Chapter 5:Things Hidden Inside Envelopes
1012 Words
Ren stared at the envelope for a long time before opening it.
The apartment remained silent around him.
Too silent.
The kind of silence that made every tiny sound feel dangerous.
A refrigerator humming. Pipes shifting in the walls. His own breathing.
For Ren.
His mother’s handwriting curved softly across the front.
Someone had already broken the seal carefully and resealed it badly afterward.
The realization made his skin crawl.
Someone came back.
Not just to kill her.
To search.
His fingers tightened around the envelope.
Then slowly, carefully, he pulled out the contents.
One folded letter.
And a photograph.
The photograph fell first.
Ren caught it instinctively.
Then froze.
It showed him.
Not recently.
He looked around eight years old, standing beside his mother at a summer festival while holding a melted popsicle and laughing at something outside the frame.
The picture itself wasn’t strange.
What was strange—
was the black marker circle around his face.
A rough circle.
Aggressive.
Like someone identifying a target.
Ren’s stomach twisted violently.
He turned the photo over.
Nothing written there.
Only scratches where fingernails had pressed too hard.
Slowly, he unfolded the letter.
Ren,
If you are reading this, then something has gone very wrong.
I’m sorry.
The words blurred briefly before he forced himself to continue.
There are things I should have told you years ago, but every time I tried, I convinced myself protecting you meant staying silent.
Maybe I was selfish.
Maybe I just wanted you to have one normal childhood memory before the past reached us again.
Reached us again.
Ren’s heartbeat quickened.
Your father was not a bad man.
That sentence surprised him enough to pause.
He expected anger. Bitterness. Blame.
Instead:
He was weak.
And weakness can destroy people just as easily as cruelty.
Rain began softly outside again.
Ren kept reading.
Years ago, I was involved in something terrible.
Not a crime.
But something that ruined lives anyway.
There were four of us then, and one mistake connected us forever.
I tried to leave it behind after you were born.
I truly believed I had escaped.
But people like him do not let things go.
People like him.
Not a name.
Never a name.
Ren’s frustration flared suddenly.
Who?
Who was she talking about?
The next lines looked shakier, as though written while frightened.
If he contacts you someday, do not trust him no matter what he says.
Especially if he smiles.
The room seemed to tilt slightly.
That smile.
Rainwater dripping from black fabric.
Cold eyes staring upward through flickering stairwell lights.
Ren’s hands trembled.
A sudden realization hit him hard enough to make breathing difficult.
His mother expected this.
Not the exact moment perhaps. Not the murder itself.
But danger.
She knew danger was coming.
Then another thought followed immediately behind it:
Why didn’t she go to the police?
He kept reading desperately.
I wanted to tell Detective Kuroda everything before it became too late.
But I was afraid.
Afraid of what would happen to you.
Afraid the past would stain your life the same way it stained mine.
If I failed you because of that fear, I’m sorry.
You deserved better than secrets.
The letter ended there.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just unfinished guilt pressed into paper.
Ren stared downward numbly.
The rain outside grew heavier.
He looked at the opened envelope again.
Someone had already seen this letter.
Maybe the killer.
Which meant—
they knew his mother tried warning him.
A terrible thought crept into his mind.
Was he in danger too?
The idea should have frightened him.
Instead, he mostly felt tired.
His eyes drifted back to the scratched photograph.
The black circle around his face looked almost childish.
But not random.
Intentional.
Like someone studying prey.
Then suddenly—
a knock sounded at the apartment door.
Ren flinched violently.
Three knocks.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
But his pulse exploded instantly anyway.
For one horrible second, he couldn’t move.
The knocking came again.
Calm. Patient.
Exactly like before.
Ren’s throat tightened.
His eyes darted toward the kitchen.
No weapon.
Not that one would help.
Another knock.
Then a voice:
“Delivery!”
Silence.
Ren frowned.
Delivery?
Carefully, he approached the door without answering.
“Package for Hayashi Ren!” the voice called again.
Not the same voice.
Too young.
Still, Ren hesitated before opening the door slightly.
A teenage delivery worker stood outside holding a small cardboard parcel.
“Need a signature.”
Ren blinked.
“I didn’t order anything.”
The worker shrugged tiredly.
“Already paid for.”
That felt wrong immediately.
“Who sent it?”
“No name listed.”
Of course not.
After signing reluctantly, Ren carried the package inside and locked the door immediately.
The box was small.
Light.
No return address.
A cold unease settled over him as he opened it carefully.
Inside sat an old flip phone.
Nothing else.
No charger. No note.
Just the phone.
Ren stared at it.
Then the screen suddenly lit up.
One new message.
Unknown Number
His chest tightened.
Slowly, he opened it.
The message contained only one sentence:
Did your mother ever tell you why your father disappeared?
Ren stopped breathing.
A second message appeared immediately after.
You should ask Detective Kuroda about 1998.
The phone rang.
Ren nearly dropped it.
Unknown caller.
The sound echoed through the apartment like an alarm.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
His thumb hovered over the answer button.
Every instinct screamed not to touch it.
But another feeling rose slowly beneath the fear.
Curiosity.
Cold and sharp.
The phone continued ringing.
Finally—
Ren answered.
Silence greeted him first.
Then breathing.
Slow. Calm.
A man’s voice spoke quietly.
“Hello, Ren.”
The voice sounded almost pleasant.
Polite.
That somehow made it worse.
Ren couldn’t speak.
The man chuckled softly.
“You sound exactly like your mother when she was frightened.”
Something icy slid through Ren’s chest.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
Another soft chuckle.
“That,” the man said gently, “is the wrong question.”
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