. He clenched his fist and pretended to hit Dallas from across the table while laughing drunkenly. Dallas recoiled, his laughter as loud as Hayato’s. As he recomposed himself, adjusting his shirt and tie, Hayato said, “You are still young, Mr. Miller. Talking to a beautiful woman will not hurt you or your lovely wife. Anyway, I think it is good for you. Have fun now while you are young and… and free.”

Adam looked down at his beer, then over at the bar. He met eyes with the woman for five seconds—five seconds that felt like five minutes. He couldn’t lie to himself. He was just as curious as Dallas, and he was interested in the young woman. He was tipsy, but he wasn’t wearing beer goggles. His attraction to her was real. The feeling reminded him of when he first met Amber, his wife. It wasn’t love at first sight.

It was more like arousal at first glance.

Dallas sensed his mixed emotions. He saw the lust in his eyes and the hesitance in his frown.

He patted Adam’s shoulder and said, “Talk to her, bud. If anything goes wrong, you slip up or she slips a little something in your drink, I’ll come in and get you out of there. Come on, man, have some fun. Live a little.”

‘Live a little.’ It was an innocent phrase. It was meant to persuade people to enjoy life, but living a little sometimes cost a lot. In Adam’s case, a chat could cost him his marriage.

Adam trusted Dallas, though. Hayato and Dallas clapped as Adam chugged the rest of his beer. Yuki just smiled amusedly. Adam stood up, but he couldn’t sidestep past Dallas, so he sat on his lap and scooted over him. The men cheered for him as he staggered away from the booth. He puffed out one last sigh and waggled his arms to loosen up, like a boxer seconds away from facing his opponent.

He approached the bar. The cheering from his business associates was drowned out by the neighboring chitchat and the rock music playing from the speakers above the bar.

He took a seat beside the woman. The woman glanced at him, smiled, and then turned her attention back to her drink.

Adam watched her for fifteen seconds, hypnotized by her beauty. She started blushing, simpering while touching her hair in a nervous tic.

“Hi,” Adam said. Smiling, the woman nodded at him, although it looked more like a formal bow. Adam asked, “Do you speak English?”

The woman nodded again and said, “Yes.”

“That’s, um… cool. I mean, ka… kak…”

He couldn’t remember the Japanese word for ‘cool,’ which Hayato had taught him less than fifteen minutes ago.

The woman giggled and said, “Kakkoii?”

“Yeah, yeah, kakkoii! I think it’s very cool, very cultured, to be bilingual or trilingual or anything like that. It takes a lot of dedication to learn a new language.”

“Thank you. Should I ask?”

“Ask what?”

“Do you… speak Japanese?”

Adam chuckled and said, “I think you know the answer to that already.”

Laughing with him, the woman said, “I know, I just thought I should ask.”

They stopped laughing, but they continued smiling. Their silence would have been awkward if it weren’t for all of the noise from the other patrons. They were comfortable around each other.

“I didn’t get your name,” Adam said.

“My name is Miki.”

“Miki? Like, uh… Mickey Mouse?”

Miki giggled and nodded. She said, “Yeah, something like that. But my last name is Someya, not ‘Mouse.’ Sorry if that disappoints you.”

“Not at all, Miki Someya. That’s a very pretty name. Very cute. And I’ve walked through enough malls around here to know the Japanese word for cute. It’s… ‘kawaii,’ right?”

Miki said, “Yeah. It’s an easy one. I think it’s every Japanese girls’ favorite word.”

They shared another warm laugh.

Miki asked, “So, what’s your name?”

“Adam Mi… Miller,” Adam replied, starting out enthusiastic with his first name and ending up reluctant with his last name.

He bit his bottom lip and lowered his head. Cheaters followed a set of unspoken rules. And the first rule was: Never divulge your personal information, including your full name, your hometown, your workplace, or anything anyone could use to track you down. He broke the rule, so he figured the jig was up.

It’s a blessing in disguise, he told himself. Pack it in and walk away.

Miki asked, “What are you doing in Tokyo?”

Adam forced another smile onto his face and said, “Tell me about yourself. Where’d you learn English? You’re practically fluent.”

“Middle school, high school. I took some private lessons after I graduated. I work at a hotel, so I get a lot of practice with foreigners.”

“That’s very impressive. Well, I think I should, um…”

“Are you here on business? Sorry if I’m getting too personal. You don’t have to answer.”

There was something about Miki’s voice that Adam couldn’t resist. It was so soft, so innocent. He was trying to abandon ship, but he didn’t want to disrespect her. Talking never hurt anyone, he thought as he rubbed the nape of his neck.

He said, “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m working around here, yeah.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a, uh… An international… marketing… associate?” Adam said with obvious uncertainty. Hmm—Miki hummed with interest. Trying to change the subject, Adam pointed at her and said, “That’s a nice dress. It looks very good on you.”

“Really?” Miki asked, cheeks as red as apples. “I’m a dressmaker. Well, not really. It’s not, like, my job or anything like that. It’s just a hobby, but I like doing it and I’d love to do it as a career someday. I fixed this dress myself. Sometimes, I fix clothes for my friends, too.”

Adam stared at her, eyes bright with amazement. She didn’t seduce him by flaunting her body or whispering dirty talk into his ears. Yet, he was captivated by her. Her innocence was genuine, and that aroused him. Miki felt Adam’s eyes on her body. Nervous but excited, her blood boiled. She felt hot and dizzy, fidgety in her chair while constantly swiping at her hair. She barely knew him, but she had already fallen head over heels for him.

Adam smiled and said, “You are… just… You’re adorable. Do you know what that means?”

“Cute like a baby?” Miki asked, trying to suppress her laughter.

“Yeah, I guess that’s a good way to put it.”

“Why do you think I’m adorable?”

Adam said, “I don’t know, really. I guess it’s because you’re blushing. I don’t think I’ve seen a girl blush since high school. You’re not a high school student, are you? If you are, I might be in a whole lot of trouble.”

“No, no, you’re okay. I’m twenty-two years old.”

“Yeah? I’m thirty-seven.”

Miki said, “I see. I like… talking to older men. More experience, more to talk about.”

Adam said, “I don’t usually talk to young women, but I was… I saw you from across the bar and I thought… I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. And now that I’m here, now that I’m sitting next to you, I can see I was right.” He looked directly into her eyes and said, “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Miki’s face scrunched up, as if she were about to cry. She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled.

“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “Was that cheesy? Should I go? Yeah, I should go.”

“No, don’t,” Miki said, still laughing. “Please don’t. Just give me a minute.”

She sniffled and took a sip of her drink, then she smiled and breathed deeply through her nose. ‘You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.’ No one had ever spoken to her like that before. She had only heard those words in her favorite romance movies. The compliment sent her into a tailspin. She was as excited as she was scared. Doubt crept into her mind, filling her head with ‘what-ifs.’

What if he’s lying?

What if I say the wrong thing?

What if he’s trying to steal from me?

What if he’s telling the truth?

Visions of love flashed in her mind. She imagined herself at a candlelit dinner in an upscale restaurant with Adam, having a picnic with him under a tree’s cherry blossoms, and joining him on trips to exotic countries. In less than fifteen seconds, she envisioned a perfect future. The human imagination was a powerful thing.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, her atria flapping like a hummingbird’s wings. She unwittingly tapped her foot, the thuds clashing with the 80s rock song playing from the speakers. Her fingers trembled as she caressed her glass. She smiled, then her lips sank into a neutral expression, then she frowned, and then she smiled again. She couldn’t hide her jitters.

“You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met,” Miki blurted out as Adam got up to leave.

She stood from her stool, pressed her body up against his, and looked up into his eyes. She felt his warm breath on her face. Their mouths were open, lips shaking with excitement. They leaned in towards each other, inch by inch—close, closer. They closed their eyes before their lips touched. They shared a deep, passionate kiss.

Adam put his hands on her hips while Miki ran her fingers through his feathery black hair. Dallas and Hayato clapped from their booth. Yuki lowered his head in disapproval. The couple ignored them. They leaned away from each other. Miki let out a shuddery sigh and smiled. Adam smirked and nodded. Their doubts and worries were whisked away.

Miki said, “Do you… want to go somewhere private?”

“You have somewhere in mind?”

“Well, there are many hotels in the area. They’re called ‘love hotels.’ They’re… They’re short-stay hotels. Hourly, you know? They have TVs with a lot of movies, karaoke, snacks and coffee. And they’re cheap, too. I can… I can pay if you want.”

Adam wasn’t stupid. Some people may have used love hotels to pass the time, but those rooms were primarily used for making love. It was right there in the title: Love hotel. Miki wasn’t inviting him to watch movies or to a night of drunken karaoke. She was asking him to spend the night with her—to make love to her.

He thought about his wife. They had a healthy relationship. They argued every once in a while, but they always made up before bed. They were struggling to have a baby, but they weren’t angry about it. He had no reason to cheat—other than his high libido. He stopped thinking with his brain, stopped feeling with his heart, and allowed his lust to lead him through the minefield of adultery.

He grabbed Miki’s hand and said, “Let’s go.”

They hurried out of the bar. They roamed the streets of Kabukichō—Tokyo’s red-light district—while chatting about Japan and searching for the perfect love hotel for their affair.

Wide-eyed, Dallas looked over at the bar and asked, “Where’s Adam?” Hayato, drunk out of his mind, rambled incoherently at Yuki. Dallas knocked on the table and repeated, “Where’s Adam?”

Yuki sat upright, stretched his neck out, and scanned the bar. He saw some expatriates and salarymen. He shrugged at Dallas.

Dallas muttered, “Ah, shit, maybe he went to the bathroom.”

“The woman is gone, too,” Yuki said.

Hayato mumbled something, but they didn’t understand him.

Dallas looked at the empty stool at the bar and whispered, “Adam, man, I’m sorry.”

2

A COINCIDENCE

“Arigatou gozaimasu,” a Japanese salaryman said as he bowed and held the door open.

‘Arigatou gozaimasu’ translated to ‘thank you.’

Adam stood on the sidewalk outside, his back to the salaryman. He had spent an hour at the office, a travel agency called Express Dream Tours in central Tokyo. He pitched his business proposal and, although they didn’t sign any contracts, he managed to arrange a second meeting. Business was going well, all smiles and handshakes.

But he now stood motionless, his limp fingers barely hooked around his briefcase’s handle. Tourists and salarymen pushed past him, hurrying to their next stops, but he didn’t react.

“Da… Daijōbu desu ka?” the salaryman stuttered upon noticing the sudden change in Adam’s behavior. He grunted to capture his attention, but it didn’t work. Translating his question to English, he asked, “Are you okay?”

Adam didn’t respond. He just stood there and kept looking straight ahead. The salaryman glanced back into the office, then he shuffled out of the building and walked around Adam. He examined him as if he were marveling at a sculpture in a museum, running his eyes over him repeatedly—from head to toe and toe to head.

He waved his hand at Adam’s face—no reaction. He checked Adam’s eyes and noticed he was looking right past him, as if he weren’t even there. He stood beside Adam and tried to find what had shocked him. But Adam’s thousand-yard stare was fixed on something the salaryman couldn’t see.

It was a normal Monday morning in Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo’s business district. It was chilly outside, but not cold enough to freeze a person in an instant. And, although it looked like Adam had witnessed a violent death, there were no grisly accidents out there, either.

Just as the salaryman turned to leave, Adam said, “I think someone’s following me.”

The salaryman glanced to his left, then to his right. The crowd was active, people walking around them on the sidewalk. Men unloaded a truck in front of the local Family Mart—a convenience store—but they didn’t appear to be watching Adam. He inspected the sidewalk across the street until his eyes stopped on a woman in a long beige coat—Miki Someya. She tinkered with her cell phone while occasionally glancing over at them. She wasn’t trying to hide in plain sight, though. She was just waiting for Adam’s business meeting to officially end. She respected him and his work.

“That woman?” the salaryman asked as he pointed at her.

Adam pushed his arm down gently and said, “Yes. Please don’t point. I don’t want to cause a scene.”

“You do not… know her? She is bothering you?”

“I know her, but she doesn’t know me.”

The salaryman furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side. He wasn’t fluent, but he knew enough to communicate in English. Adam’s sentence sounded like a riddle—a verbal puzzle. It didn’t make any sense to him. He clicked his tongue, one hand on his hip while he scratched the back of his head with the other.

Adam saw the confusion on his face. He couldn’t explain himself thoroughly without a confession, and the mere thought of confessing made his skin freckle with goosebumps.

He said, “I mean, she shouldn’t know that I’m here. I wasn’t planning on meeting her. We’re not close friends, okay? Do you understand?”

“Okay,” the salaryman responded. He pointed back at the office with his thumb and asked, “Do you want me to call the police?”

“No, don’t do that. I really don’t want to cause a scene. I don’t want more people to know about… I just… I don’t want her to follow me.”

“The police can help you.”

Adam had a few options. He could have called the police, but it seemed excessive. She wasn’t hurting or even bothering him. She was waiting patiently across the street after all. He could have confronted her, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He could have walked away and ignored her, but he couldn’t predict her reaction.

He feared the Streisand effect. An attempt to hide his affair could have led him to unintentionally expose his relationship with her to the world. At the moment, running seemed like his best option.

He said, “Don’t worry about it. I think I might have been overreacting.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

“I’m positive. Have a nice day,” Adam said. Walking backwards, he bowed slightly and said, “Arigatou gozaimasu.”

“Be safe,” the salaryman said as he bowed again. “Kiwotsuketene.”

It translated to ‘take care.’

Head down and shoulders raised, Adam hurried away. He jostled through the crowd, bumping from salaryman to salarywoman to salaryman. He turned the corner and headed down a narrow street.

“Adam!” Miki yelled from behind him, jumping and waving.

Adam groaned in frustration upon hearing the chirping sound behind him, like a bird tweeting. But it didn’t come from a bird. The melody came from the green walking signal at the crosswalk behind him. He heard Miki’s hurried footsteps amidst the stampede of salarymen crossing the street. His brisk walk accelerated to a jog.

He lifted the collar of his coat up to his temple, as if that could somehow trick Miki. The light at the crosswalk was red, so he ran around the corner, circling around the block. He jogged past a ramen restaurant, a sushi shop, a convenience store, and a couple of apartment buildings. Yet, he couldn’t escape the clacking footsteps behind him.

“Adam, wait!” Miki shouted. “It’s me! It’s Miki!”

“Damn it,” he muttered as he stopped at another intersection.

He lowered his coat, loosened his shoulders, and sighed. I can’t run away from her, he thought. He accepted defeat, but he wasn’t ready to stop moving. A confrontation was inevitable, but he sought to save face. Public arguments never looked good. They were especially ugly in front of potential business partners. So, if he was going to speak to her, he planned on doing it away from the Express Dream Tours office.

The light turned green.

Chirp, chirp, the walking signal sang. Chirp, chirp!

Adam crossed the street. He walked past an Indian restaurant, an apartment building, a 100-yen shop, and another apartment building. As he approached a 7-Eleven at the corner, Miki caught up to him. She slowed her jog to a stroll beside him, visibly out of breath but still managing to smile.

She waved at him and said, “Hey.”

Refusing to acknowledge her outside, Adam gave her the cold shoulder and entered the 7-Eleven. Miki’s smile shriveled into a frown. She followed him into the convenience store. The door chime rang with their entrance.

Three people ate their microwaved lunches at the seating area near the entrance. A high school student stood near the large printer to the left, making copies of his notebook. A middle-aged woman took a drag of her cigarette in the designated smoking room next to the ATM. Two clerks—a Japanese man and a Vietnamese woman—stood behind the counter to the right.

Synchronized, the clerks said, “Irasshaimase.”

‘Welcome.’

Adam approached the magazine rack next to the printer. He perused the magazines, as if he could read Japanese. Most of the covers depicted women with large breasts in scanty bikinis.

Miki stood beside him and asked, “Are you okay?”

Adam studied the magazine rack, searching for something to read. The bikini magazines were out of the question. He grabbed a fashion magazine and thumbed through it.

Miki leaned forward and looked up at him. She asked, “Adam, is something wrong? Are you… mad?”

“What are you doing here?” Adam asked without taking his eyes off the magazine.

“I was just in the area. I saw you coming out of that office, so I thought I’d say hi. So… hi.”

“There are over ten million people in Tokyo. You expect me to believe we just ran into each other by luck? That this is just a coincidence?”

“I’m not… I don’t know why you’re angry, but I’m sorry if I did anything to upset you.”

“I’m not angry, so please stop saying that.”

Adam put the magazine back on the rack and walked away. He was, in fact, furious. Miki frowned again. She followed him to the refrigerators. A collection of sandwiches—ham and cheese, egg salad, teriyaki chicken and egg, strawberry and whipped cream—filled the shelves in front of them.

Miki said, “Okay, listen… I wasn’t expecting to find you here, but I was looking for you this weekend. I went to the bar, I walked around Kabukichō… I wanted to see you again, Adam. Is that a bad thing?”

Adam grabbed a strawberry sandwich from the refrigerator and examined it. He had never seen anything like it before.

He asked, “How did you find me?”

“I told you already.”

“No, you didn’t. You said you were looking for me in Kabukichō. How did you find me here? You were waiting for me outside of that office, weren’t you? How did you know I was going to be there?”

“I didn’t know you were going to be there. I remembered you said you were an international marketing associate. So, I searched international travel agencies in Chiyoda and Minato here in Tokyo. That’s where most foreigners go for business. I saw you at that office, so I thought I’d try to talk to you after you finished your meeting if you were alone. I wasn’t going to talk to you if you were still busy, I promise. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you or your work.”

Adam put the sandwich back in the refrigerator. He wanted to berate her, but he didn’t want to hurt her. To his utter disappointment, Miki was a good person with a gentle heart. He could see that she meant no harm. He walked over to another set of refrigerators and looked at the drinks—and Miki followed him.

“What exactly do you want from me?” Adam asked, avoiding eye contact.

Miki smiled thinly and said, “Well… I wanted to invite you to lunch. My treat, okay? I know a very nice café around here.” Her smile grew larger. She said, “I know tourists love eating at 7-Eleven in Japan, but I promise this café is much better.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t. I’m busy with work.”

“Okay, I understand. Are you free tomorrow? Maybe for dinner or some drinks after work?”

Adam sighed. He put his hand over his mouth, then he slid it down to his chin, and then it fell off his face. He finally looked at her. Her eyes were big and hopeful while her lips twitched with anxiety.

He said, “Listen, you’re a good person, but… I think there was a misunderstanding.” Miki’s eyes welled with tears. She bit her lip and continued smiling. Adam said, “What happened on Friday… it was a one-time thing. Okay?”

“A–A one-time thing?”

“Yes.”

“I–I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t really understand what you’re saying.”

Tears dripped from her eyes as she blinked. She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and sniffled, but the smile never left her face.

Adam said, “You know what I’m saying.”

“I–I don’t. ‘One-time thing,’ I’ve never heard that phrase before.”

Adam huffed and nodded. She’s playing stupid, he thought. He stepped closer to her, leaning in until their faces were just a few inches apart.

With a smirk, he said, “I should remind you that you’re fluent in English. I know that for a fact, so this little thing you’re trying to pull won’t work on me. You do understand me, so accept it and move on.”

Miki swiped at her nose, sniffled again, and said, “I should remind you… that you said… I was the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.”

Adam’s cocky grin was wiped off his face. He clenched his jaw and glanced around. An employee stocked some shelves in the bread aisle nearby and a salaryman browsed the sandwiches in the refrigerator. No one paid attention to them. He turned around and looked down at the freezer chests loaded with ice cream.

He said, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“I need you to leave me alone.”

“But why, Adam? We had a great time. It was so romantic. I never felt so close to anyone before. The way you touched my—”

“Stop,” Adam interrupted, his voice stern.

“Sumimasen,” the salaryman said as he squeezed past them, a strawberry sandwich in hand.

‘Excuse me.’

He grabbed a bottle of cold coffee from the refrigerator behind the couple, then he went over to the cash register. The other employee started stocking the shelves at the end of the bread aisle with snacks.

As soon as the coast was clear, in a quiet but steely tone, Adam said, “I don’t want you talking about us like that in public.”

“Why?”

“It’s… private, okay?”

“Most of the people here can’t understand us. We’re just an international couple at a store talking about our plans.”

“We’re not a couple and we don’t have any plans together.”

Miki said, “I’m sorry if I did anything wrong. I’m trying to understand you. I just want to spend time with you. What’s the big deal?”

‘I’m married! ’ Adam held his breath to smother the shout before it could erupt from his mouth. His face reddened and crumpled into a grimace. He looked like he was in pain. He walked away from her, nostrils flaring with each heavy breath.

“Adam,” Miki said as she followed him through the store. “Adam, slow down. Let’s talk about this. I’m sorry.”

A group of tourists now sat at the seating area near the entrance, filming a video with a GoPro camera. Adam didn’t want to get caught in a viral video, so he stormed out of the convenience store. While running after him, Miki crashed into the high school student, sending stacks of paper spiraling to the floor. She helped the student pick up some of the sheets while apologizing in Japanese, then she ran out and chased after Adam.

Adam jogged towards his hotel while dodging the other busy salaryworkers on the sidewalk. Miki was right. Most of his business meetings were scheduled in Chiyoda, so his hotel was located in the district—just a few blocks away. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Miki outside of the 7-Eleven. As soon as she saw him, she started jogging after him while waving and yelling his name. Adam couldn’t—under any circumstance—afford to lead her to his hotel.

She’ll never leave you alone if she finds out where you’re staying, he told himself.

He saw an opening, so he took it. He sprinted across the street. Without stopping, he looked back. He saw Miki attempt to follow him, but a car honked at her. She waved at Adam from across the street, as if that would convince him to stop.

Adam took a right at the next intersection. He blinked rapidly as he inspected his surroundings, searching for a familiar landmark or restaurant to guide him to his hotel. He reached another intersection. He looked back as he waited for the crosswalk light to change. He couldn’t see Miki over the crowds of pedestrians.

Beads of sweat slid down his forehead and tickled his cheeks while his heart hit his sternum like a jackhammer. His wobbling legs burned and an uncomfortable warmth spread through his moist thighs. He wasn’t exhausted, though. He was on the cusp of middle age—hell, some people would say he was middle age—but he was healthy. He was scared now—anxious, concerned, downright terrified.

Chirp, chirp, the crosswalk signal sang as the light turned green.

He stopped for a moment, waiting to see if Miki would show up. She was nowhere to be found. He strode across the street. He could see his hotel towards the center of the block, wedged between two apartment buildings. His eyes bulged upon hearing a set of hurried footsteps. He glanced back and saw Miki running towards him.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He sprinted away. He ran straight past his hotel without glancing at it. He crossed another street, ran past a café and a bank, and then turned and ran down a narrow street. He recognized the area. He was close to Tokyo Station. He squeezed his briefcase between his arm and his ribcage and pulled his wallet out of his pocket as he went down a flight of stairs into the subway station.

“Adam, wait!” Miki yelled, her voice echoing through the stairwell. “I just want to talk! Please! Slow down!”

Her voice was drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the busy station—the endless footsteps, multilingual chatter from residents and tourists, announcements from store employees and loudspeaker announcements from the train station personnel, the beeping from the terminals—and it wasn’t even rush hour yet.

Adam was swept away by a sea of commuters. He slipped and slid as he ran through the station. He headed towards the Chiyoda Line. It was the only line he could remember from his travels so far. He took his Pasmo card—a rechargeable pass for public transportation—and tapped it on the terminal. He hurried down another flight of stairs.

A station employee warned him to stop running in Japanese. Since Adam was a foreigner, the employee didn’t bother chasing him down to scold him.

Adam ran into a train. He grabbed a pole and stopped himself from crashing on the parallel doors. He looked back at the platform. A jingle played from the station’s speakers—the departure melody. Another tourist and a Japanese man jogged into the train, then the doors closed behind them. Adam leaned back on the pole and caught his breath.

“Matte!” a woman yelled.

‘Wait!’

“You have to be kidding me,” Adam whispered.

Miki jogged up to the doors and knocked on the window. She spotted Adam. She knocked and waved at him. She looked like she was trying to ask him to open the doors for her. Adam could see her lips flapping, but he couldn’t hear her. The other passengers mumbled about her. Some were amused by her attempt to board the train. Others were scared by her bizarre behavior.

Emotional outbursts in public were uncommon in Japan. The country’s subway stations were especially clean, safe, and organized.

“Don’t let her in, don’t let her in, don’t let her in,” Adam said.

Through the tinted windows to his left, he saw the conductor speaking to someone through a radio. The gossip in the subway car became louder. The passengers were buzzing with excitement. Some of them connected the pieces and stared at Adam.

In English, an American woman said, “I think she’s talking about him.”

“Kanojo daijōbu?” a Japanese woman said.

‘Is she okay?’

On the platform, another train employee squeezed himself between Miki and the doors. He pushed her back while scolding her for endangering herself and the other passengers. Miki pointed at the subway car and said something along the lines of: ‘I need to get in there.’ Adam couldn’t hear her. He couldn’t understand her Japanese anyway.

As soon as Miki was restrained by the employee, the train sped off. The noise in the subway car dwindled to whispers. Adam took a seat while smiling and nodding at the other passengers.

Only one question ran through his mind: What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Adam stayed on the train to collect his thoughts and calm his nerves. He didn’t want Miki to catch a taxi and intercept him at the next station, either. He got off at Nezu Station, just a few stops away from Tokyo Station. He hailed a cab and asked the driver to take him back to his hotel. Using the translation app on his phone, he instructed the driver to take the long way.

During his trip back, the driver spoke to Adam about business, tourism, sushi, and even religion. Adam responded with short answers, grunts, and nods. He couldn’t stop thinking about Miki. He felt a knot in his stomach and a throbbing pain in his head. He was hoping the embarrassing encounter would persuade Miki to stop pursuing him.

But he had a bad feeling in his gut. At heart, he knew it wasn’t over. He had opened Pandora’s Box through his act of adultery, and he couldn’t close it without self-destructing.

3

A PATTERN

Adam gazed absently at his cocktail, ignoring the world around him. His mind was plagued with thoughts of love and affairs, divorce and loneliness, and stalking and obsession. He was drowsy, head bobbing like a sleepy baby’s. Sleeping with one eye open meant not sleeping at all. And he constantly looked over his shoulder while traveling between business meetings, afraid Miki would catch him off guard and confront him in front of his business associates.

It had been two days since his encounter with Miki in Chiyoda. He hadn’t seen her since her meltdown at the subway station.

He now sat at a booth in a rooftop lounge with Dallas and two Japanese businessmen, Takeuchi Sadao and Yamamoto Yūji. There was a salmon eclair on his plate. He only took one bite of it before another bout of nausea attacked his stomach. Dallas had been nibbling away at a small margherita pizza. Noticing Adam’s withdrawn behavior, he took the lead during their casual meeting. But he couldn’t do it all on his own.

Dallas waved his hand in front of Adam’s face to get his attention. Adam finally looked away from his drink. He could see the fake happiness on Dallas’ face as he smiled and laughed with their business associates, clearly trying to make light of the situation, but he didn’t hear anything. His hearing faded in slowly. He heard feeble voices, then clanking silverware, then more voices from the other patrons, then the lounge’s classical music, and then he heard the laughter at his table.

“I’m sorry,” Adam said, offering them a slight smile. “I was, um… I’m listening now. What were we saying?”

“We were talking about the business deal, obviously,” Dallas said. He was irritated by Adam’s sulky attitude, but he kept smiling. Face aching, he said, “So, why don’t you tell our wonderful friends here about your business proposal, Adam?”

“Please, Mr. Miller, you have our undivided attention,” Takeuchi said with a bow. “We are listening.”

Adam said, “Thank you, Takeuchi-san.” He nodded at the younger Japanese man next to him and said, “And thank you, Yamamoto-san. I appreciate your patience.”

In Japanese, -san was another title of respect added to names regardless of gender.

Adam shuffled in his seat. He had practiced his pitch a dozen times before his flight to Japan and another dozen times at the hotel before his business meetings had started. But since then, his speeches had been replaced by excuses for his wife concerning his infidelity.

‘I was drunk.’

‘She drugged me.’

‘It didn’t mean a thing, I swear.’

‘Dallas pushed me into it!’

He licked his lips, then he said, “The travel industry is booming. We get paid to organize trips to dozens of countries across the globe. You get paid to do the same. We’re based in America so our clientele is American. You’re based in Japan so your clientele is Japanese. I propose a partnership—a deep relationship between our countries, our cultures, and most importantly for us, our businesses.”

“What do you have in mind?” Takeuchi asked.

“Culture exchange, study abroad, and homestay programs organized between our companies. Of course, that would be in addition to our regular tourism services. Essentially, we’d be sharing our customers while expanding our businesses. If we create an official partnership, we create an image of trust.”

Dallas said, “And that’s our goal. Our hope is to create this image of trust. A… An allegiance, you know? With trust comes confidence. We’re talking leads and sales. Your clients will be more willing to work with us, and our clients would be more willing to work with you. I mean, let’s be honest here, we can’t compete with those huge international corporations on our own.”

Takeuchi puckered his lips and nodded. He hummed in contemplation, then he smiled at Yamamoto—his young colleague, his apprentice.

He asked, “What do you think, Yamamoto-san?”

Yamamoto wasn’t as confident in his English skills, so he spoke slowly when he said, “I think… we need more information. We need numbers… statistics. Our business is doing well now. This type of partnership, it… requires a lot of time and patience.”

Dallas said, “Fortunately, we have a lot of time, a lot of patience, and a lot of statistics. As a matter of fact, I have a few files in my briefcase I’d like you to look at. Maybe tonight after our drinks or maybe I can stop by your office tomorrow. I wish we could have met during business hours today, but sometimes things don’t work out. But I do appreciate you giving us the opportunity to meet now.”

Takeuchi said, “We appreciate it as well. I have a few meetings tomorrow, but if you can stop by around five o’clock in the afternoon, we can discuss this further. Does that sound good to you?”

Dallas said, “It sounds wonderful, sir.” He turned towards Adam and asked, “Isn’t that right?”

Adam stayed quiet. His dark blue irises a shade darker than usual, his eyes were wide with anger and confusion. At first, Dallas thought he was glaring at him. Then he noticed he was looking past him. He glanced over at the bar. It was busy with men and women in suits and dresses—nothing out of the ordinary. Adam’s head began to tremble and his breathing intensified, slow but loud. He clenched his fists, crushing a napkin in his right hand.

Dallas could see he was on the verge of screaming. He smiled at the Japanese businessmen, as if to say: ‘No worries, he’s just joking around.’ The men looked at each other and discussed Adam’s behavior in Japanese.

Dallas grabbed Adam’s shoulder and said, “Come on, buddy, let’s get some fresh air.” Adam continued staring at the bar as he stood up. Dallas nodded at the Japanese men and said, “I’m sorry, sir. We’ll be right back.”

“It’s fine,” Takeuchi said. “Health first, business later.”

“Arigatou.”

‘Thanks.’

Dallas ushered Adam out of the lounge. They stood in a hallway with the hotel elevators to their left and floor-to-ceiling windows to their right. The view of Tokyo was gorgeous—a jagged skyline comprised of skyscrapers of all shapes and sizes, beautiful temples wedged between massive apartment complexes and tiny houses, branching expressways lit up by bumper-to-bumper traffic.

The men stood in front of the windows, like selfish tourists setting up camp to take time-lapse photography.

Dallas asked, “What’s up with you, man?” Adam glared at the lounge’s entrance. Dallas shoved him gently and said, “Adam, are you listening to me? What are you doing? Huh? What’s going on in your damn head? You realize this meeting’s a big deal for us, right? And this deal is everything. We came here to get this done and you’re ruining it for us.”

“She’s in there,” Adam said, eyes stuck to the entrance.

“What? Who?”

Adam didn’t respond.

Dallas grabbed his shirt at the chest, shook him, and asked, “What are you talking about?”

Adam looked at him and said, “The girl. She looked at me and I looked at her. Then she looked away and acted like she didn’t recognize me. But she saw me and I saw her.”

“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that. What girl? What’s going on with you, man? You don’t sound right.”

“The girl, Dallas. Miki.”

Laughing in disbelief, Dallas asked, “Who the hell is Miki?”

Adam didn’t want anyone to know about his affair. But he knew Dallas was smart. He had vanished during a night out after talking to a woman at a bar. It was easy to link the pieces. Dallas just respected him enough to pretend like it never happened. He certainly didn’t want to involve himself in any drama between Adam and his wife.

Adam said, “The woman I met at that bar in Kabukichō last week. Her name is Miki Someya. We went to a hotel together. We—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dallas interrupted, words darting out of his mouth. “You don’t have to tell me those details. Seriously, you don’t owe me an explanation for that. I mean, I told you I was going to look out for you and I got sidetracked, so it’s kinda my fault, too. Your secret is safe with me. Okay? Shit, if I knew it was about that, I wouldn’t have brought you out here like this. I dragged you out of there like a child, man.”

“Dallas, my problem isn’t a guilty conscience. Well, sure, I feel bad for what I did, but something else is wrong. That woman, Miki, she’s following me. She’s in the lounge right now.”

“O–kay. So, it’s a coincidence. They happen all the time. Big deal. She probably doesn’t even remember you. Hell, she’s probably here, uh… What did they call it? ‘Gaijin hunting?’ She’s probably here looking for more foreigners to fuck, right?”

Adam jabbed his finger at Dallas’ chest and said, “This is the second time I’ve ran into her since that night. She showed up at one of my meetings. She didn’t interrupt it or anything like that, but… Jesus Christ, Dallas, she chased me through the city. I had to literally run through the subway station and slip into a train before she could catch me. It was like a scene from a movie for crying out loud. Listen, the first time is a meeting. Second time’s a coincidence. Third time’s a… a…”

“A pattern,” Dallas said, his face grave.

“Exactly.”

Adam paced in front of the window. Dallas raised his hand up to his mouth and stared at the floor. There was a moment of silence between them, as if they had just heard the news of a friend’s death.

Dallas said, “She’s a clinger.”

“What do I do about her?”

“You have to be very stern with her. You have to make her hate you, Adam. Try embarrassing her in front of a large group of people.”

“I don’t think that’ll work. She threw a tantrum at the subway station when they wouldn’t let her board the train. That should have embarrassed her already.”

“At a subway station? Come on, man, commuters see weird crap every day. She probably shrugged it off. Figured they’d forget about her in the morning, you know? No, you need to embarrass her somewhere public but… stagnant. You know what I’m saying? Somewhere where people will be paying attention, somewhere people will be irritated by a disturbance, somewhere people will remember someone like her.”

Adam’s gaze wandered to the lounge’s entrance. Dallas glanced at the entrance, then back at Adam. He stood in front of Adam to block his view.

He gripped Adam’s shoulders and said, “Not here. We’re on business. You deal with this some other time, okay?”

“What if she comes to me? What if she tries something here?”

“Then I’ll deal with her personally. All you have to do right now is think about our business. Got it?”

Adam nodded reluctantly.

Dallas said, “Hey, promise me you won’t cause a scene in there.”

Adam nodded again.

“Promise me,” Dallas repeated.

Adam responded, “I promise. Let’s just finish this meeting and get out of here.”

“Attaboy. Let’s get this done.”

Dallas spoke with confidence, recounting stories of past business ventures, providing exact industry figures, and forecasting incredible growth should they decide to collaborate. Some of it was bullshit, but it was convincing bullshit. Adam focused on the men, although he didn’t say much. He occasionally offered a word to support Dallas—‘Yeah’ or ‘exactly’ or ‘absolutely’—and he smiled and laughed along with him.

Takeuchi and Yamamoto were pleased with the meeting. They weren’t going to sign any contracts on the spot, but they were willing to listen to Dallas. They had already scheduled a second meeting.

Adam’s neck stiffened and a tingly sensation spread across his spine. He started grinding his teeth and holding his breath unintentionally. The pins and needles tingled over to his arms and legs, as if his limbs had fallen asleep. He was spooked, but he didn’t know why. He was convinced someone was watching him, observing his every move—his every twitch.

He couldn’t overpower his urge to glance at the bar. He took a swig of his drink, then he looked over to his left.

A short gasp escaped his mouth.

Miki—wearing a tight black dress and high heels, face caked in makeup—watched him from a stool at the bar. Eyes like magnets, they made eye contact the second Adam turned to look her way. People walked between them, but nothing could interrupt their gaze. It lasted fifteen seconds that felt like fifteen years.

Adam saw sorrow and desperation in Miki’s eyes, but he didn’t feel any pity for her. His fear turned into fury. His grip tightened around his glass—a little more pressure and it would have cracked.

“What are you planning?” he whispered through his clenched teeth, barely audible.

Miki looked away. She took a sip of her drink through a straw. She acted like she didn’t know him. Adam’s mind ran amok, his thoughts corrupted by anger and anxiety. She’s going to strike first, his inner voice said. She’s going to humiliate you. That same voice, stony and disquieting, started overlapping in his head.

