Every footfall echoes loudly with each step I take. The cramped staircase contributes to that. At the top of the flight of steps there lies a door. Just an ordinary smoked glass door one would find in any ordinary office. To the right there is a doorbell stuck onto the wall. As if it's beckoning to me to press it, I press it.

An electronic buzz is heard beyond the door. Then silence. I wait. Then, a metallic clink is heard. The magnetic locking mechanism in the door gives way and now the door is free for me to push. I push it open.

An office room. Just a normal office room. Not quite. Shelves take up most of the place with books and papers piled onto them. Almost a paradox; the shelves with the very purpose of organizing objects has items messily placed onto them. To the left from the entrance there lies a television standing on a short corner table playing the news. And directly in front of me is the purpose I am here.

Sento Yuka sits behind a wide table with papers strewn all over its surface. A mug of coffee sits atop some of the papers, steam blowing out of its circular cavity. Her right hand is lightly holding the mug's handle, suggesting that she just put it down after a sip. Her left index finger hovers above a button, probably the one she just pressed to let me in.

Unlike yesterday, she wears a buttoned black shirt with long sleeves. Her overall appearance is attractive, her facial features as clean as I can remember, her braided hair lying over her shoulder and flowing down along her body, the luscious curves of her bust well visible compared to when she wore the sweater the day before which diminished it due to its looseness.

I shake my head, shunning the thoughts my adolescent mind conjured up. How unsightly of me to think of such things.

"Finally, you're here." her voice clears my mind and reminds me of my objective.

She looks at me with her head slightly tilted, resting on her left hand and her elbox on the table. Her face looks kind and cheerful.

"You were expecting me?" I end up saying out.

"Well, when I give someone my card, I can't help but wish him or her to come."

Just like how I can't help but go to the place listed when I'm given a card, I think to myself.

"Please, have a seat." she says as she motions her hand, inviting me to sit down on the chairs in front of her desk, facing her. I oblige unthinkingly.

"I am sorry but out of professionalism, I have to conform to the regular customaries when dealing with clients." she says. "Please state your name."

All with a smile on her face. Now her chin rests on her fingers that are interlocked. Her eyes are bright and stare right into me, yet it does not feel intruding.

"Tatetsu Fubaki." I answer. "A second-year student in Kirisawa High School who lives alone in an apartment."

"I did not even request for the second sentence." she responds with a giggle.

"You'd ask for it eventually anyways."

"Not necessarily. You speak as if you know how we work. To clarify, not everything shown on television is accurate."

"I don't even watch television on a regular basis."

"Except for the news of course. But not at home, you watch it in school during lunchtime."

I am stunned. It's not a major point but how'd she know?

"You are surprised? Of course you are, your face shows it." she smiles. "You already showed that you were aware of how the suicide victim was found by not showing surprise when I mentioned it yesterday. Which points to you following the news. You state that you do not watch television regularly, which means that you do not own a television at home, which adds up since you live alone. The news on Friday reported on the case at noon, a time which you would be in school, which suggests that you watch the news during lunch break."

I am stunned. I am baffled. Both. It's ridiculous; how does someone calculate all that from such vague points and manage to be accurate? Her smile widens, pleased at my reaction I show at my face with my eyes enlarged.

"And apparently I am correct."

"Yes, quite." I unthinkingly add the 'quite' due to my inability to accept her victory. "But how does not watching television regularly add up to me living alone?"

"Ah, that is simple. Since you live alone, if you had a television, it would not add up if you didn't watch it often, seeing that you are not bound by the disciplines which a family's household demands."

I see her point. But still, it's all so vague that I'm sure she got it all right by sheer luck.

"Well, I too am surprised at my accuracy. Since humans are so inconsistent, it is not easy to read them and have everything completely correct. Seems that I am lucky this time." she says, smiling.

I was right.

"Do forgive me for suddenly seemingly intruding into your private life. In my field of work, one has to be analytical, though I blurted it all out since you asked for it with that surprised face of yours." she continues with a tinge of cheekiness in her tone.

