Ring (13 page)

Asakawa took out the videotape and stood it on his desk. Where the label would have been stuck the words
Fujitex VHS T120 Super AV
glinted in silver. Asakawa redialled the Kanekos' number.

"Hi, sorry to keep calling you like this. It's Asakawa again, from the
Daily News."

There was a pause, then the same voice he had spoken to before said, "Yes?" It was Mrs Kaneko.

"You mentioned that your son left behind a videotape. Do you happen to know what brand it was?"

"Well, now, let me see," she replied, trying not to laugh. He heard noises in the background. "My son's just got home. I'll ask him."

Asakawa waited. There was no way the kid'd remember.

"He says he doesn't know. But we only use cheap brands, the kind you buy in packs of three."

He wasn't surprised. Who really paid attention to what brand of tape they used every time they wanted to record something? Then Asakawa had an idea.
Hold on, where's the case for this tape? Videotapes are always sold in cardboard cases. Nobody just throws them away.
At least, Asakawa himself had never thrown away a tape case, neither for an audio cassette or a video tape.

"Does your family store your videotapes in their cases?"

"Yes, of course."

"Look, I'm very sorry, but could you please check to see if you have an empty case lying around?"

"Huh?" she asked vacantly. Even if she understood his question, she couldn't guess what he was getting at, and it made her slow on the uptake.

"Please. Someone's life may depend on it." Housewives were susceptible to the "matter of life and death" ploy. Whenever he needed to save time and get one moving, he found that the phrase had just the right impact. But this time, he wasn't lying.

"Just a moment, please."

Just as he'd expected, her tone changed. There was quite a long pause after she set down the receiver. If the case had been left at Villa Log Cabin along with the tape, then it must have been thrown away by the manager. But if not, then there was a good chance the Kanekos still had it. The voice returned.

"An empty case, right?"

"That's right."

"I found two."

"Alright. Now, the manufacturer's name and the type of tape should be printed on the case…"

"Let's see. One says Panavision T120. The other is a… Fujitex VHS T120 Super AV."

The exact same name as on the videotape he held in his hand. Since Fujitex had sold countless numbers of these tapes, this was hardly definitive proof, but at least he'd taken a step forward. That much was certain. This demon tape had originally been brought there by a sixth-grade boy, it was probably safe to conclude. Asakawa thanked the woman politely and hung up the phone.

Starting at eight o'clock on the night of Sunday, August 26th, the video deck in cabin B-4 is left recording. The Kaneko family forgets the tape and goes home. Then come the four young people in question. It's rainy that day, too. Thinking to watch a movie, they go to use the video deck, only to find a tape already inside. Innocently they watch it. They see incomprehensible, eerie things. Then, the threat at the end. Cursing the evil weather, they think up a cruel bit of mischief. Erasing the section that tells how to escape certain death, they leave the video there to frighten the next guests. Of course, they hadn't believed what they'd seen. If they had, they wouldn't have been able to carry out their prank. He wondered if they remembered the tape at the moment of their deaths. Maybe there hadn't been any time for that before the angel of death carried them off. Asakawa shivered-it wasn't just them. Unless he could find a way to avoid dying in five days, he'd end up just like them. Then he'd know exactly how they felt when they died.

But if the boy had been recording a TV show, then where had those images come from? All along Asakawa had thought that someone had shot them with a video camera and then brought the tape there. But the tape had been set to record from the television, meaning that somehow these incredible scenes had infiltrated the airwaves. He would never have dreamed it.

The airwaves had been hijacked.

Asakawa recalled what had happened last year at election time, when, after NHK had signed off for the night, an illicit broadcast had appeared on the same channel, slandering one of the candidates.

The airwaves had been hijacked. That was the only thing that fit. He was faced with the possibility that on the evening of August 26th, these images had been riding the airwaves in the South Hakone region, and that this tape had picked them up, purely by chance. If that was true, then there must be a record of it. Asakawa realized he needed to contact the local bureau and find out some facts.