She’s going to expose you.

She’s recording you.

She’s going to hurt you if you don’t hurt her first.

A cold sweat dewed on his forehead. His hands trembled and his eyelids twitched. He couldn’t wait until after the meeting to rip off the Band-Aid. He chugged the rest of his drink as he stood from his seat.

“Hey, hey,” Dallas hissed as he reached for Adam’s shirt. “What are you doing, man? Sit down.”

Adam strode towards the bar. The Japanese businessmen watched him, eyes narrowed with curiosity.

As he stood up, Dallas smiled nervously and said, “Gomenasai, gomenasai.”

‘Gomensai’ translated to ‘I’m sorry.’

Adam had already reached the bar by the time Dallas had caught up to him. Dallas pulled on his shoulder, but Adam jerked away from his grip, knocking him back a bit.

“Goddammit, not like this,” Dallas muttered with his hands on his hips.

Glaring at Miki, Adam asked, “Why are you here?”

“Excuse me?” Miki answered in a meek voice.

“Don’t play dumb. I know you understand me. Why are you here?”

Miki shook her head slowly and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adam leaned closer to her and, raising his voice, he asked, “What are you doing here? Why are you following me?”

Miki shrank back in her seat. She looked to her left, then to her right. Some of the other patrons at the tables and bar side-eyed them, simultaneously curious and annoyed. The bartender, a young Japanese woman with short orange hair, watched them with confusion written on her soft, gentle face. She failed to comprehend the severity of the situation.

“Please keep your voice down,” Miki pleaded.

“Answer me.”

“What am I supposed to say? I’m just having a drink.”

“You’re lying. You’re a liar. You’re stalking me, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. Please don’t talk like that.”

Adam chuckled deliriously, then he asked, “What? Are you embarrassed? You’re afraid someone here might speak English? You don’t want them to know Miki Someya is stalking me?”

Mouth ajar and eyes wide, Dallas stared at him like he didn’t recognize his old friend. The man standing before him looked and sounded like Adam, but he didn’t act like him. He had never seen him so angry, although they had their fair share of arguments. Adam didn’t have a history of violence, but Dallas was worried he was about to strike the young woman. He raised his arm between them, ready to step in if the argument escalated.

Miki asked, “Why are you acting like this? I’m not ‘stalking’ you. We had a good—”

“Shut your mouth. Don’t you… Don’t… Don’t…”

Adam swayed, dizzied by his own anger. He was so angry—so furious—that he couldn’t even finish his sentence. The bartender couldn’t understand every word between the couple, but she felt Adam’s anger—everyone had felt it. She hurried to the kitchen to find her boss. Another waiter, a young Japanese man, approached them. He wasn’t eager to involve himself in the argument.

Dallas whispered, “Adam, you can’t do this here. Come on, man, let’s get you back to the hotel.”

Adam sighed, then he said, “There’s nothing between us. I made that clear before. I asked you to leave me alone, but here you are. You’re sitting here watching me while I eat, while I work, while I’m with my business partners. You’re sitting here trying to… You’re…. You’re trying to ruin my life.”

Miki opened her mouth to speak, but she was too hurt to respond. Tears welled in her eyes, her nose twitched, and her bottom lip quivered. She squirmed in her seat, swinging her head this way and that way. The music at the bar continued playing, but the loud chatter from the other patrons turned into whispers. She could see them watching her, every eye in that lounge fixated on her body.

A Japanese couple hurried to the cash register. Voice hushed but harsh, the man complained about the outburst and asked the cashier to call the police.

Adam noticed an envelope next to Miki’s glass. In black ink, a handwritten message on the envelope read: TO ADAM. He snatched it from the bar.

Miki sprung to her feet and yelled, “Stop!” Adam staggered back. Miki tried to squeeze past Dallas, but there wasn’t enough space. She yelled, “Adam, please!”

Adam took a sheet of paper out of the envelope and unfolded it. Reading the letter aloud to an audience of startled diners, he said, “Dear Adam, I know how I feel, but I don’t know where to begin. I guess I should start with an apology. I’m sorry if I upset you. My actions were inappropriate, and I understand that now. I never meant to bother you. I know I made some mistakes, but I’m really not a bad person.”

“Please stop,” Miki begged.

Dallas said, “Adam, this isn’t the place for this.”

Adam continued, “I care about you. I care about us. What I want to say is… I felt something special with you. You made me feel… alive. No. That is true, but it’s not what I really want to say. The truth is, I can’t even write what I can’t say. My hand is shaking, my eyes are crying, my heart is aching. Adam, I…”

He froze. He didn’t have to say it aloud to read the rest of the sentence. His blood ran cold, liquid nitrogen flowing through his veins. The whispers from the other patrons faded to silence. They watched Adam from the edge of their seats as if they were watching a stage play. Only music—some smooth Bossa Nova—played from the bar’s speakers.

“I love you,” Adam said, awed.

She barely knows me, he thought. How could she love me? It’s impossible. She’s crazy. He remembered Dallas’ advice: Embarrass her. He pushed Dallas aside, held the letter up to her face, and tore it down the middle. Miki put her hand over her heart and gasped. A dull cramp of pain spread through her chest, as if her heart had been ripped apart like her love letter.

The waiter stepped between them, bowed, and said, “Sumimasen, sumimasen.”

‘Excuse me, excuse me.’

Paying him no mind, Adam scowled at Miki and said, “Stay the hell away from me. Stay out of my life. I don’t want anything to do with you. I–I… I… I hate you. You hear me? I hate you.”

“That’s enough of that,” Dallas said as he pushed Adam towards the exit.

He apologized to the staff and his stunned business associates. He threw a 10,000-yen bill at the table, grabbed their coats, and then continued pushing Adam away. Adam kept glaring at Miki as he walked backwards. He only turned around after they reached the exit. Dallas scolded him on their way down to the lobby, but Adam could only think about Miki.

Is it over?—he thought.

In the lounge, the waiter turned towards Miki and asked, “Daijōbu desu ka?”

‘Are you okay?’

Miki was left standing alone at the center of the lounge, tears trickling from her eyes. She looked every which way, listening to the other patrons as they started gossiping. She couldn’t hear every word, but she felt like they were all talking about her. The utter humiliation caused her to shake and sweat profusely.

“Kanojo wa bakada,” a man said.

‘She’s a fool.’

While giggling, a woman said, “Hazukashī.”

‘Embarassing.’

Miki forced a smile, face twisted in pain and wet with sweat, tears, and mucus. She grabbed her jacket and fled the lounge, sniveling every step of the way.

There was another moment of dramatic silence.

Then a tourist started clapping and whistling, as if a show had just ended.

No one else cheered with him.

4

CONTEMPLATION

Adam sat at the foot of his bed in his underwear. The blinds and curtains over the window were open, showcasing a beautiful view of the busy city and allowing the sunset to wash his room with an orange glow. A city of endless opportunity waited below him—gorgeous landmarks, delicious food, specialty stores, unique nightclubs—but he refused to leave his room.

His thumb hovered over a name on his cell phone’s contact list. The name read: Amber Miller. He could see her fiery red hair, bright brown eyes, and tender smile in the picture next to her name.

Guilt festered inside of him, rotting him from within. His head throbbed, overloaded by awful memories of infidelity and incivility. His own emotions, powerful and inescapable, sickened him. He was tired but he couldn’t sleep, depressed but he couldn’t cry, nauseous but he couldn’t vomit. He sat there and trembled, like a stray dog stuck in a storm.

He thought about calling Amber to confess, hoping it would clear his conscience, but he couldn’t do it. His survival instincts told him to survive. He felt bad for Miki, but they weren’t close friends. He couldn’t afford to ruin his life for someone he barely knew. There was too much at stake. He owned a house with Amber. They were trying to have a baby. He couldn’t give up a seven-year relationship for a one-night stand.

His tears plopping on the phone’s screen, he whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

He turned off his cell phone and put it in a drawer in the nightstand, hoping to stop himself from making any regretful calls. He was supposed to be attending business meetings with Dallas, but he was ineffective in his current condition. He started drinking from the minibar, chugging the small bottles of alcohol while lying in bed and watching Japanese variety shows on TV.

The sun fell beyond the horizon, painting the sky with broad strokes of violet, purple, and black. The stars weren’t visible from central Tokyo, even at the dead of night.

The landline phone rang.

Adam’s vision was blurred by the alcohol. He squinted at the phone as it rang again. He wasn’t expecting any calls to his room.

He picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”

He heard a distorted voice on the line—people speaking Japanese. Then there were five seconds of dead silence.

Adam stuttered, “Wha–What are you—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Miller. My name is Haruka Nishimura. I’m calling from the front desk. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“It’s fine. How may I help you?”

“Well, sir, you have a visitor in the lobby. And I’m sorry to inform you but meeting visitors in your room is against hotel policy. We can—”

“A visitor?” Adam repeated, raising his eyebrows quizzically. “Listen, I understand your policy, ma’am. I didn’t invite anyone to my room, so I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

He opened the nightstand drawer and turned on his cell phone. He wondered if he had missed any messages from Dallas.

Haruka said, “She says her name is Miki. I can’t allow her to visit your room, but I can give her a message for you if you’d like.”

Adam had stopped listening as soon as he heard Miki’s name. He went rigid, the landline phone sliding between his ear and his shoulder. The cell phone fell out of his hand and landed in the drawer with a loud thud. He looked back at the window behind him, then at the foyer of his room. His inner voice roared, a question echoing through his mind with frightening clarity.

‘How the hell did she find me?!’

Haruka said, “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

“I didn’t invite anyone to my room,” Adam said. “I don’t know a ‘Miki,’ either, so I don’t have a message for her. Feel free to call the cops if she refuses to leave. Thank you.”

“Okay, sir, we will—”

Adam hung up the phone. He sat and stared at it, as if he were expecting it to ring again. Panelists on the variety show reacted to viral pet videos, laughter and gasps blaring from the television speakers.

After fifteen seconds, Adam yelled, “Fuck!”

He picked up the landline phone and started dialing ‘110’—the emergency number for the police in Japan. He stopped before he could press the ‘0’ key. He slammed the phone in the cradle and screamed. He reached into the drawer. The cell phone rolled into his hand. It took him a moment to unlock it because of his sweaty fingers.

He scrolled through his contact list. He thought about calling Dallas first. Adam had ruined some of their business meetings, but they were still close friends. Dallas’ advice wasn’t very effective, though. He went up and down his contact list repeatedly. He even thought about calling his recent business connections.

‘Hello, Hayato-san. No, this isn’t about the meeting… Sorry to bother you, but… What should I do if a Japanese woman is stalking me?’ It was a bizarre and inappropriate conversation.

He stopped on Amber’s name. He read it over and over, whimpering while rocking back and forth. He was dying to hear her voice. He sought comfort, assistance, direction, and relief from his distress. He wanted someone to tell him what to do. Women know women best, he thought. Amber might be able to help me. Maybe if I just tell her that Dallas had an affair… Dallas is being stalked… Dallas needs your help.

“Fuck!” he repeated as he threw his cell phone at the headboard, cracking the screen and shaking the whole bed frame.

He knew Amber would have seen through his lies. She would have asked too many questions and Adam’s story would have crumbled. He was in a hopeless situation, cornered in his own hotel room. He staggered towards the minibar and drowned his sorrow in whiskey. Alcohol was the original pain reliever after all.

He drank until he could hear the alcohol sloshing in his stomach as he paced. He swayed with each step. Cold sweat stood out on his forehead and soaked his underwear. His skin reddened as a warmth spread through his body. He wasn’t inebriated yet—he hadn’t reached the point of no return—but he was undoubtedly drunk.

“What the hell am I doing?” he muttered. “No, no, I–I can’t do dis… this right now.”

He grabbed one of the complimentary water bottles from the entertainment center. He tossed his head back and chugged it, trying to fight the alcohol. He lost his balance and fell onto the bed. The ceiling looked like it was spinning, turning slowly like a clock’s gear. He felt like he was on a wave at sea, the mattress replaced by a waterbed.

“Why–Why want… Why won’t… she leaf… leave me alone?” he mumbled.

Then he dozed off.

Adam’s eyes flickered open. He saw triple, then double. He sat up at the foot of the bed. The exaggerated gasps from the Japanese panelists—‘Eeeeeeh?’—drilled into his ears. He crawled across the bed, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television. The clock on his cell phone read: 10:22 PM. It had been a little over two hours since his mental breakdown.

“God, I could have killed myself,” he murmured.

He hobbled over to the entertainment center and grabbed another bottle of water, then he went over to the window. He saw thousands of bright lights—from cars, streetlamps, signs, offices.

Tokyo never slept.

He guzzled down the rest of the water, but he was still dehydrated. Fortunately, there were thousands of convenience stores across Tokyo—7-Elevens, Family Marts, Lawsons—and most of them were open 24/7. He dressed himself in casual jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black hoodie before heading down to the lobby.

He hadn’t forgotten about Miki’s visit to his hotel, but he was positive the staff had scared her away. They had a very strict no-visitor policy. Many Japanese hotels charged per person, not by room. He could have asked the staff for extra water, but he felt like an asshole after hanging up the phone on Haruka. He was tired of taking his problems out on everyone else.

He headed over to the closest 7-Eleven, which was right next door. He was welcomed by a young Japanese man behind the counter. The scent of fried chicken, sausage, and seasoned potatoes and hash browns at the counter made his nostrils flare and taste buds tingle. He went to the refrigerators at the back of the store.

He grabbed a bottle of Pocari Sweat, a Japanese sports drink, and sneered at it. The drink obviously wasn’t made with sweat, but the mere idea of drinking someone’s bodily fluids made him shudder. He put it back and grabbed two bottles of generic mineral water instead. He puffed and recoiled as he shut the refrigerator door.

The reflection on the glass door revealed a woman standing behind him. He could hardly see her face amidst all of the bottles in the refrigerator and the condensation clouding the glass. But he felt her looking daggers at him, piercing his heart with her eyes. He rubbed his face with his arm and shook his head, hoping he was hallucinating.

There’s no way she’s here, he told himself, snickering. It’s in your head, Adam. It’s all in your stupid, drunk head.

He looked at the refrigerator door again. His lips sank into a frown. She was still there. He turned around and found Miki standing at the center of the aisle behind him. She didn’t look angry, though. There was pain in her eyes—the pain of betrayal, the pain of rejection, the pain of eternal loneliness. She walked up to him.

Adam said, “I don’t have time for—”

“I followed you,” Miki interrupted. “I’m not going to lie to you or myself anymore. I’ve been waiting all day to see you. I asked the receptionist if I could go up to your room. She said no, so I waited outside. Then I followed you in here. I don’t want us to… to be like this. I know you don’t even want ‘us’ to exist, but… I just want peace between us. I want us to talk so I can explain myself to you. Can we do that? Can we talk?”

Adam ground his teeth and clenched his fists, plastic bottles crackling in his hands. She finally admitted to stalking him, but it didn’t help. The confession just made him angrier. He was at his wits’ end. He didn’t know how to stop her. Miki understood English, but her mind worked in mysterious ways. In her head, ‘leave me alone’ translated to ‘please follow me,’ ‘no’ meant ‘try again later,’ and ‘I hate you’ translated to ‘I love you.’

Words weren’t working, so violent thoughts invaded Adam’s mind.

He envisioned himself slapping her in front of the other customers. Not embarrassing enough, he thought. He pictured himself pushing her into the bread aisle and watching the shelves tip over like dominos. Too much public damage, Adam, it would be all over the news, he told himself. Then he saw the glass bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind her. He thought about smashing a bottle over her head and stabbing her with the broken glass.

He didn’t want to harm her, but he felt like his back was against the wall. Emotional and intoxicated, violence seemed like his best and final option. Scream at her, he thought. Maybe give her a little push, then just run away. But he couldn’t hurt her in public.

In a monotone voice, he said, “We can talk in private. But not here. Not in my hotel room. Not in a restaurant. Not at a park. It’s not a date, just a talk.”

A twinkle of hope in her eyes, Miki asked, “How about a short-stay hotel?”

“You mean a love hotel?”

“Not every short-stay hotel is a love hotel. Some are for businessmen and—”

“Do you live alone?”

The spark in Miki’s eyes exploded into a raging fire of optimism. She saw an opportunity to win Adam’s heart.

She said, “Yeah, I… I live alone in my apartment. It’s close to here, actually. Maybe twenty minutes away by train.” She swallowed loudly as she blushed. She smiled nervously and asked, “You wanna come to my home? I don’t know if you ate in your room, but if you didn’t, um… I can cook something for you, too. If not, we can just talk. I promise I won’t push myself onto you.”

Adam’s eyes brimmed with tears. He was conflicted, but he felt hopeless. He was convinced that only a violent outburst could dissuade her from pursuing him.

He said, “Sure, sure. Let’s go.”

Miki said, “Thank you, Adam. Thank you so much.”

Adam bought a bottle of whiskey before leaving the 7-Eleven with Miki. They boarded a train and headed to San’ya, Tokyo.

5

LOVE?

Miki lived in San’ya, a neighborhood in East Tokyo known as a doya-gai—a slum district filled with flophouses and inhabited by manual laborers, transients, alcoholics, and the elderly. Adam was surprised by the area’s lack of tourists, the absence of neon lights, and the cardboard homes lining the Sumida River. It was nothing like the Tokyo he knew. It reminded him more of Skid Row in Los Angeles.

They didn’t say much on their trip to Miki’s home. They spoke about the chilly weather and Tokyo’s world-renowned subway system. They didn’t mention their relationship, though. Miki didn’t want to aggravate Adam so she didn’t say a word about it, and Adam wanted to keep a low profile so he acted cordial. They looked like a pair of friends traveling through Tokyo.

Nothing more, nothing less.

They stepped over a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk in front of a 7-Eleven, then they turned and strolled down a narrow street. They walked past a closed ramen shop and a set of vending machines selling canned coffee. They arrived at a three-story apartment building. It didn’t have a security gate or any surveillance cameras.

Miki led Adam into the apartment at the end of the first floor’s exterior hallway—Apartment 10E. She locked the door behind him. They stood less than a foot apart. Miki was a little intimidated and very aroused by Adam’s height.

As she took off her boots, she said, “You have to take off your shoes here. This is called a ‘genkan.’ It’s the, um… apartment’s entryway. Every home in Japan has one. I guess it’s ‘tradition.’ Well, maybe that’s not the right word for it, but… Yeah, you always take your shoes off here in Japan.” She grabbed two pairs of slippers from the slipper rack next to the getabako—a traditional Japanese shoe cupboard—in the entryway. She handed them to Adam and said, “Here. You can wear these.”

Adam looked at her coldly, uninterested and exhausted. Miki smiled and gave him a slight bow, trying to overcome the awkwardness. She went down a very short hallway and took a left into the main apartment. Adam removed his shoes, put on the slippers, and followed her lead.

It was a studio apartment. The door to his right was open, revealing a puny bathroom with a small bathtub. There was barely enough room to stand in there. Beyond the bathroom door to his right, there was a kitchen with a sink and one stove burner. Wedged under a window in the kitchen, there was a dining table for two. A semi-double bed hugged the wall to the left and, next to the bed, sliding glass doors led to the tiny patio outside. The area was too small for a backyard.

All around the room, dresses and pants hung from hangers on hooks attached to the walls. A collection of plushies—which she won from several claw crane game machines—crowded the foot of her bed. There was more than a month until Christmas, but she had already hung Christmas lights over the sliding doors and kitchen window.

Miki said, “This is it. This is my home. It’s nothing special, but it’s cozy. The rent is pretty cheap, too. What do you think?”

Adam thought it was a pleasant place. A person’s home said a lot about their personality. The small space told him she lived on a hotel receptionist’s salary, and the decorations said that she made the best of her living situation. She was an optimistic survivor of the cruel world. The clothing told him she was honest. She was, in fact, an aspiring dressmaker. And the plushies told him she was pure and harmless. Like a child in an adult’s body, he thought. She couldn’t hurt a fly, could she?

He said, “It’s fine.”

Miki said, “Thank you. So, do you want something to eat? I have some chocolate in the refrigerator. I don’t have a lot of food right now, but, um…” Her eyes lit up. With a hint of enthusiasm, she said, “Oh. I have eggs. Have you ever had omurice? It’s pretty much fried rice under an omelette or scrambled eggs. Do you want to try it?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? It wouldn’t take long.”

“I’m fine. Let’s just do what we came here to do. Let’s talk.”

The light in her eyes dimming, Miki said, “Okay, sure. Do you want to sit down?”

“I’ll stand.”

An awkward silence filled the room. They heard a faint thump from upstairs and a coughing car engine outside. A cat meowed on a balcony upstairs, too.

Miki said, “I’ll make tea.”

She filled an electric kettle with water and turned it on. She grabbed two mugs from her cupboard, but she put one back before closing it. She thought about offering Adam a cup, but she already knew the answer.

‘No.’

As she prepared her tea, Adam asked, “How did you find my hotel?”

“I told you already. I followed you.”

“I thought you weren’t going to lie anymore? You couldn’t have followed me after that… that ‘scene’ at that lounge. I barely left my room since then. How did you really find my hotel? And don’t feed me any bullshit, Miki. I know it wasn’t a coincidence. You didn’t walk into every hotel in Tokyo and ask about me until you found me. That’s just not possible.”

“Can we talk about that later?” Miki responded as she turned to face the kitchen counter. “I wanted to talk about something else first.”

Adam said, “I don’t care what you want to talk about. We need to clear this up first. You owe me an explanation. Now, I want you to tell me the truth. I can’t… I… I can’t be around you if you’re not honest, okay?”

“You’re not going to like the truth,” Miki said, her voice trembling.

A chill shot down Adam’s spine. Words had never scared him, he wasn’t a big fan of horror books, but he was now terrified of what Miki might say. Breathing deeply through his nose, he opened the bottle of whiskey and took a swig.

He gasped, then he said, “I’m listening.”

“Do you remember the night we met? We stayed at that love hotel. You said I was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen—again. You drank some more. We kissed. We had sex for—”

“Stop it,” Adam snapped. “I don’t need to hear those damn details. Just answer the fucking question.”

“I’m trying,” Miki whimpered. She sighed shakily, then she said, “You took a shower that night. I… I went through your pockets. I found your wallet and–and your passport. Then I searched you online. Facebook, Twitter… Instagram, LinkedIn… Yahoo, Google… I found everything. I even found your friend. Dallas. Dallas Reynolds. I could see where you were going, where you were staying… because you posted it online. That’s how I knew about your business meetings. That’s how I found your hotel. That’s the truth.”

Lightheaded, Adam took a step back. His mouth ajar, he was stunned into spewing random syllables, unable to complete a single word. The revelation shocked him. Miki had violated every aspect of his privacy. She had been stalking him in person and through the internet. She had taken a glimpse at some of his most important documents, including his passport and driver’s license. She knew his friends as well as his home and business addresses.

Dozens of questions rushed through his mind: Does she know my email addresses? My passwords? The answers to my security questions? Did she memorize my signature? Can she forge it? Will she forge it? Can she steal my bank information? Is my money safe? Did she write down my address? Could she come to my home? Would she really do something like that?

He glared at Miki as the worst question crept into his mind: Does she know about my marriage? He took another swig of his whiskey, then he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

He asked, “Why are you doing this to me? Because I said you were beautiful? Because we… we fucked? Is that all?”

Miki couldn’t respond. She was crying, her tears plummeting to the sink. The water bubbled in the electric kettle, plumes of steam billowing out of the spout. A clicking sound came from the kettle as the water finished boiling. She poured the water into her mug. A few drops splashed on her hand and scalded her skin, but she didn’t react to the pain. She stood there and sniffled with her back to Adam.

After fifteen seconds of silence, she wiped her burned hand with a towel and said, “You don’t know what it’s like to be me… to live here. I’ve hooked up with guys before, but most of them were players. They just wanted sex, not love. The other Japanese guys, they’re not… assertive when it comes to dating. They’re more interested in their careers or their schoolwork than relationships, especially at my age. They’ve never been interested in me.” She turned around and put her hands on the counters. Squiggly trails of mascara ran down her cheeks. She sniffled and said, “But you were. You treated me like a… like a princess. I had the best time of my life with you. I will never forget that night. I will… always… love you.”

Adam squinched his face up and barked, “Oh, shut up!” Miki winced, fresh tears gushing from her eyes. Adam thrust his finger at her and said, “You don’t know shit about love.”

“I felt… your love…. tha–that night. I felt it in your words.”

“You were hearing things.”

“Love. I was hearing your love.”

“There was no love in my voice!”

Miki crossed her arms over her chest and shrank into the corner of the room between the kitchen and the dining table.

She whined, “You said I was the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Adam said, “You’re so stupid, you know that? No, of course you don’t. You’re too stupid to understand how stupid you are.”

“Why are you talking to me like—”

“I said that to get into your pants,” Adam interrupted. “Do you know what that means? Do you?! It means I lied to you so I could fuck you. I don’t love you. I never loved you and I never will, you… you stupid cunt. Can’t you get that through your fucking head?”

A deafening silence swept through the room. The cat stopped meowing and the loud car had already left the area. It was as if the whole world had stopped moving to watch their argument.

Miki was stunned by Adam’s aggressive behavior and vulgar language. She felt threatened, unsafe and insecure. Yet, like many victims of domestic abuse, she blamed herself more than she blamed Adam for his outburst. You stalked him, you betrayed his trust, you made him angry, the little voice in her head said. Like a drug abuser addicted to a placebo, she was addicted to a love that didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’m not sorry that I love you so much. Adam, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Wha–What? Did–Didn’t you… Didn’t you hear what I…”

Adam began to babble, tongue twisted into knots by his overwhelming emotions. He understood her words, but he was baffled and awed by her thought process. He had insulted her, but she continued to profess her love for him. Her persistence and sincerity made it harder for him. He hated himself for berating such a sweet woman, but he couldn’t turn back.

Rosy-cheeked and teary-eyed, he took another massive swig of his whiskey. It burned his throat and stung his nostrils. He covered his mouth as he coughed, whiskey and saliva dripping on the hardwood floor.

“Are you okay?” Miki asked. “Do you want some water?”

Elbow over his mouth, Adam said, “Stay ba—” He coughed again, then he jabbed his index finger at her and said, “Stay back. Get away from me. You just… You stay the hell away from me, you understand?”

Miki shook her head and said, “I won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to go back to California with you and I can’t do that if I let you push me away.”

Adam staggered, falling apart at the seams. Her response confirmed his suspicions. She knows everything, he thought. He held his breath, gritted his teeth, and clenched his fist. Tears glistened on his red cheeks and sweat on his veiny forehead. He needed all of his mental strength to stop himself from hitting her. He walked backwards until he crashed into the bed.

He sighed, then he said, “You’re not going anywhere with me. That’s final.”

Miki stepped away from the corner and said, “If I can’t have you… I’ll tell your wife about us.”

It happened so fast. Adam didn’t even realize what had happened until he felt the stinging pain in his palm and saw Miki sprawled on top of the dining table. He had slapped her. He hit her with so much force, so much anger, that he strained her neck with the blow.

Miki felt the floor tilting under her feet like a seesaw. The pain from her battered cheek spread across her face, leaving a terrifying prickling sensation in its wake. She took a moment to collect herself, panting and whining.

Adam tried to apologize, but only a dry croak escaped his throat. Scream at me, he thought. Hate me. Please hate me. Don’t make me do this to you. Miki stood up straight, her hand over her red cheek. She turned to face Adam, shuddering and flinching uncontrollably.

She said, “Adam, please don’t hurt me. I’m… I’m pregnant.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes! I’m pregnant, Adam. And it’s yours, I swear.”

“That’s impossible!” Adam yelled. He raised his hand at her, but he hesitated before he could slap her again. He made his thumb and forefinger into a gun and pointed it at her. He said, “We met a week ago. Seven, eight days ago. I wore a condom!”

“You didn’t,” Miki said. “Don’t you remember? You tried to put it on, but it didn’t fit. You said that you’d ‘cum’ on my stomach, that you could hold it, that you knew when to stop.”

Voice laced with doubt, Adam stuttered, “N–No… I–I didn’t… I was… I wore a condom. You’re not pregnant.”

Miki put her hands on her stomach and stuttered, “I–I took the test this morning. It was positive. I have it in my drawer. I can show you. It’s—”

“None of this matters. I don’t need to see anything. I don’t care if you’re pregnant. It’s not mine. It’s probably from some other foreigner you fucked.”

“You’re the only man I’ve been with. It’s yours… ours. We’re going to have a ba—”

“Goddammit!” Adam shouted as he slapped her again.

The whack echoed through the building. Miki yelped. She crashed into the table, then she fell to her knees. A patch of bloody red dots extended across her left cheekbone. Bolts of pain shot through her jaw. Her black hair hung over her face.

Walking in circles in the middle of the room, Adam said, “You’re crazy. You’ve lost your mind and now you’re trying to make me lose mine. You’re trying to ruin my life with your lies and your stalking. I could put you in prison. You know that? I could get a restraining order against you, too. What do you think about that?” He stopped and glanced around the room. He continued, “But I don’t need any of that, do I? You can’t afford to travel to California, can you? You’re barely getting by here, aren’t you? Living paycheck to paycheck… No… Dick to dick, right? Is that what this is? You want to extort me? Well, fuck you. I’m not giving you a dime. I’m not helping you get to me. Fuck that shit. Fuck all of this bullshit!”

He started walking in circles again. Miki grabbed the edge of the table and pulled herself up to her feet. She glared at him, her fear replaced by reckless determination. Common sense told her to run, scream for help and call the cops. Love told her to fight for their relationship, seize the opportunity and win Adam’s heart.

She said, “I love you… and I’m pregnant… and it’s your baby. All of that is true. I don’t care if you believe me or not. There’s nothing you can do to change any of that.” Adam stopped and looked at her. Miki said, “And maybe you’re right. I don’t have the money to travel to California… to your home in Los Angeles… in Manhattan Beach.”

“Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

Disregarding his warning, Miki said, “But I’ll find my way to you. Even if it takes months or years, I’ll find you, Adam. I’ll show up at your door and maybe—maybe—I’ll have our baby with me when I get there. She’ll look just like you. And your wife, Amber, she’ll recognize our baby like it was her own and she won’t know why until I tell her the truth. And I will tell her everything. The way you made love to me, the way—”

Adam smashed the whiskey bottle on her face, causing it to shatter into dozens of pieces. A large, curved shard pierced her temple. A splash of blood leapt out of the wound. It splattered on Adam’s face, the wall behind him, and the ceiling. Another shard cut her above her left eyebrow and a third piece of glass sliced her cheek.

Miki screamed as she crashed into the wall between the dining table and the kitchen counter. She swiped at her face with one hand and swung her other arm frantically, trying to get the alcohol out of her eyes while keeping Adam away. The whiskey stung her eyes, turning them bloodshot and blinding her for a moment. She felt like her eyes were being cooked on a stove while they were still in their sockets.

Some glass fragments dusted her left eye and cut her eyelids. A droplet of blood oozed out from the corner of her eye.

She stammered, “D–D–Don’t… Pl–Please, Adam, do—”

“Shut up!” Adam bellowed as he struck her with a jab to the face.

“Tasukete!”

‘Tasukete’ translated to ‘help.’

Another punch interrupted her.

“Tasuke—”

A third jab rocked her.

Miki’s legs wobbled. Adam launched a flurry of punches at her head, turning her skull into a speed bag. He put his shoulder into each punch, using his weight to maximize the damage. Her head bounced off the wall with each violent blow. The wound on her temple widened and stretched, connecting to the cut above her eyebrow and reaching her ear.

Shoulder against the wall, Miki stumbled forward. She bumped into the dining chair. The chair’s legs screeched across the floor. It was loud enough to disturb the neighbors, but no one responded to the noise. Adam dropped the other half of the broken bottle. He grabbed the back of her shirt to stop her, then he hit her with an uppercut—once, twice, thrice. She staggered back to the wall.

The deep gash on the bridge of her nose revealed her severed nasal septum—soft, crimson-red cartilage. Blood trickled out of her nostrils. Her teeth had sliced her bottom lip three times.

Adam pinned her against the wall and unleashed another barrage of jabs. Her left socket was fractured, blood pooling in the black sack of flesh under her eye. She writhed against the wall and clawed at his forearm, but she couldn’t break free. She grabbed his other arm and redirected his fist. The wall rattled as he inadvertently punched it.

“Tasukete! Ta… Tasukete!” Miki shrieked.

Adam pulled away from her grip, then he thrust his elbow at her face. She was instantly dazed. He elbowed her three more times, breaking her jaw and cutting her chin open down the middle vertically—a homemade cleft chin.

Miki mumbled, “Ta… Tasukete…. Help… Someone… Ta…”

“Why’d you make me do this?” Adam hissed through his clenched teeth.

Like Miki’s, his face was wet with tears, sweat, and blood. Miki’s face, however, was also lacerated and swollen.

She cried, “Tasukete…”

Adam hit her stomach with an uppercut, knocking the wind out of her. She crossed her arms over her abdomen, dropped to her knees, then fell forward. Adam teetered back before her face could touch his crotch. He watched her hit the floor face-first. She curled into the fetal position and gasped for air.

Words tumbling out of his mouth at a breakneck pace, Adam said, “You–You–You lied. Sa–Say you lied. Say you’re not pregnant. Say it, you fucking bitch, say it.”

Miki continued gasping. Adam growled as he kicked her arms. Her forearms were beaten until they bruised and her bones cracked. His foot slid past her arms and hit her abdomen. Miki coughed violently. Out of breath and out of hope, debilitated and defeated, she had already stopped crying. She felt like her pregnancy had already been terminated—her baby killed before it even had a chance to live.

“Liar! Liar!” Adam shouted. He stopped to catch his breath. He said, “Look at you… You’re not beautiful. You’re disgusting. You’re evil. Look at what you’re making me do…”

The broken whiskey bottle caught his attention. He picked it up from the floor, then he punted Miki’s stomach again. As she groaned, he rolled her onto her back and straddled her chest, his knees under her armpits.

“Look at what you’re making me do,” he repeated.

He hooked his fingers under her lower teeth and pried her mouth open, then he sawed into her right cheek with the broken bottle. Her cheek tore with a moist crackling sound. Miki tried to close her mouth, she swung her arms at him, but she couldn’t overpower him. The glass scraped her teeth as he cut her. It sounded like a fork being dragged across a ceramic plate.

Some pieces of the bottle snapped off. Slivers of glass stuck out from the cut while smaller fragments landed inside her mouth. The bottle broke down to its neck by the time he reached her ear.

Adam threw it aside and gazed at the wound—a jagged Glasgow smile. But he wasn’t done yet. He searched for another weapon—another glass bottle, a steak knife, a butter knife, anything. He eyed the desk near the foot of the bed. He crawled off Miki and got up to his feet. He found her dressmaker’s shears on the table.

He opened the shears and whispered, “You should have left me alone.”

Miki whined as Adam mounted her chest. Her eyes were closed. She didn’t want to see the love of her life in that light. She didn’t want to see anything at all. But she didn’t want to feel the pain, either. She knew what was coming, so she clenched her jaw and swung her head from side to side while squirming under him.

Adam forced one of the blades into her oral vestibule—the gap between her teeth and cheek. Then he squeezed the handles and cut into her face.

It was as easy as cutting paper.

While cutting her, he saw her eyes shaking under her sealed eyelids from the periphery of his vision. Blood spilled in every direction, down to her jawline and up to her cheekbones. Some blood even flooded one of her ear canals, muffling her hearing. The long laceration curved up to her right ear. He could see her teeth, glazed with blood, through the nasty wounds.

He laughed deliriously as he examined her butchered, bloated face. Although it wasn’t perfect, he had cut a wide, permanent grin across her cheeks—a bloody smile from ear to ear.

He stuttered, “You–You’re not so beautiful anymore, a–are you? You–You’re ugly. You’re… a monster.”

Miki was conscious but unable to speak. She breathed in short gasps through her mouth, one every few seconds. But, although she couldn’t say a word, she heard everything. Drops of tears mixed with blood rolled down her temples. ‘You’re ugly. You’re a monster.’ Somehow, those insults cut worse than the glass and the shears.

Words were indeed very powerful.

Adam struggled to his feet. He pointed at her and said, “If you follow me again… If you come near my house or my family… If–If you even send my wife a message, even a fucking emoji… You won’t have to worry about finding me because I’ll hunt you down. I’ll kill you, you understand?” He laughed feverishly again. He asked, “Do you know how easy it would be? Look at yourself now. Can you see yourself? Huh? You’re almost dead already. I could kill you right now. I could hire someone to kill you. I have the money to…”

His voice trailed off into an unintelligible ramble. It was as if he had finally realized what he was saying—what he had done. His face twisted into an ugly knot of pain.

