The realization had hit me like a heavy truck with no brakes at full speed on a highway.
Until now, I had thought that I was the one taking all the risks. And that the risks involved were relatively ridiculous. It was just an ordinary stalking story, after all.
But in a matter of seconds, my conception of the case had been shattered into a thousand pieces.
The detective was in danger, and she was alone. And no one, except for the kid I was still holding down and myself, knew what was really going on.
The residents, and even the immediate neighbors within the residence, were sleeping peacefully. And even those awakened by the sound of breaking glass had no idea that someone was fighting in the apartment next door.
No one would come to her rescue.
No one...
Except me.
Suddenly getting up and freeing the young man I had caught, I ran towards the courtyard entrance and then the front gate of the residence.
I heard the young man shout something behind me, but I didn't understand what he was saying, too focused on running as fast as possible to interfere.
My mind was confused by the severity of the situation, and it took me several seconds to remember the passcode for the security gate that gave access to the apartments. But once that obstacle was out of the way, I started to climb the stairs to the upper floor, and ran down the long corridor outside to the door of Mrs. Munehara's apartment.
All my senses were alert to the activity inside the unit.
I heard a loud crash, like furniture being knocked over or shoved around, and another delicate object was shattered into a thousand pieces, the crystalline sound reaching my ears very clearly.
People were fighting inside, no doubt, and already I was struggling with the door handle to try to open it. Without any success.
Whoever had entered the apartment had surely locked the door from the inside, preventing me or anyone else from getting in there.
In the meantime, the chaotic noise coming from inside had definitely woken up the neighbors, who, from their ajar doors, were looking at me with a curious look and wondering what was going on. But I paid them no attention, trying to break down the door by throwing myself against it.
A hand quickly came to my shoulder, to try once again to force the door open, and turning to the side, I saw that the young man had followed me here.
"Call the police!" He shouted to one of the neighbors, who hurried back inside to get his phone.
I was about to free myself from his grip, when he pulled me aside, and to my surprise, took out a key with a blue tag and inserted it in the door lock.
The sound of struggle coming from inside had suddenly died down, which redoubled the horrible feeling I felt settling in my chest.
Why was my heart beating so fast? Why did I almost want to vomit?
In the meantime, the young man had unlocked the door - in the confusion, I didn't even understand how he could have a key to unlock that particular door - and I rushed inside, in the pitch black.
Immediately I froze in the doorway, unable to see beyond the tip of my nose.
I could hear behind me the neighbors talking in panicked and worried voices. They were apparently holding the high school student at arm's length to prevent him from following me inside.
Taking out my cell phone, I plugged in the flashlight function to keep the flash constant and to light my way; resuming my progress in the small hallway connecting the bathroom and the main room.
My heart was beating so fast that I could feel it pulsing in my ears. And the feeling was making me so sick that my head was spinning.
I was really on edge, trying to hear every little noise around me, despite the growing chatter of the neighbors outside the apartment. But the place was desperately quiet. It was as if there had never been a single human being there before I arrived.
Scanning with my improvised lamp the room I was finally in after leaving the small hallway, I saw something that made me stop dead.
A shape, lying on the floor.
And directing my lamp at it, I saw, as I moved it along the figure, shoes, black pants, a leather jacket... Clothes that I recognized as those worn by the detective. But something was wrong.
Something... Wasn't supposed to be there.
Stuck right in the middle of the detective's torso, and through all the layers of clothing, I saw a large kitchen knife with only the handle sticking out.
The detective had been stabbed, and was not moving.
I stood still, as if someone had had a remote control over my life, and had pressed the pause button.
What should I do?
She wasn't moving, and was lying on the floor.
What was I supposed to do?
Why did this scene seem so familiar? Why did it make me so uncomfortable that I was probably going to throw up what I had eaten for lunch?
I was faced with a situation that was totally out of my control, and I wasn't even sure what to do in such circumstances. I was too confused and agitated to think rationally; so I didn't hear the floor creak behind me.
"Watch out sir!" shouted the high school student behind me.
His shout brought me abruptly to my senses, and turning around, I saw a human figure standing between me and the front door; the silhouette cut off by the light from outside the room. But the vision was extremely brief, for the figure in question, after snatching the key from the lock, abruptly closed the front door, plunging us both into total darkness. I didn't have to see him, to know that he had locked the door again.
