Tokyo Detective Chronicles

At dusk, at the Third General Hospital of Katsushika Ward.

Fushimi sat in a coffee shop called "Tsubakiya" across from the hospital, with a latte in front of him that had long since gone cold.

Fine water droplets condensed on the glass windows that had just been cleaned by the shop assistants, blurring the street scene into a flowing orange-red.

He glanced at the time on his phone screen: 5:48 PM

I looked up through the window at the hospital's main entrance, waiting for something.

At six o'clock, Dr. Hoshino, wearing a beige trench coat, appeared at the door on time.

Carrying her briefcase, she walked down the steps with slightly weary steps, hailed a taxi by the roadside, and quickly disappeared into the twilight at the end of the street.

He had previously learned about Chiho's mother's recent work schedule from her.

Fushimi waited for ten minutes to make sure she didn't come back before paying the bill and getting up.

Pushing open the door of the coffee shop, a cool breeze from the early autumn evening blew in, carrying the faint fishy smell of the Arakawa River.

Visiting hours at the hospital have ended, and only a side door remains open for people to enter and exit.

The hall was brightly lit, yet eerily empty.

The nurse on duty at the front desk was looking down at her phone. She merely raised her eyelids slightly when Fushimi entered before lowering her head again, not wanting to meddle.

Fushimi pressed the elevator button, and after a short while, the metal door slowly opened with an old creaking sound.

The room was crammed full of a dozen or so wailing wandering souls...

Fushimi Iori: "..."

He chose to take the stairs.

The second-floor corridor was even darker than the lobby, with only an energy-saving light shining every ten meters or so, casting a pale halo on the dark green wall paint.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of disinfectant, mixed with some indescribable stench.

Most of the ward doors on both sides of the corridor were tightly closed, with only a few ajar, through which faint sounds of television programs or suppressed coughs of elderly patients could be heard.

The nurses' station is located in the middle of the corridor, where the lighting is relatively bright.

A young nurse was dozing off on the table, her head nodding off.

Fushimi tiptoed, preparing to slip past the nurses' station...

"Feed".

A hoarse voice suddenly came from the side, startling the nurse, but she glanced at Fushimi and then ignored it.

Fushimi breathed a sigh of relief, paused in his steps, and turned his head to look.

The shout came from a bench in the corridor.

An elderly man in a hospital gown sat there, so thin he was just skin and bones, his skin hanging loosely on his face.

He tilted his head, his cloudy old eyes fixed on Fushimi, and a withered hand covered in age spots emerged from under the blanket, beckoning to him.

"Young man... come here."

The old man's voice was hoarse and unpleasant.

Fushimi frowned, intending to pretend he hadn't heard, but there was something strange about the old man's eyes.

He hesitated for a moment, but still went over.

"Sir, is there anything I can help you with?"

The old man did not answer immediately.

He slowly raised his hand, his movements stiff as if his joints were rusted, and then unexpectedly grabbed Fushimi's wrist!

The fingers were icy cold, but the force was frighteningly strong.

"Don't go..." The old man leaned closer, his breath coming in gasps that smelled of medicine and decay, his voice extremely low: "That door... can't be opened..."

Fushimi's heart skipped a beat: "What door?"

"It's waiting... waiting to be full..."

The old man's eyes widened further, his pupils shrinking to two black dots in the dim light: "You smell...it can smell it..."

"Don't look...don't ask...don't go..."

"..."

"Dad! You've run off again!"

A middle-aged woman rushed out of the ward, nodding apologetically to Fushimi:

"I'm so sorry, my dad has Alzheimer's and keeps talking nonsense... I hope I didn't scare you?"

She tried to pry the old man's fingers apart, but his hands gripped Fushimi's wrists like iron clamps; for an old man, his strength was excessive.

"Let go! Dad! Let go now!"

The woman was sweating profusely and finally managed to pull the old man's hand away with almost all her might.

A clear red mark was left on Fushimi's wrist, and it throbbed faintly.

The old man, supported by his daughter, walked back, but then turned his head, staring intently at Fushimi with his cloudy eyes, his lips moving silently, repeating the same shape:

"Don't...go..."

The woman apologized repeatedly, helped the elderly man into the ward, and closed the door.

The corridor returned to silence.

Fushimi stood still, raised his wrist and looked at the red mark.

He took a deep breath, suppressing the inexplicable flutter in his heart.

Who is "it"?

Fushimi suddenly remembered the strange Buddha statue at the Hayakawa residence...

"Hey, what are you spacing out for? Someone's coming."

Huali's voice came from the shadows: "That old man is obviously not mentally sound. Why are you wasting your time with him?"

"Sometimes, people with abnormal minds can see things that normal people can't," Fushimi said in a low voice, continuing to walk deeper into the corridor.

His destination was the OB-GYN clinic where Hoshizaki had visited that afternoon.

The clinic door was locked, but that didn't stop Huali.

A shadow slipped under the door, and a few seconds later, the door lock made a soft "click" sound.

Fushimi pushed open the door and entered.

The consultation room was pitch black.

He used his folding knife to press the switch, trying to avoid leaving fingerprints in the room. The fluorescent light flickered a few times before turning on fully, emitting a buzzing electrical sound.

Everything was exactly the same as when I left in the afternoon.

The examination bed, ultrasound machine, desk, medical record cabinet... were clean, tidy, and as ordinary as could be.

Fushimi pushed his senses to their limit.

The world in my field of vision loses its color, turning into black, white, and gray lines and light spots.

He carefully scanned every corner of the room... walls, floor, ceiling, inside the equipment... without finding any trace of anything.

Just as he had judged during the day, the place was too clean.

"..."

After searching for a while and finding nothing, he left the consultation room and began to carefully explore the second-floor corridor.

They strained their eyes and sense of smell, trying to detect any unusual activity.

Especially the flavor of Anbaichun...

The smell of disinfectant kept assaulting his senses, becoming unbearable. Just as he was about to give up, he stopped at the corner of the stairs.

The staff passageway near the side of the hospital has those common metal handrails installed on the walls for people with mobility impairments.

The handrails were worn smooth and shiny from being rubbed by countless hands, glistening with oil.

Fushimi crouched down, his nose almost touching the handrail.

Surprisingly, a lingering scent of Anbaichun was found on a section of the handrail near the side entrance.

But the smell abruptly stopped after extending along the handrail for about seven or eight meters.

Why?

Hayakawa's mother, the doctor named Hoshino, is perfectly healthy and moves freely, so why does she need to use this handrail?

Logically speaking, no one would want to touch a hospital's public facilities.

Fushimi stood up and walked forward along the handrail.

After four or five steps, he stopped and looked back at where he had just been.

A hypothesis took shape in my mind.

He closed his eyes and mentally simulated Dr. Hoshino's movements.

She entered through the side door, her left hand naturally resting on the handrail, and walked forward... Then, at some point, she let go of the handrail.

Why loosen it?

Because it's no longer needed? Or because... we've reached our destination?

No.

From another perspective... besides patients with leg problems, who else needs to use handrails?

"..."

blind……

Fushimi immediately realized what was happening.

"Karin," he said, turning to Karin, "keep an eye on the surroundings."

"clear."

Then, Fushimi took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and placed his right hand on the railing.

In the darkness, other senses are amplified.

As he took his first step.

The nurse's footsteps, the sound of the trolley wheels, the call bell coming from somewhere... all began to fade away inexplicably, as if separated by a thick layer of glass.

Instead, a faint, fishy-smelling wind blew from the front.

And... a subtle rustling sound, like the friction of ropes.