“Oh my God,” he whimpered. He covered his mouth one hand at a time, then he slid his hands up into his hair, smearing her blood on his face. His back hit the dining table behind him. Bug-eyed, he watched as the blood spumed out of Miki’s extended mouth. He yelled, “Oh my God! No, no, no!”

He thought about calling 119—Japan’s fire, ambulance, and emergency rescue phone number. He reached for his pockets, but he stopped before he could stain his pants with her blood. He hurried to the kitchen sink and washed his hands and face with dish soap, then he splashed the soapy water on the faucet handle to try to get rid of his fingerprints. He pushed the handle down with his elbow to stop the water.

“I–I–I’ll get help,” he stammered. “D–Don’t die. D–Don’t… Pl–Please don’t die.”

He dug his hands into his pockets. He had his wallet, but he didn’t have his cell phone. Miki’s cell phone lay on her nightstand. He stumbled towards it before sliding to a stop next to her bed. I can’t put my fingerprints on everything, he thought. I wouldn’t be able to unlock it anyway. He looked back at Miki as he stepped away from the bed. Like Jesus Christ on the cross, she lay there with her arms outstretched. She was breathing, but she didn’t open her eyes or move an inch. There was nothing he could do to help her without getting himself arrested.

Adam clasped his hands in front of his mouth and, in a quavering voice, he said, “I–I’m sorry. I can–can’t be here right now. I can’t… I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He lurched back to the entryway. He put on his shoes without tying them, then he tucked his hand into his hoodie’s sleeve to unlock the door without touching it directly. He ran out of the apartment. He slowed to a jog in the narrow street outside, then he walked briskly on the sidewalk around the corner so he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. Hood over his head, he headed back to the subway station.

Miki’s head lay in a puddle of her own blood, her hair soggy and heavy like a wet mop. Her eyes opened to slits. Bloody tears turned her blurred vision red. A smile was carved onto her face, but the bruises and bumps and mutilations gave her an expression of enormous, unforgettable agony. And the silence in the room—the silence of true loneliness—was just as painful.

She felt like she was dying because of the pain. Yet, at the same time, she felt like she was just starting to live. In many ways, the pain of death was similar to the pain of birth.

Adam had taken everything from her.

But he also gave her a purpose.

6

ESCAPE FROM TOKYO

Adam’s vision pulsed with adrenaline, objects growing and shrinking around him. The running water at the sink was loud but muffled, as if he were listening to a roaring river while drowning in it. His hands were red and swollen, burned by the scalding water, but he kept scrubbing and scratching himself. The webbing between his knuckles was bruised and cut by Miki’s skull and teeth. He couldn’t tell if he was washing off his own blood or hers.

From the corner of his eye, he saw something move in the mirror in front of him. He gasped and jerked his head up, then he looked to his right. A drunk salaryman stood in front of the sink next to him.

The salaryman’s hands were already soaked, streams of urine running across his skin like veins. He rinsed his right hand for five seconds and then shook it a little to dry it off. During his entire time in the restroom, he didn’t take his left hand off his briefcase. He walked out without taking a second glance at Adam.

The man’s intrusion snapped Adam out of his trance. He listened to the sound of the water splashing on his numb hands, a train barreling away from the station somewhere below him, and the salaryman’s footsteps. As soon as he heard the door close, he lathered his hands in soap once again, rinsed them off, and then dried himself with a paper towel.

It was almost midnight, but a few people still wandered Tokyo Station. Some rushed home after their late-night cram school sessions and their exhausting overtime shifts at work. Others shambled about like zombies, drunk from partying all night and exhausted from sightseeing all day. A couple of cops patrolled the station, checking on the drunks, helping lost tourists, and preserving the peace.

Adam made his way up several flights of stairs. He exited the station and headed back to his hotel. He couldn’t remember its exact address, but he found it after walking in circles in the area for about fifteen minutes. The receptionists in the lobby welcomed him with a synchronized bow and a ‘irasshaimase.’ He nodded back at them without making eye contact. He went straight to the elevators and up to his room.

He secured every lock on the door before leaping onto his bed and grabbing his cell phone from the nightstand. He sent Dallas a text message.

It read: I gotta go.

He sat in bed and nibbled on his fingernail as he stared at his phone. Fifteen seconds passed before he began to panic.

He sent a second message: It’s an emergency.

Another fifteen seconds passed without a response from Dallas.

Adam’s third message read: 911 911 911.

Dallas didn’t respond. Adam thought about barging into his room. They were staying in the same hotel after all. But he couldn’t muster the courage to face him. He couldn’t even face himself. He wanted to break every reflective surface in the world just so he didn’t have to see himself. He had committed an unforgivable crime.

He called Dallas instead. He held the phone to his ear and listened to the ringback tone. Each ring shook his skull.

“You know what time it is?” Dallas answered, voice drowsy. Adam’s throat dried up. His mouth hung open, lips moving slightly up and down, but no words came out. Dallas said, “Adam?”

Adam grunted, then he croaked out, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”

“I know it’s you. I can read the caller ID, moron. What do you want, man? I got a meeting in the morning.”

Adam grunted again, then he said, “I, um… I have to go.”

“Huh?”

“Dallas… Don’t make me explain this to you. Okay? Just trust me. I have to go home as soon as possible.”

“Wha–What?” Dallas stuttered.

Adam bit his lip to stop himself from dry heaving. He heard Dallas sitting up in his bed and turning on the lamp on his nightstand—click.

Dallas yawned, then he said, “Hey, man, I hear you but I don’t get you. What are you talking about? What’s going on, Adam? What are you saying?”

‘I beat my stalker and I cut her face open and I think she’s dying.’ Adam choked on those words. He was poisoned by his guilt, and a confession was the only antidote. Images of his wife, his perfect life, and his promising future flashed in his mind. His cheeks inflated as he puked a little in his mouth. He swallowed while sneering in disgust.

Speaking slowly, he said, “I… need… to… go… home.”

“Why? Are you okay? You’re making me worried, pal. Seriously, what’s going on?”

“It’s a… a family emergency.”

“Ah, shit, man. Is Amber okay?”

“She’s, uh… She’s fine.”

Dallas chuckled in relief, then he said, “All right, let’s stop beating around the bush. You’re going to give me a heart attack, man. Come to my room or I’m coming to yours. Let’s talk about this.”

“I’m not there,” Adam responded as he looked around his hotel room. “I’m at a… park.”

“A park? What park?”

“Please, Dallas, help me. I need to go home… right now. This is a family issue, a–a personal problem. Okay?”

“Adam, I don’t mean to sound like an ex-girlfriend or a disappointed parent, but I don’t like your tone. You’re scaring the shit out of me. You sound like you’re about to jump in front of traffic or something, man. Can we meet? Can we talk? I mean, we can get you a ticket home anytime. Let’s deal with this issue first. Personal or family or whatever, let’s do this together. We’re partners, right? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Dallas was a good man. He pushed Adam into Miki’s arms, but he meant no harm. He just liked to have fun. He sincerely cared about Adam and Amber—and that only made things worse for Adam. It hurt him knowing Dallas was going to be collateral damage in his self-destruction. But he needed him to escape.

His idea was simple: If Dallas booked the flight, it wouldn’t set off any alarms with the authorities. And if he already accepted Adam’s decision to leave, Dallas wouldn’t panic and go to the police to report a sudden disappearance.

Adam sighed, then he said, “I need to leave now. The first flight in the morning. It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m sorry I can’t attend the rest of our meetings, but I will find a way to make it up to you. Just please help me book a flight. I’ll explain everything to you later. If you won’t help me, then I’ll just do it on my own.”

Silence invaded their phone call. Adam looked at the ceiling, using the laws of gravity to stop his tears from cascading across his cheeks. Then he heard Dallas shuffling in bed and muttering to himself.

“Okay,” Dallas said. “I’ll try to book a flight. But I’m not promising you anything, okay?”

“Thank you,” Adam said.

“Don’t thank me, man. You owe me an explanation, and you’re giving me one sooner or later.”

“I will, I will…”

“Get packed. I’ll call you in a little bit, pal.”

The call ended. Adam sat and stared at the phone for a minute, thinking about the words he couldn’t say. After the minute of dreadful silence, he jumped off the bed and started packing. He took his clothes out of the closet and dresser drawers, then he grabbed his toiletries from the bathroom. Each time he zipped up his luggage, he remembered something he forgot to pack—his wristwatch, his cell phone charger, his bottle of mouthwash.

He took a shower after he finished packing. He finally noticed the cuts across his knuckles. Like a teenager who nicked himself while shaving, he placed small bits of wet toilet paper on his wounds to stop the bleeding. He stopped upon hearing a ringing phone. Miki, he thought, eyes wide as he stared at his reflection. No, it’s the police. They’re coming for me.

Then he realized it was his cell phone’s ringtone. He went back to the room. The caller ID read: Dallas R. It had been nearly an hour since their last call.

“Hello?” Adam answered.

“It’s done, man.”

“What’s done?”

Dallas huffed, then he said, “The flight, Adam. I booked the flight you were begging me to book. You remember that? Are you all right, man? Did you hit your head or something?”

“I–I’m fine. I’m sorry. I was just… Never mind. What time does it depart?”

“I think it was around 9 in the morning. I’ll send you all of the details in a minute.”

“Nine in the morning,” Adam repeated. “You couldn’t get anything earlier?”

“Come on, don’t complain. I’m doing you a favor here. Listen, nine o’clock was the earliest flight available. I can’t cancel, either. It was expensive as hell and it’s nonrefundable. You really owe me for this one.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, Adam, stop apologizing and stop complaining,” Dallas said. He laughed and said, “You’re making me feel like the asshole.”

Adam said, “Yeah, yeah, I’m, uh…” He chuckled, realizing he was about to apologize again. He said, “Thank you, Dallas. I’ll call you when I get back home.”

“All right, bud. I’m going back to bed. You call me if you need anything else. Don’t leave me out of the loop, all right?”

“I won’t. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soon.”

The call disconnected. A few seconds later, Adam’s phone buzzed. He received two messages—a picture and a text message. The picture was a screenshot of his flight itinerary.

The text message read: Good luck, pal. You’ll get through this.

Adam assumed Dallas suspected Amber had somehow found out about his affair. It explained his lenient, pitying attitude and his supportive message.

He stayed awake throughout the night, constantly peeking through the front door’s peephole and looking out the window. He expected to find cops preparing to raid his room and police helicopters circling the building. He was afraid Miki would show up, too. He replayed the violent attack in his head over and over—and over and over and over.

At sunrise, he checked out of the hotel and called a taxi. He was concerned about his appearance—the scratches and bruises on his knuckles, the pitch-black circles under his eyes, the bright red veins surrounding his irises, his disheveled clothing. But upon arriving at the airport, he discovered his concerns were unfounded.

Most of the tourists at his terminal looked like him, exhausted and bedraggled. They had long nights of sightseeing, partying, and jet lag.

While checking-in to his flight and dropping off his luggage, he was questioned about his trip by a young airport employee. He was asked about the purpose of his visit, where he stayed, who he stayed with, where he went, and if he enjoyed his trip. Adam answered every question honestly and confidently, although he felt like vomiting throughout the conversation.

After checking his luggage, he made his way through security. He didn’t have to take off his shoes or answer any questions. It was a breeze. He went over to his gate and waited for them to call his boarding group. His flight was scheduled to depart in less than an hour and a half.

Time moved at a snail’s pace at the airport. He kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting a cop or a security guard to tackle him from behind. A few police officers patrolled the terminal, but they paid him no mind. He started thinking of excuses in case he was questioned again. He wondered if he could find asylum at the international airport.

He considered doing some research, he had time to kill after all, but he didn’t want to incriminate himself. Phones are easy to track, he told himself. Don’t make it easy for them.

He boarded his flight forty minutes before departure time. He was given a complimentary cup of sparkling wine before takeoff. Most of the other passengers looked tired but happy. He chatted with his seatmate, a young Japanese student on his way to California, for a couple of minutes. No one knew about his crime, no one really noticed his presence on the plane, but he felt like everyone was gossiping about him.

He saw Miki’s face on the seatback screen in front of him, the window to his right, the plastic cup on his tray table, his seatmate’s eyeglasses—everywhere. The afterimage of her mutilated face was burned into his retinas. He successfully escaped from Tokyo, but he couldn’t escape from Miki. It was a strange sensation—to be haunted by a living person.

He didn’t sleep a wink during the eleven-hour flight.

7

URBAN LEGENDS

“Yurei house shitteru?” Kaito, a 10-year-old Japanese boy, asked as he pointed at an apartment building across the street.

It translated to: ‘Do you know about that haunted apartment?’

His classmate, Yuuto, sat at the top of a slide at the small park and peered at the three-story apartment building across the street. It was an old building with a rusty, discolored exterior, inhabitable but undesirable.

As he slid down, he nodded and yelled, “Un!”

‘Yeah!’

Riku, their female classmate, climbed up to the top of the slide. She squinted at the apartment. She saw an old lady sweeping the narrow road in front of the building.

“Zenbuno heya?” Riku asked

‘Every room?’

“Iya,” Kaito said. “Shitano kai dakeda. Ano madogamieru? Houkagoni yureiga mieru.”

It meant: ‘No. Only downstairs. You see the window? You can see a ghost there after school.’

Riku slid down. She sat at the bottom of the slide and repeated, “Houkago?” She observed the building and asked, “Ima?!”

‘After school? Now?!’

“Un,” Kaito said.

Riku spotted the window on the first floor. The curtains were closed. The old woman hobbled past it with her broom, unafraid. The place didn’t look haunted.

“Usoda,” Riku said as she sprung to her feet.

‘You’re lying.’

From the top of the slide, Kaito said, “Hontoda. Otoutoga mitanda.”

‘It’s true. My brother saw a ghost there.’

He ran his fingers from the corners of his mouth to his earlobes and said, “Kanojo no kuchiwa bakemonoda. Nazeka shiritai?”

‘She has big cuts on her cheeks, like this. You know why?’

Riku shook her head. Kaito recounted the story his brother had told him about the ghost in the apartment. He claimed the woman was disfigured by gangsters from a Yakuza gang because of her husband’s gambling debt. Then her husband, fraught with shame and disgusted by his wife’s disfigurements, killed her and himself. Her ghost was said to approach children after school, asking them the same question: ‘Watashi kirei?’

‘Watashi kirei’ translated to ‘Am I beautiful?’

Yuuto disagreed with Kaito’s version of the story. He recounted a story his neighbor—a girl of the same age—had told him. The girl was heading home late one night after a session at a cram school when a woman in a cloth mask came out of the supposedly haunted apartment. The girl had told Yuuto that the woman spoke to her about her study session. Then she asked her a question: Watashi kirei? When the girl said yes, the woman took her mask off, revealing the gruesome scars on her cheeks.

The girl told Yuuto that the disfigured woman then repeated the question: Watashi kirei? When the girl failed to respond, the woman chased after her with a large knife.

Yuuto claimed that he had heard the woman was caught cheating by an envious boyfriend. Her lover punished her by taking away her beauty, permanently disfiguring her face before abandoning her. Yuuto didn’t believe the woman was a traditional ghost, though. He argued that she was still alive but she was possessed by a demon with a hunger for youthful beauty.

Riku said, “Sorewa kanashiine. Demo…”

‘It sounds sad. But…’

Her eyes widened, then shrank. The boys puckered their lips and cocked their heads to the side, baffled by her sudden silence. Realizing she was looking past them, they peeked over their shoulders. Kaito puffed out a short gasp while Yuuto’s legs rocked. They saw the curtains swaying in the apartment. They searched for the old woman, hoping she would protect them, but she was gone.

Then the curtains moved again, revealing a humanoid figure in the apartment. It could have been anyone, but the kids immediately assumed it was the disfigured woman—a ghost or a demon.

Miki watched the scared little children from her kitchen, hatred burning in her eyes. It had been about a year and a half since the assault at her San’ya apartment. She now lived in Adachi-ku, Tokyo, a similar district but not as impoverished. A jagged atrophic scar stretched across her left cheek, and another atrophic scar curved across her right cheek. The skin around the scars was red. The scars on the bridge of her nose and forehead were light but noticeable.

She had tried to move on. She moved from her old neighborhood to get away from the gossip and judgment. She introduced herself to her new neighbors. They welcomed her with smiles, but they never accepted her invitations to spend time together. Assuming her neighbors shunned her because of her appearance, she attempted to connect with the community’s youth.

To her utter dismay, every college student, teenager, and child reacted fearfully upon seeing her scars when she approached them. Some ran from her, a few laughed at her, and others pretended like she didn’t exist. Yuuto’s neighbor ran from her, that part of the story was true, but Miki didn’t chase her. She was devastated when the girl started screaming after she took off her mask.

Miki couldn’t hear the kids at the park from her kitchen, but she recognized their fear from afar. Most people didn’t mind her scars—they weren’t pleasant but they weren’t revolting either—but she had been visited by the police several times since her wounds had healed due to complaints from the local parents. They had often complained about Miki frightening their children with her mere existence.

The world rejected her, turning her into an outcast. Instead of accepting her disfigurements, society asked her to consider plastic surgery to reconstruct her past beauty. Instead of comforting her after the traumatizing attack, society blamed her for welcoming a violent man into her home. She was sick and tired of society.

Anger opened the door to hatred. She ground her teeth and clenched her fists. Her gaze darted to the knife in the sink. A need for vengeance fueled the raging fire of violent thoughts in her mind. She never hurt anyone in her life, but the temptations grew stronger.

They made me like this, so they deserve to die, she reasoned.

She reached for the knife, stopping with her fingers just an inch away from the handle. Thin layers of tears coated her eyes. Her hand trembled, then her entire arm shook. She felt like an invisible force was pulling her arm back. She didn’t realize she was wrestling with her conscience.

“Kuso!” she yelled as she jerked her arm away.

‘Kuso’ translated to ‘damn it’ or ‘shit.’

She looked out the window. The children were still in the park, watching her home and gossiping. She swiped at the tears in her eyes, then she adjusted her hair.

One more try, she thought.

She exited her apartment. The chilly wind bit her face. She felt the sting on her scarred cheeks the most. She stepped back into her home and grabbed the beige trench coat in the entryway. She walked over to the park while buttoning her coat. As soon as she crossed the street in front of her apartment, the kids shrieked. She looked up and saw them running and crying.

“Tasukete!” Riku’s cry for help echoed through the neighborhood.

Miki stood with her hands on one of her coat’s buttons, fingers shaking, legs rocking, tears welling. Her last spark of optimism was extinguished. She fell to her knees and opened her mouth as wide as humanly possible. Tears spilled down her scarred cheeks. She cried, but she didn’t make a sound.

The quietest cries were often the most pained.

8

THE BEGINNING

The cicadas in the trees sang an ear-splitting song of chirping and whirring, announcing the arrival of summer. The crops in the field of edamame soybeans rustled with the wind while large trucks barreled down the countryside’s narrow roads. Vast swathes of trees and foliage separated the few houses and small shops in the area. Golden rays of sunlight bathed the area as nighttime slowly approached.

Mei Hasegawa, a six-year-old Japanese girl, stood at the side of the road, thumbs hooked under the straps of her bulky backpack. She wore a pink t-shirt, denim shortalls, sneakers, and a bright yellow hat, locks of short black hair sticking out from underneath it. In Japan, first-grade elementary school students wore the yellow hats to warn motorists of their presence.

Mei tilted her head to the side and squinted at the woman across the street—a little less than four meters away. And Miki stared back at her from the other side of the road, face covered in a black cloth mask. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, body smothered by a heavy trench coat. Mei wasn’t scared of her, though. She figured Miki was wearing the mask because of allergies. She saw dozens of people wearing masks every day. She was curious about her coat, though.

As Miki took a step forward, Mei raised her hand—palm out, fingers up—and shouted, “Matte!” ‘Matte’ translated to ‘wait.’ Miki did as she was told. Like the girl, she cocked her head to the side in confusion. Mei said, “Kichinto mawariwo minaito. Kiwotsukete.”

‘You have to look both ways before you cross. Please be careful.’

The corners of Miki’s eyes wrinkled as she smiled behind her mask. She was amused by the child. She looked to her left, then to her right. The road was empty. She strode across the street.

“Konbanwa,” she said as she stopped in front of the girl.

‘Good evening.’

Mei responded, “Konbanwa.”

Miki asked, “Kokode nanishiteruno?”

‘What are you doing here?’

Mei said, “Mama wo matteruno.”

‘Waiting for my mom.’

Due to its status as one of the safest countries in the world, it wasn’t uncommon to see children waiting by themselves after school in Japan. Statistics often lulled people into a false sense of security.

Miki asked, “Gakkowa doudatta?”

‘How was school?’

Mei shrugged, as if to say: Whatever. Miki snickered. She didn’t enjoy school when she was a child, either. She felt comfortable around the girl, too. A long time had passed since her last pleasant conversation with another person.

Miki asked, “Hitoride daijōbu? Mama itsu kuruno?”

‘Are you okay here by yourself? When is your mom coming to pick you up?’

“Daijōbu,” Mei answered. “Itsumo osoikara.”

‘I’m okay. My mom is always a little late.’

The girl began to ramble about rocks and insects. She enjoyed watching insects skitter about on the dirt and trees, and she liked examining and collecting rocks. She didn’t mind waiting in the area. Nature gave her plenty of things to do. Miki stopped paying attention to her words. She stared down at Mei, a devilish glint in her eyes. Yet, she continued to smile tenderly behind her mask. She knew what she was doing—what she was going to do.

Miki crouched in front of her to match her at eye level. The girl stopped talking, eyes pure like a puppy’s.

“Watashi kirei?” Miki asked.

‘Am I beautiful?’

The little girl gazed into her eyes, then she looked her up and down. She preferred colorful clothing—pinks and yellows—but she didn’t notice anything unattractive about Miki’s outfit. She liked Miki’s eyes, too. They reminded her of her mother’s, dark but shiny.

She nodded and said, “Un.”

It was a casual way of saying ‘sure’ in Japanese.

Blushing, Miki giggled and cocked her head from one side to the other. Her laughter grew louder and louder, echoing through the empty field behind the girl. Mei stepped back. She looked at the ground as the dirt crunched under her shoe. Filled with muddy water, there was a ditch between the road and the field. She looked back at Miki as the laugher came to an abrupt stop.

Miki removed her mask, revealing her scarred face and grim, unsmiling expression. Mei pulled her head back an inch and puckered her lips. She was startled, but she wasn’t terrified.

Miki asked, “Kore demo kirei?”

‘How about now?’

Mei didn’t know how to respond. She was taught to respect her elders. At a certain age, children learned to lie to protect themselves. But until then, they were known for being brutally honest.

Mei shrugged at her and, with doubt in her voice, she responded, “Un?”

‘Sure?’

Miki’s upper lip curled, revealing her pearly white teeth. Then she smiled and huffed.

Mei asked, “Daijōbu?”

‘Are you okay?’

“Daijōbuyo,” Miki said.

It translated to: ‘I’m okay.’

She reached into her coat’s inner pocket and pulled out a pair of dressmaker’s shears—the same shears Adam had used to mutilate her face. Mei glanced at the large scissors. As they opened up, she looked into Miki’s eyes again. Just as Mei was about to ask about the shears, Miki thrust them at the girl’s narrow neck and squeezed the handles.

The sharp blades cut her throat open from ear to ear with a single snip. Mei saw the bloody shears moving away from her before the pain even registered. It felt like a pinch at first, then it stung. The wound got hotter and hotter—and hotter. Splashes of blood jetted from her severed jugulars, barely missing Miki’s coat. More blood cascaded from the center of the wound, sliding down to her pink shirt.

Along with her eyes, Mei’s head rolled back. She had to fight with her own body to push her head forward again. But it kept tilting back, causing the wound to widen while sending her staggering towards the field. Her trachea was split in two and her esophagus was pierced. The tubes, visible in the grisly wound, were lined with pink tissue and dark blood.

Miki stood straight. She pulled a black handkerchief out of her pocket and cleaned her shears while watching Mei suffer.

Mei looked like she was hiccupping, head barely attached to her neck. She tried to reach for her throat, but her fingers were trapped under her backpack’s straps. And her backpack was heavy, pulling her away from the road.

“Ma… ma… ma…” she croaked out.

She was trying to say ‘mama.’

Mei lost her balance and fell into the ditch. The water splashed, landing on Miki’s boots and the neighboring crops. It kept rippling and sloshing as Mei squirmed like a turtle on its back. She couldn’t get up. She slipped a hand out from under one of her backpack’s straps. She gripped her neck and kept croaking. She felt the hot blood on her palm.

The burning pain from the cut subsided, overpowered by the agony of suffocation as blood flooded her lungs. Gurgling sounds came out of her gaping mouth. She started scratching her neck, as if she could breathe if she only made another incision. Her fingertips slid into the wound, reigniting the pain. She hadn’t realized that her throat was slit open and even if she did, she wouldn’t have known what to do.

She was a six-year-old girl. She had seen people punch each other in her favorite anime shows, but cartoon violence couldn’t prepare her for reality.

Her vision blurred because of her tears and her traumatic loss of blood, the clouds in the sky like blotches of white ink on dark blue paper. She stopped squirming after four minutes. Her fingertips stayed inside her throat. She passed away with her eyes half-lidded. Her blood blended with the muddy water around her, turning it crimson.

Miki stood on the side of the road and watched her for five minutes, as if she were expecting the child to reanimate. She was hypnotized by the girl’s corpse. A truck drove past her. The driver saw Miki, but he couldn’t see the girl in the ditch. Like most people after work, he was focused on going home to relax. The rest of the world didn’t concern him.

A sense of accomplishment pulled Miki’s lips up into a slight smile. She put her mask on and strolled away. She walked for thirty minutes. She didn’t hear any sirens or see any concerned residents. She arrived at a small house in the countryside and rang the doorbell.

From inside the home, a woman yelled, “Hai!”

Although it translated to ‘yes,’ it was also used as a greeting.

The door swung open. Miki didn’t hear it unlock. An old woman, Seiko, stood in the entryway. Her smile wavered upon recognizing her visitor, then it broadened and tears came to her eyes.

“Miki-chan,” she said.

“Okaasan,” Miki responded with a bow.

‘Mom.’

“Ara doshitano. Areirai…”

‘My goodness. It’s been… so long since I’ve seen you. Since the…’

Seiko stopped before she could mention the incident. It had been a year and a half since she rushed to the hospital after Adam attacked her daughter.

She said, “Nakade hanasou.”

‘Come in. Let’s talk.’

Miki said, “Gomen. Nagakuwa irenai. Onegaiga aruno.”

‘Sorry, but I can’t stay long. I only came to ask for a favor.’

Concern brewing in her eyes, Seiko stuttered, “Da–Daijōbu?”

‘A–Are you okay?’

“Daijōbu,” Miki responded with a smile. “California ni iku tameni okanega hitsuyo. Visa ya iemo mitsukatta kara.”

‘I’m fine. I need money to go to California. I already applied for my visa and I already found a place to stay.’

“California?” Seiko repeated. “Doshite?”

‘California? Why?’

Miki looked over her shoulder and thought about Mei. She considered saying something like: ‘I killed a girl, so I have to run away.’ But she didn’t want to get into any trouble. It wasn’t the complete truth anyway. She wasn’t heading to California to evade the police.

She turned towards her mother and said, “Benkyono tameni.”

‘I’m going to study.’

Seiko loved Miki with all of her heart. She wished she could have held her hand and led her through life while protecting her from the world’s evil. But she saw something in her eyes and noticed something in her voice—ulterior motives. She felt like she wasn’t speaking to her beloved daughter.

She said, “Nakede hanasou.”

‘Come inside, we’ll talk about it.’

Miki smiled and nodded at her mother. She took off her shoes in the entryway, then she joined her mother at a short-legged table for a cup of tea and a chat.

A typhoon ravaged Chiba, Japan that night, buying Miki some time to escape the countryside. Hidden by the heavy rain, Mei’s body was found the following morning. The murder was headline news, disturbing parents and children across the country. But without any witnesses or surveillance footage, the police quickly hit a dead end in their investigation.

Parents started warning their children about strangers while the kids told stories of a murderous ghost. Urban legends were born from tragedy.

PART II

9

ANNIVERSARY

November 5, 2019

Adam stared absently at his reflection. He didn’t recognize the man in the mirror—too kempt, too free, too human.

“You listening?” a male voice asked.

Adam turned his head to follow the noise. His cell phone lay on a shelf in front of a closet storage bin to the right of the mirror. He recognized Dallas’ voice. His attention had wandered away from their conversation.

Dallas asked, “Adam, you there? Hello? What are you—”

“I’m here,” Adam interrupted. “Sorry, I just had to… I thought Amber was calling, so I was just checking if everything was all right with her.”

“How’s she doing?”

“So far, no complaints. To be honest with you, I wasn’t expecting her to take parenthood in stride. I mean, it’s not like I was expecting her to be a bad mother, but I was thinking there would be, you know, more mood swings and exhaustion and frustration. She’s with Riley all day and she’s as lively as ever. Meanwhile, I’m anxious every day.”

Dallas chuckled, then he asked, “What do you have to be anxious about? Riley is a princess, man.”

“Exactly. She’s too precious to me. I’m afraid of everything. She’ll lose her balance and hit her head on something, she’ll try to swallow something and choke, she’ll… Ah, God, Dallas, I don’t even want to talk about it. I want to go check on her right now and I’m sure I’ll find her with Amber, both of ‘em smiling. I just can’t shake this anxiety, this fear.”

He looked at the door to his right. He stood in his walk-in closet, but he could hear the silverware clanking and childish giggling from the first floor of the house. Riley was his daughter, born in October of 2018. Postpartum anxiety was common in parents. Every loving parent wanted their children to grow up healthy, and every loving parent was worried about losing their children.

Adam’s anxiety came from somewhere else, though. It came from his belief in karma. Although he tried to bury it and he didn’t think about it some days, he couldn’t erase the memories of his violent actions. He harmed Miki, so he believed retribution was coming his way—a beast slowly shambling towards him with murderous determination.

Interrupting his thoughts, Dallas said, “Well, buddy, if you ever need us to take Riley off your hands so you two lovebirds can take a break, you know she’s welcome to stay with us. We love that girl.” He laughed, then he said, “But I have to warn you: Marissa might not want to give her back. Ever since Riley was born, she’s been asking when we’re going to have a baby of our own.”

“You’re not getting any younger,” Adam said, smirking as he adjusted the cuffs of his button-up shirt.

“Don’t go and encourage her. I can’t give in until the money’s straight.”

“It’s been straight, buddy. Business is booming.”

“I just need it to be better. If I’m having a baby, I need to make sure she’s rich.”

“You’re going to have to settle down, stop traveling, stop drinking, stop gambl—”

“All right, all right, all right, enough of that,” Dallas said quickly. They laughed. Dallas said, “Speaking of business and traveling, I’m getting ready to head out to Japan next week for our little anniversary trip. I know you skipped last year’s and I know it’s late, but I have to ask you again. Doug is a buzzkill so I don’t want to spend a week with him. Will you come with me? With us?”

A tie wrapped around his fingers, Adam stood motionless for what felt like an hour. Dallas didn’t know about the incident between Adam and Miki. Although he had demanded an explanation for his sudden departure prior to booking Adam’s flight, he never asked him for a reason. He pretended Adam’s affair never happened. He certainly wasn’t going to bring it up now that Adam was a father.

“Adam?” Dallas said in a wondering tone.

“Yeah, uh… You know, I can’t leave now. I feel like shit going to work for a couple of hours. I couldn’t imagine being away from Amber and Riley for a week. Wouldn’t be able to sleep, work…”

“Party,” Dallas added, chuckling.

With some hesitation in his voice, Adam stuttered, “Ye–Yeah. Couldn’t do it.”

“I’m just saying, maybe it’ll be good for—”

“I have to go, Dallas. Sounds like Riley might have made a mess in the kitchen.”

“All right, buddy. Say hello to the family for me.”

“Will do. See you in an hour.”

The call ended. Adam stared at his reflection for ten long, quiet seconds before sighing loudly. He grabbed his cell phone, opened his web browser, and searched: Tokyo 2017 home invasion. The links at the top of the results were purple. He had already read the articles. He took a trip down memory lane every other week.

Most of the articles were written in Japanese, but some Japanese news outlets published the news in English at the time of the attack. The incident wasn’t covered by any international media organizations.

An hour after the attack, Miki stumbled out of her apartment and collapsed in the narrow street outside of her home. She was found by a neighbor and rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. The attack was investigated thoroughly by the police. She was seen on surveillance footage in the subway with Adam, but they didn’t capture a clear picture of him. There was no footage of him near Miki’s apartment, either.

And according to the reports, Miki refused to cooperate with the police.

Adam never understood that. He beat her to a bloody pulp and mutilated her face with a broken bottle and her own dressmaker’s shears. He insulted her repeatedly and threatened to kill her. He almost killed her, as a matter of fact. A normal person would have told the police everything. Her silence gave him a bad feeling.

He opened his Facebook app. He typed: Miki. He remembered her last name—Someya—but he stopped himself from typing it out. He was curious about her. He even thought about tracking her down to apologize. But he knew he’d only be making things worse by opening old wounds. And he definitely didn’t want to open those wounds on Miki’s cheeks.

“Adam!” Amber shouted from the kitchen. “You eating breakfast or what?”

Adam stared at Miki’s name for five more seconds, then he closed the browser and shut off his phone’s screen. He finished tying his tie, then he grabbed his wristwatch and a coat before exiting the closet.

As he headed down the stairs, he heard a baby cooing and giggling. He emerged in the living room. To his left, over a bar and some stools, he saw Amber and Riley in the kitchen. Amber fed Riley cereal with sliced bananas. At the other end of the table, there was a plate with scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon as well as a mug of black coffee and a cup of orange juice. He put his coat on the sofa, then he went into the kitchen.

“Look who’s here,” Amber squealed. “It’s daddy!”

Riley looked back at her father, swinging her arms and legs as she bounced and giggled in her highchair. Her smile was contagious, her laughter was the cure for depression, and her innocence was inspirational. She melted Adam’s heart and purified his mind. He was just thinking about the woman he had almost killed, but now he could only think about his baby girl. He planted a big kiss on her forehead, then he kissed his wife.

Amber was a certified public accountant turned housewife. She didn’t mind pausing her career to raise Riley. She planned on returning to work as soon as Riley could attend school. In the meantime, she took care of her baby and the housework while replacing accounting with painting—many of which she sold online. She was an artist at heart.

She asked, “How’s Dallas?”

As he sat down in front of his plate, Adam said, “He’s good.”

“Marissa told me he’s getting ready to go to Japan again.”

“Yup.”

Adam felt his throat tightening. He took a sip of his orange juice, then he grunted into his clenched fist. He smiled and waved at Riley from across the table. Riley spared a short glance before dipping her fingers into her cereal bowl.

“No, no, no. You have to use a spoon, baby,” Amber said in a soft voice as she moved her daughter’s arm. Without taking her eyes off Riley and shifting back to her normal voice, she asked, “So you’re really not going?”

“Nope,” Adam responded.

“Good. We would have missed you too much. Isn’t that right, baby? You love daddy, don’t you?”

“Ma-ma,” Riley said, grinning.

They all laughed together.

“Sounds like she’d miss you more than me,” Adam joked.

Amber said, “I’ve heard her say ‘da-da,’ you just haven’t caught her yet.”

“Well, with Dallas off my back next week, I think I’ll have plenty of free time to finally hear those words.”

A sense of euphoria flowed through Adam. He was excited to watch his daughter grow up. He was happy to be with the love of his life. And life was beautiful. But an idea kept stabbing the back of his mind. Maybe Miki didn’t cooperate because she wanted to spare me, he thought. Maybe she really loved me.

Riley dipped her fingers into the cereal again, leading to a playful scolding from Amber. Riley’s actions brought another smile to Adam’s face. He counted his blessings, ate his breakfast, and spent some quality time with his family before heading out to work.

10

THE FIRST

January 18, 2020

“What time do you gotta be home?” Sebastian asked as he kicked a rock down the dirt path.

Brian said, “Six.”

Sebastian was twelve years old and Brian was a few months younger than him. Although he was supposed to be watching them that afternoon, Sebastian’s older brother, José, dropped them off at Griffith Park so they could hike by themselves while he went off to smoke with his friends. The young kids were curious about the decapitated body that had been discovered in the area the month prior.

Sebastian asked, “You know what my brother told me?”

“What?”

“Your mom’s a bitch.”

“Shut up, dude.”

Sebastian cackled as Brian pushed him. His laughter echoed through the desolate woods. There were no other hikers in sight, only a sea of trees and dirt. Brian just shook his head and rolled his eyes. He had called his mom a bitch once—and it led to a spanking and a lengthy grounding. If he couldn’t call his mom a bitch, he wasn’t going to let Sebastian do it.

“So, you think there’s another one out here?” Sebastian asked.

