Entering a Dream

Wait, only now did you realize that if your theory was right, then last night you had shared a bed with a complete stranger—and this was very likely her home. Were you her lover?

After all, you had just noticed that you were wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. You couldn't think of any other reason you'd be dressed like that in an unfamiliar woman's bed.

You rubbed your forehead, feeling a headache coming on. A diamond ring sat neatly on the ring finger of your right hand. It fit perfectly, as if it belonged to you, but you had no memory of getting engaged or married to anyone.

Then again, who would marry a sixteen-year-old high school freshman? The law wouldn't allow it, either.

You stared dejectedly at the ring gleaming on your finger. Maybe it belonged to the husband of the woman who lived here. That poor man was probably away on a business trip—or perhaps he was already dead—and then someone named Ichinose Honami had slipped it onto your hand.

Wasn't that some kind of kinky game people played?

You decided you should leave. For all you knew, her husband had just finished working late and was on his way home from the office. Your mind was still groggy, as if you were drunk.

You didn't even bother to put on the black slippers beside the bed. Tiptoeing to the bedroom door, you suddenly noticed that a mirror had been set into it.

You hadn't even had time to wonder why anyone would put a mirror on a bedroom door. All your attention had been captured by the reflection.

The face in the mirror wasn't yours. You widened your eyes, and the person in the mirror widened his. You blinked your left eye, and he blinked his left eye, too.

You reached out to touch your reflection, your teeth chattering. If you weren't trying not to alert anyone, you might already have been screaming. You leaned close to the mirror, your black eyes nearly touching the surface.

You recognized them. Those were your eyes, and the person in the mirror really was you—only much more mature, as if you'd suddenly aged five years. Or ten? The stubble on your lip had been neatly trimmed. You had a straight nose and bright, alert eyes, and your features were much more defined than before. The good news was that you were still quite handsome.

But that small piece of good news couldn't ease your panic. Nobody could wake up several years older and simply take it in stride. You backed away in alarm, then turned the doorknob without hesitation and stepped outside.

As you stared at the mirror, you'd felt something terrible trying to break free from inside you, as if it wanted to burst out of your body and form a new one of its own. It was stirring restlessly.

Once you opened the door, you saw a wall covered in dozens of photographs. They seemed to be quite old, and most had faded to a faint yellow. The largest photograph hung in the center: a wedding portrait.

The man in the photograph was you—yourself a few years younger than the man in the mirror, but a few years older than you remembered being.

The beautiful woman smiling as she held your arm had long, rose-gold hair falling to her waist like a waterfall. She wore no veil, just a white Western-style wedding gown that trailed to the floor. Her smile was sweet and happy. Just looking at the picture, you somehow knew she must have been the most captivating person at the wedding.

Kitagawa Ryo.

Those words had been written beside the wedding portrait in black marker. An arrow pointed from the name to the man in the picture—to you in your suit. The name seemed familiar, but your memory was hazy. You tried to convince yourself that it was your name.

Ichinose Honami.

That name appeared again, with another arrow pointing to the woman in the wedding dress. Unlike the name "Kitagawa Ryo," this one had a line of smaller text beneath it:

Your girlfriend, your lover, your wife.

You stood there, dazed. Something dark and solid lodged in your throat, and you couldn't breathe.

You quickly looked over the other photographs. Every one showed you and her together, from childhood to adolescence and then to the present, when you were around twenty. There was a photo of you and her holding hands in front of a huge rock in a park, another of you hiking together, and one of you in your wedding clothes. There were also some new pictures that looked as if they'd been taken just days ago. In them, you were properly dressed in the black robe you'd seen when you woke up.

You backed away two more steps, until your bare back met the cold tiles. Your memory was like a monster surfacing from a dark ocean, one eye peering out to watch you. Under its gaze, you were at a loss. That long stretch of blankness was like the empty portion of a tape, which made the television screen show bizarre, flickering black and white.

"Ryo, are you awake?"

You heard footsteps approaching. Someone was coming your way. You wanted to poke your head out and take a look, just a glimpse, as if you were afraid of seeing something and equally afraid of seeing nothing. Sure enough, all you saw was a strand of hair swaying in the air.

The woman walking toward you was the person in the photographs. If the names in the pictures and the book were correct, then the pretty woman before you, wearing a pink apron and her hair in a simple ponytail, was Ichinose Honami.

