and stuff the whole thing into my backpack. I wet my hair and try to get some of the tangles out. Then I take some soap out of my toilet kit and wash my hands. They're still trembling a little, but I take my time, carefully washing between my fingers and under my fingernails. With a damp towel I wipe away the blood that's seeped onto my bare chest. Then I put on my dungaree shirt, button it up to my neck, and tuck it into my pants. I don't want people looking at me, so I've got to look at least halfway normal.
But I'm scared, and my teeth won't stop chattering. Try as I might I can't get them to stop. I stretch out my hands and look at them. Both are shaking a bit. They look like somebody else's hands, not my own. Like a pair of little animals with a life all their own.
My palms sting, like I grabbed onto a hot metal bar.
I rest my hands against the sink and lean forward, my head shoved against the mirror. I feel like crying, but even if I do, nobody's going to come to my rescue.
Nobody...
Man alive, how'd you get all that blood all over you? What the hell were you doing? But you don't remember a thing, do you. No wounds on you, though, that's a relief. No real pain, either—except for that throbbing in your left shoulder. So the blood's gotta be from somebody else, not you. Somebody else's blood.
Anyway, you can't stay here forever. If a patrol car happens to spot you here, covered with blood, you're up a creek, my friend. Course going back to the hotel might not be a good idea. You don't know who might be lying in wait, ready to jump you. You can't be too careful. Looks like you've been involved in some crime, something you don't remember. Maybe you were the perp. Who knows?
Lucky thing you got all your stuff with you. You were always careful enough to lug everything you own around in that heavy backpack. Good choice. You did what's right, so don't worry. Don't be afraid. Everything's going to work out. 'Cause remember—you're the toughest fifteen-year-old on the planet, right? Get a hold of yourself! Take some deep breaths and start using your head. Things'll be fine. But you gotta be very careful. That's real blood we're talking about—somebody else's blood. And we're not just talking a drop or two. As we speak I'll bet somebody's trying to track you down.
Better get a move on. There's only one thing to do, one place you gotta go to. And you know where that is.
I take a couple of deep breaths to calm down, then pick up my pack and get out of the restroom. I crunch along the gravel, the mercury light beating down on me, and try to get my brain in gear. Throw the switch, turn the crank, get the old thought process up and running. But it's no go—not enough juice in the battery to get the engine to turn over.
I need someplace that's safe and warm. That I can escape to for a while and pull myself together. But where? The only place that comes to mind is the library. But the Komura Library's shut until tomorrow at eleven, and I need somewhere to lie low till then.
I come up with an alternative. I sit down where nobody can spot me and take the cell phone from my backpack. I check to see it's still connected, then take Sakura's phone number from my wallet and punch in the numbers. My fingers still aren't working well, and it takes a few times before I get the whole number right. I don't get her voice mail, thank God. Twelve rings later she answers. I tell her my name.
"Kafka Tamura," she repeats, not exactly thrilled. "Do you have any idea how late it is? I've got to get up early tomorrow."
"I know, I'm sorry to call so late," I tell her. My voice sounds tense. "But I had no choice. I'm sort of in trouble, and you're the only one I could think of."
No response on the other end. Seems like she's checking my tone of voice, weighing it in her mind.
"Is it something... serious?" she finally asks.
"I can't tell you right now, but I think so. You've got to help me. Just this once. I promise I won't be a
But I'm scared, and my teeth won't stop chattering. Try as I might I can't get them to stop. I stretch out my hands and look at them. Both are shaking a bit. They look like somebody else's hands, not my own. Like a pair of little animals with a life all their own.
My palms sting, like I grabbed onto a hot metal bar.
I rest my hands against the sink and lean forward, my head shoved against the mirror. I feel like crying, but even if I do, nobody's going to come to my rescue.
Nobody...
Man alive, how'd you get all that blood all over you? What the hell were you doing? But you don't remember a thing, do you. No wounds on you, though, that's a relief. No real pain, either—except for that throbbing in your left shoulder. So the blood's gotta be from somebody else, not you. Somebody else's blood.
Anyway, you can't stay here forever. If a patrol car happens to spot you here, covered with blood, you're up a creek, my friend. Course going back to the hotel might not be a good idea. You don't know who might be lying in wait, ready to jump you. You can't be too careful. Looks like you've been involved in some crime, something you don't remember. Maybe you were the perp. Who knows?
Lucky thing you got all your stuff with you. You were always careful enough to lug everything you own around in that heavy backpack. Good choice. You did what's right, so don't worry. Don't be afraid. Everything's going to work out. 'Cause remember—you're the toughest fifteen-year-old on the planet, right? Get a hold of yourself! Take some deep breaths and start using your head. Things'll be fine. But you gotta be very careful. That's real blood we're talking about—somebody else's blood. And we're not just talking a drop or two. As we speak I'll bet somebody's trying to track you down.
Better get a move on. There's only one thing to do, one place you gotta go to. And you know where that is.
I take a couple of deep breaths to calm down, then pick up my pack and get out of the restroom. I crunch along the gravel, the mercury light beating down on me, and try to get my brain in gear. Throw the switch, turn the crank, get the old thought process up and running. But it's no go—not enough juice in the battery to get the engine to turn over.
I need someplace that's safe and warm. That I can escape to for a while and pull myself together. But where? The only place that comes to mind is the library. But the Komura Library's shut until tomorrow at eleven, and I need somewhere to lie low till then.
I come up with an alternative. I sit down where nobody can spot me and take the cell phone from my backpack. I check to see it's still connected, then take Sakura's phone number from my wallet and punch in the numbers. My fingers still aren't working well, and it takes a few times before I get the whole number right. I don't get her voice mail, thank God. Twelve rings later she answers. I tell her my name.
"Kafka Tamura," she repeats, not exactly thrilled. "Do you have any idea how late it is? I've got to get up early tomorrow."
"I know, I'm sorry to call so late," I tell her. My voice sounds tense. "But I had no choice. I'm sort of in trouble, and you're the only one I could think of."
No response on the other end. Seems like she's checking my tone of voice, weighing it in her mind.
"Is it something... serious?" she finally asks.
"I can't tell you right now, but I think so. You've got to help me. Just this once. I promise I won't be a
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