“Another what?”

“A dead body, duh!”

Brian pouted and shrugged, then he said, “I thought you were just kidding.”

“No, dude. I wanna see one, too.”

“You’ve never seen a dead body?”

“Have you?” Sebastian asked before picking up a branch from the ground. Brian nodded. Sebastian swung the branch at a bush, sending leaves spiraling into the air, then he asked, “Who?”

Brian said, “My grandma’s.”

Sebastian swung the branch like a golf club, launching rocks in front of them without looking up. Some stones bounced on the dirt, others ricocheted off the trees.

He smacked his lips, then he said, “Man, that doesn’t count. I wanna see a real dead body. Someone who’s, like… I don’t know, dude, like the movies and stuff. Did you ever watch…”

Sebastian’s voice faded to silence upon noticing Brian had stopped walking next to him. He glanced back at his meek friend, then he looked straight ahead.

“Huh?” he whispered as he furrowed his brow.

Miki stood next to a tree about ten meters away from them, face hidden by a black cloth mask, hands covered in black leather gloves, and body wrapped in a beige trench coat. Her long, silky black hair was sprawled across her narrow shoulders. The mask was unusual—it was rare to see an American walking with their face covered—but there was nothing particularly frightening about her appearance.

Nevertheless, the boys were scared shitless by her sudden emergence in the woods. She gave off a menacing aura because they didn’t know her and they couldn’t see her face. Her eerie stare didn’t help her case.

Without looking back at Brian, Sebastian asked, “Did I hit her with a rock?”

“N–No,” Brian responded. “I–I don’t think so.”

“So, what is she looking at?”

“I think she’s looking at… you.”

“Me?!” Sebastian yelled as he glared at Brian. He shoved him and shouted, “She’s looking at you, dude!”

“No, she’s not!”

“Yeah, she is! She’s—”

“Hello,” Miki interrupted with a gentle voice.

The boys stopped arguing to look at her. The tree branches groaned, leaves rustled, and birds chirped and cawed. The only footsteps, fast and light, came from the area’s woodland critters.

“Ha–Ha–Hi,” Sebastian stuttered.

Brian sidestepped until he was partially hidden behind Sebastian, using his friend as a human shield. He kept peeking around him, though, as curious as a social media company’s CEO.

“Come here,” Miki said.

“Wha–What?” Sebastian stuttered. “Wha–Wha–Why?”

Miki giggled, then she said, “I just want to ask you something.”

The boys looked at each other. They shook their heads slowly, communicating without saying a word: No way!

Sebastian glanced back at Miki and said, “No.”

“No?”

“Just, um… You can just tell us from over there.”

“Why? Are you scared of me? You think I’m… a monster?”

From behind Sebastian, Brian said, “Monsters aren’t real.”

Miki stepped forward, dirt and leaves crunching under her boots. The boys noticed she was empty-handed. A sense of relief pulsed through them, but they knew they weren’t out of the woods yet. The kids staggered back as she closed in on them.

Nine meters.

Eight meters.

Six meters

Five meters.

They were now about five meters apart.

Miki said, “Monsters are real. They’re not like the monsters you read about in your books or see in the movies. They’re like you and me—man and woman, adult and child, flesh and bone. I knew a monster once. I met him when I was a… princess… back when I was the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Sebastian stepped back until he bumped into Brian, then he teetered away from him and crashed into a tree. Brian watched her with a set of inquisitive eyes, his head cocked to the side. Her story captured his attention. He still read fairy tales with his mother before bed every other night.

“You were… a princess?” he said. Miki nodded. Brian asked, “You’re not one anymore?”

Leaning against the tree, Sebastian said, “Let’s get outta here.”

Miki put her hands on her knees, bent forward, and said, “Not anymore. You wanna know what happened?”

“What happened?” Brian asked.

Sebastian slapped Brian’s shoulder and hissed, “Let’s go, dude.”

Miki said, “My prince was a monster. I didn’t know it when I fell in love with him. I thought he was saving me from my loneliness. I thought he loved me. I really did.” She lowered her head. To Brian, she looked sad. She inspected the leaves piled on the ground between them. She took four steps to her left, then she turned to face the boy again. She said, “But he didn’t love me. He took off his mask and showed me his teeth—those sharp monster teeth. He attacked me. He took my beauty. He took everything from me.”

They stood there without saying a word for thirty seconds, listening to the music of nature. Sebastian felt the anger in Miki’s voice. She sounded spiteful and envious. He walked backwards until he was about two meters away from Brian, ready to sprint away at the first sign of trouble. Brian, on the other hand, heard pain in the woman’s voice. He believed her story of princesses and monsters. His curiosity, fueled by his wild imagination, got the best of him.

Miki beckoned to Brian and said, “Come here. I want to show you my face. I want to ask you a question.”

“Don’t,” Sebastian said. “Let’s book it, dude.”

Brian looked back at him, then at the mysterious woman. He didn’t see a reason to distrust her. He was scared, but her voice and demeanor had calmed him. She hadn’t made any sudden movements or said anything threatening. The homeless population of Los Angeles scared him more than a clean, well-dressed woman in the woods.

He said, “Okay, but… Only halfway. And don’t move or I’ll scream.”

Miki looked at the leaves between them. She took three steps back, then she smiled and nodded at Brian.

“Brian,” Sebastian hissed, shaking so bad that he looked like he was convulsing while standing. “Let’s go, dude. What are you doing?”

Brian answered Miki with a slight smile of his own. He walked forward slowly. His sneakers thudded on the dirt, then the leaves crackled and crumbled under his feet. He squinted at the ground upon hearing a metallic thud. Time slowed. His eyes grew and his pupils expanded as he spotted the sawtooth bear trap hidden under the leaves. His right foot was already on the pressure plate.

The jaws snapped over his leg, the loud clanking sound echoing through the woods along with the boy’s bloodcurdling shriek. His shin bones—the fibula and tibia—broke in half with a muffled cracking sound. A splinter of bone came out of his leg and tore a hole through his jeans. The bear trap’s sharp teeth also cut through his pants and penetrated both sides of his leg.

His pants leg was soaked in blood, dark and heavy. The hot blood drenched his sock, too, pooling in his shoe.

Hands on his knee, swaying every which way, he unleashed one long, broken scream after another: “Ah–Ah–Ahhh! Ah–Oh–Owww! Ah–Owww!”

Sebastian, eyes bulging and jaw agape, was speechless. He was expecting the woman to chase after them. He wasn’t expecting to see his friend caught in a bear trap. Miki held her hand over her mouth, as if she had forgotten she was wearing a mask, and she giggled childishly. The boy’s cries remedied her suffering. It was funny how things worked sometimes.

One person’s pain could bring another person unimaginable happiness.

Brian gripped his knee with both hands and pulled on his mangled leg, desperately trying to break free, but every slight movement just worsened the pain. The steel teeth tore his skin and muscle. Urine went down on his legs, soaking his pants and joining the blood on his shin. His heart raced and his head spun.

As she walked around Brian, eyes on Sebastian, Miki said, “Don’t panic. Don’t run. Your friend will be okay as long as you listen to me.”

“Let him go!” Sebastian cried, tears running down his face. “Help him!”

“I will. But I need your help. I can’t open the bear trap. I’m just a small, weak woman. I need a strong man. I need my prince. Will you be my prince?”

Sebastian walked around Brian, sidestepping in the opposite direction. He wasn’t as gullible as his friend. But he wasn’t selfish, either. He couldn’t just abandon him.

“Help!” Brian yelled at the sky. “It–It hurts!”

“I don’t know what to do!” Sebastian cried out. “Brian! What do I do?!”

Miki said, “Come here. Help me help him.”

She stopped circling Brian and walked straight towards Sebastian.

Sebastian yelled, “Stop! Stop it!”

“Help me…”

“I–I’ll call the police!”

“Help him.”

Miki lunged at Sebastian, arms outstretched in front of her with her fingers splayed out as if she were about to strangle him. Sebastian screamed and ran backwards. He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. Before Miki could grab him, he kicked her chest and pushed her back. Miki lunged at him again. He threw a fistful of dirt and leaves and pebbles at her face.

“Kuso,” Miki hissed in Japanese.

‘Shit.’

The dirt stung her eyes, but she kept moving towards the boy, so Sebastian punched her. The mask came off her face, swinging from one of her ears.

Sebastian hesitated upon noticing her scars. Then he threw another fistful of dirt at her face and kicked her chest. Miki fell back and landed on her ass beside Brian.

Sebastian scrambled to his feet. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. There was no signal in the woods. He looked back at Brian while stumbling away. Miki was right next to his friend—just a foot away. He could put up a fight, but he knew he couldn’t beat Miki and save Brian on his own. He was only a kid.

“I’ll get help! I’m gonna get help!” Sebastian yelled as he ran away.

Miki sighed as she stood up, patting the dirt off her coat. She put her mask on and watched Sebastian as he sprinted through the woods. He vanished behind some trees, but she could still hear him yelling for help. His voice faded after about a minute. She only heard Brian’s whimpers next to her. She examined the boy.

He appeared to be blushing, but his cheeks were purple because of the pallor of his face. It was a chilly evening but sweat glistened on his forehead and neck. Saliva frothed at the corners of his mouth and mucus bubbled out of his nostrils. He was out of breath, so he couldn’t scream anymore. Only smothered gasps and whimpers came out of his throat.

His legs swung violently from side to side, causing his knees to clap. He stopped wrestling with the bear trap, realizing he couldn’t break free using brute force. The pain and loss of blood left him anemic.

Miki caressed his cheek and said, “It’s too bad about your friend. You would have lived longer if he didn’t run.” Brian panted and whined. Miki sniggered, then she said, “You’re so scared. Poor baby, you wet yourself. What’s your mom going to think? And all I wanted to do was ask you a simple question. Well, maybe we can still work something out. Can I ask you something? Is that okay, honey?”

Brian stammered, “I–I–I don’t wa–wanna die. Don–Don’t kill me.”

Ignoring his pleas, Miki asked, “Am I beautiful?”

“It–It hurts. Pa–Pa–Please don’t… kill me… Please…”

“Am I beautiful?” Miki repeated in a stern voice, as if the boy hadn’t said a word.

Brian understood her question, but he didn’t understand her intent. It was an odd question to ask a severely injured person. The pain from his broken, maimed leg scrambled his thoughts. Although parts of his legs turned numb, an unusual heat surged from the wound and swept across his body. His chest and head were especially hot. He nodded at Miki, flinging drops of sweat from his brow at her with each bob of his head.

Miki removed her mask and asked, “How about now?”

Brian’s vision was blurred by his tears, so he couldn’t see her scars. His expression of pain looked like one of revulsion, though. He whimpered and nodded at her again, as if to say: ‘Sure, whatever, I don’t care, just help me already!’ Miki stared at him with a deadpan expression, eyes so cold that they looked glassed over with ice.

Miki smiled and said, “Thank you.” The boy continued whining. Miki looked at his leg and said, “Let’s get you out of that thing.”

“P–P–Please, I–I wanna…”

His voice petered out as Miki drew a pair of shears from her coat pocket. His eyes went back and forth between the large scissors and the woman’s scarred face.

Brian cried, “I–I don’t wanna—”

Miki thrust the shears at his mangled leg. The blades entered a wound above one of the bear trap’s teeth, screeching against the steel before clanging against his broken bone.

Brian uttered a thunderous, wounded bellow of pain. Flocks of birds burst out of the trees and flew skyward. Startled hikers and critters looked in every direction, searching for the source of the scream.

Miki opened the shears inside of his leg to stretch the wound out, then she closed them to bury the blades deeper in his shin. She snipped away at his stringy muscles and durable tendons. She giggled as she dodged the drops of blood leaping out of the wide, crooked gash. He slapped her shoulder and the back of her head while screaming, but he couldn’t harm her.

Brian let out another frightening shriek. About half a mile away, Sebastian stopped while scrambling up a hill, cheeks caked with mud. He looked back and listened to his friend’s echoing cry. He checked his phone—no signal. He crawled up to the top of the hill, then he continued running and screaming for help.

Brian screamed until he was out of breath. His eyelids twitched and his eyes rolled up. Stiff, he fell back and plummeted to the ground. The back of his head bounced off a stone under some leaves.

Thud!

His pants ripped, his leg bones cracked, and the surrounding muscles tore with a wet shredding sound. His lower leg was snapped in half, barely attached to his body by his butchered calf muscle. Through the hole on his pants leg, Miki could see the broken bones and pulsing muscle. Strips of skin and purple veins hung from the stump at the bottom of his leg.

The bottom half of his lower leg stood upright, still caught in the bear trap’s jaws, while Brian was sprawled across the ground behind it.

Towering over him, Miki said, “Looks like you’re not going anywhere.”

Saliva foamed out of Brian’s mouth as he spasmed. Only the whites of his eyes could be seen through the slits of his eyelids.

Miki opened the shears and slid one of the blades into his mouth. She cut his left cheek open—snip, snip. Then she forced a blade into the opposite side of his mouth and cut his other cheek. The cuts extended from the corners of his mouth to his ears—a Glasgow smile. Blood fused with the foamy saliva, frothing like Big Red soda.

Brian lost control of his body during the torture, but he was still alive. He felt like he was floating above the woods, watching as a sadistic woman mutilated his face. He was hopeless and helpless, pushed into the void between life and death.

Miki stroked his wispy hair and said, “You’re like me now. We’re both beautiful, aren’t we? Oh, I wish we could spend more time together, but I have to go. I have a prince to catch.”

Brian kept convulsing, head shaking on a pile of leaves and dirt. Goops of thick saliva and blood rolled down his jaw. Miki closed the shears, holding the handles in both hands. She held the shears up to her chest, blades pointing away from her, then she fell on top of Brian. The blades shattered his sternum and pierced his heart, killing him instantly. One last breath blew out of him, bloody spittle hitting Miki’s face.

She had used her weight to break through his bone. She knew stabbings—murders—weren’t as easy as the movies made them look. She had calculated every detail, studied the human body, and accepted her own strengths and weaknesses. She accepted the fact that she wasn’t as strong as most men or even most teenage boys. She had planned on only targeting young girls, but she took what she could get. Patterns led to capture anyway.

Killers were often caught because of their modus operandi.

Miki exhaled loudly as she pulled the shears out of the boy’s motionless chest. She sat beside him and cleaned the blades with a handkerchief. She scanned the woods for any wandering hikers or rangers. There was no one in sight.

She glanced at Brian and said, “That could have gone a lot smoother. Why were you scared of me before I even showed you my face? Was it the mask?” A squirt of blood shot out of the kid’s stabbed chest. His white shirt turned red and his blue windbreaker looked black from all of the blood. Miki sighed, as if she were disappointed by Brian’s silence, then she said, “This isn’t working the way I was hoping it would. Maybe I should give up.”

She thought about her approach. Kids in Japan were afraid of her scars, but they weren’t suspicious of her mask. It seemed like it was the opposite in America—kids didn’t care about her scars but they didn’t trust her mask. She believed she couldn’t continue her murder spree without the mask, though. It gave her an element of surprise while helping her hide her identity. She sat beside the dead boy for five minutes, listening to nature while waiting for a ranger to arrest her or for a hiker to restrain her. She was ready to accept defeat.

But no one showed up.

She saw it as a sign to continue moving forward with her plot. Try again, she told herself. She walked away from the body and disappeared in the woods.

11

AN INTERNATIONAL CRISIS

February 29, 2020

“I’ve gotta go in a minute,” Adam said, balancing a cell phone between his shoulder and ear. “Just leave a message with Karla or put the paperwork on my desk. I’ll get to it tomorrow. Come on, Dallas, you know I’m off today.”

He stood in the living room, trying to fit a sippy cup and a pouch of applesauce into a full diaper bag. He pulled a pink onesie out and stared at it with a confused look that said: ‘Why does she need this today?’ Dallas said something to him over the phone, but Adam didn’t hear him.

He looked over at the kitchen, held up the onesie, and asked, “You’re taking this?”

Washing Riley’s hands at the kitchen sink, Amber said, “It’s just some extra clothes in case she gets dirty or she wants to sleep.”

“You already have an extra set of clothes in here.”

“Well, it’s an extra set of clothes in case she doesn’t like that extra set.”

“O–kay.”

Over the phone, Dallas said, “Adam, you’re not listening. Hey, Adam, this is urgent. You have to listen to me, man.”

“I am listening.”

“No, you’re not. You’re standing there with a diaper or a sippy cup in your hand and you’re talking to Amber or you’re watching TV.”

Adam looked at the sippy cup in his hand, smiled, and asked, “When did you become a psychic?”

“I’m serious here. Put it down—put everything down—and listen to me.”

Adam felt the gravity in Dallas’ voice. He put the cup on the coffee table and sat on the sofa. He could still hear Amber talking to Riley, but he focused on the call.

He asked, “What happened?”

“It’s getting serious,” Dallas answered. “This pandemic, man… The travel advisories are changing all around the world. Level 3, Level 4… We’re seeing requests for cancellations—refunds—at a record pace. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Ah, come on, don’t be so dramatic. We’re going to bounce back from this. It’s just, like, uh… the swine flu, you know? It’s not like it’s the bubonic plague.”

“It doesn’t matter what it is, Adam. The only thing that matters is what people think it is. People are getting scared. There are rumblings of a nationwide lockdown right here. It’s not under control and this is not going to be just a ‘China problem.’ Hell, we’re already getting reports of cancellations from all of our partners in Asia. All of them.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Adam said, struggling to keep the smile on his face. “I doubt we’re going to see border closures. Maybe in some countries like North Korea or Thailand, but… Japan? The Olympics are this year. They’re not just going to cancel after years of planning because of a couple of cases of who knows what. We just need to… We need to adapt, right?”

“Adam,” Dallas said with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

The answer was obvious. Their business was healthy, but they weren’t ready for an international pandemic—nobody was.

“Say I’m right,” Adam demanded.

“Adam, we can’t adapt to something that is going to wipe out our industry. We’re all about travel. If people can’t travel, we have nothing to sell. I’m hearing from analysts that travel agents, tour operators, hoteliers, airlines and airports are all bracing for impact. They’re saying the tourism industry is going to be disrupted until 2021. And that’s the earliest estimate for any sort of recovery.”

“From who?! Which analysts?!”

From the kitchen counter, Amber said, “Adam, please keep your voice down.”

At the same time, Dallas was saying, “Ours and theirs, Adam. Come on. Just ‘cause you’re not listening doesn’t mean no one’s saying it.”

Adam turned on the television and flipped through the news channels. Every program discussed the developing pandemic. One headline read: The quiet, deadly epidemic? Another headline read: California case makes containment urgent. The most frightening headline read: CDC warns of deadly virus’ rapid spread in US.

“Look at these damn headlines,” Adam said as he pointed the remote at the television. “No wonder everyone’s scared.”

Dallas said, “Headlines create panic, but they don’t create pandemics. This damn virus was going to be here, one way or another. So, it doesn’t matter if people cancel their trips calmly or frantically. This is where we’re at and we need a plan.”

“What kind of plan, Dallas? You just said we can’t fucking adapt!”

Riley started crying in the kitchen.

“Adam,” Amber hissed.

Face scrunched up, Adam turned to face her, raised his hand up, and mouthed: ‘Sorry.’ Amber shook her head and returned to Riley, who was already seated in her highchair.

Lowering his voice, Adam asked, “What do we do?”

Dallas said, “We need to meet and talk about this. Not just us, but the top brass. We have a lot of important decisions to make. If this is a global pandemic, if there is no cure or vaccine, we have to get ready to survive for the foreseeable future without any international business. Hell, we might even have to find a way to survive without any domestic business.”

As he walked over to the counter, Adam asked, “What kind of ‘important’ decisions?” He grabbed his coat and put it on. He said, “You keep saying we should meet, but what exactly are you suggesting?”

“During the meeting, I’m going to suggest we cut hours for everyone, we consider laying off nonessential staff, and we organize our cash to see how long we can stay afloat without any more profit. We also have to discuss our contracts with our international partners.”

“Layoffs? Shit,” Adam muttered.

“I know it’s not ideal, but… this isn’t an ideal situation. Besides, it’s just a suggestion right now. Get over here and let’s start working.”

“All right, I’ll see you soon.”

Adam disconnected from the call. He lowered the phone and stared at his warped reflection on the screen. He had been hearing about the virus for months, but he always shrugged it off. It can’t spread here, he had told himself. We’re not a third-world country. He never expected countries around the world to close their borders, but they did and it crippled their business. A domestic lockdown would have killed them off.

“You going to work?” Amber asked.

Voice tight, Adam responded, “Yup.”

“Are you serious? We have an appointment in, like, forty-five minutes. It can’t wait until after that?”

“No, it can’t wait. I’m sorry.”

Amber looked at the television, then back at her husband. She couldn’t hear Dallas’ voice, but she heard enough from Adam to understand the situation.

“It’s getting serious, huh?” she said, pouting.

“Guess so.”

“But we’re okay, aren’t we? We have enough savings to last a few months, don’t we?”

Adam feared the pandemic would have calamitous repercussions on the entire travel industry if it wasn’t solved quickly. They were losing money every day. And if his business folded, he wasn’t sure he could simply go out and find a new job. A primal fear clutched his body. His mouth dried, his skin crawled, and butterflies swarmed in his stomach. He couldn’t admit it to his wife, though.

He saw Riley from the corner of his eye, mashed broccoli smeared on her lips. He was willing to do anything to give her the perfect life—even if it meant firing his entire staff.

He said, “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to talk to Dallas and we’re going to come up with a, uh… with an action plan.” He waved his hand at the TV and said, “You don’t worry about any of this, okay?”

She smacked her lips, then she said, “Of course I’m going to worry about it. I don’t even want to go to this doctor’s appointment anymore. What if we get sick? What if you get sick? Can’t you just have your meeting from home?”

“Just be careful and stay away from people, okay? Um… Wash your hands, wear a mask, don’t touch your face. Oh, and—”

“I know how to take care of us, Adam. I’m just saying: Maybe we shouldn’t be taking so many risks.”

Adam nodded and said, “I get it. I’ll tell Dallas to start setting us up for some remote meetings, but for now, I have to go. We’re running out of time. I’m sorry. Just… be careful.”

Amber bit her lip and nodded, then she said, “You too.”

As he headed to the front door, Adam shouted, “I love you!”

“We love you, too,” Amber said as the door slammed shut behind her husband.

12

A DIFFERENT APPROACH

March 6, 2020

Miki strolled through the streets of Downtown Los Angeles, studying the consequences of the ongoing pandemic. The crowds thinned due to the absence of international tourists, but the streets were still crowded with traffic. She was delighted to see she wasn’t the only person wearing a mask anymore. She even spotted a peculiar woman in a homemade hazmat suit—face shielded by a cut plastic milk container, body covered in black garbage bags, yellow rubber gloves on her hands.

Miki stopped under a vertical neon sign that read: Kaleo’s. Beside it, another vertical message read: Bar & Lounge. She peeked through the open doors to her right. She could hear women laughing and men hollering under Hawaiian music. There was an old surveillance camera above the entrance. She figured there was no way anyone could identify her in any grainy footage thanks to her mask. She went in and found herself in a crowded tiki bar.

She sat at the bar and ordered a mojito, which she drank through a straw under her mask. She could hear people laughing at her from a table in the corner. She was sure they were laughing at her—or someone—because they were snickering and people snickered when they were mocking others. It wasn’t the same jolly, friendly laughter she had heard before she started drinking. It didn’t bother her, though.

Her ego died with her beauty.

After about ten minutes of drinking alone, a young man named Matt Wolfe approached her. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-two.

“How’s it going?” he asked, leaning against the bar next to her with a cocktail in his hand.

“Fine,” Miki said, avoiding eye contact.

She visited the bar to observe the citizens of Los Angeles. She counted the number of masks she saw in public. She planned on killing more children, but only if she could murder them while wearing her mask. She wanted to be able to lure the children without compromising her identity. She had no interest in Matt.

But Matt was tipsy. He couldn’t take the hint because he didn’t recognize it. If a woman wasn’t screaming ‘get away!’ or ‘stop!’, he felt like he was welcome to continue pestering her.

Matt took a sip of his drink, then he asked, “Aren’t you hot in that?”

“I’m fine,” Miki replied coldly.

“You’re wearing a… Wha–What do you call ‘em? A trench coat? Yeah, you’re wearing a trench coat in here. I mean, look, there’s a fa–fireplace over there. It’s kinda hot in here. Don’t you… You wanna take that off or, um…”

Miki knitted her eyebrows at him and asked, “Are you asking me if I want to take off my coat?”

“Uhh… Yeah?”

“Why?”

“Um… Small talk?”

“That’s your idea of small talk? Walking up to a woman, asking her if she’s hot, and then asking her if she wants to undress herself in public?”

Matt pursed his lips, his brow wrinkled, cheeks inflated, eyes red and glassed over. Then he smirked and shrugged at her before bursting into a chuckle. Miki huffed, then she laughed at him. Although not exactly romantic, their quirky conversation and the bar’s cozy atmosphere reminded her of the first time she met Adam. Nostalgia warmed her body.

Miki removed her jacket, revealing her black long-sleeve dress. She folded her coat and placed it on her lap. While she did that, Matt noticed the dark purple scars on her wrists. They made him shudder. Although she didn’t seem bothered by his staring, Miki adjusted her sleeves to conceal the scars. Scars were easy to remember, and she didn’t need anyone to remember her visit to the bar.

Trying to keep the conversation flowing, Matt said, “My name is Matt. What should I call you?”

“You can call me Miki.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Matt said. “So, uh… what’s the mask for, Miki? Is your face cold, too?”

“I don’t want to get sick,” Miki responded.

“Sick?” he repeated in surprise, as if Miki’s explanation were absurd. He gave her a one-syllable laugh—Ha!—then he said, “Honestly, I thought you were, like, a… I thought you were a doctor when I first saw you. That’s actually why I came over here.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, you know, I’ve got a case of the ‘lonelies’ and I was hoping you could, uh… cure me?”

Miki couldn’t hold her deadpan expression for more than five seconds. She slapped her hand over her mouth and giggled.

“What?” Matt asked, smiling. “What’s so funny?”

“Was that a pick-up line?”

“If it worked… yeah, it was a pick-up line and I thought of it myself. If it didn’t, then I really have to see a doctor for these, uh… these burns from this public humiliation and—and—my friend over there came up with it. I just listened to him ‘cause I’m a little buzzed.”

Miki smiled as she observed him. He was a tall, scrawny guy with a babyish face and boyish combover. He looked like he had never thrown a punch—like his voice still cracked from puberty. With the alcohol mixed into the equation, she was confident she could overpower him.

She asked, “Did you drive here?”

“Huh?”

“Did you drive here in your car? Do you own a car? Did you come with friends? A taxi? Uber?”

“Oh… Oh! Yeah, I drove here,” Matt said as he nodded rapidly. Then he squinted an eye and stuttered, “Wha–Why? You need a ride or something?”

Miki glanced around the room. The bartender served drinks to a couple at the other end of the bar. A group of college students laughed and screamed at a booth. Middle-aged men prowled the corners of the bar, searching for vulnerable young women to take home. There were a few downers in there, too, but most of the patrons appeared to be enjoying life.

No one paid any attention to Miki or Matt.

Miki said, “Let’s go for a drive.”

Eyes sparkling with excitement, Matt responded, “Re–Really? Okay, let’s, uh… Let’s go.” He pointed behind him with his thumb and said, “Let me just tell my buddy so he can get a ride from someone else.”

“No. I don’t want anyone to think I’m ‘that’ type of girl. We go now privately or we don’t go anywhere together at all.”

Matt liked her spunk. She knew what she wanted and he knew what he wanted, so he figured they were two smart people with an understanding between them. He looked back at his friends in the corner of the room. They pressured him into approaching Miki, but they weren’t watching him anymore.

Matt shrugged and said, “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Matt drove a red 2015 Honda Civic EX. It was nighttime now. Rush hour had ended, but there were still plenty of drivers on the streets and pedestrians on the sidewalks.

“You wanna play some music?” Matt asked as he pointed at his radio.

From the passenger seat, Miki said, “Actually, I prefer the silence.”

“You mean, uh… You don’t want me to talk? You just want to get back to my place and… you know.”

Miki smiled and said, “What I mean is: I’d rather listen to your voice and have you listen to mine than listen to anything on the radio.”

“That’s… very sweet. It sounds like a pick-up line, actually. Maybe I’ll use it someday,” Matt joked.

“What? You’re one of those guys that picks up girls at bars for one-night stands and then dumps ‘em?”

The car stopped behind a truck at a red light.

Matt said, “Oh, no. No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean, I, uh… I like you, of course, but I’m just not… I don’t think about the future so much, you know? If we click, we click. If we don’t, well at least we had fun. That’s the way I look at it. I try not to be an asshole. I just don’t wanna be that type of guy.”

The light turned green.

Miki could see Matt was a nervous wreck, the type of guy to ramble until he was out of trouble or out of breath. He was confident, he was willing to humiliate himself to seal the deal, but he seemed inexperienced. She didn’t think he was a virgin, but she assumed it was his first time actually picking up a woman at a bar.

She said, “Good. You should know something about me. You see, if you did try that on me—fuck me and then leave me—I’m the type of girl that would keep coming for you. And if you did anything to hurt me, I’m the type of girl that would chase you across the world to get even. I guess you could call me an asshole or a bitch.”

His mouth hanging open, Matt kept his narrowed eyes on the road. He braked to a stop at another red light. He turned in his seat to look at her with an expression that said: What the hell did you just say? Miki stared at him with a steady, cold expression. They could hear the muffled voices from the sidewalk and a motorcycle engine nearby.

Miki exclaimed, “Just kidding!”

“Just… kidding?” Matt repeated with an uncertain smile.

“I’m not one of those crazy girls. I know what I’m doing—what I’m going to do.”

“Wha–What are you—”

“Can you take a right here?” Miki interrupted.

Matt said, “Skid Row is that way.”

“You scared?”

“No, I’m… What? No. It’s not like it’s dangerous or anything like that, but it’s not the safest place at night and it’s not even close to my pad.”

Miki said, “It’s just that you’re swerving a little bit and there’s still a lot of traffic here. I don’t want to get into an accident or get you pulled over. You drank, I drank… It wouldn’t look good. Besides, I wanted to stop by Little Tokyo. There’s something I want to buy for us.”

“What?”

Miki leaned closer to his ear and whispered, “It’s a secret.”

Her sultry voice made the hairs at the back of his neck prickle. He gulped loudly, then he nodded and took a right turn. Within a few blocks, they found themselves in Skid Row. Tents, tarps, and cardboard boxes lined the streets. A few people loitered on the corners, listening to music on boomboxes while smoking and drinking. Others walked around, collecting cans or just making their way home. Shopping carts rattled and screeched on every street.

Miki said, “Stop.”

“Huh?” Matt grunted.

“Stop the car.”

“Here? In the–the middle of the street?”

“Please.”

Matt checked the rearview and sideview mirrors. There were no cars behind him. He made sure the doors were locked, then he pulled over.

“What is it?” he asked.”

Miki pointed in front of her and said, “Go into that alley.”

“What’s going on?”

Miki bit her bottom lip as she glanced at him. She lowered her head and blushed, swiping at the hair dangling in front of her face.

Matt laughed and said, “Come on, what is it?”

Miki said, “I want to fuck you here. In Skid Row. Right in that alley.”

“Are you… Are you being serious?”

“I’m so wet right now,” she whispered.

Matt, still laughing, couldn’t contain his excitement. His dick was already semi-erect. He looked over his shoulder and spotted two homeless men standing next to a blue tent on the sidewalk. He didn’t see any cops around. He drove forward, the car practically crawling towards the alley. He braked again. He felt his pulse in his fingers as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Miki asked, “Don’t you wanna fuck me?”

Matt sighed. He had fantasized about public sex. He wasn’t ashamed of it, but he was worried about getting caught. He couldn’t help but imagine the conversation with his mother. ‘Hey, mom. I just got arrested for banging a girl in my car in Skid Row. Can you bail me out?’ At the same time, he couldn’t resist the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He gave Miki a shaky smile, she answered with a wink, and then the car rolled into the alley.

Matt couldn’t hear the world outside of his car. He only heard their lips smacking, his shuddery breaths, and Miki’s sensual moans. It was as if the homeless community—which seemed to grow every day in Los Angeles—had vanished as soon as they started kissing. He couldn’t see much in the dark vehicle, either. He had tried to turn on the dome light, but Miki stopped him. Shadows hid her scarred face. The alcohol flowing through Matt’s body helped blur his vision, too. His seat was reclined, one hand on the nape of her neck and the other on her ass.

Miki was sprawled on top of him and the center console. Her boots thudded on the steering wheel and dashboard as she writhed in pleasure. She leaned away from him to catch her breath. He lunged at her, kissing her lips, cheeks, chin, neck—everywhere. Miki moaned again. It was so loud that it caught the attention of two black cats laying on the brick wall next to the car. The sidewalk was a few meters away, but the transients couldn’t hear them from the other side of the dumpster. The local self-proclaimed preacher, yelling about the end of the world down the street, helped mask their noise as well.

As Matt kissed her jaw, Miki whispered, “Unbutton your pants.”

Like a trained dog, Matt did as he was told. He unbuttoned his pants while kissing and licking Miki’s neck. Then he pulled his pants and boxers down, letting his erect penis flop out.

“Take off your jacket,” Matt said.

“Not yet.”

“Come on.”

“No, not yet. I like it like this.”

“Yeah? You like CFNM?”

CFNM stood for ‘clothed female, naked male.’ It was a genre of pornography Matt occasionally enjoyed. Miki didn’t know what he was talking about, but she nodded anyway. Her gloved hands went down to his crotch. She massaged his scrotum, then she stroked his penis—one hand at a time. His dick made a squishy sound because of the pre-ejaculate pooling under his foreskin.

“Ah, shit, that’s good,” Matt murmured.

“Close your eyes,” Miki said.

“Take off your clothes, baby.”

“I will, but you have to close your eyes first.”

“I wanna see your—”

Miki stroked the shaft of his penis with her left hand and rubbed her right palm gently against the glans. Matt hissed as if he had burned himself on a stove. He felt the warmth of ecstasy coursing through him. He put his head against the headrest and stared at the ceiling with a dumbfounded expression. He blinked slowly, as if he were dozing off—as if Miki were pulling the life out of him through his dick. Then he closed his eyes.

“How’s it feel?” Miki whispered into his ear.

Matt said, “Amazing… I want to… fuck you.”

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’re going to wish you never met me.”

Matt laughed like a dentist’s patient under nitrous oxide. He wanted to say something along the lines of: ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ But pleasure stole his voice. Miki took her palm off his glans, but she kept stroking him with her other hand.

Matt blindly reached for her arm and said, “Don’t stop.”

“Shh.”

“Come on, please don’t stop.”

“Shh.”

Matt heard her coat shuffling. Her foot hit the radio and her knee struck the door.

“You getting naked?” he asked.

Just as he lifted his head from the headrest, Miki kissed him and pushed him back down. She moved on top of him, but she stopped touching his dick. He thrust his hips up at her, fucking the air like pollution.

He whispered, “Don’t tease me like that. Let’s just fuh—”

He yelped in pain. His eyes snapped open and his mouth widened, but he couldn’t see or say anything. He arched his neck, tilted his head back, and cried again. He felt a hot, stinging pain at the base of his scrotal sac. Then the pain spread into his scrotum. A hot liquid splashed on his thighs and dripped onto the seat.

As if he had finally realized something was wrong, he began to panic. He screamed and thrashed about under Miki, arms and legs hitting the door and the center console. Another jolt of pain burst from his genitals. His testicles were unbound, prolapsing from a wound at the bottom of his scrotum. Saliva spurted from between his gritted teeth.

“S–S–Stop!” he cried.

Matt pushed Miki up. The back of her head and neck hit the ceiling of the car, but she stayed on top of him. Through his tears and the darkness, he saw the shears in Miki’s hands and the blades in his scrotum. Miki squeezed the handles again, cutting up towards his penis. The blades severed his spermatic cords. One of his testicles—pink but beaded with blood—bounced on the seat between his thighs.

“Stop!” he repeated, desperation straining his voice.

Miki said, “Almost done, baby, almost done.”

Matt threw a punch at her, landing a jab on her chin. He was a weak young man, though. The blades in his ball sac didn’t do him any favors, either. He hit her again. The corner of her mouth turned red. He swung at her again and hit the ceiling, knuckles popping upon impact. Miki smirked and squeezed the handles. The shears cut into the shaft of his erect penis. Sobbing hysterically, Matt pulled on the door handle.

But he had locked the doors because he was afraid of the local transients.

With another snip, his penis and scrotum were severed. One of his testicles was still attached to the scrotal sac by some veins. Blood poured out from the bottom of his amputated penis and squirted from the dick stump protruding from his crotch. His eyes jutted from their sockets as he stared at his penis in Miki’s raised hand. Connected by some skin, his mangled scrotum dangled from his severed dick.