It was ten when Asakawa got home. As soon as he entered the apartment, he softly opened the bedroom door and checked the sleeping faces of his wife and daughter. No matter how tired he was when he got home, he always did this.

There was a note on the dining room table.
Mr Takayama called.
Asakawa had been trying to call Ryuji all day long, but he hadn't been able to catch him at home. He was probably out and about on his own investigations.
Maybe he has something,
thought Asakawa as he dialled. He let it ring ten times. No answer. Ryuji lived alone in his East Nakano apartment. He wasn't home yet.

Asakawa took a quick shower, opened a beer, and tried calling again. Still not home. He switched to whiskey on the rocks. He'd never be able to get a good night's sleep without alcohol. Tall and slender, Asakawa had never in his life had an illness worth the name. To think that this was how he was sentenced to die. Part of him still felt it was a dream, that he'd reach ten o'clock on October 18th without having understood the video or figured out the charm, but in the end nothing would happen and the days would stretch out before him as they always had. Oguri would wear a mocking expression and expound on the foolishness of believing in superstitions, while Ryuji would laugh and say, "We just don't understand how the world works." And his wife and daughter would greet their daddy with these same sleeping faces. Even a passenger on an airplane falling from the sky can't shake the hope that he'll be the one to survive.

He drained his third glass of whiskey and dialled Ryuji's number a third time. If he didn't answer this time, Asakawa was going to give up for the night. He heard seven rings, then a
click
as someone picked up the receiver.

"What the hell have you been up to all this time?" he shouted, without even checking to see who he was talking to. Thinking he was addressing Ryuji, he allowed his anger full vent. Which only served to emphasize the strangeness of their relationship. Even with his friends, Asakawa always maintained a certain distance and carefully controlled his attitude. But he had no qualms about calling Ryuji every name in the book. And yet, he'd never once thought of Ryuji as a truly close friend.

But surprisingly, the voice that answered wasn't Ryuji's.

"Hello? Excuse me…"

It was a woman, startled from having been yelled at out of nowhere.

"Oh, sorry. Wrong number." Asakawa started to hang up.

"Are you calling for Professor Takayama?"

"Well, ah, yes, as a matter of fact I am."

"He's not back yet."

Asakawa couldn't help but wonder who this young, attractive voice belonged to. He figured it was a safe bet she wasn't a relative, since she'd called him "Professor". A lover? Couldn't be. What girl in her right mind would fall for Ryuji?

"I see. My name is Asakawa."

"When Professor Takayama returns, I'll have him call you. That's Mr Asakawa, right?"

Even after he had replaced the receiver, the woman's soft voice continued to ring pleasantly in his ears.

Futons were usually only used in Japanese-style rooms, with tatami-mat floors. Their bedroom was carpeted, and had originally had a Western-style bed in it, but when Yoko was born they took it out. They couldn't have a baby sleeping on a bed, but the room was too small for a crib and a bed. So they were forced to get rid of their double bed and switch to futons, rolling them up every morning and spreading them out again every night. They laid two futons side-by-side and the three of them slept together. Now Asakawa crawled into the open space on the futons. When the three of them went to bed at the same time, they always slept in the same positions. But Shizu and Yoko were restless sleepers, so when they went to bed before Asakawa, it was less than an hour before they had rolled around and sprawled all over. As a result, Asakawa ended up having to fit himself into whatever space was left. If he was gone, how long would it take for that space to be filled, Asakawa wondered. It wasn't that he was worried about Shizu remarrying, necessarily. It was just that some people were never able to fill the space left behind by the loss of a spouse. Three years? Three years would be about right. Shizu would move back home and let her parents take care of the baby while she went to work. Asakawa forced himself to imagine her face, shining with as much vitality as could be expected. He wanted her to be strong. He couldn't stand to imagine the kind of hell his wife and child would have to live through with him gone.

