Awaken from a Dream Read online

  He became suddenly embarrassed at the thought of Yuma looking upon his face and his appearance.

  What will she think when she sees me? he asked himself. The thought made his body flush hot from head to toe in anxious embarrassment. He wasn’t a handsome man. A dreadful worry sprang up from the depths of his mind. What if she hates me?

  He ground his teeth, forward and back, like a chewing elephant. He felt as if sharp little pins were pricking into the backs of his eyes.

  Oh, if only I were good-looking…

  The thought hurt. It truly hurt.

  How much pain I endure for you, Yuma.

  He stared at her, unblinking.

  You wouldn’t betray a man who loves you as much as I do. You won’t betray me, right?

  Please, don’t betray me!

  For an instant, Yuma flinched.

  The hand she was shaking felt oddly sticky.

  The guy was probably sweaty—they often were—but his hand felt gummier than sweat usually did. It was almost like some kind of bodily fluid, and on top of that, he smelled vaguely like a wild animal.

  Yuma pulled away her hand sharply. She looked at his face. His skin was darkish, rubbery, and creased like a tire tube. His dull eyes reminded her of an elephant, and they stared at her anxiously. His expression was lonesome, yet aggressive.

  Could it be him…? Yuma wondered. Was he the source of her dread?

  She turned her head to break away from his stare and said coldly, “Next in line.”

  When he faced Yuma, the man noticed her give him a signal.

  She looked at him and nodded slightly.

  At the time, he thought, She really does know who I am. He felt her message like it was an electric signal she transmitted directly into his brain. A long time ago, when he watched her on his television, she had sent him a message from beyond the curved glass tube: I love you. But now, at this short distance, the signal was all the stronger. It was too strong, in fact, distorting beyond recognition.

  This isn’t working, he thought. I still can’t tell what she’s feeling.

  To ask her what she felt for him, he concentrated his own feelings and sent out a signal back to her. As their hands grasped, their passions manifested into sweat.

  Is this sweat not my question manifested in form? And look, see how sweaty her hand is, too. Is that not her feelings for me, manifested in form? She loves me; that’s why she sweats so.

  With a satisfied smile, he thought, Is this how passionate a woman can become for the man who loves her?

  He tightened his grip to say, I love you.

  And that’s when it happened.

  Yuma suddenly broke away from his hand.

  Then, as if she were speaking to a complete stranger, she said, “Next in line.”

  The man was stunned.

  What? he thought. Does she hate me?

  His grim fear returned to dominate his thoughts. A sound like an elephant’s trumpet escaped his nostrils.

  Yuma’s gaze froze on the man with the elephant eyes.

  As he stared back at her, his body began to visibly tremble.

  Suddenly, without warning, the letter—that sinister letter—came to her mind.

  Somewhere, beneath his animal stink, this man smells the same as the letter.

  The elephant-eyed man fought to hold back the impulse bubbling up from deep inside and everywhere. Inside his pocket, he squeezed the box cutter as hard as he could, as he struggled to suppress a savage, violent urge.

  Yuma sensed physical danger and stood reflexively. Bando came running from backstage.

  Yuma’s eyes locked onto the man’s. She felt that something terrible would happen if she looked away.

  Despair filled the man. He could read the mixture of terror and contempt in Yuma’s eyes. Inside his pocket, he exposed the blade from its handle. His mind began to work like a computer circuit, racing down the branching paths of potential outcomes.

  Do I stab Yuma with this box cutter? But then he thought, If I stab her with this many people around, what will happen next? I’ll be captured, arrested. I have to restrain myself for now and wait for my next chance.

  He turned his back to Yuma.

  Somehow, Yuma carried out the handshake session to the very end. Exhausted, she leaned against Bando as he walked her into the green room. All she could think about was that man.

  “Make sure he’s not here,” she said. Her frightened eyes darted into the shadows around the door.

  “Make sure who’s not here?” Bando asked.