In terrible, debilitating pain, he put his hands over his crotch and bellowed, “Ahhh!”

Miki closed the shears and thrust the blades at the center of his neck, immediately silencing him. They entered his throat under his Adam’s apple, piercing his larynx and esophagus. Red and sweaty, his face knotted, his eyes shut, and his tongue stuck out. Miki twisted the shears to widen the wound. He moved one hand up to his neck. He touched the blood around the gash, then the shears, then Miki’s gloved hand.

His lips moved, but only the sound of him gargling his own blood came out of his mouth. His head swayed on the headrest. His hand slid down to his chest. He remained conscious, but he was brought to the brink of death.

As she pulled the shears out, blood spurted from his throat and hit her chin. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing his blood across her jaw.

“I told you you’d wish you never met me,” she said.

She watched his suffering with wide, unblinking eyes. She had seen death—murder—several times before, and it was always beautiful. It was like reliving her first love again and again and again. She looked at the bleeding hole on his neck, then at the severed cock in her hand. The penis was flaccid but firm now.

She said, “A man once said he wanted to ‘fuck my tiny Asian throat.’ I always wondered what it would be like to fuck a man like that.”

She pressed the glans of Matt’s penis against the hole on his neck, then she twisted it left and right, as if she were screwing a nail into a wall. Thanks to the blood, the glans slid into the wound. She mashed as much of it in as possible—about two centimeters. The penis clogged his airway. Another lump stuck out of his neck like a second Adam’s apple.

Some men could suck their own penises, but most men couldn’t throat-fuck themselves like Matt.

The rest of his dick hung out of his neck. The scrotal skin, as well as one of his genitals, swung around the dent between his collarbones. It looked like a bowtie of flesh—a genital bowtie. One limp hand on his chest and the other on his crotch, Matt passed away while his penis was being pushed into his throat. Worried about getting caught because of her mask, Miki hadn’t murdered anyone since the boy at Griffith Park. Matt’s death encouraged her. She was ready to proceed with her plan.

She whispered, “I can still do this.”

She carved a smile onto Matt’s face, then she cleaned her shears with his shirt. She gathered her belongings, put her mask on, and then left the vehicle. She smiled behind her mask as she wandered the streets of Skid Row. Some people yelled at her, a few men catcalled her, but no one really noticed her enough to remember anything about her. She was a ghost.

Matt’s body was discovered in the early morning by a homeless man and then a homeless woman found him at noon. His body wasn’t reported to the police until that evening, though.

13

LOCKDOWN

March 13, 2020

“They’re closing the schools,” Amber said in a hushed tone as she ran her fingertips across Adam’s strong, bare chest.

Adam lay in bed beside her, blank eyes glued to the ceiling. The dark circles under his eyes looked black in the moonlight pouring into the bedroom from the window. His jaw was clenched and his muscles were tense. His head seemed to hurt all the time, but no amount of medicine could relieve the pain. Ten seconds of silence elapsed.

He said, “I saw the news.”

“It’s a good thing, right?”

Fifteen seconds of silence passed.

“I don’t know,” Adam said.

Amber responded, “Well, there’s going to be a, um… A shelter-in-place order or something like that. That should help, right?”

With so much on his mind, Adam was slow to respond. He heard every word from Amber’s mouth, but it took him a moment to process it. Another ten seconds passed.

Before he could answer, Amber asked, “What’s wrong, hun? You’ve been so quiet recently.”

‘Everything.’ He stopped himself from saying that word out loud. It was the truth, but he didn’t want to alarm his wife. The world was crumbling around him. Stress ate away at his health, killing him from within. He lay still, but he felt like he was free-falling, sick to his stomach just thinking about survival. He shouldered the burden of supporting his family during the pandemic.

Amber would have been happy to help. She knew something was wrong, but she didn’t see it. Optimism had a way of blinding people. Everything’s under control, she told herself repeatedly.

She said, “Talk to me. Please.”

Without moving his eyes, Adam responded, “Things aren’t looking good, Amber. Last year was our most profitable year ever. You know that already. We were on top of the world, all over the world. This year… We haven’t seen a cent of profit in weeks and we’re not expecting any for a few more. It could be months before we see any revenue. We’re being wiped out. It’s like the entire industry is… is being executed—publicly. Everyone’s watching but no one can help us.” He sighed and shook his head. He said, “I don’t know what I expected. I know everyone’s struggling, but I’m just… it’s… I guess I’m just a little shocked about it.”

What he really wanted to say was: ‘I’m just scared.’ But he knew fear was a virus in itself, contagious like a yawn. Amber kept twirling her finger on his collarbone, half of her concerned face lit up by the moonlight.

Adam said, “Forget about it. We’ll rebound.”

“We will,” Amber reassured him. “And at least we’re healthy right now. That’s the most important thing, right?”

“Yeah.”

Adam’s voice sounded uninterested and tired, devoid of relief and gratitude. Words couldn’t reassure him. Only money could set his mind at ease. He was thankful for Riley’s health, but the pandemic wasn’t over yet. In fact, it looked like it was just getting started. To him, being grateful for surviving an ongoing pandemic was like being happy about winning a race before the race even ended.

Sensing his bad mood, Amber said, “If we need money, I’ll do more commission work. I’ll start making necklaces and pendants and stuff like that. People are always buying that sort of stuff online.”

“They can’t buy ‘that sort of stuff’ if they don’t have money.”

“Then I’ll get my old job back. You’re right, people might not have money for my art or knick-knacks anymore, but everyone is going to need help with their taxes.”

Adam sat up at the edge of the bed. Amber propped herself up on her elbow and watched him. They could hear faint voices outside.

Adam asked, “And what am I supposed to do until I can work again? Sit at home and watch you work your fingers to the bone? Clean the house? Do some gardening?”

“You can brainstorm a big ‘comeback’ campaign for when this is all over. You can work with Dallas remotely and be ready to hit the ground running when the time comes. You can stay healthy. You can enjoy your time with me and Riley. Just because we’re going to be stuck at home that doesn’t mean we’re alone. We have each other, hun.”

She crawled over to Adam. She sat up behind him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and rubbed her chest against his back. He felt her erect nipples on his bare back through her nightgown. Her warmth—her love—couldn’t defrost his cold heart. He pulled away from her and went to the window. He saw three teenagers loitering on the street in front of his home.

Punks, he thought.

Amber asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam said.

From the tone of his voice, Amber knew he was lying. She said, “Adam, we need to—”

“I’m fine,” Adam interrupted.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I just don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“It’s important.”

“It is important, but this conversation isn’t.”

Amber asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

As he grabbed a white shirt from his dresser drawer, Adam said, “It means I don’t want to have this damn conversation right now.”

Turning her head to follow his every step without getting out of bed, Amber said, “Adam, you have to calm down. Stress isn’t good for anyone, especially right now. Come back to bed. Let’s talk about this.”

“I’m going to ‘brainstorm,’ in my office,” Adam said in a sarcastic tone. He muttered, “Someone has to fix things around here.”

Amber leaned forward and said, “Adam, please. I just wanted to feel like we were…” Adam exited the room and closed the door behind him. Amber leaned back against the headboard and said, “Like we were going to be okay…”

She thought about chasing after him. In her eyes, Adam was a good man. He was a supportive husband and caring father. But he didn’t handle pressure well. He never hit her or even raised a hand at her, but like most couples, they had their fair share of arguments. She didn’t want to disturb Riley’s sleep with a fight. She curled up in bed and thought about the state of the world and their future.

Adam’s home office was on the first floor. On his way down, he stopped by their nursery and checked on Riley. She slept in her crib without a blanket, but the room was warm. He kissed her forehead and stroked her short dark brown hair. In a gentle whisper, he told her the words he couldn’t tell Amber: ‘I promise everything’s going to be okay.’

He didn’t tell Amber those words because he didn’t want to add to his stress. He didn’t want to disappoint the love of his life if he failed to salvage his business. He could tell Riley because she couldn’t understand him, even if she were awake. He was a stubborn, anxious, frightened man, but he loved his family.

He went down to his office. It was a small room with a desk, an iMac and a printer, and an executive rolling chair and a recliner. Shelves filled with business textbooks, self-help books, novels, and memoirs from successful entrepreneurs cluttered the shelves behind his desk. Pictures of his family decorated the green walls.

He paced around in his office, floorboards creaking with each step. He mumbled incoherently, as if he were hoping a random word would spark a genius idea. His computer was open to a blank Word document, the text cursor blinking continuously. He spent about forty-five minutes walking in circles in his office.

An idea never hit him.

He fell into his rolling chair and stared at the monitor. He could hear someone laughing with each blink of the cursor—ha… ha… ha… HA! He closed the document and opened a web browser. He searched the news. Every headline concerned the pandemic: Sporting events canceled, schools closed nationwide, the stock market tumbling. It all made him anxious.

So, he turned his attention to the local crime news. He read about burglaries, shootings, Harvey Weinstein’s prison sentence, and a car accident caused by an intoxicated mother.

One headline caught his undivided attention: Dead man found horribly mutilated inside a vehicle in Skid Row. The article detailed the discovery of Matt Wolfe’s body days earlier and the police’s call for help from the public in finding the unknown assailant. The author described every graphic detail of the murder. Adam’s balls ached as he read about Matt’s severed genitals, then his throat tightened as he read about the amputated penis found hanging from Matt’s neck.

However, the description of Matt’s Glasgow smile—tame compared to the rest of the article—shocked him the most. Terrible memories of his last night in Tokyo shuffled in his mind.

“Mi… Miki?” he whispered.

14

YOUNG PREY

March 18, 2020

Alexa Pérez—a ten-year-old girl—sat on a toilet, surrounded by the stall’s blue walls. Her sneakers barely touched the grimy tile floor. A surgical mask hung from the door’s sliding lock. She used her cell phone while urinating, watching clips of dogs on Instagram and videos of people dancing on TikTok. Only the grating noise from her cheap cell phone blared through the park’s public restroom.

Her phone buzzed with the arrival of a text message. Riddled with errors, it read: U comming 2 Lulu’s house?

Alexa responded: Omw.

Schools had been closed statewide for three days now, and they were expected to stay closed until the end of the academic year due to the ongoing medical crisis. Alexa’s parents managed to keep her home during the first two days, but they couldn’t watch her all the time. They couldn’t lock her in her bedroom and throw away the key, either.

Alexa’s father was a manager at a grocery store and her mother worked at a gas station. They were considered essential workers. So, while they worked, they allowed Alexa to go out as long as she agreed to stay in their neighborhood, wear a mask, and wash her hands thoroughly with soap. Schools were meant to educate, but parents often looked at them as a form of daycare.

And without daycare, they didn’t have a lot of options to take care of their kids.

Alexa wiped herself, then she pulled up her pants and flushed the toilet. She exited the stall and headed over to the sinks. The restroom door was closed but unlocked. It could only be locked with a key. She rinsed her hands, then she lathered them in soap. She rubbed her hands together for about fifteen seconds before she rinsed them again.

She headed to the exit while drying her hands with a brown paper towel. She gasped before she could reach for the door handle. She remembered about her mask. She hurried back to the stall and found her mask hanging from the door’s lock. Just as she grabbed it, the restroom door swung open. The hinges howled like an injured dog. Slow, clacking footsteps approached.

Alexa put her mask on. When she turned around, she found Miki standing in front of the sinks, blocking her path to the exit. It was a warm day, so Miki’s trench coat was unusual. Three big beads of sweat rolled down from her hairline. Her cloth mask and gloves were normal, though. Alexa had seen people wearing everything from surgical and cloth masks to goaltender masks and plastic bags to cover their faces since the pandemic began.

“Excuse me,” Alexa said as she stepped forward, planning on squeezing past her.

“Am I beautiful?” Miki asked.

Alexa stopped and looked up at her, then she glanced over her shoulder before she brought her gaze back to Miki. Her actions said: Are you talking to me?

“What?” she asked.

“Am I beautiful?” Miki repeated in a chillingly normal tone.

“What are you talking about?” Alexa asked, brow creased in confusion.

“You’re a very pretty girl, sweetie. What do you think about me? Am I beautiful?”

“Can I… go now?”

Stepping forward and pausing between each word, Miki said, “Am… I… beautiful?”

Walking backwards, Alexa said, “You… You’re weird.” Miki snickered as she closed in on her. Alexa said, “I wanna go. I’m gonna scream if you don’t let me go.”

“You can go. I’m only here to use the bathroom, sweetie.”

Alexa kept stepping back, inadvertently cornering herself. Then she hugged the wall to her left and slunk forward to squeeze past Miki. Miki pushed a stall door open, but she didn’t step inside. Alexa wanted to run, but her body’s fight-or-flight response told her to freeze. They looked at each other. They could hear a faint police siren and the whizzing tires of a speeding bicycle.

Miki said, “You should have screamed when you had the chance.”

Tears in her eyes, Alexa said, “I just wanna—”

Miki grabbed a fistful of Alexa’s hair and pulled her away from the wall. Alexa screamed and stumbled. She lost her footing on the moist floor and fell into the stall. Her forehead collided with the toilet bowl’s rim, knocking her unconscious, then she collapsed next to the toilet, her head resting on her right arm. Her mask fell from her face.

She awoke about ten seconds later, groggy and disoriented. She heard the stall door close, followed by the sliding lock.

She looked up and, although she saw double, she could see Miki standing over her. She couldn’t hear the emergency sirens or the bike anymore. The restroom was close to a baseball field and a trailer park, but there was no one out there. She rolled onto her back and reached for her cell phone. The blow to the head weakened her, so she had trouble finding her pockets.

Miki crouched in front of the toilet. She tilted her head from side to side as she examined the child squirming at her feet.

She caressed Alexa’s swollen, rosy forehead and, in a soft voice, she said, “I’m going to ask you one more time. Am I beautiful?”

Alexa was breathing so fast that she couldn’t speak. She slid her clammy hands into her pockets. Her cell phone fell out and hit the tile floor with a thud. The screen flickered on, revealing the cracks at the bottom and a picture of herself hugging her mother as her wallpaper.

Miki said, “I’ll take that as a no.”

She pulled her shears out of her coat pocket and thrust them at Alexa’s left arm. Alexa’s eyes bulged as Miki closed the shears over her thin wrist. She cried and jerked her arm back, unintentionally smashing her elbow on the floor, which sent a tingly feeling down to her fingertips. The blades cut both sides of her wrist horizontally, but the cut across her inner wrist was the deepest.

“Ow!” the girl screamed. “Ah–Ow!”

Alexa tried to sit up, but Miki slapped her left hand over the girl’s mouth and pushed her back down to the floor. The back of Alexa’s head bounced off the dirty tiles. Miki closed the shears over her wrist again, squeezing the handles with all of her might. She could hear the blades scraping her fragile bones. She wondered if she could amputate her hand with the shears.

Alexa pulled her arm away from her, widening the wounds on her wrist. The blades—buried in her flesh—pushed her skin up to the base of her hand, causing it to wrinkle. She was degloving herself by fighting back, but it was her body’s natural reaction to the pain. Her fight-or-flight response was now telling her to run.

The girl’s legs hit the stall door and walls as she spasmed. She even hit her head on the toilet. Her tears shined on her cheeks as well as on Miki’s black leather gloves. Yet, she kept screaming—screaming and screaming and screaming until her lungs burned. Her strangled voice barely reached the baseball field outside.

Miki closed the blades over her wrist again, then she turned the handles from side to side. Blood sprayed out from her inner wrist and landed on Miki’s sleeve. The girl’s wrist was mangled, bones and veins exposed to the bathroom’s dirty air. Dark blood drenched her arm. It reached the short sleeve of her blue shirt.

Alexa stopped screaming. The light started to fade from her rolling eyes. She breathed deeply through her nose, yellowish mucus leaked out of her nostrils, and foamy saliva oozed from under Miki’s glove.

“Wow,” Miki said as she ran her eyes over the wounds. “You know, I tried to do something like this to myself before. I used a box cutter instead of these shears, though. I just felt like… like the box cutter would get the job done. I think I saw it in a movie or a show once. But I didn’t realize I was supposed to cut myself up and down, not side to side. Vertically, you know? That’s how you really make sure you die.”

She paused, as if waiting for Alexa to respond. Alexa mewled and shivered, cries distorted by Miki’s hand.

Miki said, “You want to know something else? I used to think it was easier for a person to hurt themselves than to hurt others. I was wrong—very wrong. This was much easier.”

Alexa whimpered. She cried for her parents, but her words were unintelligible. The loss of blood and the hot pain left her pallid and weak. She was listless—almost lifeless.

Realizing she had stopped fighting back, Miki took her hand off her mouth and said, “Shh, everything’s going to be okay. It’s almost over, sweetie.”

“Ma–ma–ma–mommy,” Alexa stammered, her voice so soft that it couldn’t be heard in the neighboring stall.

Miki opened the shears. She pressed one of the blades into the crook of Alexa’s elbow. A bead of blood seeped out as the blade punctured her flesh. Then she dragged the blade down to her wrist—a long, vertical slit. It was as easy as cutting through paper. Arms trembling, Alexa grimaced and whined. She didn’t have the energy to scream.

Miki stabbed the crook of her elbow again, then she slowly slid the blade down to her wrist, following the curves of a vein. She stopped at her wrist again. She cut her a third time, cutting an artery at the edge of her elbow and tracing it to her wrist. Blood shot out of that wound, spraying onto the tile floor and Miki’s boots.

The cuts on her right arm were lethal. They were grisly, but they weren’t as gruesome as the wide, horizontal wounds on her other arm. Both of her arms looked like they were dipped in barrels of blood, but the vertical wounds bled more. The dark blood flowed in the grooves between the tiles around her.

The door hinges squealed.

Miki turned her head slowly to face the stall wall to her left. Alexa could only see the base of the toilet from her position.

“Help,” she said feebly.

A teenage girl walked into the room, music blaring from her Bluetooth headphones. She entered the neighboring stall.

Miki smiled mischievously. She thrust the closed shears at Alexa’s neck diagonally just as the girl started to cry for help. The blades severed her jugular, punctured her esophagus, and sliced her trachea. A geyser of blood shot out of her throat as the shears came out. Alexa squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. She reached for her neck, but she could hardly lift her mutilated arms.

She gargled her own blood while wriggling on the floor. The sound of her blood splashing wasn’t as loud as the splashing of urine in the neighboring stall. They were singing a duet of bodily fluids.

Miki grabbed some wads of toilet paper and placed them in the grooves between the tiles to stop the rivers of blood from flowing into the other stall. Meanwhile, next door, the teenager wiped herself. Miki stabbed Alexa’s lower abdomen five times with the shears. Only grunting and gurgling sounds came out of Alexa’s mouth.

She passed out after the fifth stab. Her face and arms continued twitching. She had slipped into a dreamless void of darkness—practically dead—but her body still reacted to the pain.

While the teenager gathered her belongings in the other stall, Miki stabbed Alexa’s stomach ten more times. Although some of the wounds didn’t bleed much, blood erupted from two cuts under her ribs, shooting two feet into the air. She wondered if she had penetrated her stomach and spleen or if she reached her kidneys

Alexa died with the eighth stab.

The teenager washed her hands for ten seconds, then checked herself out in the mirror for five minutes. She didn’t hear a thing over her music.

Miki used that time to slice Alexa’s cheeks open with the shears. Then she propped the girl up on the toilet, blood dripping from her fingertips. Her left hand looked like it was barely attached to her arm by some cracked bones.

The door hinges squeaked again, announcing the teenager’s departure.

Miki exited the stall. She cleaned her shears at the sink, then she washed her bloodied gloves thoroughly with hot water and soap. She wasn’t bothered by the footsteps outside of the restroom. They grew louder and then faded away as she scrubbed the blood off her boots with a wet paper towel. She was emboldened by the murders, apathetic and audacious.

After cleaning herself up, she took a tube of lipstick out of her purse. She used the red lipstick to write a message on the mirror, then she exited the restroom while humming cheerily.

Scrawled in capital letters, the message read: AM I BEAUTIFUL?

15

SHELTER AT HOME

March 27, 2020

Adam sat at the end of the dining table, index and middle fingers hooked around his coffee mug’s handle. An expression of shell-shock—pure fear and awe and devastation—was written on his face, as if he believed the fresh sausage on his plate were made from the human flesh of his loved ones. He lifted his gaze to the other end of the table.

He saw Riley sitting on her highchair and Amber sitting next to her, helping their daughter guide the oatmeal and strawberry slices to her mouth. He didn’t hear a sound from them. Despite everything going on in the world, they looked happy. But, for the first time since she was born, Riley couldn’t bring a smile to her father’s face with her innocence.

Amber asked, “You okay, hun?” Adam stared at her lips, as if he were trying to read them instead of listening to the words coming out of her mouth. Raising her voice but maintaining her bubbly tone, Amber said, “Adam, are you okay? You haven’t touched your food. Is it bad? Too much salt? Not enough?”

Adam heard her that time. He gave her a nod before looking down at his plate. He stabbed his scrambled eggs with a fork, but he didn’t eat it.

“Adam?” Amber said with a hint of concern in her voice.

“I’m fine,” Adam responded.

“You want me to cook you something else? Some oatmeal? We still have plenty of strawberries.”

Riley tried to imitate her mother. Speaking in baby talk, she blurted out, “Shthawbewwy!”

Amber and Riley giggled together. Their happiness would have cleared Adam’s mind and relieved his stress on a normal day, but ‘normal’ was an idea of the past.

Nothing was the same, and it was never going to be the same again.

He sneered and scratched his scruffy beard. He hadn’t shaved in weeks and he had hardly showered. He was out of motivation. It was like his will to succeed—to survive—had been siphoned from his body.

“So?” Amber asked.

“Huh?”

“You want me to cook you something else?”

“Oh. No. No, it’s fine.”

Adam took a bite of his eggs, then he took a sip of his coffee. He smiled at Amber, but she could tell he was forcing it. His fake happiness made her uncomfortable.

As she helped Riley get another slice of a strawberry into her mouth, Amber asked, “What’s your plan today?”

Her words struck Adam with enough force to slap the fake smile off his face. He drew a sharp breath before slurping some more of his coffee. Then he clenched his teeth and shrugged. Los Angeles had entered a strict lockdown with a shelter-at-home order. Nonessential businesses were advised to close. He had already been out of work for weeks, staying at home to watch the savings in his bank account decrease every day. Along with Dallas and other desperate residents, he was waiting for some support from the government.

Amber said, “Well, if you’re not busy, maybe you can watch a movie with me and Riley.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Amber smiled and said, “It means… maybe you can watch a movie with us if you have time. What did you think I meant?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just… It sounded ‘sarcastic,’ I guess. Like, what did you expect me to be doing today? Working? Going to the gym? Meeting friends for dinner or drinks?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“So, then… then what were you expecting me to say? You asked about my ‘plan’ today, right? What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Jesus, Adam,” Amber muttered before rolling her eyes and sighing in frustration. “Enough. Just drop it.”

Adam said, “What? What is it? Now you don’t want to talk about it? Hmm?” He laughed without smiling, then he said, “Come on, humor me. What did you think I was ‘planning’ for today?”

In a soft tone, Amber said, “It’s okay, sweetie. Daddy’s just a little frustrated. You and me, we’re going to play—”

Adam slammed his fist on the table and yelled, “Talk to me! Not her!”

There was a moment of silence. Amber glared at her husband with a furious expression that said: What the hell do you think you’re doing? After a few seconds, Riley’s face crumpled like paper and she started crying. Adam’s nose and eyelids twitched. He watched as Amber took Riley out of her chair to coddle her. He sank back into his seat and covered his mouth with his hand, breathing deeply through his nose to calm himself.

He had lost his temper, but he couldn’t stay angry. Guilt replaced the anger. Amber was right after all. He was lashing out because he was frustrated, and he didn’t know how to stop himself from imploding.

He stood up and said, “I’m sorry. I was just—”

“Don’t ever do something like that in front of Riley again,” Amber interrupted. Although Riley continued bawling, her voice was loud enough for Adam to catch her serious tone. She said, “I know you’re angry at the world, but we don’t deserve this.”

“I know, I know. I’m just… I’m…”

‘I’m scared.’ He held his breath to suffocate that phrase. He still couldn’t admit it to his wife. His face reddened and a web of veins spread across his forehead. He let out a long sigh while listening to his daughter’s whining. Amber had already managed to calm her by whispering candied words into her ears and bouncing her gently in her arms.

Adam said, “I’m just… worried. We’re losing money every day. And even if this… this… this bullshit magically ended tomorrow, it’s going to cost us money to restart everything. We can’t just flip a switch on and off, and on and off… and on… and off.”

With Riley sniveling into her chest, Amber said, “I know it’s scary. I’m worried, too, but there’s nothing we can do about it right now. And I told you, I’ll start working from home next month. I got the gig, Adam.”

Through his gritted teeth, Adam asked, “But what about me?”

“You just have to calm down. I know you don’t want to feel… ‘useless’ or anything like that, but we don’t have a lot of options right now. Just try to relax. If not for me, for Riley.”

Adam wiped his face and turned away from his family. He didn’t want them to see him cry. He grabbed a paper towel from the counter and pretended to dab his mouth. He wiped his nose and cheeks instead.

He grunted to clear his throat, then he said, “I’m sorry. I’m going to make some phone calls in my office.”

“You barely touched your breakfast,” Amber said. “Please don’t shutdown on me. Take care of yourself, Adam.”

Adam smiled at her and said, “I will. I’ll, um… I’ll grab a bite at lunch. I promise, I just really need to get my mind straight. Really, it’s nothing.”

Amber saw the pain in Adam’s smile. It was the first time a smile saddened her. She didn’t know how to help him. She was afraid her family—her perfect little life—was falling apart before her very eyes.

Voice trembling, she said, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

Adam approached his family with his head down. He kissed Amber’s cheek, then he kissed Riley’s forehead. Riley looked up at her dad with her big, wet puppy eyes, but Adam couldn’t look at her for more than a second.

He said, “I’m here, too. I’m still here.”

A vacant, steady stare. An open mouth. Beads of cold sweat. A stiff neck.

Adam couldn’t hide his dread. The expression of shell-shock returned. He had locked himself in his office, sat behind his desk, and stared at his cell phone for an hour after breakfast. No one called him and he had no one to call. There were no meetings on his schedule. He knew Dallas was self-quarantining at home with his own wife, and he wasn’t expecting to talk to him unless there was an emergency.

Amber and Riley were in the living room—down the hall, around the corner. He was stuck in the house with them, but he never felt so alone. The walls were closing in on him. They were safe and healthy inside their home, but he couldn’t shake the sense of impending doom looming over him. His gut told him to prepare for the worst.

A quick pop and a ding came out of his iMac’s speakers, pulling Adam’s gaze away from his cell phone. He squinted at the monitor. He had received a message on Facebook. The sender didn’t have a profile picture. The sender’s name read: Mickey Miller. It rang every alarm in Adam’s head. He scooted forward in his seat as he opened the message.

It read: Am I beautiful?

“Mi–Miki?” Adam stuttered under his breath.

He opened the profile. It was devoid of pictures and friends. He went back to the message and read it again—then he re-read it three more times. He was sure it came from Miki. There was no other reason for a random person without a profile picture to ask him such an unusual question. He reached for his phone to call the cops.

“No, no,” he whispered as he pulled his hand back. “What if it isn’t her? What if I’m over-reacting? It could be spam. It’s spam, isn’t it?”

He opened Google and searched about recent spam trends. There had been an increase in cybercrime since the pandemic began. A lockdown couldn’t stop criminals from improvising. He read about scams from people posing as women trying to lure men into chatrooms. Every case featured a person with a fake profile picture and a link to a malicious website, though.

He looked at the message from ‘Mickey Miller’ again.

No profile picture.

No link.

He tapped his foot and bit his fingernails, eyes darting between his cell phone and the iMac. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he considered responding to the message.

“It’s bait,” he said. He shook his head and closed Facebook. He muttered, “Don’t get paranoid. Don’t lose control.”

He visited a local news website to distract himself. The news about the pandemic always aggravated his anxiety, so he browsed the crime section instead. Although online scams were becoming more common, the Los Angeles Police Department had reported a decrease in regular crime due to the recent lockdown restrictions.

He read about a couple of burglaries, robberies, and murders—the usual. One article made his pupils dilate with fear and revulsion, though.

The headline read: Ten-year-old girl found dead in a Huntington Park public restroom.

The article read like a splatterpunk novel, describing every grisly detail of the murder. He was already upset by the fact that a child had been slaughtered in public, but a passage at the end of the article left his head spinning. It described the smile cut into the child’s cheeks and it announced the police’s investigation into a serial killer in the Los Angeles area.

The victim’s facial injuries reminded him of the article he had read earlier that month about a murder in Skid Row—and that murder reminded him of Miki. The pieces fell into place, creating a crystal-clear image in his mind.

“It’s Miki,” he whispered.

He grabbed a black marker and a stack of index cards from a drawer. He jotted down the date, the location, and a description of the murder victim on one of the index cards, then he pinned it onto a corkboard on the wall to his left. He raced back to his chair and searched for the article about the dead body found in Skid Row and repeated the process for that victim.

He scoured every local news website for articles covering similar crimes. He searched articles from March, then February, and then January.

“Holy shit,” he muttered as he filled out another index card.

He discovered an article about a child’s mutilated body found caught in a bear trap in Griffith Park. Again, the victim’s face had been mutilated. However, the article also featured an interview with a survivor of the attack—Sebastian.

It was reported that Sebastian was with a boy named Brian in Griffith Park when they were approached by a masked woman. Sebastian told the police that the woman had claimed to be a princess as well as the most beautiful girl in the world. He described the attacker as a woman with black hair, dark brown eyes, and scarred cheeks.

Lightheaded, Adam leaned back in his seat and held his hand over his chest. He could feel his heart hammering away at his sternum. He gazed at the monitor, eyes wet with tears as if he were staring at a picture of a long-lost love.

“It–It’s you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

He sat there and sulked for a few minutes before working up the courage to continue his investigation. He searched for another hour, going all the way back to June 2018. To his relief, he didn’t find any other murder victims with disfigured faces.

He reorganized the index cards on his corkboard. Brian’s death in Griffith Park was pinned to the top. Under it, he placed the index card detailing the murder in Skid Row. And at the bottom, he pinned the index card describing the death in the public restroom at Huntington Park. He was positive Miki was responsible for the murders. He couldn’t think of a motive, though. He didn’t know any of the victims, so revenge didn’t seem likely.

Regardless, he blamed himself for the murders. I turned her into a serial killer, he thought. But why doesn’t she just kill me?

Tap, tap, tap.

Adam ignored the knocking on his office door.

“Adam?” Amber said from the hallway. She knocked again, then she asked, “You okay in there?”

In a monotone voice, Adam responded, “Yeah.”

“You missed lunch. I thought you said you were going to take care of yourself.”

“Ye… Yeah.”

“Adam, what are we doing? This isn’t… communicating. Can I come in? Can we talk?”

Adam read the index cards again in search of a motive. Every piece of evidence reminded him of Miki, but he couldn’t imagine her doing such awful things. He sighed, then he went over and opened the door.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about something,” he said as he walked back to the corkboard.

Amber stopped in the doorway. She feared she was going to stumble upon a wrecked room—a broken iMac, torn books, holes punched into the walls. She was surprised to see his office in pristine condition. The corkboard caught her attention. Adam normally used it to keep track of his schedule as well as his marketing plans.

Amber said, “Riley’s sleeping. I’ll go back and wake her in a couple of minutes. You can come, too, if you want to spend some time with her.”

“I will.”

“You will?”

“I’ll, um… I’ll do it soon.”

“Do what, Adam?” Amber asked as she crossed her arms. “Are you even listening to me?”

Adam looked at her, then back at the corkboard, and then back at his wife. He couldn’t tell her about Miki and his last trip to Japan. Dallas knew about his affair, but no one knew about his evil actions in Miki’s apartment. He felt compelled to tell her something, though. Thoughts were clawing at his skull, eager to get out of his head.

He said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with something.”

Amber looked at the board and asked, “Back in business?”

“No.”

“What is it then? You writing a book?”

Standing in a thinking pose, one arm crossed over his abdomen and a hand stroking his beard, Adam said, “I’m… I was reading the news and I saw a, uh… a pattern. I read about a…” He laughed nervously, then he said, “I read about a murder. And that murder reminded me of another murder I read about. And then I just… I guess I went down the rabbit hole.”

Amber asked, “What exactly are you saying? Murders and rabbit holes?”

Adam finally turned to face her. He could see the concern in her eyes. She was always optimistic, but she was obviously worried about her husband. He hadn’t contracted any viruses, but the pandemic still changed him. It was as if she were living with a stranger.

Adam pointed at his corkboard and said, “I’m talking about a serial killer in Los Angeles.”

Amber approached the corkboard and read the index cards. She closed her eyes, frowned, and lowered her head. The descriptions of the victims weren’t as graphic as they were in the news articles, but it was enough to unsettle her. The disturbing news made her think about her own daughter. What if it was Riley?—she thought.

Amber said, “Yeah, I… I heard about this. It was just announced a couple of days ago. The police are already investigating, so… what is all of this? What are you doing?”

Adam said, “What do you mean? There’s a serial killer out there, Amber. This is important. Someone needs to find…” He was going to say ‘her,’ but he stopped before he could reveal Miki’s gender. He grunted, then he said, “Someone needs to find whoever is doing this.”

“And you think that someone should be… you? No offense, Adam, but you created a timeline that the police have most likely already created by themselves. Don’t you think the cops already know all of this? They know more than this, right? It’s not like they release every piece of evidence to the public. What you’re doing here, it sounds… it sounds unnecessary and unhealthy. I don’t think you should be obsessing over this stuff, especially with Riley here. You should be spending time with her, not reading about… about dead kids.”

Adam knew more than the police. He knew the prime suspect’s full name and country of origin—enough information for the authorities to track Miki down and capture her. He thought about reporting it anonymously, but he feared no one was going to believe him. And if he tried to lie and create a fake backstory, he believed the police could track the tip back to him and confront him about it, causing him more legal and marital problems. He was convinced that he could only help the police by confessing to the crimes he had committed in Japan.

But a confession was out of the question. His family’s safety, his survival, and his freedom were his primary concerns. He could only hope the cops could catch Miki before she could catch him.

He said, “You’re right. I’m just overthinking things. Guess my mind is just looking for something… ‘important’ to do. You know I don’t like feeling useless.”

“I get it,” Amber said as she rubbed his shoulder. “Just remember that you’re not useless to us. You never will be. We need you, and I… I hope you need us, too.”

“Of course I do. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t important to me. I’m acting this way because… because you two are the most important people in my life.”

Amber said, “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this together.” She looked at his corkboard and said, “You know, you really should think about writing a book. You have the time and the imagination for it. I think you could write one hell of a horror novel. Maybe even a true crime book.”

Adam huffed, then he gave her a half-smile and said, “Maybe I will.”

“Well, before you get into that, you want to come to the kitchen and grab a bite to eat? Maybe spend some time with Riley?”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Pleased by her husband’s progress, Amber smiled and shed tears of relief. She hugged him and thanked him repeatedly. Adam wrapped his arms around her, rubbed her back, and kissed her head. He whispered words of comfort into her ear—‘I love you. Everything’s okay.’ But he continued staring at his monitor, images of Miki’s bloody, swollen face flashing in his mind.

16

APRIL FOOL’S

April 1, 2020

The text message read: She’s still following me!!

It was sent to a contact labeled ‘Mom’ from a nine-year-old boy named Evan Tate. His little fingers shaking uncontrollably, he sent his mother another text message.

It read: What do I do??

He crouched in the storage closet of an abandoned apartment. Through the doorless doorway in front of him, he could see the living room. Sunshine fell through a broken window, shining light on the messy floor. The room was flooded with garbage—ripped newspapers, torn trash bags, tattered clothing, food wrappers and pizza boxes and oyster pails, and burnt spoons and broken condoms.

He could hear wind whooshing, leaves swishing, and birds twittering outside. He even heard a couple of coughing car engines. But he couldn’t scream for help without exposing his position.

He sent his mother another message: I’m scared.

Evan wasn’t supposed to be there. He had promised his mother that he was going to stay inside while she went to work at a local grocery store—and he broke that promise. While walking to a friend’s house, he ran into a woman in a trench coat on the streets of Compton. She had tried to speak to him, but he ignored her.

It wasn’t until he walked two more blocks that he realized the mysterious woman was following him. He sprinted down the sidewalk, juked this way and that way, and zigzagged across the street, but he couldn’t lose her. He even yelled at her and screamed for help, but no one came to his rescue. So, he ran into the abandoned apartment building and hid in the closet.

Sniffling and whining, he sent his mother a fourth text message: I’m sorry.