Her blue eyes looked at you with concern. She seemed to be around twenty-three or twenty-four, in the prime of her life. She must have sensed your fear and agitation, because she walked right up and drew you into her arms. As if soothing a child who had just woken from a nightmare, she gently patted your back and whispered in your ear:

"There, there. It's okay. I'm right here with you."

"What's going on?" Her warm body surrounded you. A soft touch, a soft fragrance. It took you a long time to understand that she was holding you against her chest. Her long hair blocked your view, and the tip of your nose caught the scent of citrus.

"I'm your wife. You're Kitagawa Ryo, my husband."

She spoke as if stating an established fact. Her tone was perfectly natural and practiced, as if she'd said those words a thousand times.

"We've been married for three years."

That fact, which had no place in your memory, battered your defenses. You instinctively struggled, trying to pull away from her embrace.

But Ichinose Honami only looked at you. You felt like a wound on her body. Every time you moved, she seemed to suffer agonizing pain. You could only give up struggling and let yourself sink deeper into her embrace, every part of you, down to every pore.

"Ryo, you're twenty-three now." The unfamiliar woman smiled at you. You didn't know whether you should believe her, but she continued anyway.

"When you were sixteen, you were in an accident. A car crash. You hit your head, so you can't remember things now."

"What?" You stared blankly at her, mumbling without thinking.

Ichinose Honami seemed to think you were asking what you'd forgotten. She replied cautiously:

"Everything. You don't remember anything—not even your own name."

You closed your eyes. You wanted to deny what she'd said, but you really couldn't remember anything about yourself. All you knew was that you were sixteen this year and a high school student...

"You were in an accident when you were sixteen?"

"Mm. When you were sixteen, you went out with your uncle and aunt, and you got into a car accident on the way. You were the only one who survived, but you lost your memory."

She didn't seem to want to talk about it, but she patiently explained anyway:

"At first, you only forgot a little. We all thought it was your brain's emergency protective response—that forgetting the accident might make things easier for you. But then you started losing whole stretches of memory. About a month after we got married, you'd lost all your memories."

"Worse, you eventually lost the ability to form new memories, too. Every morning when you woke up, you'd forget everything, including me."

She stroked your head. The gesture felt strangely familiar. You took in what she'd said, then asked, "Then why did you marry someone who'd lost his memory?"

"Because I love you."

Ichinose Honami's lips kissed your forehead. She must have just been making breakfast in the kitchen; the kiss carried a faint scent of butter. You didn't dislike it.

"I..."

"Don't be afraid. I'm right here. As long as I'm here, one day you'll remember everything, Ryo."

Seeing that you were still naked, she went into the bedroom and brought you the black robe and slippers.

"Trust me."

Her promise calmed you a little. After you got dressed, you followed her down the hallway, like a stranger renting a room and being shown around by the landlady. She pointed to a small room on your right.

"You can wash up in there. Breakfast will be ready in a little while, dear."

You didn't know how to respond. Should you call her dear, too? Or use her name? You didn't feel you could act so familiar with a woman you'd only just met, so you simply nodded and went inside.

In the bathroom, the toothbrushes, toothpaste, and cups on the sink were arranged in a pair. Sky blue and pink, leaning against each other. A small cabinet beside the mirror was stuffed with all kinds of cosmetics. You looked at yourself in the mirror and still felt utterly unfamiliar.

"Brush for a full two minutes, okay?" Ichinose Honami called from outside.

You hurriedly answered and picked up the sky-blue cup with some restraint. Stiffly, you squeezed toothpaste onto the brush and started brushing mechanically. But after only a minute, you switched the toothbrush to your left hand, while your right hand slowly lifted the slipper on your right foot.

From the moment you'd put on the slippers, you'd noticed that the one on your right foot was heavier than the one on your left. You slowly felt along the pattern on its sole and soon found an obvious bump. You used the razor blade from the sink to slice it open, revealing a tiny box made of some unknown material.

You quietly closed the bathroom door and carefully took apart the delicate little object. You had a feeling it would answer some of your questions.

There were three slips of paper inside the box. You began reading them one by one.

The first read: "If you're confused, call your psychologist, Sakayanagi Arisu." A phone number followed.

The second read: "Meow meow meow meow meow." It made no sense at all. For now, you couldn't tell whether it was some kind of strange code. It was signed, "Hotaru."

"Ryo, breakfast is ready. Today we're having butter-and-cheese toast and fried bacon and eggs." Ichinose Honami's voice came from outside. She seemed to be in a good mood, humming an unfamiliar tune.