* * *

The water feels cool on my face. Almost as if it draws away my worries and thoughts along with the heat. But that period of serenity only lasts for a moment as I reopen my eyes after washing my face. I see my reflection in the mirror. Indeed, I look terrible. Not like I looked good in the first place.

Just a normal face with a normal hairstyle. The most normal person you could see. Yet, why did such an abnormal incident have to occur to me?

I exit the toilet after refreshing myself and take back my seat at the table facing Yuka.

"Now please, recollect as best as you can."

Yuka requested me to tell her my whole involvement in this incident so I went to wash my face to prepare myself. In the end, I still feel queasy about the whole thing. Nevertheless, I have to try. I heave a heavy sigh and talk.

I don't know what I'm doing.

A random lady just appeared in front of me yesterday and now I am standing in front of an office building.

Not only that, but the office building is all the way at the other side of town, sited at the commercial district. The suburban area is where I usually roam, not to say that this area is alien to me, but it's not my prime either.

I had to take the monorail to travel all the way to this polar opposite region. Again, something not entirely familiar to me. I have had not much need to go so far as to the city. And as an afterthought, I had to cross that dreaded abandoned building to reach the business area where the nearest station was.

So why did I take so much effort to come to a place like this, I ask myself. A little too late, but I still ask.

Some lady, well since I know her name now I should refer to her as Yuka, handed me a business card. Generally, when one takes a business card, one takes note of the address. And when one takes note of the address, one would have a sliver of thought to note that place as a place of interest. Once a place is noted as a place of interest, that place automatically becomes a place to be visited.

As if I would accept a reason like that. I allow myself to think further. Why did Yuka hand me the card in the first place? "An outlet for all this turmoil" or something she said. Was she hoping to help me? Then again, it was written on the card that she's a private investigator. Why would a private investigator be an outlet for mental turmoil? That sounds more like a psychiatrist's job. Not that I want to visit a psychiatrist, how useful would that be.

Or, since she's a private investigator, she wants me to assist her in the case. Why was she there in the first place? A private investigator has to visit the site of the tragedy herself (I say 'herself' since this is Yuka I am referring to) if she's called onto the case. So was she employed by somebody related to the victim? I push that thought process aside as it is currently irrelevant.

But how would I be able to assist her? Well, since I practically confessed to her that I was a witness to the tragedy, perhaps she was hoping that I could shed new light onto the case, a light the current authorities do not possess. Then why didn't she just tell me to tell the police? Oh right, because she's a private investigator, a practitioner who is separate from the arms of the law. Or, a more plausible reason would be that she's really on the case and would like me to assist her and her alone. Moreover, how much would the police believe me if I told them? If anything, it would make me a suspect, trying to make up an alibi to clear myself even though the police aren't after me.

So I satisfy myself that she wishes to aid me by getting me to aid her. Still, why would I agree to something like that? Did I really think she would help me? How would she possibly help me? I tell her my problem and I feel better? Then I might as well visit a psychiatrist!

But she's a private investigator. I tell her my problem and she solves it.

She solves the case. And I would feel better?

I saw the girl die in front of me. I failed to help her at that moment. Although she was probably already dead, I could have informed the police earlier than the homeless guy. And now there's a chance that I can involve myself in this case.

And that makes me feel better? Somehow, yes.

Knowing my tendency to completely ignore my sense of time, I probably stood in front of the office building for 15 minutes or longer in thought. Long enough to garner glances from passersby as I stand in the middle of the walkway unmoving for so long. The afternoon sun rises calmly above me.

Since I'm already here, might as well go in.

I slowly turn my head to my left.

A lady. She dons a black turtleneck sweater in the slight chill of spring and for her lower body there is a pure white pleated skirt just above her knee level. Her hair, as deep black as her turtleneck, is braided and flows downwards along her back, reaching almost her waist. Her slender hands grip her umbrella handle in a subtle, ladylike manner; the umbrella a great golden yellow, slightly transparent, the sun behind it and casting its rays onto it, creating a vibrant yellow scene. Her skin is fair and her complexion perfect.