  “You know who I mean. The man with those elephant eyes, of course. He’s not hiding on the other side of the door, is he?”

  “Calm down, Yuma,” he said as soothingly as he could. “Nso one can come here. The public isn’t allowed in this area.”

  Yuma shook her head forcefully. “Not him. He could come here. Nothing is impossible for him.” She squeezed Bando’s hand. “He came to my apartment. Only you and I are supposed to know I live there. But he found it anyway.”

  Bando put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re safe,” he said. “Even if he managed to come here, he couldn’t do anything with all the staff around. Besides, you don’t even know if he’s the same guy who wrote that letter.”

  Yuma nodded. But as she did, she thought to herself, No matter what anyone else says, I know he wrote that letter. I know from his smell. And I know he’ll come to me again…

  The man stood near the rear entrance to Shoppers Plaza. He took the box cutter from his pocket, blade exposed. He placed its cutting edge against his palm.

  Yuma, he thought, these are my feelings for you.

  He pulled the knife across his skin. Blood gushed out from the wound. Letting it pool in his hand, he approached a poster advertising Kawasaki Yuma’s live performance and handshake session.

  He reached for the poster and smeared his blood across the paper, as if instilling it with his feelings.

  Beneath the film of red, Yuma smiled out at the world. He jabbed his pointer finger at her nose and said, “Yuma, this is the second time I’ve forgiven you. Please, I beg you, don’t betray me again. This is the last time. You get no more chances after this.”

  Yuma dialed the phone number, partly resigned to the expectation he wouldn’t answer. But, much to her surprise, this time he did.

  “Yukio!” She spoke somewhat louder than she’d intended. Then, a bit peevishly, she said, “What’s been going on? I keep calling you, and you’re never there.”

  “Come on, don’t be like that,” Kawai Yukio protested. “You’re the one who said not to call you so much because you’d be too busy with that new song.”

  “But, but…” Yuma waved the receiver, as if in denial. “But something really scary happened to me.”

  Like a cord stretched tight finally snapping under the strain, Yuma broke down crying.

  Yukio said, “Yuma, it’s all right. Look, we’re talking now, aren’t we?” With tenderness, he added, “If there’s something bothering you, you can tell me about it.”

  “I…was so scared.”

  Between sobs, she told Yukio everything that had happened, from the letter to the man who had come to the handshake event.

  Yukio was silent, and then he said, “That does sound strange. I have some pretty weird fans myself, and sometimes they’ll send me their underwear or clippings of their hair—but I’ve never received a letter like that.”

  “Right? It’s not normal. I think he’s obsessed—he’s crazy.”

  “I’m just not so sure of the connection between the letter and the man at the handshake session,” Yukio said. “I think you might be too on edge, and you’re overreacting.”

  “I’m telling you, it was him. I know it. No, I don’t have any hard evidence. But I’m sure of it. He smelled the same as the letter.”

  “I feel like you’re overthinking this,” Yukio said, doubt evident in his voice. “Well, whatever the case, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you so far, and he ca
n’t be shadowing you everywhere you go. Just be a little more cautious of what’s around you, and I’m sure you won’t have anything to worry about.”

  “He’ll come,” Yuma muttered.

  “What did you say?” Yukio asked.

  “He’ll come. I know he will. He’ll come to my apartment!” Shivering, she added, “Maybe he’s already on his way here.”

  The next day, Yuma entered her agency’s office and found Bando waiting for her with a fierce look on his face.

  Full of cheer, Yuma asked, “Ban-chan, what’s wrong?”

  Bando had no smile for her. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong, you ask?”

  He thrust a tabloid magazine at her and demanded, “What’s this?”

  It was one of those low-class, celebrity gossip rags.

  “What about it?” Yuma said defensively as she took the magazine and began flipping through the pages. Halfway through, she found the photograph that had fouled Bando’s mood.

