"So, about Mayu..."
"Her back was aching. Make sure you don't make her assume any unreasonable positions."
"Where did that come from? We're at the stage where we'd only kiss in public."
"That's more of a public nuisance, you know?"
She teased with a smirk. I intensified my tone to redirect the conversation.
"I'd like to discuss Mayu's mental state, Dr. Sakashita."
The doctor glared at me with narrowed eyes and coldly responded.
"All of humanity lies. I'm exceptional. Only Mi-kun tells the truth."
She spoke in the same manner as before and conveyed resignation.
"Treating that girl is impossible for me. I'll prescribe medication; ensure she takes it daily. Also, when you put her to bed, leave the lights on. It'll probably prevent any sudden outbursts."
From her advice, I realized something.
Mayu's disturbances are sudden, but they don't occur during the day, at least not at school.
They are exclusive to nighttime, likely because she has trauma associated with darkness.
It makes sense; I've experienced it firsthand.
"She's unaware of her own scars and just turns off the light to sleep. I've only given her medication twice, so I wonder how long she's been suffering."
She spoke as if it wasn't her problem. Well, if you're continuously called a liar, maintaining goodwill is impossible.
"But just because you say it's impossible... doesn't mean other doctors can do it, right?"
She lifted the corner of her lips in a semblance of a smile, not genuinely amused.
"How do you assess me, Mi-kun? Anyway, what's treatment?"
She asked, not in a teacherly manner but like a school friend asking a simple, spontaneous question.
"Isn't it using a method to heal wounds?"
"Correct, a perfect answer."
Despite saying that, she sighed. I wondered if 200 points were the maximum.
"Just heal the wound, right?"
"Yes, but..."
"If treating the injury might risk the patient's life, is that still considered treatment?"
"...No, I don't think so."
She ignored my response, lost in thought. Her fingers tapped on her crossed legs, and she rested her cheek on her other arm. Tapping was one of her habits.
She excluded my presence from her consciousness and became lost in thought. Well, she didn't need to treat me as a patient today.
"...Well, I'll be going then."
I nodded and stood up, but she stopped me.
"Let me share some gossip."
It was an odd introduction. Remaining in her position, she looked at me with a melancholic gaze. I settled back in my seat.
"You two are suspected of being murderers."
I almost choked on nothing but managed to maintain my composure, suppressing the tremor in my eyes.
"Apparently, there have been some murders around here lately."
The uncivilized adult, who used the TV as a mirror and believed newspapers were tools for exterminating cockroaches, shared the information as if it was top secret. Maybe I should've told her she's out of the loop.
"Be careful if someone suspicious approaches you."
"...Doctor, were you a student council president or something in the past?"
"I was a perennial beautification committee member."
Huh? ...Well, let's get back on track.
"So, who's suspecting us?"
"Only detectives or the police would think such things, right? Those psychos who chat amicably with people while thinking, 'This person is a murderer'."
"That makes sense. So, which one is it that's blindly believing such nonsense?"
"The armchair police."
That's just sheer negligence.
"Were you on good terms with the police?"
It's surprising, given how she had ranted non-stop when she was caught for speeding before.
"Please don't ask such naive questions to this psychopath, okay? Buddy."
What is this liar talking about?
Without missing a beat, she continued the conversation.
"One of my high school classmates is a female detective – not the delinquent type. She asked me a lot about it. She's weird; she wrote about wanting to be a detective in her elementary school anthology."
She spoke matter-of-factly, without getting nostalgic. To her, high school might be as recent a memory as last night's dinner. Let's not get into the age factor.
"She said she suspects you two personally. You both are on the list of potential suspects."
Potential suspects, huh? Sounds redundant.
I tried to play it cool.
"To suspect ordinary, benign citizens like us, the investigation must be quite stalled."
"There are plenty of reasons to suspect you. People who've been involved in crimes before are more likely to commit them again. You're friends with a psychiatrist. You're not popular. It's because you're on the animal care committee. Well, one of those reasons is a lie."
