Chapter Two
1057 Words
I spent the entire night staring at my ceiling.
I only slept for maybe two hours, and even those were crowded with nightmares about surgical scalpels and silver rings gleaming under neon lights. By morning, the idea that Kaito Mori was the "Gentleman Killer" felt absurd. Or maybe that was just what my brain wanted me to believe so I could get out of bed.
People in Tokyo don’t meet serial killers on dates, right? That only happens in movies, or in the thrillers I read to escape my boring life.
But my sister wasn't a character in a movie. My sister was real, and her body, found ten years ago in the woods of Mitso, was real too. The police had closed the case back then for lack of evidence.
"Aya-san, are you with us?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin. My boss, Mr. Tanaka, was standing over me, his pudgy face twisted in annoyance. "This is the third revision I’ve asked for on the Ozawa logo. Is something wrong?"
"I’m sorry, Mr. Tanaka. I just didn't sleep well."
"Well, sleep at home, not here. I need that design by five."
I turned back to my monitor, but I didn't open the design software. Instead, I opened a search engine. I typed in: Dr. Kaito Mori.
Hundreds of results popped up. He was indeed a famous surgeon. There were photos of him at medical conferences, and articles praising his skill at saving lives. Everything looked perfectly legitimate. But I dug deeper. I searched for older photos of him, from his university days.
And that’s where things started to get weird.
In photos from ten years ago, Kaito Mori looked different. Not just younger, but his features were… sharper? Maybe plastic surgery? Or maybe just the camera angle? But there was something in his eyes that hadn't changed. That cold stare that told you he saw right through your skin.
My phone buzzed on the desk. A text from an unknown number.
"I woke up thinking about our conversation last night. I can’t wait to see you again. Dinner tonight? I’ll pick you up from work."
A chill ran through my limbs. How did he know where I worked? I hadn't told him the name of my company. I only told him I was a graphic designer.
I looked around the open-plan office. Was he there right now? Was he watching me through the glass of the building across the street?
I texted back: "How did you get my office address?"
He replied instantly, as if he’d been waiting for the question: "You’re a brilliant designer, Aya. Your name is on the company’s official website as one of their lead creatives. It only took me thirty seconds to find you. Does that make you feel flattered… or worried?"
I swallowed hard. The answer was: Both.
But then I remembered my promise to myself. I remembered my sister’s face. If this man was the killer, I wouldn't catch him by hiding under my desk. I had to get closer. I had to make him trust me until he made one mistake. A small surgical error.
I typed: "Sure. I’ll be ready at six."
I left the office at five-thirty. I had tucked something into my purse that I’d never carried before. A small folding knife I’d bought at a camping store on my way to work. It felt like it weighed a ton inside my bag.
When I reached the street, a black Lexus was waiting. The door opened, and Kaito stepped out. He looked breathtaking in a crisp white shirt.
"You look tired, Aya," he said, gently touching my cheek. "Was it a long day?"
"A little," I said, trying to keep my hand from shaking.
"That’s okay. Dinner will relax you. I’ve chosen a very private place. Away from the noise of the city."
I got into the car. The smell of new leather and antiseptic filled the air. As he drove smoothly, I noticed a small cooler box in the backseat. The kind doctors use to transport organs.
"What’s that?" I asked, trying to sound innocently curious.
Kaito looked into the rearview mirror, then at me with a cryptic smile. "Oh, that? Just a specimen I had to take out of the hospital. Something that needs... special handling."
We arrived at the restaurant. It wasn't a restaurant in the traditional sense, but an old house on the outskirts of Tokyo converted into a private dining club.
We went inside, and the place was eerily quiet. No other customers. Just us, and a single table meticulously set.
"I like privacy," Kaito whispered as he pulled out my chair. "In privacy, the truths we hide from the world come out."
We ate in silence for a while. He watched me as I chewed, as if he were studying the mechanics of my jaw muscles.
"You know, Aya," he said suddenly, handling his steak knife with incredible grace. "There’s a secret I didn't tell you last time."
I stopped eating. My heart leaped into my throat. "What is it?"
He leaned across the table, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I don’t like failure. Every time I fail to save a patient, I feel like I have to make up for it by saving someone else… in a completely different way."
Before I could respond, his phone rang. He looked at the screen, and his expression changed instantly. His face went as pale as a corpse.
"Excuse me, I have to take this. It’s... very personal."
He got up and stepped out onto the terrace. I left the table and moved quickly toward his bag, which he’d left on the chair next to mine. I was looking for his keys, or any piece of ID.
I unzipped the side pocket. I didn't find an ID or money.
I found something else.
A lock of long hair, tied with a black ribbon. It looked hauntingly familiar. It was the exact color and texture of my late sister’s hair.
Suddenly, I felt a shadow behind me.
"Are you looking for something specific, Aya?"
His voice was inches from my ear. I felt his cold breath on my neck. I turned to find him standing right behind me, his eyes devoid of any trace of the smile I’d seen earlier.
- Writer