  The picture was of Yuma and Yukio together. It was from when they had snuck out on a date about a month ago. They were in a small, low-key snack bar, snuggled up to each other as they drank beer.

  Who could have taken that picture? Yuma wondered in honest confusion. There wasn’t anyone in the bar who remotely looked like a photographer.

  “You sure made a mess of things,” Bando said, “drinking with a man when you’re underage. Even worse, you’re going out with some C-grade idol, way beneath your level. If you’re going to date someone, you’d better make sure it’s a star. Then we’d have enough clout to keep pictures like this from surfacing.”

  Bando put his hands on his head, pushing his fingers through what little hair he had left. “The media will be all over this. They can’t get enough of gossiping about popular idols. It’ll probably be on TV within the week.”

  Feeling no sympathy, Yuma grew angry. “Look how worried you are, now. When I told you about that letter, you weren’t bothered at all. You obviously care more about my CD sales than you care about me.”

  Bando glared at her. “Yes, your CD sales are important. But what I care about is for you not to become damaged goods. When these kinds of pictures go public, your fans are hurt the most. In the end, you’re the one whose career is affected.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

  Somewhat concerned now, Yuma thought, After climbing to the top five, “Lariat of Love” will start to slip back down—and my popularity might go down with it.

  She stepped toward Bando and clasped her hands around his. “I think it’s going to be fine. These days, it’s okay for idols to drink and go on dates. People appreciate honesty more than the fake innocent act. Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”

  Bando shook his head slowly, then said, “Well, we can’t take back what’s already printed. Maybe you’re right, and we’ll get some publicity out of it.” He let out a deep sigh. “You completely shut down the president of Sanshin Denki, but you’ll date a cheap idol like this. Yuma, I don’t think you were made for the entertainment world.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t,” Yuma said with a grin.

  Bando returned her grin and joked, “You’d better watch out for the crazy fans. If they see this picture, they might lose it. Those fans can be scary sometimes.”

  He’d meant it just as a joke and nothing more. But Yuma didn’t take it as one.

  He’s right, she thought. Ban-chan is right. If that man sees this picture…

  For a second, everything seemed to go dark.

  “I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them!”

  At a tiny bookstore near the train station, the man stabbed a tabloid magazine again and again, shouting repeatedly. At the cash register, a female clerk averted her eyes from the spectacle. Apparently, she’d decided that ignoring him was the best way to ensure her own safety.

  “I’ll kill them! I don’t know when, but I’ll kill them!”

  He’d slashed and shredded the picture in the magazine until the paper barely hung together.

  The photograph was of Kawasaki Yuma and Kawai Yukio. Yukio had his arm around Yuma’s shoulder.

  Jealousy filled the man’s heart, and his chest felt painfully tight. In that moment, his jealousy was so strong that he thought it might kill him. He resented that picture for making him feel this way. He resented the couple in the picture.

  At some point, he began to cry; tears dripped down from his chin. He felt a burning sensation in his nose as salty snot began to stream out his nostrils. He felt sorry for himself. Why did he have to be hurt like this?

  Suddenly, he looked up in realization. A glimmer came to his dull eyes, and he thought, I’ll tell Yuma. He smiled. I’ll tell Yuma to break up with him. If I can just talk to her, she’ll understand.

  But then he remembered how Yuma had looked at him during the handshake session. He pictured her expression of terror and contempt. Dejected, full of self-doubt, he turned his face down.

  She might not understand. The thought struck fear into him. What if she doesn’t understand? What if she hates me? He squeezed the box cutter’s handle. Then I won’t have any other choice. I’ll have to find strength in this blade. I’ll have to turn to my last resort.

  Having found a new determination, the man was calm once more.

  After finishing her recording for a TV talk show, Yuma took a taxi back to her apartment. She got out of the cab and looked around, as was her habit, to make sure no one had followed her home.

  Seeing no one, she went in through the front entrance. The door wouldn’t open for anyone without a matching key and number code. Thanks to the security system, the apartment provided complete safety. As long as she was here, she need not be afraid.