She looks down at the same thing I looked down at. A gentle smile is apparent on her young face.

A slight feeling of annoyance piques inside me and I say out my reason.

"You say that with a smile."

Her smile widens as she giggles softly. She turns her head towards me. Her eyes are dark blue and almost bore into me.

"I said that it was tragic. I did not say I felt so." her response to my statement, her smile unchanging.

I am slightly taken aback. Never had I imagined that anyone would say such a thing in front of the very place it happened.

"Someone died here."

"I am well aware of that." she says. "Then again, everyone dies. If one mourns each and every death, one would fall in despair."

Again I am taken aback. Nonetheless, she has her point. I add on in my mind that the victim is unrelated to either of us which enforces her argument. Still, it doesn't feel right.

I stare back at the tainted floor. My eyes droop in a slight apologetic manner. Something along the lines of 'this person is tactless, I am sorry on her behalf' runs through my mind. A redundant thought.

"I am sorry." her voice returns. "She must have been dear to you. It was inappropriate for me to say such a thing."

I look back at her.

"No such thing. You had your point. And she was a stranger to me so it does not matter to me much." I reply.

She looks a little surprised.

"Oh? She is unrelated to you? I'm sorry, I thought you were judging from the long time you stood here looking at the site."

"Long time?"

"Yes, about half an hour, unmoving." she says. "Surely, if you were entirely unrelated to the victim you wouldn't have stood there for so long."

Half an hour? Indeed, my sense of time is in disarray. My eyes show my surprise. "Half an hour..." I reiterate without realizing.

She seems to take a mental note of my surprise. Her head turns back to look down at the markings. Mine as well.

"For you to not realize the passing of time, yet for you not to be related to her..." she utters.

"I saw her die..."

I semi-consciously answer her ponderings.

Her eyes widen. She looks back up from the ground. She displays an entire air of surprise and looks straight at me.

"She fell from the top floor of the building and landed head first onto the concrete. Blood splattered. Her eyes turned up at me and showed a truly dead face. Everything was so still... so putrid..." I say mechanically without looking away. As I remember the horrid scene, I feel my energy draining away. It was not my intention to do so, but everything just came back in an instant and I started acting as if in a trance. A horrible feeling. I feel my face contort to show a look of disgust.

She still looks at me but her surprise seems to have subsided. In fact, she looks calm.

"Of course. It must have had a profound effect on you, to see someone die in front of your eyes. And for you to mechanically retell the tale in such detail to a stranger." she says. Then, her eyes widen as she realizes something."But the body was found by a homeless passerby. Surely you are not..."

"I did not inform the police. My mind was... hectic... My judgement, sanity, everything broke..." I reply, my mind slowly constructing the sentence.

And I feel a hand on my shoulder. A reassuring hand. The lady had taken a few steps towards me and put her hand there.

"I believe that is quite enough. All this remembrance must be taxing on you. This, too, isn't a place for us to discuss such matters." As she speaks, she takes out a card, a business card, and holds it in front of me, motioning me to take it. I obey, taking the card from her. She steps back.

"Seeing that all this turmoil in you requires in an outlet, I'd like to inform you that my services are always available. Please consider." she says with a business-like smile. She turns on her heels and starts to walk away.

I look at the card in my hand. Sento Yuka. Private Investigator. Followed by an address. I look up again with my mouth slightly open to ask something.

Nobody stands in front of me. Only the empty pathway runs forward unendingly without a sliver of a yellow umbrella.

The sky takes on a tinge of gold as the sun sets. I look out the window on my left and take in the marvelous view. The giant globe of light slowly descends towards the horizon and the surfaces of the buildings and such are painted by the yellow glow.

All over again.

Every day the same thing. Such is life. My life anyways. A constant cycle. Wake up, walk, go to school, walk back, sleep. And I'm not going to get started on the weekends. All out monotony. Everything is just so empty.

So the glorious view before me meant nothing. What is a magnificent view when you've experienced it countless of times. No longer, that's what. And who made the school hours so long? From early morning to late evening. A bad toll on my youth if I have any right to say. Which I don't.