He covered his mouth to catch his gasp. He heard footsteps on the concrete walkway outside, growing louder with each step.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud!

Evan tried to call his mother, but the call went straight to her voicemail because she always turned off her cell phone during work hours. If there was an emergency, he was supposed to call the store directly and ask for her. Emergencies, however, were usually accompanied by intense panic, and intense panic had a way of killing rational thoughts.

No one was ever really prepared for a real emergency. Children were especially unprepared.

Tears dripping from his eyes, Evan bolted out of the closet. Broken glass crunched and plastic bags rustled under his sneakers. He slid to a stop in the hallway. He saw the back of a woman’s head as she ascended the stairs in front of him. Before she could reach the landing and turn to face him, he dashed up the stairs to the third floor.

He stopped in another hallway, launching clouds of dust and slivers of wood into the air. He looked everywhere for an escape route or a hiding place. He heard the stairs creaking behind him. He lurched up the stairs and headed to the fourth floor. He didn’t see a viable exit or decent hiding place, so his sweaty palm slid across the handrail as he ran up to the fifth floor.

He was surprised to see it was the top floor of the building—a dead end. He ran to the end of the hallway to his left and looked out the broken window. He thought about jumping, but he was afraid of heights. He looked back at the stairs upon hearing a squealing floorboard. She was getting closer. He ran to the other end of the hall.

He slid into the last apartment to his left and found himself in another living room. All of the doors and furniture had been removed from the apartment, replaced with trash. There was nowhere to hide. He spotted the rusty railing of a fire escape outside of the living room window. It was his only escape route. The footsteps accelerated in the hallway behind him. He took a big gulp of air before running towards the window.

“Help!” he cried as he ran. “Help me! She’s—”

The floor collapsed as he reached the center of the living room. He fell through the floor and landed in the apartment below. The explosive crashing sound echoed through the neighborhood, followed by the boy’s bellows of agony. His legs had snapped at the knees. Below his busted kneecaps, his fractured tibia bones stuck out of his skin. He couldn’t hear the floor groaning under him over his own screaming.

He looked up and, through his tears, he saw the silhouette of the woman looking down at him from the massive hole in the ceiling.

Then the floor of the fourth-floor apartment collapsed, too. He plummeted into the apartment below. His body landed with a loud thud and rumble, as if lightning had struck the building. He was knocked unconscious, clouds of dust swallowing him whole.

Evan’s eyes fluttered open. He saw the massive holes in the ceilings above him. Plasterboard dust spiraled down on him, caking his skin and irritating his eyes and wounds. He whined as stabs of pain surged from his broken legs. He felt some numbness down there, too. He babbled, but he couldn’t say a single word. He propped himself up on his elbows and lifted his head slowly.

More pain throbbed from the nape of his neck. His spinal cord was injured during the fall. Before he could examine his legs, he saw something red glittering in his vision, like a ruby. And behind it, he saw the shadow of a person crouching near his feet. His heart skipped a beat while his head bobbed from his lightheadedness.

As his vision cleared, he saw Miki squatting near his feet, smoking a cigarette with a mask dangling from one of her ears. He recognized her clothing from the chase.

“You’re awake,” she said, smiling. “Are you okay?”

Evan panted. He peed himself, soaking his tighty-whities and denim shorts in urine.

“Aww, poor baby,” Miki said. She took another puff of her cigarette, then she asked, “Why did you run from me?”

Evan’s eyelids twitched and his head swayed. He fought to stay awake through the unbearable pain. He gritted his teeth and tried to scoot back, but his elbows slid on the dust and he fell back to the floor. He barely moved a centimeter. Whimpering, he propped himself up on his elbows again and flailed on the floor.

Miki asked, “Oh, are you still trying to get away from me?” She pouted and sniffled, then she said, “That hurts my feelings. And I just wanted to ask you a question.”

“Ma–Mommy,” Evan cried, his voice barely perceptible over his whining.

“Oh. I know what I’ll do. I’ll earn your trust. Let me help you, honey.”

She set her cigarette down on a broken floorboard, plumes of smoke rising from the cherry. Then she took a stainless-steel lighter out of her pocket. She opened it and flicked the spark wheel until it ignited.

“Now don’t you move,” she said in an eerily calm tone. “This is going to stop the bleeding.”

Evan wiggled on the floor. Splinters of wood scraped his elbows and the small of his back. Miki squeezed his right thigh and held the flame up to the open fracture under his knee. Evan’s head bounced off the floor as he shrieked. The boy’s scream went through the abandoned apartment buildings next door and reached some of the occupied houses on the other blocks.

Some of the neighbors heard it but dismissed it as a scream from one of the local drug addicts. Most of the neighbors missed it, though.

Miki heard his blood sizzling. She watched as the flame bounced off his bloody, splintered bone and his smooth, hairless leg. She could see blood inside the broken bone, too. She circled the wound with the flame, then she led the fire into the mushy cavity under his knee. The fire illuminated his stringy muscle and durable ligaments while burning it all.

The gore didn’t bother Miki—not one bit. Acts of torture and murder desensitized her. The lighter went out. So, she pulled it out of the wound, ignited it again, then put it back in.

Evan fell unconscious, but his body kept jerking involuntarily. He awoke some thirty seconds later, gasping for air. His wide, zany eyes swiveled in their sockets until he saw Miki.

“I thought I lost you,” she said, stroking the brown hair away from his sweaty forehead. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help. But don’t worry, sweetie, I have another idea. If this doesn’t work, nothing will.”

Grimacing, Evan shook his head rapidly, foamy saliva spewing from the corners of his mouth. His hearing was starting to fade because of the pain, so he couldn’t hear everything from Miki. He already knew she was a bad woman, though—a monster. He wanted her to stay away from him. He wanted his mother.

Miki put one hand on his kneecap and the other on his shin. Her face trembled as she fought the desire to grin. She was acting like she cared about the boy, but she had always planned on murdering him.

And if it wasn’t him, it would have been one of his unlucky neighbors.

Miki pushed the broken bone back into his leg. Blood came gushing out of his shaking leg as the sharp edges of his bone shredded his nerves and blood vessels. It oozed past the slits between her gloved fingers. To her, it was a beautiful sight. So, she placed more pressure on his kneecap and shin, tightened her grip on his legs, then she turned her hands in opposite directions, as if she were wringing out a wet towel. Large drops of blood rained from his leg.

Miki laughed as muffled popping and crunching sounds came from somewhere on the mangled limb. She couldn’t tell if she had accidentally shattered his kneecap or if his tibia had broken into smaller pieces—or both.

Evan lifted his head from the floor and unleashed a long, pained rasp. The numbness in his leg was replaced by a fierce pain. He had never felt anything like it before. The heat from his blood scared him, too. He felt like his leg was on fire. And there was so much of it. It pooled under his broken legs, turning darker as it mixed with the dust.

His eyes rolled back as he fainted again. He stayed unconscious for nearly three minutes. When he awoke, Miki’s face was just a foot away from his. She gently slapped him and said something to him, but he couldn’t hear it. He blacked out, then he woke up two minutes later. Miki was gone. He drew a deep breath, then he sobbed.

“You’re awake. Again,” Miki said, crouching beside him. She took a drag on her cigarette, then she blew the smoke at Evan’s legs. She said, “You’re a fighter, like me. When I was beaten like you, I got up, fell, and got up again. I respect that… but you should have just stayed asleep. It’s only going to get worse for you, kid.”

Miki pressed the lit cigarette against the boy’s smooth forehead. Evan shook his head to try to dodge it, but the cigarette just slid across his brow, blazing embers crumbling on his skin. It left a bright red circular wound at the center of his forehead, and a red horizontal mark across it. It looked like a narrow skid mark or a dotted line, separated by small gaps. The cigarette butt fell out of Miki’s hand and rolled into the boy’s hair.

Evan writhed in anguish, floorboards creaking under his body. He wept and wheezed, the pain rendering him speechless. His grunts and groans sounded unusually deep and hoarse, as if the noise were coming from a man suspected of demonic possession. A nasty, pounding headache seized him. He lost control of his body. He saw flashing lights and ominous shadows, but he couldn’t identify any other objects in the room. Then he saw the glittering ruby in his vision again.

Miki had lit up another cigarette.

She grabbed Evan’s face—palm on his nose—to stop him from moving. With her pinky and ring fingers, she pried his right eye open. Webs of vibrant red veins infested the whites of his eyes. His eye rolled up, but she could still see part of his blue iris. The color reminded her of Adam. She sneered as she stubbed the cigarette on Evan’s eye.

Evan’s mouth widened, but he didn’t scream. His eye hissed as it burned. Within seconds, it appeared as though every blood vessel in it had burst. His eye and eyelids were completely red. His eye swelled up, a size too big for its socket. It looked like it was about to explode. The burning ashes clung to the corner of his eye like sleep crust in the morning.

Evan passed out, mouth open, neck arched, and chin pointing up at the ceiling—what was left of the ceiling, at least. Blood lined his eyelids like red eyeliner. A tear mixed with blood rolled down the side of his face. Miki flicked the cigarette butt at the floor next to him. She watched the boy’s unconscious body for a moment, then she sighed and glanced around the room.

She heard cars outside, plenty of people stayed home during the lockdown, but no one came to his rescue. No one even called the police to report all of the screaming. The Good Samaritan was a dying breed, replaced by internet activists. People minded their own business, even when children were being tortured.

Miki said, “Sorry, I don’t have any more time to play. I have a friend to visit.”

Evan stayed unconscious. Miki took the shears out of her coat pocket. She cut his shirt open vertically down the middle. His ribcage was pronounced. She ran the blades down his chest, then she stopped under his sternum. She looked at his face, as if she were expecting him to awaken. She thrust the blades into him, cutting through the cartilage under his sternum.

Still unconscious, Evan bounced.

Miki pulled the blades out. She opened the shears, then she forced one of the blades back into the wound at an angle. She snipped away at his chest, clipping through the cartilage connecting his ribs to his breastbone. She heard his bones cracking and skin crinkling. Streams of blood ran across his chest. She cut an oval around his sternum.

She thrust the blades into his chest again, driving them under his breastbone, then pushed the handles down like a lever. The sternum popped out. She removed it, revealing his heart. It was still beating, albeit slowly.

Admiration glimmering in her eyes, Miki whispered, “You really are a fighter, huh?”

She poked his heart with her finger, then pulled her hand away quickly, as if she were afraid it might bite her. She laughed. She cut around the heart with her shears. The boy passed away seconds later. The blades easily ripped through his pericardium, the blood vessels, and the ligaments. Blood shot out of the gaping hole on his torso and filled his chest cavity. After cutting around it, she yanked his heart out.

It was motionless in her gloved hand. She was amazed by it, running her eyes over it as if it were an alien artifact. The human body was a fascinating thing.

“Thanks for the gift,” she said as she put it in one of her coat pockets.

Like her other victims, she gave him a Glasgow smile, cutting his cheeks open with her shears. She left his body in the abandoned building and walked through the streets of Los Angeles with Evan’s heart in her pocket. Most of the streets were vacant as the residents secluded themselves in their homes. The few people wandering the neighborhoods—kids, teenagers, transients, cops—paid her no mind.

Holding her head up high, proud and arrogant, she headed west. She was sure no one could stop her. She walked for nearly four hours before arriving at her destination. She was exhausted and overjoyed at the same time. She ended up in an affluent neighborhood near the beach, surrounded by beautiful, multi-million-dollar houses with contemporary designs.

The house across the street had a flat roof. The driveway dipped into a garage below the rest of the house, making it a three-story home. An SUV and a sedan were parked in the driveway.

As she stared at the home, a wry smile behind her mask, Miki whispered, “Hello, handsome. Did you miss me?”

17

PARANOIA

April 6, 2020

Adam’s iMac was open to a document. THE TRUTH (ver 1), the filename read. It was a page long with his name, phone number, and address written at the bottom. In the letter, he described his trip to Tokyo, Japan in 2017. He confessed to his affair with Miki, reported her harassment towards him, and admitted to attacking her in her apartment. In the last paragraph, he presented his evidence connecting Miki to the recent string of violent murders in Los Angeles and pleaded for help.

He minimized the document and maximized another one. The other filename read: THE TRUTH (ver 2). He wrote it as a confession from Dallas’ perspective, but he didn’t sign it with any names. ‘A friend went there… My friend did that…’ He poured his rage onto the page, assassinating Miki’s character and placing all of the blame on her. He called her every name in the book: Liar, stalker, cunt, slut, psycho, bitch, psycho bitch. It was as if it were written to hurt her instead of to help himself or anyone else.

He opened both documents and aligned them next to each other on his monitor. He read them one after the other and almost went cross-eyed trying to read both of them at the same time.

“Which one do I send?” he whispered.

He wrote the confession out of guilt. He felt bad for attacking Miki, and now coffins filled with innocent victims were piling up on his shoulders. Confessing was the honest, honorable thing to do. The truth often sent criminals to prison, but it also set people free from their physical and mental shackles. He knew it would help him in the long run, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his family.

What happens if I go to prison? How could Riley grow up strong and healthy knowing her father was a monster? Would Amber be able to forgive me? What if I’m wrong? What if it’s not her?

Those questions screwed with his head. He dug his fingers into his hair and sniveled. Then he clenched his fists, grabbing two handfuls of hair, and he groaned.

“I can’t do this,” he whimpered.

He closed the confession, deleted it, and then emptied his trash bin. He kept the anonymous letter—just in case.

He heard Riley’s laughter outside. He rolled back in his chair and looked out the window next to his bookshelves. Past the covered patio and the stone barbecue station, he saw Amber playing with Riley in their backyard. Amber spotted him watching them, so she waved at him, then she turned Riley around and pointed at the house. Adam couldn’t hear her voice, but he had an idea of what she was saying.

‘Look, there’s daddy.’

Riley couldn’t see him, but she saw the blinds shifting as Adam moved away from the window. Annoyed and disappointed, Amber rolled her eyes. She saw Adam as a hermit. They were advised to stay home, but Adam had been taking the quarantine to another level. He had been isolating himself in his office since he first found out about the serial killings. He came out for a bite to eat every once in a while, but he didn’t say much to Amber or Riley. He spent a couple of nights in his office, too.

Amber imagined he was sleeping on his recliner with a business textbook under his pillow in hopes of conjuring a brilliant idea. Some people called it ‘learning by osmosis.’ In reality, although he did sleep on his recliner, Adam spent most of the nights watching his backyard and the street in front of his house. He believed Miki—or someone or something—was coming for him. He couldn’t get the target off his back.

He opened his web browser. He read the message from Mickey Miller again.

‘Am I beautiful?’

He saw those words every time he closed his eyes, as if they were tattooed to his inner eyelids—scarred on his retinas. His hands ended up on the keyboard. He wanted to respond, but he didn’t know what to write. He was sure it was coming from Miki, though. He remembered comparing the pronunciation of her name to Mickey Mouse when they first met. And Miller was his last name.

“Mickey Miller,” he said. “Is that supposed to be your ‘English name?’ Is that it?”

He heard a loud click. He looked up from his iMac and saw his door swing open an inch. She’s here, he thought. He pushed himself back until his chair hit the wall behind him. He searched for a weapon—nothing to his left, nothing to his right. He grabbed his wireless keyboard. Just as he went to lift it over his shoulder, the door opened all the way.

Amber stood in the doorway, a key in her hand. She was surprised to see her husband holding a keyboard in his hands like a weapon.

“You okay?” she asked.

Adam put the keyboard on his desk and asked, “Can’t you knock?”

“I did. I knocked. I called out to you. You didn’t respond, so I got worried.”

“Yeah? I guess I, uh… I didn’t hear you. I’m just busy.”

“With what?”

Adam closed the web browser so Amber wouldn’t get suspicious if she approached him. He looked at his corkboard. He had pinned more index cards to it, each filled with more details concerning the murders. Some of the index cards detailed rumors circulating on social media. Some teenagers in the area referred to Miki as ‘Scarface,’ others called her ‘Carved Face.’

Adam lowered his head and said, “Just busy.”

Amber leaned against the doorway and asked, “You start writing that book yet?”

“No. I think I’m going to write a movie instead.”

“Yeah?” Amber responded with a slight smile.

“Yes.”

The room became quiet for a moment. The smile was wiped off Amber’s face.

Adam asked, “Did you need something from me?”

“Yeah… I mean, no, but I’m making lunch and I was wondering if you’d like to join us. Well, if you’re not busy with your movie.”

“Don’t mock me, Amber.”

“What? You just said you were—”

“I know what I said. I just don’t need your sarcasm right now.”

“I wasn’t trying to be sarcastic. I could be more enthusiastic—more caring—if you’d actually talk to me for once. What am I supposed to say? And how am I supposed to say it?”

Adam raised his palm out at her but kept his head down. He said, “Just forget it. I’ll be out in fifteen minutes. Maybe thirty. Can you give me thirty minutes to myself?”

Amber was ready to argue, but she felt the defeat in Adam’s voice. She was afraid Adam might have been depressed, and she was well aware of the ruthless power of depression. It was a mental poison—cancer of the soul. She couldn’t help him by fighting him.

She said, “I’ll make sandwiches. We’ll be in the kitchen.”

Adam waited until she closed the door to thank her. He opened his web browser again and continued his investigation. It took him less than ten minutes to find an article titled: Nine-year-old boy found dead in April Fool’s Day murder. He connected it to the recent serial murders and, according to the article, so did the police.

He felt a sense of comfort in knowing the police were on Miki’s trail. At the same time, another concern popped into his head. What happens if she gets caught? Will she tell them about me?—he thought. A disturbing realization dawned on him: The truth lived as long as Miki lived. It was possible to run from the truth, but the only way to destroy it was to kill it—to kill everyone who knew it.

On the verge of tears, he filled out another index card and pinned it to his corkboard. Hands on his hips, he read his timeline of events. The murders had sickened him at first, but he grew detached. The victims stopped mattering. He was obsessed with the suspect—and only the suspect. He searched for a clue that could reveal Miki’s identity without his confession.

He squinted and muttered, “Wait a second.”

He printed a map of Los Angeles and hung it up on the corkboard. Then he grabbed a jar of colorful thumbtacks from his desk.

Pressing a thumbtack into each location as he read them off, he said, “Griffith Park… Skid Row… Huntington Park… Compton.”

Then he took two steps back and reviewed the map. Connecting the thumbtacks, he noticed the killer was moving southwest. He pointed at Compton, then he slowly dragged his finger to his left. He stopped on Manhattan Beach—his neighborhood.

“She’s coming for me,” he said in awe.

His breath came out in short puffs, his legs shook, and his head swayed. He wobbled back until he crashed into his desk. He grabbed his cell phone and started dialing 911, but he stopped before he could press the big green CALL button at the bottom of his screen. He wasn’t ready to explain his situation to the police. He wanted them to protect him and his family, but he didn’t want to tell them why.

He looked at the window to his right. Through the blinds, he could see the brick partition separating his property from his neighbor’s. He heard something rustling out there.

“She–She’s here,” he stuttered. As he lurched out of his office, he yelled, “She’s here!”

He crashed into a wall in the hallway, injuring his shoulder. The thud was loud enough to reach every corner of the lavish house.

As he barreled down the hall, he shouted, “Amber! Amber!”

Riley started crying, then he heard a loud clang.

“Don’t touch them!” Adam barked as he reached the kitchen.

He was relieved to see Amber lifting Riley from her seat, trying to soothe her. Riley had been frightened by her father’s booming voice. There were two slices of bread on a counter next to the sink—ham, lettuce, and tomato stacked on one and the other white with mayonnaise. The butter knife had landed in the sink after Amber had rushed to Riley’s side.

There were no intruders in sight. The windows were closed and doors locked.

“What are you doing?” Amber asked while trying to keep her voice down.

“I–I heard… Someone’s out… The–There’s a prowler outside.”

“Excuse me? A prowler?”

“I heard someone walking around the house, right outside of my office.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes!”

Riley looked up at the ceiling and cried upon hearing her father’s shout. Amber had grown accustomed to the crying. She was more concerned about Adam’s claim. She leaned over the sink and peeked out the window. The backyard was empty. She saw bushes and trees swaying, but she couldn’t hear the leaves rustling due to Riley’s bawling.

She said, “I think it was the wind, hun.”

“No,” Adam said sternly. He went to the back door and looked through the windowpanes. Then he squeezed past Amber and looked out the window over the sink. He said, “No, no, no. There was someone out there. It was her.”

“Her? Who? Adam, what is this about? What’s going on with you?”

“It’s… It’s the serial killer. Scarface, Carved Face, whatever you want to call her, it’s her.”

“Carved Face?” Amber repeated. “You’re talking about those internet rumors? Gossip, Adam? Are you kidding me? You’re scaring your daughter and me to death with your screaming. What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Ma–ma!” Riley cried while bouncing in Amber’s arms.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby. We’re just playing. It’s playtime, okay?”

In a bemused state, eyes distant and face hollow, Adam said, “She’s here. She’s coming after me.”

“After you?” Amber asked. “Why would anyone be coming after you? What does that mean, Adam? Hey, please answer me.”

Adam ran out the front door. He stopped at the top of his porch steps and scanned the neighborhood. He didn’t see any suspicious cars or people in the area. As a matter of fact, he didn’t see any pedestrians at all. He hustled down the steps, then he dashed across the lawn. He stood on his tiptoes and looked over the gate at the side of his house.

He spotted three windows. One window looked into the laundry room, another into a hallway, and the last one into Adam’s office.

A rake lay beside a pile of gardening tools between the office and hallway windows. It was the source of the noise Adam had heard, but he couldn’t admit it.

Impossible, he thought. Someone pushed it down. Someone was watching us. It’s the only explanation.

“Who’s out here?!” he yelled at the side of his house. “What do you want from me?!”

Amber came out of the house, face livid. She approached the porch railing to her right and found her husband walking in circles on the lawn. Sitting on the floor in the living room, Riley continued whimpering while sucking her index and middle fingers.

“What are you doing?” Amber hissed while glancing around the neighborhood.

She was embarrassed by the unwanted attention. She could see her neighbors moving about in their homes, curious about the ruckus. It was an upscale neighborhood with an active Neighborhood Watch program. It wasn’t common to hear people yelling or arguing outside in the middle of the day.

As if she were scolding a child, Amber said, “Come inside, Adam. Right now.”

“Where are you?!” Adam shouted as he spun around on the lawn.

“There’s no one here! Come inside!”

Ignoring his wife, Adam yelled, “If you want me, come get me! I have a… I have a gun! You hear me?!”

“Adam, wha–what are you… What?”

Their next-door neighbor, Vince Edwards, stepped onto his front porch with a can of beer in hand. He peeked over at the Miller residence. He was surprised to see Adam out there, barefooted in a bathrobe with his hair unkempt and knotted beard covering most of his neck. He didn’t recognize him at first glance. It looked like his neighbor had started falling apart before the pandemic even began.

“Vince,” Adam said upon spotting him. He marched over to the short wall separating their properties. He asked, “Have you seen anyone snooping around here?”

“Snooping?” Vince repeated.

“You know like a prowler, a Peeping Tom, a–a stalker.”

“A Peeping Tom? Hell, Adam, I haven’t heard of any of them since—”

“This isn’t small talk, Vince,” Adam interrupted. “Have you seen anyone around my house or on the street? You seen anything suspicious around here? Anything at all?”

Vince was caught off guard by Adam’s aggressiveness. He had always known his neighbor to be kind and welcoming. He looked at him with an expression that said something along the lines of: Who is this guy?

“I didn’t see or hear any ‘prowlers’ around your house, bud,” Vince said. “Matter of fact, your shouting and hollering is all I heard all day. How are you two doing over there, Amber?”

From the porch, Amber looked down, rubbed her forehead, and said, “We’re fine, Vince. We’re just… Adam’s a little… agitated about this whole situation.”

“I think we all are. We just gotta remember—”

“Vince, you need to check around your house,” Adam interrupted. “Check inside your house, too, okay?”

“Uhh, yeah… sure.”

“I’m serious. There’s a dangerous—”

Mid-sentence, Amber stepped between Adam and the partition. Adam didn’t even hear her coming.

Amber waved at Vince, smiled, and said, “Everything’s fine. I’m sorry if we bothered you.”

“It’s no bother at all,” Vince responded.

As Amber pushed him back to the porch, Adam shouted, “Check around your house! And you call me if you hear anything! Vince, you call me, okay?!”

Vince nodded and raised his hand at him, lips wrinkled like a tilde. He was concerned about the Miller family, but he didn’t feel comfortable involving himself in their situation without an invitation. Amber managed to get Adam back into the house. She kicked the door closed behind her.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Adam said quickly. “I need to warn the others. We all need to—”

“Be quiet,” Amber said, tears stinging her eyes.

“You don’t understand! We’re in danger!”

Riley took her fingers out of her mouth, drool hanging from her fingertips, and she bawled.

“Stop it. Please stop,” Amber pleaded.

Adam shouted, “At least lock the damn door! Do something!”

“Be quiet!” Amber screamed at the top of her lungs.

The house became quiet in an instant. Adam clenched his jaw and breathed deeply through his nose. Riley stopped crying. She had never heard her mother yell before. For a moment, she didn’t recognize her parents. After a few seconds of silence, she sucked on her fingers and whined.

Trembling with anger and fear, Amber stuttered, “Wha–What’s gotten into you, Adam? You’re screaming a–about… prowlers? Women coming after you? Guns? You have a gun now? Because that’s news to me. So, what is this about? The serial killer?”

Adam had already said too much. In a panic, he had inadvertently unveiled part of the truth. The angel on his shoulder told him to tell her about his affair while the devil on his other shoulder advised him to stay quiet. He just nodded at her.

“Why?” Amber asked, her voice shaking as if her entire body were trembling violently. “Why would a serial killer—a killer that’s only supposed to be targeting lonely children out there—be prowling outside of our home? And why’d you say ‘she?’ The cops haven’t identified the killer yet, have they? What do you know? What did you find?”

Adam said, “I’m just trying to protect my family.”

“From who?”

“There’s a maniac out there, Amber.”

“So, you do think that serial killer’s coming after us… but why?”

Adam took in a deep breath, then he said, “You just have to trust me.”

Tears dripping down her cheeks, Amber said, “Adam, you’re… you’re changing. You’re paranoid. You have to stop this. You can’t let this quarantine mess with your head like this.”

“You think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’re stressed and tired and… and scared and confused.”

Adam chuckled, his own tears now flowing down his cheeks. He said, “So you think I’m crazy.”

Anxiety often triggered psychosis. Amber didn’t want to call him ‘crazy,’ that would have been disrespectful and tasteless, but she believed he was losing touch with reality. People changed as they aged, but Amber felt like she was watching her husband transform into an entirely different person. Everyone in the living room was crying—Amber, Adam, Riley.

Adam said, “I’m going out.” Amber sprawled herself against the door, arms outstretched to each side. Adam said, “I need to go. Just lock the door until I come back.”

“And where are you going to go? What do you think you’re going to do?”

“I’m going to protect us.”

“No, you tell me exactly where you’re going to go or you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m going to buy a fucking gun, Amber.”

Amber’s joyless laughter echoed through the house. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks and mucus on her lips with the back of her hands while shaking her head.

She said, “You’re not buying a gun.”

“It’s for our own good.”

“We’re not buying a gun. If you want to buy a gun, you’re going to have to convince me. You have to tell me the truth. Why are you so scared of that serial killer?”

‘Because I created her.’ Adam gritted his teeth to stop himself from uttering those words.

He responded, “You don’t want me to buy a gun? Fine. It would take too long to get one anyway. At least let me go buy a home security system.”

“We already have one.”

“Not an alarm in case someone breaks a window or kicks open a door. I’m talking like a… a surveillance system. We need cameras.”

“We don’t have the money for that. I mean, you’ve been saying it for weeks. In a couple months, we might not even have the money to pay for this house. And you’re thinking about doing that now? During a pandemic? You can get sick, Adam. You could get us all sick. Think about your daughter. Please, Adam, just stay here and relax. Get out of your office and get your mind off this. I’m begging you.”

For the first time in weeks, Adam wasn’t worried about money. He was willing to destroy his credit to save their lives. He looked at Riley and felt her pain. He was disappointed in himself. He wanted to protect her, but he couldn’t do it by jeopardizing her safety. He was engaged in a two-front war—a vengeful woman on one side and a deadly virus on the other.

He said, “If you don’t want me to go out there, you lock that door behind you and you keep it locked. You keep every door and every window locked from now on. You don’t even go out to the backyard, okay?”

Without looking back, Amber reached for the doorknob. She turned the lock above it.

Adam said, “And the chain.”

Amber reached over her shoulder and blindly secured the door chain.

“Thank you,” Adam said as he walked away.

Amber asked, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to order some surveillance cameras.”

“Adam, what about our savings? We don’t have the money for that. Adam, talk to me.”

Adam turned the corner into the hallway and headed to his office, disregarding his wife’s concerns. He was determined to protect his family by any means necessary. Amber wiped her tears, forced a smile onto her face, and then hurried to Riley’s side to soothe her. She was terrified, her whole world was turned upside down, but she refused to share her fear with Riley.

18

A VISITOR

April 9, 2020

“I’m sorry about the delay, sir, but mail carriers are experiencing intermittent delays due to the ongoing pandemic,” the customer service representative said over the phone.

“I don’t care,” Adam snapped, pacing back and forth in his office. “I paid for expedited shipping. My order should have been delivered by now.”

“I understand that, sir, but it’s out of our hands at the moment. There’s also a notification on the website concerning this issue.”

“I. Don’t. Care. I paid for expedited shipping because of that notification. My order was supposed to be delivered overnight. It should have been here on the seventh and now it’s the ninth. What are you going to do to fix this?”

Adam could hear two hushed voices on the line.

The customer service rep said, “Sir, we can’t expedite your delivery at the moment.”

“Goddammit,” Adam muttered.

The customer service rep continued, “Mail carriers are prioritizing essential deliveries. If you’d like, we can refund your shipping cost. You can also refuse the delivery and have it sent back to us. Afterward, we’d be happy to process your full refund.”

“Essential deliveries? My family’s safety is essential!”

“I understand that, sir, but—”

“No, you don’t understand a thing.”

“Sir, I’m just trying to—”

“You’re just trying to endanger my family, huh? Is that it? You’re a selfish bitch, you know that? You should be—”

Amber yanked the phone out of his hand. She held it up to her ear and said, “I’m so sorry.” The customer service rep was still trying to calm Adam down when Amber ended the call. Amber said, “You promised you weren’t going to act like this anymore.”

Adam sighed, then he said, “I’m sorry. I lost my cool, you’re right, but… I paid to get those cameras delivered as soon as possible. We need them, Amber.”

“Calm down. I don’t want you to upset Riley again.”

Adam pulled his lips into his mouth and nodded.

Amber said, “Listen, you haven’t heard anyone outside recently. We haven’t unlocked—we haven’t even touched—any doors or windows in days. There hasn’t been any news about that serial killer. And I’ve called our neighbors every day. No one has seen anything suspicious. We’re fine, Adam. Okay? Can you say it?”

“We… We’re fine,” Adam said reluctantly.

“We’re fine,” Amber repeated while holding her husband’s hands. “Dinner’s almost ready. Will you join us tonight? I’m sure Riley would really love to spend time with you. She… She misses you, you know? She really does.”

“I’ll… Um… I’ll be there in a minute. Can I… I just have to check the windows and doors one last time. Okay?”

“You don’t have to do that. They’re locked already. I promise.”

“Please, Amber. It’ll help me relax.”

Amber was afraid of encouraging him, but she didn’t want to argue with him, either. She was tired of the fighting, and she knew the arguments weren’t good for Riley. Their daughter’s health was her primary concern.

“Be quick,” she said. As she exited the room, she said, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Adam looked out his office windows. Rain pattered on the glass. Wind pushed the trees and bushes outside. Every light in his backyard was on, keeping the darkness of the night at bay. There was nothing unusual out there, but he had to be absolutely positive. He walked through the house and checked every lock on every door and every window. He examined the backyard and the street in front of his house from every angle.

It took him over fifteen minutes to check everything.

As he checked the locks on the front door a second time, he whispered, “We’re fine… we’re fine…”

Adam sat at the end of the dining table, staring vacantly at his plate of chicken Alfredo. His bloodshot, puffy eyes were surrounded by dark, wrinkled skin. His cheeks and forehead were flecked with acne. The stress—the anxiety, the fear, the guilt—took a toll on him.

Amber sat at the other end of the table, eating while feeding Riley. Like her husband, Amber was stressed and afraid. But she put a smile on her face for Riley’s sake. Adam appreciated her resolve just as much as he hated it. She was too good for him, and that fact amplified his guilt.

Adam’s stare wandered to the window over the sink. He mistook the pitter-patter of the rain for footsteps.

As he leaned forward to stand, Amber said, “Adam.” He looked at her. Amber asked, “How’s the food?”

Adam looked at the window, then back at her, then back at the window. He knew it was locked, but something inside of him told him to check again. He fought off the urge and sank back into his seat.

He scratched the nape of his neck and said, “I don’t have much of an appetite, but it smells and looks great.”

“You should try it. Riley sure loves it. Don’t you, Ry Ry?”

Riley giggled as she ate some chicken. Her chubby cheeks and tiny hands were smeared with Alfredo sauce. Adam’s lips curled in a little smile—the smile of a shy boy forced to socialize with his classmates. He inserted a forkful of pasta and chicken into his mouth, then he took a sip of his water. He stabbed the pasta again, spun the fork, then his attention drifted back to the window.

Rain or footsteps?—he thought.

Amber could see he was distracted, scared and antsy. She blamed the lockdown. Mandatory seclusion made people go stir-crazy.

She said, “I’m thinking about going to my mom’s house.”

“Huh?” Adam responded, still staring at the window.

“Adam, I think we seriously need some time apart.”

He turned his head slowly to pull his gaze back to Amber. He looked at his family. He heard her the second time, but the message didn’t click in his head.

“Huh?” he repeated.

Amber folded a napkin and dabbed the tears clinging to her eyelids. She continued smiling to try to fool her daughter into believing everything was fine. But parents and children lived vicariously through each other. They felt each other’s pain. Riley kept eating, but she was visibly confused by her mother’s smile and tearful eyes.

“I think we need a break,” Amber said. “Maybe we’ve been spending too much time together in here. Maybe we weren’t ready for something like this. I can go to my mom’s house with Riley and you… you can stay here or maybe you can call Dallas and stay with him. I’m sure he has an extra room you can use to quarantine.”

Adam asked, “What is this about?”

“Us. No… You. It’s about you, Adam. I don’t know what to do with you. It’s not that I want to leave, that I want to abandon you… that’s not it at all. I just don’t think I can help you and take care of Riley at the same time. It’s too much for me and it’s definitely too much for Riley. I don’t want her to see you like this. I want her to love you, not fear you. A–A–And…”

She stopped to sniffle and swallow loudly. She lowered her head to hide her tears from Riley. She wiped her eyes, then blew her nose. She was trying to stop herself from breaking down at the dinner table. Adam frowned as he watched his wife. He could see he was harming his family with his erratic, obsessive behavior. He was becoming their bogeyman.

Amber continued, “And I just don’t think you’ve been completely honest with me. When I talk to you, I feel like I’m talking to someone else. I feel like I’m talking to… to a liar.”

Adam said, “I’m sorry.”

Amber looked at him, surprised by his apology. It felt sincere. He sounded like himself again.

“I owe you an explanation,” Adam continued. “I can’t tell you everything right now, but… I’ve done a lot of bad things in the past. I’m not proud of myself. You say you feel like you’re talking to someone else when you speak to me. Well, to be honest, I don’t know myself most of the time, either. I’m not… psychotic or anything like that. I’m just in a bad place. But I hope you know that I love you. I love you and I love Riley, and I would never do anything to hurt you two. I’m really just trying to protect us, Amber. That’s the truth.”

“From what, Adam?”

A mouthful of water pushed the lump down Adam’s throat. He stared up at the ceiling and thought about confessing. The assault in Miki’s apartment flashed in his head.

He said, “I hurt someone… and I think they… want to hurt me.”

“You… What? You hurt someone? Whe–When? Who?”

“It was years ago. I was… I didn’t… God, please, Amber, I’ll tell you everything later. Right now, I think it would be best if we all left this house—together. Let’s rent another home or a hotel room or go to your mother’s.”

“How could you even suggest something like that? You just said you hurt someone. And you think this has something to do with tha–that serial killer?”

“Amber, I can expla—”

The doorbell interrupted him.

Adam and Amber stared at the front door from over the kitchen bar. Riley stared at the ceiling while licking the Alfredo sauce off her fingers.

Amber wiped her eyes and nose again, then she said, “I guess I’ll get that.”

As she stood up, Adam said, “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Just… ignore it.”

“What? Why? What if it’s an emergency? Or what if it’s your package?”

Adam said, “Forget about it.”