  But that man had come inside. At least once, he had come.

  Yuma exited the elevator and hurried to her door. She shut it quickly behind her and engaged the lock, then the door chain.

  It still wasn’t enough to put her at ease. She ran to her phone and called Yukio. He didn’t have any work tonight and when they had spoken earlier, he’d said that he would come over.

  The answer machine picked up.

  “Yukio, it’s me,” she said. Her voice was trembling. “Come over as soon as you get this message. I’m in my apartment. Please, come right away.”

  Her sixth sense was trying to get through to her. She could feel something—something beyond words. She sensed that something terrible was coming for her. It was getting close.

  She thought she heard footsteps.

  The doorbell rang. Yukio had come. Yuma unchained the door.

  Yukio is here. She could think of nothing else. The sound of the doorbell had erased all fear.

  As she opened the door, she pouted. “You’re late. I’ve been waiting for—”

  A man slid inside, through the open doorway.

  It wasn’t Yukio.

  It was a man she didn’t know.

  She didn’t know this man, but she’d seen him before.

  Somewhere in her memories, he was there.

  But who was he?

  “You’re Yuma-san,” he said in a high-pitched voice, shrill enough to rattle the lid of hell itself. “You’re Kawasaki Yuma-san.”

  The moment he had opened his mouth, her nose caught the smell. It was familiar. She knew, beyond any doubt, this was the man. This was the man who had filled her with terror at the handshake session. This was the man with those elephant eyes.

  Her voice trembling, Yuma said, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

  The man calmly locked the front door from the inside and moved the chain into place.

  “I…I’m a huge fan,” he said. He looked away in embarrassment. Even his ears had flushed red.

  “If you’re my fan,” Yuma said as firmly as she could, “then come see me at a concert. This is my private space. It’s not a place for fans to come.”

  That’s right, she told herself. He’s your avid fan. You need to be strong with him.

  Staring him down, she ordered, “Now leave!”<
br />
  The man’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, but he said, “No. I won’t leave.”

  He narrowed his elephant eyes, as if he were trying to bring something into focus. Then he retrieved a roll of brown packing tape and said, “I’m here because I’m going to ask you to do something.”

  Moving quickly, he circled behind Yuma’s back. Without giving her a chance to escape, he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

  “St-stop!” Yuma shouted as she flailed her legs, both of them bare below her short denim skirt.

  The man bound her wrists with tape, pushed her onto her side, and straddled her body. Then he bound her ankles together, leaving her completely helpless.

  He stood up and looked down at her, satisfied with his work.

  “Yuma, I’ll forgive every time you’ve wronged me before. But in exchange, I want you to sing only for me from now on.”

  She saw a crazed look in his eyes, and she knew she had to do something to escape him, or else.

  Bound hand and foot, Yuma asked, “Why? Why are you tormenting me?”

  The man’s lips twisted into a frown. Stammering, he said, “You—you think I’m tormenting you? You’ve got it all wrong.” His eyes rolled back so that only the whites showed. “I’m not tormenting you. I would never do that, no matter what happened.”

  He sounded like a child making excuses after his mother caught him doing something naughty.

  Maybe that’s how I can handle this, Yuma thought. Whatever else he is, he’s still a fan. He just might listen to me.

  She thrust out her wrists, wrapped in tape, and said firmly, “Then how do you explain this? You wouldn’t call this tormenting me?”

  The man’s dark complexion slowly turned darker, and he began breathing roughly. “N-no—see, that’s not to hurt you. B-but if… if I didn’t do it, you’d run away.” Keeping his head lowered, he looked at her with only his eyes. “And if you were to run way, I might not be able to control myself. I might do something we’d both regret.”

  Now his eyes entreated her to understand. “Sometimes,” he explained, “I lose control of who I am. When I think about you betraying me, I sometimes lash out in violence.” He gulped. “That’s why… that’s why…”