Asakawa had met Shizu five years ago. He had just been transferred back to the main Tokyo office from the Chiba bureau; she was working in a travel agency connected with the
Daily News
conglomerate. She worked on the third floor, he worked on the seventh, and they sometimes saw each other on the elevator, but that was the extent of it until one day when he'd gone to the travel agency to pick up some tickets. He was travelling for a story, and as the person handling his arrangements wasn't in Shizu had taken care of him. She was just twenty-five and loved to travel, and her gaze told how much she envied Asakawa being able to go all over the country on assignments. In that gaze, he also saw a reflection of the first girl he'd ever loved. Now that they knew each other's names, they started to make small talk when they ran into each other on the elevator, and their relationship rapidly deepened. Two years later they married, after an easy courtship with no objections from either set of parents. About six months before their wedding they had bought the three-room condo in Kita Shinagawa-their parents had helped with the down payment. It wasn't that they'd anticipated the spike in land value and had therefore rushed to buy even before the wedding. It was simply that they wanted to get the mortgage paid off as quickly as possible. But if they hadn't bought when they did, they might never have been able to afford to live in the city like this.

Within a year, their condo had tripled in value. And their monthly mortgage payments were less than half of what they would have been paying to rent. They were constantly complaining that the place was too small, but in truth it constituted quite an asset for the couple. Now Asakawa was glad he had something to leave them. If Shizu used his life insurance to pay off the mortgage, then the condo would belong to her and Yoko free and clear.

I think my policy pays twenty million yen, but I'd better check, just to be sure.

His mind was clouded, but he mentally divided up the money in different ways, telling himself that he must write down any financial advice that might occur to him. He wondered how they'd rule his death. Death by illness? Accident? Homicide?

In any case, I'd better reread my insurance policy.

Every night for the past three days he had gone to bed in a pessimistic mood. He pondered how to influence a world he would have disappeared from, and thought about leaving a sort of last testament.

October 14
-
Sunday

The next morning, Sunday, Asakawa dialled Ryuji's number as soon as he woke up.

"Yeah?" answered Ryuji, sounding for all the world like he'd just woken up. Asakawa immediately remembered his frustration of the night before, and barked into the receiver. "Where were you last night?"

"Huh? Oh. Asakawa?"

"You were supposed to call, weren't you?"

"Oh, yeah. I was drunk. College girls these days sure can drink. Sure can do other stuff, too, if you know what I mean. Whoo-whee. I'm exhausted."

Asakawa was momentarily at a loss: it was like the past three days were just a dream. He felt foolish for having taken everything so seriously.

"Well, I'm on my way over. Wait for me," said Asakawa, hanging up the phone.

To get to Ryuji's place Asakawa rode the train to East Nakano and then walked for ten minutes in the direction of Kami Ochiai. As he walked Asakawa reflected hopefully that even though Ryuji had been out drinking the night before, he was still Ryuji. Surely he'd found something. Maybe he'd even solved the riddle, and he'd gone out drinking and carousing to celebrate. The closer he drew to Ryuji's apartment the more upbeat he became, and he began to walk faster. Asakawa's emotions were wearing him out, bouncing back and forth between fear and hope, pessimism and optimism.

Ryuji opened the door in his pajamas. Unkempt and unshaven, he'd obviously just got out of bed. Asakawa couldn't take his shoes off fast enough, he was still in the entryway when he asked, "Have you learned anything?"

"No, not really. But come in," said Ryuji, scratching his head vigorously. His eyes were unfocused and Asakawa knew at a glance that his brain cells weren't awake yet.

"Come on, wake up. Drink some coffee or something." Feeling like his hopes had been betrayed, Asakawa put the kettle on the stove with a loud clatter. Suddenly he was obsessed with the time.

The two men sat cross-legged on the floor in the front room. Books were stacked all along one wall.

"So tell me what you've turned up," said Ryuji, jiggling his knee. There was no time to waste. Asakawa collected everything he'd learned the day before and laid it out chronologically. First he informed Ryuji that the video had been recorded from the television in the cabin beginning at 8 p.m. on August 26th.

"Really?" Ryuji looked surprised. He, too, had assumed it had been made on a video camera and then brought in later.