My face must have an expression of annoyance, like always, otherwise she wouldn't say this to me:

"What's up, Fubaki?"

Hatori's face turns towards me and asks in a whisper from her seat next to mine. It's a repetitive question, one I've answered many times with the same word:

"Nothing."

Which seems to be a standard answer for that question in any circumstance. How many times has that question ever been answered in another manner? A countable many, I'm sure. Nobody admits such things. Yet they keep asking. Stubborn fools.

My face still looks on out the window. Hatori too looks out.

"Nice view, isn't it."

"Hmph." I mumble.

Deja vu. I've looked out before, she's asked me before and I've answered before. Well, life is a cycle anyways.

"Just a few more minutes and we'll be out of here." Hatori whispers in a rather cheerful manner. Nothing new there.

Indeed, a few more minutes and the next phase of the cycle repeats.

The teacher talks on aimlessly in front of the class. Nobody's listening. Everyone's just staring at the clock on the wall waiting for the bell to go off any minute now.

And it does.

People make sounds of liberation, people stand up, people pack their bags, people greet the teacher and people walk out of the classroom. Monotony.

As I put my pencil case into my bag Hatori says her usual words:

"Well, that's another day of school. See you tomorrow."

Yet another day of school. How exciting. The sarcasm is evident enough for me to not emphasize by making it italic if it were typed.

My feet join a thousand others as I walk out into the corridor filled with people rushing home. But I am not rushing home. What's the point? Nothing to look forward to there. So I take a gentle stroll out of school grounds.

Now what?

To my left is the orthodox way home. To my right is not.

For a moment I contemplate. What would I gain by taking the normal way right back home? All I do there is laze around and eat an unhealthy meal of instant noodles and such. Plus, nobody is expecting me home soon either. The place will be as empty as when I am at school so what would it matter.

With that, I turn on my heels to the right.

* * *

It's not that I've never taken the road on the right before. It's just that it's not very common that I do. But just enough times to know how to get home afterwards. And in this monotonous scene, something not very common is rare enough for me.

I continue to walk as the sun sets. The gold tinge becomes more intense. But I am not captivated by it.

And soon, I notice that I have not been paying attention to where I have been walking towards. I look around to see an area I did not have the intention of heading to. But then again, I did not have any intention of going anywhere when walking.

It's not a foreign place, so to speak. Just the outskirts of a business area. I've been here a couple of times and I still know how to head back from here so everything is fine. I'm not lost or anything.

So I continue walking.

Eventually I realize that I am standing in front of an unfinished building. A concrete edifice still in it's early stages. The foundations are set and the general look of the building is apparent. Just another soon-to-be office building. I stand on the walkway right in front of it.

Something makes me look up. Must be the inkling of interest on how tall the building would be when completed. Or perhaps curiosity on how the sky looks like. Whatever it is, I overlook it and turn my head upwards.

If it was curiosity on how the sky looks like, it looks fine. Not gloomy or anything so it won't rain on me. So now I focus on the peak of the building. Seems to be five floors. The top floor is still unfinished, pillars still reaching out to the sky without holding a roof. But that's not all.

The sky is bright with the setting sun casting its rays. A shadow stands atop the building, dark in contrast to the golden sky. It's only a silhouette but I can tell its feminine features. I am stunned. Who wouldn't be at such an awkward sight. My mind takes a while to process what I am seeing. But before the phrase 'what's she doing up there' runs through my mind, it happened.

So gracefully.

The figure steps forward.

The body leans outwards.

Gravity.

She falls. Head first.

Everything so limp.

So calm.

And she hit the floor.

* * *

What?

Stunned. I was.

It all unfolded in front of me.

And now I see it's aftermath.

A body lies limp on the floor on the pavement right in front of me. Blood and juices splattered on the concrete. Her head.... shattered.... a massive wound glistens under the evening sun. Eyes so lifeless, so empty. Her limbs distorted lurid ways.

And the sound. The sound that came out the moment her head met the ground. A bone-crunching 'thud'. And when the rest of her body hit the ground, a solid hit. And the splash of liquid. Horrible... so horrible...

