Akane came to the door with Kenta, who had a fresh set of bedclothes, wrapped up in plastic.
She'd changed clothes since dinner, and was wearing something looser; a pair of grey baggy tracksuit bottoms and a black vest. She was still wearing a bra, but it was a normal t-shirt bra in a strange in-between shade of nude and grey from wear and wash. She had her hair scraped up with a claw clip, piled up in a pineapple. Kenta loomed behind her like a shadow.
Kaho had answered the door and tried her best not to wrinkle her nose. Once again, the bedding was in his hands, but at least it was wrapped up, and not on his skin. The stench of his aftershave and cologne was bad enough; it lingered like a miasma, a warning not to come near, because something bad was further afoot. The smell seemed to linger on every particle in the room, haunting their space. Kaho wished she'd made a case to switch rooms entirely, but she didn't want any of her friends on Kenta's radar either, after all, if he broke into Kaho's room once while she was gone, he could do it again, while they were asleep.
They were like cats raising their hackles.
Kaho felt bile rise in her throat as she pulled Akane inside and Fumiko launched the supposedly bloody bedsheets at Kenta. Akane was quick to make her way deep inside the room, not wanting to be near Kenta's looming figure in the doorway for longer than necessary. The girls slammed the door in his face and ushered Akane to the bed to watch the movie.
Konoishi pressed play, thrust some marshmallows in Akane's face and all four of them huddled around the illuminated screen, watching an all-star cast in a historical action movie. Kaho watched Akane fan herself when Kokuro Daisuke and Yamota Hakuro stripped off their shirts to fight, like having oily, glistening muscles was better protection against a katana. Fumiko and Konoishi were inhaling candy as they watched, completely entranced.
Kaho, however, really hadn't gotten into the movie. She wriggled off her bed, where the group had convened, and instead perched on Fumiko's fresh sheets.
"My legs have gone to sleep," Kaho lied, grabbing her phone and refreshing her texts.
No response from Naseru.
She sent dozens of texts, messages updating her mother about what was going on, and how she and the rest of the team were going to be held onsite, then Kikiyo, then Ichigo. She texted Tatsuya, cancelling her date with him for the next day, and suggested they postpone it. They could go out when she got back. Whenever that would be; Kenta was still on the prowl. He was probably intending to strike that evening, and keeping him far from Akane was imperative.
They'd fallen at the first hurdle. He knew where she was. He might have even spoken to her. And, as he'd demonstrated earlier, he could, evidently get into people's rooms. He had broken into hers… were any of them safe?
"I need some air!" Kaho declared, jumping up from the bed.
She opened the door and stepped out into the evening chill, glancing from side to side. She felt so exposed and vulnerable out in the dark, and hated how puny and pathetic she felt. She missed the looming shadow of Naseru trudging reluctantly beside her. Surely if he held so much disdain toward her, he never would have entertained it?
Her heart ached. She'd messed up. Royally. There was no way that Naseru would want to be her friend anymore, not after those letters exposed her as ingenuine. She might have been at the start, but not anymore! She did like him! She had such strong, visceral feelings about him and it hurt to think that he might feel scorn toward her.
Kaho took a deep breath and crossed the path to the room Konoishi was sharing with Tomohiro, Omura and Naseru. She knocked.
"Hey, Kaho," Tomohiro said, holding out a bag of candy, "Want a chew?"
She took one from the packet, "Is Matsuoka in there?"
Tomohiro shook his head, "Still off sulking or whatever. How about one of us comes and tells you when he's in, save you coming to check?"
Kaho shrugged, "Sure? I just… I want to talk to him."
Naseru had given the officer the slip and had inadvertently found himself in front of none other than Jean-Luc Barbier, the one guy who he could have gone without seeing. Jean-Luc perked up when Naseru collided with him, completely undeterred by the collision.
"What are you doing out here?" Naseru hissed, "There's supposed to be a curfew."
"I'm supposed to be in my room," Jean-Luc admitted, "But I don't know. It's weird. Most of the team don't know how to talk to me. They try when they can be bothered, but they're tired and worried that some guy is killing people."
Naseru shrugged, "I get it, being a foreigner and not knowing the language all that well must be tough."
"It is," Jean-Luc conceded, "But hey, my letters said I should come."
Naseru paused, raising a brow, "Your what?"
Jean-Luc stopped dead in his tracks, turning round and staring. He was like a deer in the headlights, completely frozen, "Nothing."
Naseru rolled his eyes, "You said you've received letters."
The stiffness ebbed away from Jean-Luc's shoulders as he exhaled, "Yeah, they're in French, which is a relief. My Other Self was smart, I would have thought it was a piss take if it was in Japanese."
Naseru didn't speak. He listened intently, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Hard.
"Then again, I guess these things can be real' helpful," he said, "They said that the killer is going to leave me alone because I stand out wherever I am. I guess that's fair. Bet yours say something similar."
Naseru grunted. Jean-Luc walked toward one of the hiking trails, turning the flashlight on his phone on, "C'mon, if we get into trouble, I can just pretend I don't speak a lick of Japanese."
Naseru followed Jean-Luc into the darkness. It was a different kind of darkness to the previous night; when he'd been in the dark hiking trails with Kaho and the others from the team, he'd felt confident and self-assured.
He hadn't missed the tense feeling between his shoulders and at the small of his back, like he'd been up-straight, and alert for too long. It had been a long time since he'd needed to be on guard like this. His thoughts were sharp, like shrapnel forcing tears into every inch of his body and mind as he considered what to say. He'd tuned out when Jean-Luc started talking about the matches they'd played that afternoon and how Jean-Luc didn't want to show his hand yet. It had been too long since he'd played someone decent.
"So that Kaho girl is cute," Jean-Luc said.
Naseru raised a brow. Jean-Luc snorted.
"That got your attention," he laughed, "As I was saying, Naseru, I can't believe you had the balls to pretend you didn't know how to play. Haven't you seen that video floating round of you playing that one-on-one?"
"No."
"You were literally playing with that Kaho girl. She really is cute, stubborn. I like it. I'd go for her if I could string a sentence together."
"She has a boyfriend, some model," Naseru replied. Perhaps too quickly.
Jean-Luc smirked, "Of course she does. A girl that cute obviously has guys knocking her door down. But, didn't you hear her scream into that stupid pillow today? I didn't understand all of it, but I caught enough. She doesn't love him anymore."
"And I'm supposed to care, why?" Naseru replied.
They were walking the harshest of the three hiking routes, the one which Naseru had walked with Kaho twice already, once during the day and once during the night. What was with him? His thoughts seemed to be swimming in her? Maybe it was that scrap of paper that declared she cared about him? Maybe it was how that sentence had made his insides feel warm for just a moment before the rug was swept out underneath him?
"Barbier," Naseru said, "Tell me about these letters."