“You were complaining about it on the phone an hour ago,” Amber responded.

“And it’s fine now. Just forget about it.”

“At least let me see who it is.”

“Wait,” Adam said as he jumped up from his seat. Amber stopped behind Riley’s highchair. Adam said, “I’ll take care of it.”

Adam made his way past his wife and daughter, checked the locks on the back door and took a peek at the backyard, then walked up to the front door. Through the peephole, he saw a woman in a trench coat standing on his porch. She wore a black cloth mask over her mouth. Shadows hid the other half of her face. The porch light lit up the clipboard in her hands, though.

“Miki?” Adam whispered.

“Who is it?” Amber asked as she approached the door.

“Shh,” Adam said. “It–It’s a salesman.”

“A salesman? In this rain? During a pandemic?”

“Okay, I don’t know who it is, but I know it’s not important.”

“And how do you know that? Move over, let me take a…”

Adam blocked the door with his body and refused to step aside. Amber was saddened by his sudden change in character. A minute ago, it sounded like he was actually making progress. In the blink of an eye, an everyday event—a visitor at their door—set off another bout of paranoia.

Trying to peek out the sidelights, Amber leaned to her left, then to her right. Adam mimicked her to obstruct her view. Amber stood on her tiptoes and looked back at the kitchen. She had taken the tray of food away from Riley for the moment so she wouldn’t choke or make a mess. Amber huffed at Adam, then she crossed her arms and approached a window in the living room.

Adam sighed in disappointment while Amber squinted at the porch. She watched as their mysterious visitor rang the doorbell again.

Ding-dong!

“She doesn’t look like a salesman,” Amber said.

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t know her, so we shouldn’t answer the door.”

“What is that? Like, our ‘policy’ or something? What if it’s an emergency?”

“And what if it’s not?”

They reached an impasse. They stood there and stared at each other, speechless. Only the sound of the rain tapping the windows moved through the house.

“I don’t even know you anymore,” Amber said.

“I just want you to be on my side. We don’t know this person. There’s no reason for us to open this door for her. None at all. And… And what about the virus? You want to risk getting us sick, getting Riley sick, for some stranger?”

“You don’t care about viruses or Riley or any of that.”

“Don’t talk like that, hun.”

“Don’t play with me like this, Adam!” Amber cried. Riley whined in the kitchen, eyes shiny with tears. Amber said, “If you wanna play this game, I’ll play. I’ll put on a mask and I’ll answer the door. I’ll leave the door chain on, okay? If she doesn’t come in, the virus won’t come in. Then when… when she’s gone, I’ll sanitize the door, myself, and the whole fucking porch. How does that sound?”

In a soft tone, Adam said, “Don’t do this.”

Amber grabbed a cloth face mask from a drawer on a console table near the front door. She put it on and stepped up to Adam, her face just a few inches away from his chest. She expected him to move. He did not. She reached for the doorknob. Adam sidestepped to block her.

“Get out of the way,” Amber said.

“I can’t let you do this.”

“Get out of my way, Adam.”

“It’s not safe. She’s—”

“Stop it! For Christ’s sake, stop, Adam! If you can’t tell me what you’re scared of, how can you expect me to take you seriously? You’re losing it. You’re losing your mind, baby! You need help! There’s no danger! We’re safe!”

“We’re not,” Adam whimpered.

“We are!”

“Please.”

“I’ll show you. I’ll show you once and for all that we’re fine.”

Amber reached for the door chain.

Adam pushed her away and said, “Stop.”

She lunged at the door chain again.

“Please,” Adam groaned. “Don’t make me do this.”

Amber hooked her fingers over the door chain. The chain’s jingle made Adam panic. He grabbed Amber’s wrists and pushed her away from the door. She yelped as his tight grip cut off the circulation to her hands. Then she grunted as he slammed her against the wall next to the console table. Picture frames, holding photographs of happy memories, swung on the wall behind her.

Riley’s cries grew louder, although she had already stopped watching the argument.

Eyes wide with shock, Amber stuttered, “You–You’re… a–a… monster.”

“Let me explain,” Adam said. “I’ll tell you everything as long as you don’t open that door.”

“Let me go.”

“Amber, I need you to say it. Say you won’t leave me.”

Squirming against the wall, struggling to break free, Amber said, “You let me go or I’m going to scream. I’ll scream so loud that everyone will hear it. Vince, Rhonda, Michael. They’ll call the cops and they’ll arrest you, you asshole. In front of everyone. In front of your daughter. Then who’s going to ‘protect us’ when you’re locked up? Huh?”

Adam knew Amber was right. The situation could have easily escalated. He couldn’t allow it to end in his imprisonment. As far as he knew, he was the only person standing between Miki and his family.

He said, “Please, Amber, you have to—”

“Let me go!” Amber yelled. “Get your hands off me!”

Adam staggered back, as if blown away by Amber’s bellow. Riley bounced in her highchair and started crying for her mother. Amber jerked away from Adam’s grip. She grabbed her keys from the key rack above the console table. She swung her car key at Adam like a knife. Adam raised his hands, as if he were a criminal caught by the police, and he teetered back into the living room. The key missed his palm by an inch.

“Calm down,” he said. “Don’t do this, Amber. I’m trying to protect us.”

“Sta–Stay away from me.”

“You’re making a big mistake. Let me fix this.”

Amber lifted Riley from her seat, babbled a string of incomprehensible baby talk into her ear to calm her down, and then she marched back into the living room.

Adam asked, “What are you going to do? Huh? You’re going to go out there in the rain? Drive off to… to… Where are you even going to go? Your mom’s place in Thousand Oaks? You’re driving to Thousand Oaks in this weather? Is that your plan? Answer me, Amber.”

Amber grabbed a blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around Riley. The toddler kept sobbing while wrestling with her mother. Riley could feel the tension between her warring parents. Amber slung a diaper bag over her shoulder. As she turned to leave, she found Adam standing in her way.

Adam said, “Please, Amber, give me a chance to explain myself. I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

“You don’t understand, do you? I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about the ‘bad things’ you’ve done. I don’t need an explanation. You put your hands on me. You hurt me and you’re a danger to my daughter.”

“I would never hurt Riley. And I wasn’t trying to hurt you, either. I’m trying to protect us.”

“You… You’re trying to protect us from some imaginary monster outside. I’m trying to protect us—myself and Riley—from the monster in here. And that’s you, Adam. We can’t stay here with you. We’re leaving. If you try to stop us, I’ll scream. And if you hurt Riley, I’ll… I’ll kill you.”

Adam had never seen such ferocity in Amber. Her maternal instinct took control. She believed she was in a fight-or-die situation, and she was willing to do anything to protect Riley.

A mother’s wrath was not to be underestimated.

Teeth chattering, Adam stuttered, “Whe–When I was in Japa—”

“Get out of the way, you bastard!” Amber cried as she pushed past him.

Adam pulled on her diaper bag and yelled, “Please stop!”

“Don’t touch me!” Amber screamed, twisting her body left and right to try to escape his grip. “Don’t touch me!”

“Amber, please don’t…”

Adam released the bag upon noticing the tears and fear on Riley’s face. He was doing more than just scaring her. He was scarring the girl. He stepped back and allowed his wife to stumble away. Hands shaking, Amber unlocked the front door while constantly looking back at him, as if she were being chased by a serial killer in a horror movie.

The door swung open.

To Adam’s surprise, the visitor was gone.

“It wasn’t her?” he whispered questioningly.

Sobbing, Amber took Riley to the SUV in the driveway, rain pouring down on them. She sat in the driver’s seat, locked the doors, and blindly threw the diaper bag into the back seat.

“It–It–It’s o–okay,” she stammered as she rocked Riley in her arms.

Riley couldn’t stop crying, her cheeks as red as blood. Amber gasped as Adam lurched towards the SUV, slipping and sliding on the wet lawn.

“Amber, please!” he cried.

Amber reversed out of the driveway without looking back. The tires screeched and puddles splashed as she stomped on the brakes. The SUV stopped a foot away from a luxury sedan parked across the street. There were no other drivers on the road. She put the car in drive and turned left. She sped off just as Adam reached the street.

Adam jogged after her, following the dashed yellow line between the lanes, but he stopped after five meters. He watched as Amber took a right at an intersection down the street. The SUV vanished from his sight. He buried his hands in his wet hair and stared at the intersection, awe written in his eyes. He thought: What have I done?

“Shh, baby, s–shh,” Amber said, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Riley’s back. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Please, baby, don’t cry. Don’t cry, sweetie.”

She kissed Riley’s forehead, but it didn’t help. The girl kept wailing and wailing—and wailing. Toddlers could smell danger, and Riley had caught a big whiff of it. Amber’s eyes widened as she spotted the STOP sign at the upcoming intersection. She stepped on the brake pedal. She was going too fast to stop safely. She tightened her grip on Riley, put her hand behind her neck, and slammed the brakes.

The SUV came to a sudden halt, the front tires on the faded stop line.

Amber checked on Riley—she was fine—then she glanced around. She realized there were no other drivers, pedestrians, or cops out there. She was only a danger to herself and her daughter.

She said, “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Let’s… Let’s find somewhere to park. We’ll get you in your seat and then we’ll go see grandma, okay?”

Amber took a right and drove until she found an empty parking space on the side of the road near the beach. She placed Riley on the passenger seat and kissed her forehead, then she turned on the dome light. From the periphery of her vision, she saw a shadow rise in the back seat through the rearview mirror. She froze as the terrifying realization set in.

Someone had been hiding in her vehicle, crouching behind her seat during her short drive.

Amber said, “Please don’t hurt my—”

A loud crackling sound interrupted her. Before she knew it, a stun gun touched the side of her neck. Foamy saliva spurted from between her clenched teeth. Her limbs locked up. She crashed into the steering wheel, then she fell over the center console. An unearthly moan escaped her mouth. She regained control of her body five seconds later.

She looked at the back seat and saw Miki sitting next to Riley’s rear-facing safety seat. Despite the mask covering her face, she could tell the intruder was smiling.

Riley sucked her index and middle fingers while mewling as she watched her mother. She couldn’t see Miki from her position.

Amber mumbled incoherently as she turned to face the steering wheel. In a daze, she could only think about speeding off.

As Amber grabbed the key in the ignition, Miki prodded the nape of her neck with the stun gun. Amber lost control of her body for eight seconds—seconds that felt like minutes. A string of drool hung from her mouth. Her fingers were curled towards her palms, as if she were stopped halfway into clenching her fists.

Miki grabbed two fistfuls of Amber’s red hair from behind, then she swung her head at the driver’s side window. She slammed her head against it five times—thump, thump, thump, thump, thump! She was unconscious after the third blow to the temple. Amber’s head slumped forward and her fingers uncurled as Miki released her hair.

Miki looked at Riley, and Riley looked back at her. The toddler had stopped crying, but the expression of fear and dismay remained on her face. She knew something was wrong, but she didn’t know how to react.

Miki said, “Mommy should have locked her doors.”

“Goddammit, Amber, answer your phone,” Adam muttered as he listened to the ringback tone. The call went to voicemail. He said, “Amber, for crying out loud, I’ve called you five times already. I really hope you’re not going to your mom’s place right now. You can get into an accident out there. Please, if you get this, call me back or come home. I’m begging you.”

He ended the call and threw his phone at his desk. He walked around his office, scratching the back of his head and rubbing the small of his back. Anxiety wouldn’t let him stand still.

He went through several scenarios in his head. ‘If she goes there, if she goes here… If I do this, if I do that…’ He thought about barricading himself in the house, but it wouldn’t look good for him if the police showed up. He considered going out into the streets of Los Angeles and finding the elusive ‘Carved Face’ serial killer himself.

But what can I do if I find her? Or him?—he thought.

He wasn’t equipped to capture or murder a sadistic serial killer. He had committed acts of violence, but he sincerely regretted his past actions.

He stopped pacing upon catching a glimpse of a picture frame on his desk. He bent over and inspected the photograph. It was a picture of himself, Amber, and Riley at Pacific Park on a sunny day. Amber and Riley brought a smile to his face and tears to his eyes. He didn’t recognize himself, though. Guilt, like stress, accelerated the aging process and poisoned the human mind.

“Oh shit,” he said. “I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong.”

He decided to race to his mother-in-law’s home in hopes of finding Amber. He grabbed his cell phone and hurried out of his office. He didn’t even think about changing from his reeking bathrobe.

Adam stopped next to the kitchen bar. The front door was wide open. Then he heard a whimper from the darkest corner of the living room. He saw Miki standing there with Riley in her arms. Despite her mask, he recognized his secret lover straight away. His undivided attention, however, was captured by his daughter as she shook and whined. Although Riley was alive, Adam went through the stages of grief.

He started by shaking his head in denial, then he scowled at Miki and thrust his index finger at her—so angry that he couldn’t speak. He closed his eyes, sending tears to the floorboards between his grubby feet, and clasped his hands in front of his chest. He spewed a garble of nonsense, but he was obviously bargaining. The bargaining came with a spell of depression.

And, finally, Adam accepted reality. Miki was inside his home, cradling his daughter, and Amber was nowhere to be found. He took a step towards them, but then he noticed the pocketknife in Miki’s hand. She held the blade up to Riley’s back. It was a short blade, but it was enough to kill a toddler.

Adam said, “Don’t hurt her.”

Miki didn’t say a word. Behind her mask, she smiled, frowned, snarled, then smiled again. She was on her own roller coaster of emotions. She felt a sense of nostalgia, as if she had run into an old friend at a supermarket. Then sadness swept through her as she remembered the assault in her apartment. Anger followed, then amusement.

Adam reminded her of the countless transients she had encountered in Los Angeles. His life was already in shambles.

“She’s innocent,” Adam said. “You do wha–whatever you want to me, but please don’t hurt her. Please, Miki.”

Miki’s smile grew. He remembers me, she thought.

She said, “There are some handcuffs on the bar. Plastic ones. Grab them. Put them on. Then get on your knees and face that wall next to the hall. And keep your head down.”

Adam was surprised by Miki’s calm tone. He looked at the cable tie handcuffs on the bar. He noticed a wet crowbar next to it. He thought about using it against Miki, but he knew he wasn’t fast enough to stop her from stabbing Riley if he tried to attack her. He looked back at the intruder.

He said, “I can’t do that. I need you to put Riley down and I need to see Amber. Once I know they’re safe and free, I–I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Your beautiful wife is fine, Adam. She’s tied up in the back seat of your SUV with some tape over her mouth. She’ll join us as soon as you do as I say.”

“A–And what are you going to do? Are you going to hurt them?”

“I don’t want to hurt your family. This isn’t about them. It’s about us. But… I’ll hurt them if you don’t follow my instructions. I will kill your precious daughter—right now, right in front of you—if you do anything stupid.”

“Okay, o–okay. Just… What do you want from me, Miki? Where is this going?”

“The truth, Adam. I just want the truth. We’ll get into it soon, but I don’t like standing here with a knife to your baby’s back and the door open. If your neighbors show up, I’ll kill your sweet little Riley. You don’t want that, I don’t want that, so just do it already. Handcuff yourself and kneel down.”

Adam figured she wanted a confession. He didn’t trust Miki, but he was out of options and he was running out of time. He couldn’t fight her with the knife touching Riley’s back and he couldn’t wait until one of his neighbors noticed his open door. He tied his wrists together in front of him with the cable tie handcuffs, then he turned around and knelt in front of the wall.

Listening to the footsteps behind him, he said, “I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll go to the police and I’ll tell ‘em everything. I won’t tell ‘em about this if you… if you don’t hurt them.”

“Head down,” Miki said as she lowered Riley onto the sofa.

Adam bowed his head and said, “I’m so sorry for what I did. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I know you’re better than this. I know you wouldn’t hurt innocent people. You’re not the killer from the news. You’re a sweet, beau—”

Miki pressed her stun gun against the nape of Adam’s neck. He jerked his head up, limbs stiff and jaw clenched. Then he fell forward. His forehead hit the wall, then he landed on his side. Before he could regain control of his body, Miki struck the left side of his head with the crowbar, cutting his scalp open and knocking him into a state of deep unconsciousness.

PART III

19

CONFESSIONS

Hoarse breathing. Loud snorting. Stifled whining.

Adam awoke to weeping, a woman’s weeping. His eyes were open, the room was bright, but he saw nothing but darkness. He tried to speak, but even he couldn’t understand himself with the strip of duct tape over his mouth. His vision faded in slowly. He was staring down at himself. The left side of his bathrobe was splattered with blood.

He looked up and immediately closed his eyes. The light made his head hurt. The pain on the left side of his head was especially tremendous. His temple was cut and swollen. His eyelids cracked open to a squint. He saw triple, but enough to recognize his surroundings. In his kitchen, he sat at his regular seat at the end of the dining table. At the other end of the table, Riley’s highchair was swapped with another dining chair.

And Amber sat on that dining chair across from him. She was already awake, crying and babbling. Her arms were restrained behind her back with a pair of plastic handcuffs, and her body was duct-taped to the chair.

Adam tried to stand, but he was also taped to his chair. The duct tape around his ankles made it difficult for him to move. He blinked rapidly, hoping it would help him clear his vision. He went from seeing triple to seeing double in about thirty seconds, but it didn’t get much better after that. He mumbled something, but it sounded like a baby cooing. He wanted to shout: Where’s Riley?!

He tried to stand again, dragging the chair an inch forward. Amber hopped in her seat and screamed. The noise wasn’t loud enough to reach the street outside due to the rain.

“Looks like mama and papa are awake,” Miki said.

Adam stopped moving upon hearing her voice. Amber kept struggling, though. He looked over the bar. There was no one there. A flashing blue glow from the muted television lit up the living room. He gasped as Miki emerged from behind the bar. She was still wearing her mask. She held Riley in her arms, and Riley clutched a stuffed monkey in her hands. The toddler was finally calm. They had been playing on the living room floor as they waited for Adam and Amber to awaken.

Jugulars sticking out of his neck, Adam shouted at Miki. He wanted to say: ‘Let her go!’ But it came out as a ghoulish groan.

Miki stood behind Amber’s chair. Amber yelled at Miki, too. She looked over her left shoulder, then the opposite shoulder. She wanted to see Riley. She only cared about her safety.

Miki said, “Los Angeles. Manhattan Beach. Same address you had on your passport when we first met. I told you I’d show up at your door someday. It wasn’t hard to find you, but I bet you couldn’t find me.”

Adam screamed at her. Miki put Riley in her highchair. She caressed the girl’s cheek, then she stroked her dark brown hair. Amber started yelling at her, too. She was glad to see Riley, but Miki’s actions—despite being so gentle—set her off. No one wanted strangers to touch their children. Riley was agitated because of her parents’ screaming, so she began sucking on one of the stuffed animal’s ears.

Miki made her way to Adam. She leaned over the chair next to him and removed her mask, revealing her scarred face. Adam’s screaming came to an abrupt stop. It was as if he had just remembered what had gotten him into that situation in the first place. I did that to her, he thought. I’m guilty, but my family is innocent.

Miki asked, “Did you miss me?”

Adam lunged at her, dragging the chair forward a centimeter. His eyes were fixed on hers. She snickered and walked around him. She circled the table until she returned to Amber. She sat in the chair next to her, put her elbows on the table, then propped her chin on her palms and watched Amber’s effort to escape for a moment.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” Miki asked.

Amber glared at her, nostrils flaring with each breath. She was curious about her scars and her connection to Adam. She didn’t recognize her, though.

Miki said, “My name is Miki Someya. I’m one of Adam’s close ‘friends.’ We met in Japan in 2017 during one of his business trips. Do you remember that trip?”

Amber kept glaring, then after about ten seconds, she nodded slowly.

Miki grinned and said, “Adam went home in such a hurry, didn’t he? And you probably weren’t expecting him to be home so soon, were you? What did he tell you? That his meetings were cancelled? He signed some deals and finished early? He missed you so much that he had to rush home to be with you?”

She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled at the idea. Only her laughter and the clattering of the rain played through the house. Sweat coated Adam’s forehead and cheeks. He was captivated by Miki’s speech. He knew where she was going with it, he just didn’t know when she was going to get to her point.

Amber remembered Adam’s trip to Japan in 2017. When she questioned him about his early return, Adam had claimed he finished his business meetings early and he had been eager to return home to Amber because he was homesick. She was suspicious about his excuses, but she shrugged it off since she didn’t have any evidence of mischief or misconduct.

Miki said, “Well, that trip was very… eventful. I wish I could tell you everything, but I think you deserve to hear the truth from Adam. I’d like him to… confess. If he does that, I will call the police, walk out the front door, and turn myself in.” She looked at Adam and said, “If he does anything else—fight, scream, lie—I will hurt you. You, Adam, your wife, your child… I will hurt all of you.”

Amber lunged at Miki, the chair’s legs screeching on the tiles. But she wasn’t trying to attack her. She was begging for mercy for her child. Accepting her helplessness, her anger turned into fear. She couldn’t fight Miki while restrained to the chair. She had to find the intruder’s sympathy.

Miki approached Adam. They gazed into each other’s eyes, as if trying to communicate without saying a word. Adam’s eyes said: ‘Please don’t do this.’ And Miki’s gaze said something along the lines of: ‘I’m really enjoying myself.’ She peeled the duct tape off Adam’s mouth and left it dangling from his cheek. He gasped for air, then he hissed in pain.

He looked at Riley and said, “I–I love you, Ry Ry. Everything’s… going to be okay. All right? O–Okay?” He turned his attention to Amber and said, “I’ll… I’m… We’re going to get out of this. Just… Whatever I say, whatever you hear, don’t believe it all. Think about something else.”

“Are you kidding me?” Miki asked with a smile of disbelief. “Are you already thinking about lying after everything I just said?”

Adam turned towards her so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash. Grinding his teeth, he said, “I didn’t say that, you monster.”

“But you did, didn’t you? You told her not to believe you.”

“My truth is different from yours.”

“No, no, no,” Miki said as she strolled back to Amber’s side. “You’re trying to confuse us already. You’re talking about… What’s the word? Um… Per… Perception, right? That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it? Well, I’m not asking you to tell her what you think happened, I’m telling you to tell her—to tell your lovely family—what really happened between us in Japan in 2017. The truth… is the truth. It’s as undeniable as… the scars on my face.”

She ran her gloved index finger over the scars on her cheeks while smiling deviously. The gesture confirmed Amber’s suspicions: The scars were connected to Adam’s trip to Japan.

Miki said, “Now, I’m going to give you another chance to start telling the truth. No more mind games, Adam.”

Adam’s eyes met Amber’s. He saw the fear and agony in her eyes. She nodded at him, as if to say: ‘It’s fine, just do it.’ Earlier in the night, before Amber attempted to flee their home with Riley, Adam was ready to tell her a version of the truth. With Miki in the room, he couldn’t sugarcoat his actions. He couldn’t claim he just casually attacked someone. He had to tell her exactly what he did.

Adam looked into the living room. He heard a puddle splashing outside. It was followed by a child’s laughter and some muted voices. Some kids were jumping in puddles outside as they made their way down the street. He looked back at Miki, then at Amber. Both of the women shook their heads at him.

‘Don’t do it.’

Adam yelled, “Help! Help! Help!”

Riley grimaced, then she whined and covered her ears.

Miki took the shears out of her coat pocket. Adam stopped screaming. He recognized those large, sharp scissors—the same dressmaker’s shears he had used to mutilate her face.

“Wa–Wa–Wait,” he stammered.

Miki folded Amber’s right ear horizontally, then she cut up into it with the shears starting at the edge of her earlobe. The cartilage crunched as Amber screamed. The shears came to a stop halfway up her ear after the first snip. Her ear was small, but it bled profusely. Blood streamed down the side of her neck and large drops dripped onto her shoulder.

Plop!

“Stop!” Adam yelled, jerking frantically in his seat. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, don’t hurt her! Oh my God, please!”

Miki gripped Amber’s hair to control her head, then she cut her again. With the second snip, her ear was severed. It bounced off her shoulder, then landed on the floor. Amber clenched her eyes shut and groaned. The tape over her mouth was soaked in saliva and tears. A smattering of blood landed on the edge of the tape, too.

Blood clogged Amber’s ear canal, muffling her hearing and warming the side of her head. She felt like she was bleeding in her skull. For a moment, she wondered if she was stabbed in the head. She didn’t realize her ear was amputated until she opened her eyes and spotted it on the floor. The pain left her feeling muzzy and tired.

Adam was shocked into silence and deafness. He couldn’t hear his daughter’s cries or his wife’s whimpers. He just stared at the remaining bits of ear—jagged, bloody cartilage—sticking out from the side of Amber’s head. Her blood was a shade darker than her natural red hair. Then he heard Miki’s voice—and, somehow, only her voice.

Miki said, “Every time you scream, I’m going to cut a piece off her. Got it?”

Adam was attacked by the horrid racket of chaos and panic as his hearing returned. Yet, no one could hear them outside.

He said, “Daddy’s here, Ry Ry. Close your eyes, baby. Please, go–go to sleep. Oh God, please don’t watch this.”

Riley couldn’t hear her father over her own crying. Head down, she hit the highchair’s tray with her fists and flailed her tiny feet.

“Got it?” Miki repeated.

“I’ll do whatever you say,” Adam answered. “Just don’t hurt her again. Please don’t hurt her.”

“Good boy. Now start talking.”

Adam’s lips moved, but he didn’t say a word. He stared at the table and thought about his explanation. He was willing to tell Amber everything, but there was no guarantee that his confession would save them. He hoped he could save his family by jumping straight to the point. He believed Miki wanted revenge, so he thought about sacrificing himself.

I deserve it, he thought. I should just let her kill me, but what if she doesn’t let them go after I’m dead and gone?

Miki rolled her eyes and said, “You really want to do this the hard way, don’t you?”

“No, wa–wait a second. Please, just kill me. Kill—”

Miki pinched Amber’s left eyebrow and pulled it away from her face. Then she closed the shears over the loose skin.

“Stop it!” Adam barked.

Amber convulsed on her chair, but she couldn’t escape Miki’s clutches. The blades were buried under her eyebrow. With each slight movement, voluntary and involuntary, she helped separate her eyebrow from her face. Blood leaked out, cascaded over her eyelids, and glazed her eyeball, and then it ran down her cheek.

With two snips of her shears, Miki cut Amber’s eyebrow off her face. It landed on Amber’s lap. But she wasn’t finished yet. She pinched Miki’s other eyebrow and started cutting into it. Some of her short hair was trimmed, bloody strands spiraling down to her legs. It took three snips to severe it. It joined the other eyebrow on her lap.

Blood cascaded across the other side of Amber’s face. It looked like she was crying blood. The hot pain shot across her forehead—throbbing and throbbing and throbbing.

“Kill me!” Adam begged. “Don’t hurt her! Please! Just kill me! Isn’t that what you want? Just do it… do it… please do it…”

Miki crouched behind the chair. She grabbed Amber’s right hand with a tight grip, pushing her thumb into her palm, then she closed the shears over her captive’s index finger. She squeezed the handles as hard as possible, then she wiggled the shears to try to break her bone and cut off her finger. Amber looked up at the ceiling and gasped as a spear of pain bolted up her arm.

“Ma-ma!” Riley cried while hitting her tray. “No! Ma! No!”

Adam said, “Stop it… God, what are you doing to her? I–I’ll talk. I’ll tell her e–everything. Please stop it. Please, Miki, don’t do this.”

Miki squeezed the shears’ handles with both of her hands. Amber’s knuckle burst with a loud popping sound. Her index finger was severed. It hit the floor behind her chair. At first, Amber felt a numbness in her hand. Then a wave of burning, paralyzing pain followed. An uncomfortable blanket of warmth enveloped her, as if she were sleeping under a wool blanket in Death Valley.

Her head tilted back. One eye was wide open and the other was narrowed, but both of her eyes rolled up. Her hearing faded first, then her vision followed suit. Unable to tolerate the pain, she fainted.

Miki said, “Oh, look. We have some toys for Riley.”

She picked up the amputated finger and ear from the floor, then she grabbed the eyebrows from Amber’s lap. She put the human pieces on Riley’s tray. The eyebrows landed with a splat sound and looked like two bloody, furry caterpillars. Riley kept crying, shaking her head, and saying the same word—‘No!’—over and over.

“You bitch!” Adam yelled. “Get that away from her, you… you… you fucking cunt!”

Ignoring him, Miki stroked Riley’s hair and said, “It’s playtime, honey. Have fun.”

Adam shouted, “Get your hands off her!” As Miki retreated, Adam looked at Riley and said, “Ry Ry, don’t cry. Da–Don’t touch that. It’s… It’s not a toy. Just close your eyes. Please close your eyes, baby.”

“Ma-ma,” Riley whined.

“Look who’s awake,” Miki said as she gently slapped Amber’s cheeks.

Amber’s eyelids flickered as she regained consciousness. She shuddered and moaned as the pain moved through every inch of her body. Her head throbbed, her chest burned, her stomach hurt, and even her feet ached.

Miki grabbed the sides of Amber’s head, irritating the remaining bits of her amputated ear. She forced Amber to look at Adam.

Miki said, “Adam, tell us the truth. Your wife is getting weak… and ugly. She might not survive much longer if you don’t start confessing.”

“Okay, okay,” Adam said rapidly. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk. But can you… can you please take… ‘that’ away from my daughter? She doesn’t deserve to see that. You know it’s true.”

“Wow. You really love seeing your wife suffer, don’t you?”

As Miki opened her shears, Adam yelled, “Okay! I’ll talk!” Miki closed the shears and gave him a nod. Adam puffed out a trembling sigh, then he said, “I met Miki at a bar in Tokyo. The guys—some business associates—they told me… me and Dallas… about Japanese girls who, um… who pursued foreign men. They said these types of girls… women, I mean… These women were easy, that’s what they said. So, I… I’m sorry, Amber, but I was drunk. I was drunk and you already know I’m an idiot…”

“No excuses,” Miki said. “Just tell us everything that happened.”

Adam said, “So, I approached Miki at the bar. She was watching me and I was… watching her. We chatted and we clicked. Dallas was supposed to step in and stop me. That’s not an excuse. That’s the truth. He said he wasn’t going to let it go that far because he knew I was drunk, but he… I guess he failed. We—Miki and I—went to a ‘love hotel.’ And at that hotel… we had… we…” His throat and mouth were completely dry. He sniffled, then he said, “We had sex.”

Miki leaned close to Amber’s good ear and said, “We spent hours together. I sucked his cock and he ate my pussy. He fucked me without a condom because he couldn’t find any that fit. And he finished inside of me.”

“No,” Adam said with a weak voice.

“He did.”

“I didn’t.”

“He did. And you know what he told me? All night, he said, ‘Miki, you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.’ He really made it sound like he meant it, and that made me think that he loved me.”

“I’m so sorry, Amber.”

All tears looked the same, but Adam could tell Amber’s tears came from emotional anguish. His betrayal hurt her more than Miki’s torture. She was now physically and mentally broken.

Miki asked, “Did you ever tell her what happened next? Why you ran away from Japan?” Adam shook his head. Miki said, “Well, now’s your chance. Tell her.”

Adam said, “I left Japan because… I attacked Miki in her apartment after she threatened to come here and tell you everything. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I couldn’t control myself. I was drunk and scared, I was afraid of getting caught and losing you, so I came running back home and I…” His eyes darted to Miki. He said, “I brought this evil woman back with me.”

Amber’s sudden shriek caused Adam to flinch and Riley to cover her ears. Miki smiled at Adam, her arm moving behind Amber’s chair.

“What are you doing to her?!” Adam shouted. “Stop! Stop it! Let her go! I did what you told me to do, you bitch! You lying bitch!”

Amber’s screaming stopped with another hair-raising popping sound. Miki had severed her other index finger. Blood spouted out of her knuckle in a steady stream for a few seconds before slowing into a weak trickle. She arched her neck back and took in short breaths through her nose. Her vision pulsed—darkening, brightening, darkening, brightening—before it stabilized a minute later.

Miki put the finger on Riley’s tray. Riley didn’t notice it because she had finally closed her eyes. The intruder returned to Amber’s seat. She pushed Amber’s head down to force her to see her husband, then she slapped her cheeks one by one to keep her awake.

“I–I knew I couldn’t trust you,” Adam said. “It doesn’t matter what I say, huh? If you wanna hurt me, punish me, kill me, then do it already! I’m right here, you bitch!”

“Stop screaming before I decide to cut her eyes out and feed them to your daughter,” Miki said.

“You… You’re a monster. Jesus Christ, you’re crazy.”

“I hurt her again because you broke the rules. You didn’t do what I told you to do. I told you to tell her everything. ‘I attacked Miki?’ Really? That could mean anything. We want the details, Adam. You can tell her about me, tell her I stalked you or anything like that, but don’t forget about your actions. Go on, try again.”

Adam looked Amber dead in the eye. She was barely conscious.

He said, “She stalked me, Amber. She showed up at my meetings, she followed me to business dinners, she went to my hotel… She knew everything about me because she–she… she looked through my stuff. My passport, my wallet, probably my phone. She stalked me. So, I got drunk and I… I confronted her.”

“Confront? You’re going to need to do better than that.”

“I’m getting there!” Adam snarled. He breathed deeply to compose himself, then he said, “I confronted her in her apartment. She threatened to come here—to our home—and tell you everything. I lost control of myself. I hit her with a bottle of whiskey, then I… Fuck me, I, uh… I cut her face open with the bottle. Then I used her scissors to cut her other cheek open. I beat her so bad. I thought she was going to die. I knew I was wrong, but I couldn’t stop running until I got home. That’s what happened. I’m a… I’m a monster, too, okay?”

Miki said, “Your husband fucked me, then he tried to kill me. And I bet you’ve been sharing a bed with him nearly every night since then. He lied to you—to us. He’s missing some important details, but I’ll forgive him because I can’t expect him to know everything. You see, I was pregnant when he attacked me.”

“N–No,” Adam said, voice trembling.

Amber groaned, then she sobbed. It just kept getting worse and worse.

Miki continued, “I was pregnant with his child. I know it was his because I didn’t sleep with anyone else. I lost the baby because he hit me in the stomach. He hit me so hard. After he left, I tried to move on. I spent weeks in the hospital and months at home, hoping to recover. And I got better. The doctor said I could still get pregnant in the future. My head, my body, stopped aching. But no one cared about me. People were afraid of my scars. And when they weren’t scared, they were disgusted. No one wanted to date me or even talk to me. I was alone—completely alone.”

Miki watched as the Miller family wallowed in their sorrow, listening to the music of misery—sniffles, whimpers, whines. It reminded her of her own suffering, but it didn’t spark any sympathy in her. Along with her innocence, her humanity was stolen on the night of the assault.

She said, “I’ve felt like I’ve been dead since your husband attacked me. Do you know the word onryō? It’s Japanese. It means ‘vengeful spirit.’ I think that’s what I’ve become. But you want to know something interesting? I don’t think the punches or the cuts hurt me as much as Adam’s lies. You feel it, too, don’t you? It stings, right? He said I was the most beautiful girl in the world, but he didn’t love me. He couldn’t love me. And I guess it was because of you.”

She grabbed Amber in a rear-naked chokehold, pulled her back until the nape of her neck hit the chair’s backrest, then she closed the shears over her nose. Amber squeezed her eyes shut, ground her teeth, and snorted as blood bubbled out of her sliced nostrils. Her nasal septum crunched and crackled. It took three snips to shear off Amber’s nose. It fell between her legs. A triangle of blood stained her face—starting at the bridge of her nose, flowing down diagonally to the sides of her mouth, then covering her jaw.

Amber’s head bobbed. She could hardly breathe through her nose, leaving her dizzy and lethargic. The duct tape over her mouth looked black because of all the blood.

“No!” Adam cried. “Oh my God, no! I’m doing what you told me to do! I told her the truth! Why are you doing this? Why?!”

Miki placed the nose on Riley’s tray, then she moseyed over to Adam. She said, “I didn’t want to hurt your family.”

“Fuck you!”

“But I’ve had a… change of heart now that I’ve heard everything again. You do deserve this, Adam. Your entire family deserves this.”

“Don’t you fucking touch my—”

Miki pressed the duct tape over his lips. Adam kept screaming. He pulled the tape into his mouth and nibbled on it, but he couldn’t tear through it.

Miki took a stainless-steel lighter out of her coat pocket. She ignited it with a flick of the spark wheel and then held the flame up to Amber’s face. Amber didn’t realize it until she saw the flash of the flame through the blood in her eyes. She was already hot—fevered— all over because of the immense pain. Then she heard her blood sizzle.

She moaned as she turned her head. The flame burned her cheek. Her skin began to peel, so she tilted her head back. The fire torched her jaw. She turned her head again and stretched her neck out as far as possible. The flame bounced off her bulging jugular.