Now the scene lies before me. At my feet. The gruesome reality barren before my eyes.
Blood still runs outwards from her head, fresh and crimson. A scene of macabre proportions.

Something wells up inside me. The disgust and the uncomfortable sensation and... and...

I run. I can't stand another moment near that thing. I turn backwards and dash away. Dash away. It wells up further. My steps are clumsy but I still run. And run. My mind is a mess. Somebody died in front of me. Died. The image returns.

I stumble into the bushes. I cannot hold it any further.

I vomit. All the contents inside me are regurgitated out. It just keeps going. And going. Once it stops, it goes somemore. My throat, it hurts. It burns. Everything burns.

Finally I lay down on the ground, exhausted. My body feels empty. The smell is horrid but I am too tired to bother. I tell myself to calm down. My breathing slows from hurried gulps to normal pace. I try to still my shaking body.

I turn myself around and put my hands on the ground, trying to lift myself up with whatever might i can muster. My arms shake vigorously from the horror.

Calm down, I tell myself. Focus. Think. What do you have to do? You have to do something. Somebody died in front of you. Tell someone. Tell who? Tell the police. Tell the police that someone fell. Someone died. Someone hit the ground and her juices sprayed on the pavement.

The picture replays in my head.

And I vomit again.

My body feels further weakened. My vision blurs. My hands that hold my body up feel limp. And I fall.

* * *

Time. It slips away. I cannot remember when. Why. How. What.

My eyelids open into the night sky. Everything is dark. I remember the sky as a golden object. Why is it dark now?

And everything returns to me.

How much time passed? I cannot tell. I must have passed out from exhaustion from... from what I saw...

I get up. At least I try to. My body feels as heavy as lead. There's an awful stench in the air but I try to dismiss it. What do I do now?

I try to remember something. I already thought of something along those lines. It... it cannot occur to me once more. My mind is already in havoc. Nothing can compute. I have to calm it. Calm it... I have to go back. I cannot stay here. Another moment here is detrimental to myself...

I drag my pathetic self along. My body tries to disobey but I still force it. There's no other way. I need the safety of my home.

* * *

Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like eternity. Last night was hell. The journey here just didn't end. And when I did manage to open my door and fall onto my bed, time didn't go any faster. I laid on my bed wide awake, unable to shut my eyes. My body must be on overdrive, overcompensating for everything I went through.

My hand hovers over my alarm clock and lands on it. I turn it off before it even rings. I don't think I would be able to stand hearing the high-pitched beeping it makes.

I get up. My whole body just feels wrong. Still, I get up. There's something I have to do. A routine. A duty. My mind is in disarray. I don't know why, but I'm actually calculating 'going to school' as something I need to do. Besides, staying here will be no better. I get up.

Slowly, with my burning body, I change my clothes, wash up, get out of the door and head to school.

* * *

Everything passes. Like the wind by an empty plain. As it blows, I sway sideways but it does not bother me. I pay almost no attention to my surroundings as everything is an unbearable blur in my head.

The ringing of the bell echoes in my mind. So sharp, so sickening. My head aches at its resonance. And it stops. Bliss once more. Not quite. My mind still is in chaos. I clutch my temples in agony. Everything just doesn't work.

What time is it now? People are leaving the classroom. Must be lunchtime then. I have to head out as well. Slowly, I lift myself from the seat. And I hear her voice.

"You seem a little off, Fubaki." she says in a worried tone.

My face must bear a horribly vexed expression. I don't care.

"Yeah, I feel terrible. Nothing to do with you so just leave it." I say. I don't care if it sounded mean. I don't feel like interacting with anything or anyone at the moment. I shuffle from my seat towards the door away from Hatori.

* * *

Bad mistake.

The bustling noise of the cafeteria constantly knocks into my ears. My head fills with the terrible clutter. It's nearly unbearable, but now that I'm here might as well proceed to get some food. Something I need judging from previous events.