Which one is the lie, I wonder? How can she even mimic that?
"Well, in my personal opinion, it's not surprising if Misono is suspected."
"What could possibly be suspicious about pure, thoughtless, childish, and slow-running Mayu?"
"Why are you defending by belittling? Anyway, she wants to talk to you two personally soon."
"It's not in an interrogation room, right?"
"Or maybe a detention cell?"
I think a distasteful joke is just stating the truth.
"I'd rather not meet her, both personally and officially."
That's a slight lie.
"That's up to you. You can refuse if you want. But she's quite interesting, somewhat like you."
She said, smiling gently.
Someone like me?
...She must be a nasty piece of work.
"The difference is, while you lie straightforwardly, she weaves lies with truths when she speaks."
"I see."
I'd bet she's nasty.
I stood up, trying to leave amidst the peak of noise and shouting. Before leaving, I pointed at the audio system and asked, "Don't you get complaints about that?"
She casually responded, "Not really."
"It's very popular, especially among elderly death metal fans."
While it's good that it's popular, "death" and "elderly" together seem a bit problematic.
"I play tracks requested by my patients, so it's surprisingly well-received. If there are no requests, I just play whatever I like."
"I see. I've never been asked, not even once. I'll be leaving now. I have a date."
"Oh, how nice. Want to swap with my day off?"
"No, thanks."
I firmly refused. Spending the whole day at a manga café isn't for me.
I bowed deeper than usual, quickly straightening up, and headed for the exit, almost tripping. As I reached for the door, I paused.
"Doctor."
"Hmm?"
"I've... killed someone before."
There was a prolonged silence. Maybe she didn't hear me. If so, that's quite alright. I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. Halfway out into the corridor, I heard,
"Just be wary."
I left the room without acknowledging if she was right or wrong.
In the waiting area of the corridor, a 'death metal granny' sat, her face a shade of blue from oxygen deprivation, yet she still hummed along to the music that flowed from the consultation room. I wouldn't be surprised if she introduced herself as a ghost.
And among all of this, Mayu was napping, curled up skillfully on a chair.
After collecting the medicine, I carried Mayu on my back and returned to our apartment.
By her side, I kept pondering on the lie I'd tell when she woke up.
Chapter 9: "Thoughts of Murder"
Murder, if likened healthily, is similar to an excursion, or maybe a journey. Either way, the heart wavers more during the preparation and planning than during the act itself, for better or worse. That's why, before I act, I immerse myself thoroughly in self-conscious fantasies. And when I act, I surrender to my unconsciousness. It's more stable that way. Yes, stability. Since humans tend to display repetitive behavior, desiring stability is almost inevitable, especially for actions with high risks like illegal purchases, shoplifting, or murder. I'm no exception. I crave stability. I yearn for companions who'll understand. I'm starving for companionship. Those who'll accept killing as naturally as breathing or blinking. For years, I've searched for such people in this remote town, where I couldn't openly recruit and had limited choices. And, as expected, no one appeared. I wasn't looking for someone who'd kill an enemy simply when handed a gun without repercussions. I sought individuals who'd adhere to some intrinsic rules, burdened with excessive emotions, and with whom I could talk, kill together, or simply interact. So, I changed my approach and committed a murder, hoping it would attract like-minded individuals, much like moths to a flame. The result is that I've been reduced to providing material for media coverage. I'd gladly accept being referred to as an animal. I'd walk on two feet or lie down on a sandy bed on a beach. Sadly, there's no sea in this region, though there are plenty of rivers. But I digress. The guy next to me, laughing while reading an erotic magazine, is annoying. Anyway, I digress again. Essentially, I'm betting that this unproductive act, set against a gruesome backdrop, will forge a connection with someone else. Considering the stalled state of the police investigation, there's probably ample time. I wonder if a wonderful destiny awaits me by the end. After committing the murder, I was contemplating this in a convenience store when I returned a magazine I was browsing and headed for the freshly stocked bento section.