Miki grabbed her hair to stop her from moving. She held the flame up to her left eye. Her eyelids twitched, reddened, then peeled. Some of her eyelashes burned like fuses on fireworks and others detached and spiraled down to her lap. The left side of her vision faded as the vitreous inside her bloodshot eyeball began to boil. It looked like her eye was melting, her pupil drooping into her brown iris. A fresh ring of blood outlined her eye.

Miki stepped aside without releasing her snug grip on Amber’s hair. Adam sat aghast. If it weren’t for the tape over his mouth, his jaw would have dropped like an anvil. His wife was unrecognizable. One of her ears was missing, her nose was cut off, and her eyebrows were removed. Her face was drenched in blood. From across the table, her left eye appeared gooey, her iris now blending with the damaged sclera around it. It looked like it was oozing out of its socket.

Adam apologized repeatedly, although his voice was unintelligible. In the throes of agony, Amber couldn’t hear him anyway.

Miki gave Amber’s head a shake and asked, “Who’s more beautiful now?”

20

THE ULTIMATE REVENGE

Amber clung to consciousness, her head bouncing like a drug addict’s on the verge of nodding off. Adam was out of breath due to his excessive sobbing. He stopped apologizing and started begging for murder—his murder. Fingers smeared with blood, Riley had pushed one of her mother’s fingers and eyebrows off her tray. Her face ached from her persistent grimacing.

Standing next to Riley’s highchair, Miki said, “Your daughter is beautiful. Her name is Riley, right? Ry Ry? I read about her on Amber’s Facebook page.”

A million questions swirled around in Adam’s head: Is she going to kill us? Would she hurt an innocent baby? How long has she been watching us? How do I save my family?

Miki smirked and said, “You look surprised. You were smart, Adam. You stopped sharing everything about your life on social media. I mean, you still shared with your friends and family, but you stopped posting things publicly, right? Amber… Amber was stupid, but she didn’t know any better because you didn’t teach her from your experience… until now. I think the phrase is ‘too little, too late.’ Yeah, it sounds right in this situation.”

Adam said something, but Miki didn’t understand him. She didn’t care, either. She was tired of Adam’s voice.

As she stroked Riley’s hair, the intruder said, “I had this thought when I first saw Riley and I could never shake it off. I thought: This girl can’t be Amber’s. Does that make sense? I mean, look at her. She looks nothing like Amber, does she? Her hair is dark brown, almost black. Her eye color is lighter than Amber’s and her eyes slimmer. Narrow, you know? She looks more like… me. I even feel a strong connection to her. I know she’s not my daughter, but she feels like my daughter. Can you understand that?”

Miki sat down in the chair to Amber’s right. She peeled the bloody tape off her face. Soaked in blood, it came off easily. Amber could have blown it off her face—if she could have only drawn a deep breath through her mutilated nostrils. Miki expected her to scream. Instead, Amber just breathed, drawing one long, raspy breath after another. Her body was desperate for oxygen, fighting for survival, but in her heart, she had already admitted defeat. She was only concerned with saving Riley.

In a hoarse voice, so gravelly it sounded painful, she said, “Don’t… hurt… her.”

“I don’t want to hurt Riley,” Miki responded. “No, I’m actually thinking about saving her. I want to take her with me.”

Amber frowned, sending jolts of pain across her face. It made her nauseous. She felt hot vomit stewing in her stomach, ready to be served at the dinner table. Sadness became physically painful.

She said, “Da–Don’t… Pa–Pa–Please…”

“Why?”

“I–I… la… love… her.”.

“Okay. Love. Yeah, I can understand that. I can’t feel it anymore, but I can understand it. So, let me ask you something else. What would you prefer? I kill you and leave Riley with Adam—the very violent cheater who almost killed me—or I let you live and I leave with Riley, giving her the chance to grow up with a loving, protective mother away from a monster like Adam. Think about it, Amber. She would thrive with me in Japan. She would be safe there.”

Face twitching from the pain, Amber stuttered, “I–I don’t… I’m… Ry… Ry Ry… Don’t hurt… my baby.”

“Answer the question.”

Amber observed her daughter. Even through her blurred vision, she could see Riley was afraid of her. The toddler wouldn’t even look her way. But she wasn’t really afraid of her mother. After Miki’s amateur facial surgery, Riley didn’t recognize her. She didn’t know the bloody, mutilated woman at the end of the table was her mother.

Amber studied her husband. She saw the regret and despair in his eyes, but her image of him was permanently damaged by his confessions. She couldn’t trust him with Riley. But she couldn’t trust Miki, either. From her perspective, Adam and Miki were cut from the same cloth. They were perfect for each other.

Amber said, “Keep… Keep your hands… off my da–daughter.”

With disappointment in her eyes, Miki said, “You’re so stupid.”

She walked to a duffel bag on the living room sofa and took a roll of duct tape out of it. It made a loud tearing sound as she ripped a fresh strip off it.

Weak, Amber tilted her head back and said, “Do–Don’t ta–touch he—”

Miki slapped the duct tape over Amber’s mouth, aggravating all of the injuries on her face. Amber blacked out for two seconds, head buzzing like a hornets’ nest. Miki sat in the chair between Riley and Adam. The highchair groaned and squealed as Riley continued jumping in it. Her mother’s blood was now smeared on her cheeks and forearms.

“If you scream, I’ll kill your wife,” Miki said as she removed Adam’s tape.

Adam gasped for air, then he stammered, “I–I–I’m sorry. I–I’m sorry for everything. I mean it. I–I really do. You can… Do whatever you want to me, Miki. I–I deserve it. I hurt you. Not Amber, not Riley. Ta–Take it out on me. Cut my ears off, my nose, my lips, my eyes, my–my… cut my fucking dick off if you want to. Just please—please—call an ambulance for Amber and leave Riley out of this. Oh my God, please, please, please…”

Miki watched him weep for about thirty seconds, amused. There was something about his desperation that tickled her. She was reborn from suffering, so she could relate to his pain. But suffering was just a form of entertainment to her now.

She asked, “Do you know what the ultimate revenge is?”

“God, don’t hurt my family.”

“So, you do know,” Miki said with a sly smirk. “Physical pain is nothing. Your wife understands that and I know you understand it. Look at yourself. Your hands are trembling so bad. Your feet are shaking so much. Can you hear your feet tapping against the floor? Tap, tap, tap, tap. And I’ve barely touched you. Mental torture is the greatest form of torture. The ultimate revenge is… taking everything a person loves… right in front of them… while they’re helpless and hopeless.”

“You–You can’t do this. Miki, I’m begging you. Kill me. Leave them alone and kill me.”

Miki leaned forward, stroked his beard, and said, “Adam, you’re not listening. There’s nothing you can say to stop me. This is all part of the plan. Every single word I’ve said, every single act of violence I’ve committed, it’s all been part of my ultimate revenge.” She snickered, then she said, “I rehearsed all of this in my apartment. I mean, my place isn’t as fancy as yours, but it was good enough. Besides, with a bigger stage comes more room to perform, right?”

“Please, please, please, please, please.”

Adam looked and sounded like a malfunctioning android in a science-fiction movie, head shaking erratically as he repeated himself.

“You’re so cute,” Miki said. “Oh, you remember the word for ‘cute’ in Japanese, don’t you? No? It’s ‘kawaii.’ You used it after I told you my name. You said it was cute, remember? I felt so good, so warm, that day.”

Adam stopped rambling. Although it angered him to see her reminiscing, a spark of hope glimmered in his eyes.

He said, “I remember. Yeah, I, uh… I remember seeing you the first time. There were… dozens of women in that bar, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Miki narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side. Amber could barely hear or see them from the other end of the table.

Adam said, “I said it to you before and I’ll say it again. You were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I lied to myself—to you—and I said it wasn’t true, but it was. And it… it still is. Miki, you are beautiful inside and out. You… This isn’t you. This is… something I would do because I’m a monster. You’re better than this… better than me. That’s why I… I loved you and I… I still love you.”

A tender smile blossomed on Miki’s face and tears of joy shone in her eyes. Adam smiled thinly, trying to keep a semblance of sincerity on his face. Miki caressed his cheek and leaned in towards him, as if she were about to kiss him. Adam thought about chomping one of her fingers, but he set his sights on her neck instead. He had to kill her to stop her.

Miki stopped with her face about a foot away from Adam’s. She sneered and huffed, then she pressed the tape over his mouth before he could lunge at her. He growled and shook his head while jumping with his seat. The chair’s legs thumped with each bounce. His chest hit the edge of the table, pushing a centimeter towards Amber.

Cackling, Miki took Riley out of her highchair, unleashing a storm of panic in the kitchen. She walked to the other side of the table, the toddler struggling in her arms. Adam and Amber jumped in their seats, trying desperately to escape from their restraints. Their chairs pounded the floor like war drums, scuffing and cracking the clean tiles.

Miki put Riley in the smart electric oven. She slammed the door shut, then she tilted a chair and propped it under the handle. She used the oven’s control pad to set the heat at 550 degrees Fahrenheit, then she pressed the START button. She skipped back to Amber’s side, swinging her arms while humming happily.

The toddler screamed in the oven, hitting its walls and door with her legs and arms. The red glow from the bake element illuminated the interior of the oven as it heated up.

Miki sat on the table in front of Amber. She planted her boots on Amber’s knees to stop her from jumping. She pulled her shirt away from her, then she cut it straight up the middle vertically with her shears. Amber’s breasts hung out, her areolas peeking out from behind her torn shirt. And it didn’t matter to her. She exerted the last of her energy to beg Miki for mercy.

Please don’t kill my baby, she tried to say.

Adam rocked back and forth in his seat. He could barely separate himself from the chair’s backrest. An entire roll of duct tape strapped him to it. It was harder to move back than forward, too. He couldn’t afford to fall, either, so he had to be careful. If the chair tipped over, he would have been as useful as a turtle on its back.

Get her out, you bitch, he tried to say.

Ignoring Adam, Miki said, “Your husband killed my baby, so I’m going to kill yours. But revenge isn’t about… making things ‘even’ or ‘fair.’ I didn’t plan this for years just to ‘get even.’ I’m here to do much worse. If you live, you’re going to want to get revenge against me. And that’s what it’s all about: Continuing the endless cycle. So, I’m taking Riley… and I’m taking your uterus so you can never replace her.”

Miki grabbed the backrest of the chair to stop Amber from falling over, then she thrust the shears into Amber’s lower abdomen. Adam had already turned to face the oven. He was two meters away from it. He rotated his neck left and right, watching in horror as his wife was stabbed and his daughter was cooked in the oven. He hesitated. Who am I supposed to save?—he thought. Who can I save? His daughter’s cries grew louder as the oven quickly heated up.

Riley was the most important person in his life. If the shoe were on the other foot, Amber would have chosen to save their daughter, too.

Adam kept bouncing and screaming, chair sliding towards the oven at a snail’s pace. It took him five minutes to move a meter. From that angle, he could see the extent of Amber’s injuries. Miki had carved an upside-down capital ‘T’ onto Amber’s abdomen. The sound of Amber’s abdominal muscles separating—ripping—was louder than her weak, raspy agonal breathing. She went into shock due to her massive loss of blood.

Adam recoiled and revulsion crossed his face as Miki drove her gloved hands and the shears into Amber’s abdominal cavity, pushing down towards her pelvis. She used the large scissors to snip away at the ligaments and fibrous tissue surrounding the uterus. The blades pierced her urinary bladder, too. Her pelvic cavity was flooded with blood and urine.

Adam looked at the oven. Riley coughed violently as hot air circulated inside, irritating her lungs with each breath. Her body was dark red like a newborn baby, sweat glimmering on her peeling skin. She rolled back and forth and flailed her arms and legs. The oven rack was so hot that it slashed her hands, forearms, and knees open.

Adam slid six inches closer before he heard Miki’s giggling. He saw Amber’s chair tipping over with Miki sitting on top of Amber. Miki cackled on their way down. As her captive went into cardiac arrest, Miki plucked Amber’s uterus out of her body. She struggled to her feet and crashed into the dining table behind her.

She examined the uterus. It was supposed to be pear-shaped, but it looked more like a big, crushed tomato in her fist. Blood dripped from the mutilated womb. She looked at Amber, then at Adam, and then back at the uterus, incapable of escaping her amazement. She planned out every detail, but she wasn’t expecting to succeed.

Adam couldn’t believe what he was seeing. One painful thought haunted him: Amber’s dead. Riley’s coughing snapped him out of his trance. He jumped towards the oven, moving as quickly as possible.

“You can’t run away from this, Adam,” Miki said, grinning as she lifted the sheared-off uterus over her shoulder. Adam’s chair wobbled as he jumped. Miki said, “You’re wasting your energy. You’ll need it to grieve, Adam. Believe me, I’ve been there.”

Fuck you! Adam tried to yell. He saw the buttons on the oven’s control pad. He thrust his head forward, hoping to press the TIMER ON/OFF button with his nose. The chair’s rear legs rose from the floor. He pushed himself back down before he could fall, then he thrust his head towards the control pad again. He was close—so close.

Standing on its front legs, the chair started swinging left and right. The numbers grew on the oven’s control pad, but he didn’t realize he was already falling. The right side of his head hit the edge of the counter, then he plummeted to the floor. His head bounced off the tiles. He slipped into the deepest slumber of his life.

21

AM I BEAUTIFUL?

Adam made an ‘O’ with his mouth and gagged before he could even open his eyes. His eyeballs swiveled under his twitching eyelids, as if he were in REM sleep—but he was conscious. He just couldn’t open his eyes. He gagged again. A vile stench hit his nostrils. He could taste it at the back of his mouth, but he couldn’t identify it. Perfume? Raw sewage? Rotten eggs? Expired beef and fatty pork? Raw sewage mixed with rotten eggs on top of expired beef and fatty pork on a grill with a hint of Amber’s sweetest perfume?—he thought.

He felt his warm blood trickling down the sides of his head from his swollen, sliced temples and beads of cold sweat crawling down his forehead. His eyes cracked open a bit more. He saw a blue light before he closed his eyes and groaned. His groan was interrupted by another gag. Goops of foamy saliva mixed with Alfredo sauce and chunks of chicken hung from his mouth. He hadn’t eaten much, so he could hardly vomit. He opened his eyes again.

He saw two figures on the sofa in the living room. The room was dark, only illuminated by the glow from the television, so his mind filled in the darkness. He convinced himself that Amber and Riley were sitting in front of him. They’re okay, he told himself. They’re just watching a movie before bed, and I dozed off on the recliner. But he couldn’t hide from the truth for long. Images of Amber’s torture flashed in his mind and echoes of Riley’s cries played in his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut and cried, “N–No, no, n–no, n—”

He retched and leaned forward, but he couldn’t move much. He stared down at his body. Through the darkness and his double vision, he could see he was naked and duct-taped to the recliner. His dick had shriveled up, hidden under the puke foaming on his curly bush of pubic hair. His torso was taped to the backrest ten times over, arms to the armrests at his wrists and forearms, and legs to the footrest at his ankles and shins. He was too weak to break free due to the blows to the head.

Adam heard someone snickering. He grimaced at the sofa. Miki sat in the middle. Amber sat to her right, her mutilated intestines hanging out from the cavernous wound on her abdomen. Riley’s body was propped up on the seat to Miki’s left. She was burnt to a dark crisp, charred flakes of flesh crumbling off her body. Her eyes had melted in their sockets, the gelatinous remains glistening on her black cheeks. Parts of her limbs were burned down to the bone.

From the edges of their lips to their ears, smiles were carved onto their faces, revealing their bloodied teeth.

Adam’s mouth widened, as if he were about to scream, but nothing came out. His head bounced like a balloon against a ceiling. Every vein on his body bulged while his skin reddened. After a few seconds, he started croaking and crying. He was devastated, physically and emotionally broken. He sobbed his heart out. He lost everything in one night. He had spent years running from his past, and it finally caught up to him.

Eyes filled with tears, Miki covered her mouth and sniffled. She looked and sounded like she was crying. Then she lowered her hand and revealed her shaky lips. Her cheeks inflated, then a loud giggle burst out of her mouth. She leaned back and waved at Adam while laughing, as if to say: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just too funny! She was amused by his pain—his suffering. She tortured his wife and daughter, killed them, and then mutilated their cheeks.

The woman had no soul.

Nothing could resurrect her empathy.

As she recomposed herself, Miki pointed at Adam and said, “I’ve been waiting for this moment—for that reaction—for years. I knew you were scared the moment you saw me, but you weren’t really… hurt. Traumatized. Broken. You didn’t feel what I felt after you attacked me. Fear—the flashbacks, the nightmares—was only a part of my torture. Now, you feel the depression, the devastation… the loneliness. That pain is deep, isn’t it? Your heart aches, right?” Adam continued sobbing. Miki said, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to answer that with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ I can see it. You look like me, Adam. I cried just like you when I was recovering. I kept wishing I was dead, wishing you killed me, wishing I could work up the courage to kill myself. That’s how bad it hurt. And I can’t hear your thoughts, but I know you’re feeling the same way. You want to die, right?”

Adam couldn’t stop crying long enough to respond, but Miki was right about everything. His heart was broken, sending waves of unbearable pain through his chest. The throbbing pain in his head restarted his thoughts every other second—What have… Did I… Why did… Ry Ry… Amber… I’m sorry. Miki’s lips turned down in a frown of unhappiness as she thought about her past. She glanced at Riley upon catching a whiff of her, then she looked at Amber. The senseless murders didn’t disturb her. There was no regret in her eyes.

She said, “When I met you at that bar, I thought you were a player. And you know what? I was okay with that. Honestly, if sex was all you wanted, I wouldn’t have… pursued you. I like sex, too, you know? I know it’s hard for some people to believe, maybe you think it’s ‘slutty’ or something like that, but women love sex, too. I would have been fine with it, with a… a one-night stand. That’s what you call them here, right? I’ve been through it before. But it was different with you. You treated me… like a princess. You made me believe everything you said that night. You made sure I felt loved. You didn’t even run out after we finished. You took a shower and came back to bed with me. How did you expect me to feel? Hmm? Of course it hurt me when you started running from me. You made me feel loved and then you just… you changed, Adam.”

Adam hyperventilated while staring at his daughter. His skin changed from red to pallid. He was barely conscious.

Miki leaned forward and shifted in her seat to face Adam. A piece of Riley’s big toe crumbled off as Miki’s knee hit the dead toddler’s cooked foot. Adam followed the piece as it spiraled down like a leaf in autumn, falling to a pile of charred flakes of human flesh on the floor.

Miki said, “I have to ask you something, Adam. Look at me. Hey, look at me, honey.” ‘Honey’—Adam glared at her upon hearing that word. Miki smiled and said, “Yeah, just like that. Good boy, good boy. Now, tell me the truth, Adam. Am I beautiful?”

Adam stuttered, “You–You’re a–a mon–monster.”

“I know,” Miki responded before winking at him. “I have another question for you, Adam. How do you want this to end? Should I torture you? Make you feel what they felt? Or should I make it quick? Which one is better for you?”

“Ta–Ta–Torture me. Do it, you… you evil bitch.”

His voice broke with the last word from a combination of fear and agony. He was sincere, though. He wanted to be punished. He believed he deserved to be tortured.

Miki said, “I’ll torture you, but don’t expect to suffer like your wife or your lovely daughter. You won’t last as long as them. I won’t let you.”

“N–No. No. You… You ta–torture me, you cunt. Don’t… Don’t run now, you fucking coward. Couldn’t kill yourself, so you had to… to kill innocent people, huh? That doesn’t make you strong. It makes you a bitch. Don’t be scared now. Torture me. Do it!”

Miki stood from her seat and said, “Oh no, honey. It’s not because I’m scared. I don’t get scared anymore. I’m the monster, remember? I do the scaring. It’s because I don’t want to give you what you want.”

“Wha–What? No, you… you have to–to torture me,” Adam cried. “Please, you have to. I–I deserve it.”

Miki took the shears out of her coat pocket and said, “You don’t deserve… ‘redemption.’ You deserve to die guilty… and in the worst pain—physical and emotional—of your pathetic life.”

“Please, please, ple—”

Miki grabbed the head of his penis and pulled it away from his crotch. With one snip of her shears, she cut it off while trimming some of his pubic hair. Blood squirted out from the stump sticking out from his crotch. He gasped and flinched. He felt a sharp pain, then a numb sensation. Eyes wide, he looked down at himself, then at the penis in Miki’s hand, and then back at his lap. He screamed while Miki laughed at him.

“Adam,” she said as she walked back to the sofa. “Look over here. Look.”

Adam didn’t understand her words, but her voice caught his attention, so he looked her way—and he wished he hadn’t. Miki stood in front of the sofa, rubbing Adam’s severed penis on Riley’s crispy face.

“God!” Adam bellowed.

Miki shoved the penis into Riley’s mouth. She pushed it until it entered her throat.

“You remember what you asked me when we were at that hotel that first night?” she asked. “When I was sucking your dick, you said: ‘You like daddy’s cock, don’t you?’ Well, I think Ry Ry loves daddy’s cock. What do you think, Adam?”

“God, kill me! Kill me!”

Miki laughed, then she said, “Perfect.”

“Kill me! Just kill—”

Miki grabbed his scrotum and pulled it out from between his legs. She cut into the sac from above. Through the wide wound, she could see his pink testes. She snipped the spermatic cords. More blood sprayed out from the severed blood vessels than anywhere else on his crotch. Then she cut through the surrounding veins until she disconnected every link. In less than a minute, despite all of Adam’s shaking and screaming, she successfully pulled his testicles out of his scrotum.

As she strode back to the sofa, Miki said, “One for your wife.” She shoved one of the testicles into Amber’s mouth. Walking past Riley, she said, “And one for you… you, Adam.”

Adam didn’t hear her over his screaming. Miki grabbed the back of his head in one hand and shoved the testicle into his mouth with the other. His upper teeth cut it open. The tubules inside it shot out along with some blood. He gagged before the ruptured testicle slid into his throat. A lump protruded from his neck, pushing his Adam’s apple a centimeter forward. He swung his head every which way while trying to breathe.

Only a crackling sound came out of his mouth and a snort from his nose.

Miki put her hands on his cheeks, looked him in the eye, and said, “I loved you. I really loved you with all of my heart. It didn’t have to be this way. I hope you know that. Goodbye, Adam.”

She smiled as she examined the expression of pain—unadulterated agony—on his face. She kissed his forehead, then she walked away. She exited through the front door, making sure to close it behind her. She took a deep breath on the porch. She was expecting an army of police or a couple of nosy neighbors, but there was no one out there.

“Goodbye, Adam,” she repeated.

She wandered away from the house, dancing in the rain and skipping down the center of the city’s empty streets. She vanished in the shadows, her gleeful laughter echoing through the darkness. Revenge gave her something forgiveness couldn’t: Satisfaction. Adam was left to suffocate on his testicle, surrounded by his slaughtered family.

22

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

Miki packed her belongings in a suitcase. It wasn’t much more than a few sets of clothes and some personal care supplies. She had been renting an apartment in Silver Lake, a neighborhood near Central Los Angeles. She stayed in the United States thanks to a student visa. She was supposed to be studying English, but she was already proficient.

After packing, she dumped her shears in a sewage drain and then took a taxi to Calabasas. At Calabasas, she called another taxi and traveled to Oxnard. And in Oxnard, she caught a coach bus to Las Vegas. It was an eight-hour trip. Three days before attacking the Miller family, Miki booked a flight from the McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas to the Tokyo International Airport in Japan.

Miki assumed she couldn’t safely depart from the Los Angeles International Airport because of her scars. Everyone in Los Angeles had heard about her. It was different in Las Vegas—different state, different news, different serial killers.

While checking in at the airport, she was questioned about her stay, her visa, and her departure. Passengers were strictly monitored due to the ongoing pandemic. Fortunately for her, the Japanese government was still permitting Japanese nationals to travel abroad and return home with very few restrictions.

After checking in, she went through security without a problem. She wandered the desolate terminal. She saw more employees than passengers. She couldn’t help but smile upon spotting the slot machines scattered throughout the terminal. People loved gambling in Las Vegas—couldn’t wait to do it as soon as they arrived and couldn’t stop until it was time to go.

Miki sat at her boarding gate. Six people were already waiting there, including another young Japanese woman. Miki ignored them and browsed a news website on her cell phone. She read about the events at the Miller house. It happened two nights earlier.

Reading segments of the article aloud, she said, “The victims were discovered by a delivery man who was delivering a home security system to the home… There were no survivors… Due to the similarities in the victims’ wounds, police are investigating the Miller family murders as part of the recent serial killing case that has gripped the Los Angeles community… No suspects.” A gentle smile on her face, she said, “Perfect.”

She put her phone on her lap and inspected the boarding gate. The other travelers ignored her, whispering under their masks about the pandemic and cycling through their social media apps on their phones. One young man snapped two selfies of himself with a plane in the background—one picture with his mask on, the other with his mask tucked under his jaw.

The plane was already parked on the tarmac, undergoing its final pre-flight inspection by the crew. There was still time for the police to catch Miki, but she was calm. Her heartbeat kept a steady pace. Her forehead was dry and her face was motionless—no sweat, no twitches. She had already accepted the consequences of her actions.

Whatever happens, happens, she told herself.

One by one, the passengers were called to board the plane. Miki was the fourth passenger to be called. While scanning her boarding pass, she expected a security guard, a cop, or an FBI agent to grab her wrist and pull her away. To her utter delight, no one stopped her. She took her seat—a window seat—and buckled up. By departure time, there was a total of eleven passengers in the plane.

Miki ignored the pre-flight safety demonstration, the ‘Welcome Aboard’ video, and the announcement from the captain. She reclined her seat, put a pillow behind her head, threw the thin complimentary blanket over herself, and snuggled up against the window. Thinking about all of the murder and mayhem, counting corpses like sheep, she dozed off before the plane even took off. She slept like a baby throughout the entire eleven-hour flight.

23

THE SLIT-MOUTHED WOMAN

June 1, 2020

“Disney waikenai,” Haru said, fingers wrapped around his backpack’s straps. “Mada heisashiteru oboeteru?”

‘We can’t go to Disneyland. It’s still closed, remember?’

“Mada?!” Sora answered. It translated to ‘still.’ He held his backpack like a duffel bag, swinging it just a foot above the pavement. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Ehhh? Sankagetsu heisa sareterunoni!”

‘Ehhh? It’s been closed for three months already!’

Masks covering their mouths, the twelve-year-old boys were walking home after their first day of school since March’s cancellations due to the pandemic. Cicadas chirped ceaselessly in the trees lining the narrow road. To their right, a sea of crops stretched as far as the eye could see. To their left, brick partitions protected a row of small, boxy houses. A truck barreled down the road, followed by a large van.

Sora asked, “Sonokawari shumatsuni yakyuwo shiyo.”

‘So, you wanna play baseball this weekend instead?’

“Dekinai,” Haru responded, shaking his head while kicking rocks with each step. “Okaasan ni dameto iwareteiru. Oniichan no game ga kiinshi sarete naiteiru.”

‘Can’t. My mom said we can’t play now. My brother was crying a few days ago because his big game was cancelled.’

“Ehhh,” Sora groaned again. “De, naniwo shitai—”

‘Ehhh, So, what do you want to—’

Haru interrupted him by pointing ahead and saying, “Mite.”

‘Look.’

The boys stopped and squinted. A woman in a beige trench coat and black face mask—Miki Someya—walked towards them. The thick coat and leather gloves were unusual. It was about 75 degrees Fahrenheit out there. But the boys weren’t afraid of her. They assumed she was overdressed because of the pandemic. They were only curious.

Miki stopped in front of them. The boys looked at each other with an expression that said: Huh? Then they turned their heads slowly to face her again. Miki put her hands on her knees and bent over to match their eye level.

She asked, “Karerawa dokoni ittano? Sotowa kikendesho?”

‘Where are you two boys going? Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here?’

Stuttering, Haru repeated, “Ki–Kikennano.”

‘Da–Dangerous?’

Miki paused for a moment. She could see Haru was anxious and Sora was indifferent. She smirked behind her mask.

She asked, “Uirusu nokoto wasuretano?”

‘Did you forget about the virus?’

Sora rolled his eyes and said, “Wasuretenaisa. Nanimo tanoshikoto dekinai karana.”

‘Of course not. We can’t do anything fun because of it.’

Miki pointed at his backpack and asked, “Gakkou wa skijanaino?” It translated to: ‘Don’t you like school?’ Sora responded with a shrug. Miki snickered, then she said, “Kyonen kokode atta kowo omoidasu. Namaewa Mei. Kanojo wa gakkouga sukija nakkata.”

‘You remind me of a girl I met here last year. Her name was Mei. She didn’t like school so much, either.’

Sora’s attention wandered to the fields, his eyes half-lidded and drowsy. Haru’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. He remembered the murder of Mei Hasegawa during the previous summer. The awful news sent shockwaves through their small community. Parents kept their kids locked down at home for weeks and police went door-to-door questioning everyone.

But the killer was never captured or identified.

“Kikitai kotoga aruno?” Miki asked.

‘May I ask you something?’

Just as Haru started shaking his head, Sora said, “Kattenishiro.”

‘Whatever.’

Miki leaned in closer to them and asked, “Watashi kirei?”

‘Am I beautiful?’

Haru took a step back, cautious but inquisitive. Meanwhile, the question reignited Sora’s interest in the conversation. He wasn’t sure where she was going with it or where he wanted it to go, but as a kid going through puberty, he was definitely interested in going there with her.

“Sexy dana!” he said confidently, grinning behind his mask.

‘Yeah, you’re sexy!’

Miki removed her mask, revealing her scarred cheeks. Haru gasped and wobbled back, feet zigzagging. His legs tangled and he fell to the pavement. Sora’s smile faded.

He cocked his head to the side, squinted one eye, and muttered, “Nandayo?”

‘What the hell?’

Miki smirked and asked, “Kore demo kirei?”

‘How about now?’

JOIN THE MAILING LIST

‘Am I Beautiful?’ is a standalone novel inspired by one of my favorite urban legends. But I might be working on another twisted romance novel inspired by a different urban legend—a classic Mexican urban legend that I’ve adored since I was a child. If I’ve caught your attention, I highly recommend signing up for my mailing list. I frequently publish a wide variety of compelling horror novels. Psychological, revenge, slasher, supernatural, cannibal, serial killer, coming of age, twisted romance, body horror… I’ve explored many themes through my writing, and I continue to break new ground every year.

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DEAR READER

I can’t really remember when I first heard the legend of Kuchisake-onna—known as ‘The Slit-Mouthed Woman’ in the English world. Was it the 2007 Japanese horror movie Carved: The Slit-Mouthed Woman? I remember owning the DVD, although it certainly wasn’t my favorite movie at the time. Maybe I read about it while reading urban legends for fun on the internet? In my pre-teens and teenage years, I would spend hours in front of a bulky computer writing short stories that were basically remakes of classic urban legends.

My point is: This story stayed with me since the first moment I heard it.

In October 2018, I started outlining some short stories for a planned collection titled ‘Legends of the Extreme.’ It was supposed to be a collection of classic urban legends reimagined for the extreme horror audience. I wrote story outlines for ‘La Llorona,’ ‘Teke Teke,’ ‘The Licked Hand,’ and, you guessed it, ‘Kuchisake-onna.’ But my original idea for the short story version of this novel was very different. The short story retained the urban legend’s supernatural horror.

It followed a group of friends who traveled to Japan on vacation. During the trip, a man cheats on his girlfriend at a brothel, which causes a vengeful ghost—The Slit-Mouthed Woman—to set its sight on them, picking them off one by one. I scrapped this idea, along with the rest of the collection, because I wasn’t confident in my ability to write supernatural horror and short stories. (Side note: my interpretation of ‘The Licked Hand’ was actually going to be about a pedophile serial killer who breaks into a house after escaping from a psychiatric hospital. For some reason, as noted in my outline, I was planning to write it ‘in the same vein as John Carpenter’s Halloween.’)

Although the collection fell apart, I kept toying with the idea for a Slit-Mouthed Woman novel.

And it always led to a dead end.

I just couldn’t find a way to write it without the supernatural elements. Then, during the summer of 2020, it all came together. I was planning a follow-up to my horror-romance series of standalone books—Lovesick, Maneater, Lovelorn. After Lovelorn, I wanted to reinvent the formula. At the same time, the world was on lockdown due to the pandemic. I saw people wearing masks every day. I read about children roaming freely due to a lack of childcare. The pieces started coming together.

Kuchisake-onna couldn’t exist in the real world outside of Japan prior to 2020. I saw people wearing masks every day in Japan during my trips in 2019. Masks were already common. But in America, I doubt most kids would talk to a masked person. (I’m sure some would, but I like to believe kids are smart enough to avoid complete strangers in this day and age.) The pandemic changed everything, though. Masks became a normal part of life everywhere, so it gave me an opening.

Most books are written using a three-act structure, and most readers—subconsciously or otherwise—can identify those acts without it being spelled out for them. I decided to make it clear by adding a title page at the beginning of each act because I felt like I was writing three different books at the same time. Act 1 is a stalker story set in Japan. Act 2 is a serial killer story set during an international pandemic. Act 3 is a home invasion story set during a national lockdown.

I have no idea how this book will be received, but as the writer, I feel like it is one of the most refreshing and creative experiences of my career. And I genuinely hope you enjoyed this book. If you did, please—please—take a moment to leave an honest review on Amazon. Reviews on Goodreads, Bookbub, Facebook and Twitter, and your blogs and vlogs are also appreciated. Word-of-mouth is incredibly important to an independent author’s success.

Need some help writing your review? Try answering questions like these: Did you enjoy the book? Did you enjoy this new version of the classic Slit-Mouthed Woman urban legend? Were you satisfied with the ending? Would you like to see more brutal retellings of classic urban legends from Jon Athan? Good or bad, your reviews help other readers find my books.

I’m writing this letter on January 6th, 2021. New year, fresh start, right? Well, I’m starting the year with some pain and discomfort in the lower right side of my rib cage. Some of you may remember that I had my gallbladder removed in 2018. This pain reminds me of the pain I felt before I had that surgery. And this is my first time dealing with something like this in Japan. Fortunately, even though I don’t speak Japanese fluently, I feel like I’m in good hands and I believe I’ll rebound. I’m just having a little bit of trouble working these days. In terms of my writing, the year is off to a slower start than I had planned. But at least I’ll have two books out this year—Dead Body Disposal and Am I Beautiful?—by the time you’re reading this. And, as long as my health doesn’t worsen, I’ll have a lot more to share soon. I’m actually already planning some books for 2022, too.

Thank you for reading my 48th novel. (Yes, I’m starting to keep count with every letter. It’s exciting stuff!) If you’d like to read more from me, check out my Amazon’s author page. I write extreme horror novels, although some say I write dark thrillers and others say I write extreme garbage. My work is best described as DARK and DISTURBING. Seriously, if you’re just getting into my work, don’t expect a lot of humor in my writing. My next book is titled: Night of the Prowler. Set in the 1990s, this slasher follows an eighteen-year-old employee at a secluded gas station as she works the night shift by herself. Meanwhile, a serial killer has escaped from a psychiatric hospital and he’s killing everyone in his path—and his path is leading him right to the gas station. If you enjoyed 2020’s Do Not Disturb—my killer clown slasher—I think you’ll love this one. Thanks again for the support! Always appreciate it!

Until our next venture into the dark and disturbing,

Jon Athan

P.S. If you have any questions or comments, or if you’re an aspiring author who needs some help, feel free to contact me directly using my business email: info@jon-athan.com. You can also contact me through Twitter @Jonny_Athan or my Facebook page. It might take me a while to get back to you, but I always try my best to respond. Thanks!

Copyright

Copyright © 2021 Jon Athan

All Rights Reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

For more information on this book or the author, please visit www.jon-athan.com. General inquiries are welcome.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJonAthan

Twitter: @Jonny_Athan

Email: info@jon-athan.com

Instagram: @AuthorJonnyAthan

Cover art by Anton Rosovsky

Cover typography and logo design by Mibl Art: https://miblart.com/

Proofreading provided by Karen Bennett: kbennett4653@gmail.com

ISBN: 9798599465522

Thank you for the support!

Content

Jon Athan
AM I BEAUTIFUL?

WARNING

PART I

1 THE ENCOUNTER

2 A COINCIDENCE

3 A PATTERN

4 CONTEMPLATION

5 LOVE?

6 ESCAPE FROM TOKYO

7 URBAN LEGENDS

8 THE BEGINNING

PART II

9 ANNIVERSARY

10 THE FIRST

11 AN INTERNATIONAL CRISIS

12 A DIFFERENT APPROACH

13 LOCKDOWN

14 YOUNG PREY

15 SHELTER AT HOME

16 APRIL FOOL’S

17 PARANOIA

18 A VISITOR

PART III

19 CONFESSIONS

20 THE ULTIMATE REVENGE

21 AM I BEAUTIFUL?

22 HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

23 THE SLIT-MOUTHED WOMAN

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DEAR READER

Copyright