After a long queue, I manage to get myself a bowl of noodles. I walk to an available seat and join the massive crowd sitting and enjoying their lunch. I look at the bowl emptily. Somehow, it just doesn't compute that I need to eat this. My body must still be too weak.

I throw my head back to try to relax. No good. It's still filled with all the chaos. I reopen my eyes and cast my head back down to the bowl of noodles. And on the way down I noticed something and look up again.

The television. The cafeteria television always plays the afternoon news during lunchtime. The speakers mounted on the walls echo what the newscasters say, making it audible to me over all the noise.

"The body of a teenage girl has been found in front of the under-construction Hotoshi building. The body was found by a homeless person who walked the streets at night and encountered the scene. It is evident that the girl fell from the fifth floor of the unfinished building head first to her death. Authorities have filed this case as sudden death."

Such were the words of the newscaster. The report was followed-up by footage of the building. There were depictions of the scene but conveniently censored with the gruesome parts out of camera view. Other than that they mostly showed the police at work.

So the body was found. Thank goodness. I felt like some sort of load got off my chest. Why? Was it because someone else managed to tell the police instead of you? Was it because he wasn't as spineless as you were? Even when this relief finally came to me, my mind ends up rejecting it in this manner. I stop this flow of thoughts.

At any rate, the body's been found. That's that. At least now it's off my hands.

Is it?

* * *

School ends. Again the entire scene is painted gold. I step out of the school gates. Again I face two choices. Left or right.

I feel disgusted at heading left. The same monotony will fill me. Yet again, am I willing to head right and face the same thing once more?

Decidedly, I turn my heels to the left this evening.

* * *

And I lay on my bed again.

Emptiness ensues.

There is absolutely nothing.

I close my eyes and things flash in my head.

It keeps repeating.

Is it a recurring nightmare? But I'm not even asleep.

Or am I?

* * *

I wake up from a sleepless slumber in a daze. Everything is fuzzy in my head. Things don't add up. I still feel terrible. At least it's a Saturday, no need to force myself to school.

So what is there to do, I ask myself. I look around the empty room. Other than my bed, my room only has a cupboard to house my clothes. There's nothing fancy. Nothing decorative either. If anything, it's an epitome of practicality. The bare minimum I need. And me alone too. I do not share this living space with anyone else. No family. Perhaps that's why it's so empty.

I come back to deciding what to do. Something lingers in my head. Something is trying to tell me something. What? I try to pinpoint this feeling. Disgust? No. Fear? No. Guilt?

Guilt.

With that revelation, everything knocks on me. I was the one who saw her fall. I was the one who actually witnessed the tragedy. I was the first and only person at that moment who could do something. And what did I do? Run. Puke then run. Somehow, this feeling of responsibility creeps on my heart and crushes it. My mood sinks.

Yet I ask myself, why feel guilty over this? She committed suicide. It was on her own accord. Who was I to do anything? She fell head first. No way she could survive.

But I failed to do something as simple as informing the police.

Everything turns silent. Even my mind as I contemplate this matter.

And a thought somehow enters my mind. I'm surprised that I actually agree to this thought.

And I change my clothes to head out.

* * *

The police line separates me from the chalk lines on the pavement. The lines depict the shape of the body on the floor when the police found it. Blood still mars the concrete, like a crimson flower blooming out from the bud that is the chalk drawing of the head.

Nobody is around. Why would there? It's nothing special. Just an angsty teenager who committed suicide. That must be what everyone's thinking. Not me. That's why I'm here.

It's a pathetic feeling of guilt that brought me to stare at these signs on the floor. Everything seems so sad. Someone died here. I saw it happen. And the least I can do now is imagine how she looked like based on the chalk lines.

The spring sun gently rises overhead. The scene turns brighter and gloomier as winds blow the clouds around, passing under the sun, casting moving shadows on the ground below.

Again my sense of time must be distorted. I don't know how long I've been standing there. I guess by now time no longer matters to me. My mind goes into a haze. In fact, my mind must have been in such disarray that I didn't notice the person standing by me.

"Tragic, isn't it?" a cool, feminine voice says.