And to my horror, I heard the person running across the floor, straight towards me.
Shining the light from my phone at him, I was able to glare and reveal the face of the person running towards me. At the last moment, I saw that the man in front of me had a knife in his hand and was about to stab me too.
By pure instinct, I jumped to the side to avoid the blow, but the man managed to give me a shoulder blow in the arm, making my cell phone fly in the air.
The little beam of light spun in the air for a few seconds, during which I still avoided the blade brandished at me by backing up with each advance of the blade. But luckily, my phone fell quickly to the ground a few meters away, light directed towards the ceiling.
This unexpected source of light allowed me to see the outline of the person who was charging back at me, blade in hand. I was still backing away, but he managed to cut my left forearm, which hurt me horribly and burned my skin. Assessing distances was far too complicated with only one eye, and put me at a distinct disadvantage, in addition to the darkness. And already, the blade was heading towards my chest.
Too bad. I had to deal with the most urgent thing.
Raising both arms in front of me to defend myself, I grabbed the blade in spite of myself, and it slashed the palm of my right hand. I saw with horror the color I hated most in the world coming out of the wound, but I remained lucid enough to stop the blade by tightening my hand on it.
This surprised my attacker, who was unable to move the knife out of my grip.
He then decided to drop the weapon in my hands, and to kick me in the legs, before hitting me with all his weight.
The gesture, violent, made me drop the blade of the knife and fall backwards; back against the ground. The weapon fell with a thud on the ground.
The shock felt by my skull was attenuated by the tatamis covering the living room's floor, but not enough for me to react in time and get up or crawl further away.
My assailant took his time to bring the fallen knife to the ground, before walking towards me.
So... was this how I was going to die?
Was this really how it was going to be?
Come to think of it, everything he had done with his life so far hadn't been very exciting. That is, if he had been entertained by anything at all.
Everything had been 'boring', as the detective would have called it.
Maybe he had imagined it all, after all.
Maybe he'd hallucinated it, that night when he'd run into the strange woman for the first time.
Maybe she had taken pity on him, on his confused state, and had played along to avoid disappointing him.
But it didn't matter. Even if it was a bad joke, the result of a figment of his imagination, it didn't matter. It didn't matter whether he imagined what he saw on that mountain road or not.
Because they were both going to die, here, in this small apartment.
The man was walking towards me, and even though I was finally in control of my movements and groping my way back along the ground, I knew I couldn't escape him. He was already far too close, and my options all too limited to simply get away without any damage.
And the tears didn't even come to my eyes.
I was probably pitiful to see, not even knowing how to cry in this kind of situation, even if I wanted to.
I... I felt sorry for myself.
I was thinking so much about all the things I could have tried to do before I died, that I didn't immediately realize that my attacker and would-be murderer had stopped moving towards me; and that instead of looking at me, he had his head up and was staring at a point behind me.
Could I risk looking, too? Or should I take this opportunity for what it was, and go for it?
No. I shouldn't hesitate.
I was already starting to push myself up into a sitting position using my elbows and then my hands, and was folding my legs towards me; when I heard a noise right behind me that also froze me in place.
It sounded like... a groan from a human being.
How could that be?
Curiosity made me abandon all plans to flee, and turning my head to see what was behind me, I finally understood what was the thing that seemed to frighten my attacker.
Standing on her two legs, but with her torso bulging and leaning back, was a human figure; a knife still sticking out like a telephone pole from her chest
.
I couldn't see her face, she was so arched backwards, and her two arms hung limply on either side of her body; her shoulders at different heights making the unsettling vision we were witnessing even more disturbing.
With an almost unreal slowness, she straightened up, little by little, in an upright position; moving her shoulders to put them back at the same level and bringing her arms forward, while keeping her head bent backwards.
Then, finally lowering her head, she stared with her cold, dull eyes at the man who was still facing me, knife in hand.
It was the first time I had seen her make that expression, with those eyes that seemed to both judge you, and despise you. Eyes that had lost their sparkle, and now looked dull. Lifeless.
And still staring at the man with the gun, she said, with a fairly angry tone:
"Hey, bastard, it hurts..."