Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

Rabbit Hole

Shizuka frowns but makes no effort to speak. I rip out the advertising card inside the tissue's plastic wrapping which now says Livenet Insurance: iLiveNet.co.jp, 080-1948-0003. Blue and red. Nothing about the System. But I find it strange a mobile phone number is given. I make sure no one's watching when I crumple the paper up into a ball and toss it into a bottle disposal can next to a drink vending machine outside of an antique trinket store. Then I jam the tissue pack into my pockets and we finally reach the end of the street.

The moment we turn the corner is when we begin to notice what we had been expecting. In my peripheral vision, there are a few distinct shapes, just carefully out of view. They remain at a pace far enough behind that they might have easily been part of the background crowds, weaving along the sides of buildings, fading in and out of view. If we hadn't been expecting their move, we might not have noticed. And if the advertiser hadn't hailed me, I might not have been so sensitive. They walk with the professional gait of hired men. They increase and decrease distance every now and then, and stay scattered at different locations along the road no doubt. But they're a bit too careful for normal employees on a weekday morning commute. Too careful for the Cause too.

I had first seen them when I pulled up in the bicycle lot across from the Family Mart. There was the woman and man smoking outside on the corner. But when we emerged from the store, I noticed that they were still around, across the street, nearby the bicycle racks. I gave it no thought at the time, but I realize they are the same ones. There had only been two. But now, there are three.

From this distance, I cannot make out their faces or what they are wearing, even if I had turned around to stare. But there is no doubt about it. I know, somehow. Shizuka is beside me but she shows no sign of noticing. Just another work day.

Images or Sounds, I clear my mind, as we had trained. I fill my mind with small thoughts, tiny fragments of the mundane. Then, remove them one by one. The image of a tall chai tea latte slips by. I terminate the thought. I remember the phone number on the tissue packaging. I discard the number. I remember the contract on the table that night. I burn it. I strangely hear my mother calling me for dinner, what might be at least a decade ago. I respond and tell her I am on the way. Then I shut the door. I see Shizuka's black pumps. I allow the black heels to flash back and forth in my vision. Back and forth. Left, right, left, right.

I counted twelve steps when we reach a park and cut through along the path. It's one of those small parks that sit in the middle of a neighbourhood, clustered between buildings. There are flowerbeds but no flowers. A tree sits in the middle, its branches barren. There's a small playground made of a few pieces of plastic and metal bars. A swing set nestles in the corner of the grid. One of the seats is still swinging. Just one of them. Our feet kick up little clouds of dust. I walk in sync beside her.

We see no one. A red Nissan passes by and then a blue garbage truck. It has round bubble font. On cue, as if the garbage truck had sent a message, my phone buzzes.

I pull out my cell phone. Deeper into the rabbit hole, it says. It's an unknown number. Not the same one from before. This is from a different number. The text is simple crisp, smooth black font on a grey background. We're walking through a park, through a city, and I see no rabbit hole.

Shizuka looks over. She hasn't received these messages. I delete it.

Leaving the park, we make a left and run into a dead end. Shizuka stops short. So do I. A brick wall rises straight up, climbing between two buildings over what seems to have been a narrow one lane road, the kind for pedestrians and bicycles and the occasional compact car that might wiggle through. It's the kind of road that doesn't belong there, and is merely a space that had been left over from construction, then paved over. Yet still, a barrier is now in the middle of it, blocking it off, connecting two buildings that originally had nothing to do with one another.