You unfolded the third slip of paper. The handwriting was the most familiar thing you'd seen.

"Don't believe anything Ichinose Honami says. Signed—Kitagawa Ryo."

You quietly tossed the three slips of paper into the toilet, of course only after memorizing their contents. You pretended to use the bathroom, then pressed the flush. You watched as they were swept into a huge whirlpool of centrifugal force and vanished without a trace.

When you came out of the bathroom, Ichinose Honami was already sitting at the dining table in the living room. She seemed to be admiring a photo album, smiling gently and beautifully. After taking off her apron, she was dressed like you in a loose robe, hers a soft purple. You felt a little out of place.

"Ryo."

As soon as you stepped out of the bathroom, you felt her gaze lock onto you. Ichinose Honami stood up, took your hand, and led you to the seat opposite her. Her pale purple robe came just past her hips, leaving her long, gleaming legs bare above her pink slippers.

She sat down and took off her hair tie. Her rose-gold hair spilled free all at once, falling to her waist like a waterfall. A few strands draped over her shoulder, making her look even more alluring. She propped her head on her right hand and toyed with the ends of her hair, apparently waiting for you to eat first.

You slowly began eating the breakfast in front of you. It didn't look half bad: eggs fried just right with ham, alongside crisp bacon. You tried to focus all your attention on the food, keeping your head down so you wouldn't look at Ichinose Honami across the table. But half an hour later, there was nothing left on your plate to eat. You had no choice but to look up at her. She seemed to have finished even faster than you, because you met her smiling gaze.

Ichinose Honami stood up and cleared away the dishes. As she passed beside you, she handed you the photo album she'd been looking at. She opened it to the first page and began to explain:

"I put this together when I was sorting out your room. Maybe it'll help you remember something."

Unlike the photographs on the wall, this album contained many pictures of you alone, as well as family photos. Even in those pictures where you were the main subject, Ichinose Honami appeared in quite a few. It seemed she'd been close to you even as a child, close enough to be included in your family photos. You ran your fingers over the man and woman in the pictures, trying to connect them with your parents.

"This album has pretty much every photo of you from before you turned sixteen." By the time you'd flipped halfway through the album, Ichinose Honami had already finished tidying up and was standing behind you. Her slender arms circled your neck, and her pretty chin rested on your shoulder as she explained softly.

She pointed to the pictures and narrated:

"You gave me this hair clip for my sixteenth birthday. It was really popular back then, and I remember it cost five figures."

Ichinose Honami happily tapped the album with a finger, while her left hand gently massaged your temples.

"But this dummy secretly went to work without telling me, just to surprise me. In the middle of summer, he stood on the street handing out flyers in one of those thick, furry mascot costumes." Her breath was sweet against your ear.

"Dummy."

You looked at the photo of yourself putting the hair clip in the girl's hair. In a hazy way, you really did remember the clip. That hair clip... It seemed like you had some memory of it, but... but...

At that moment, memory was like an empty tooth socket. When you didn't think about it, it itched so badly it made you restless. But when you reached for it, there was only an empty ache.

You shook your head, pushing away the painful thought, and picked a random topic.

"When did we start dating?"

"On my thirteenth birthday. Come to think of it, tomorrow is the tenth anniversary of us getting together."

Ichinose Honami answered quickly. She strode into the room, then came back a moment later holding a glass frame.

"I've still kept the love letter you wrote me back then, Ryo. It's proof of the happiness we shared."

But then she sighed and pouted as she muttered:

"Ryo wrote me a love letter that was several pages long, but unfortunately, we lost a lot of things when we moved. This is the only page left."

You placed the glass frame on the dining table, which had already been wiped clean. Inside it was a sheet of paper with a letter written on it. Thanks to the fairly good preservation, the handwriting hadn't blurred too badly. As befitted a letter from when you were thirteen, the writing was very immature, and there wasn't anything especially memorable in it. It mostly recalled your time together, then ended with a simple, formulaic "I like you."

"Reading it now makes me a little embarrassed. But back then, Ryo probably never imagined that we'd be married for three years ten years later."

Ichinose Honami sat down close beside you, rested her head against your shoulder, and murmured as if lost in reminiscence.

"No matter what happens to Ryo's memories, I'll always remember the memories he gave me."

"Oh, it's time." Ichinose Honami glanced at her watch. Her wedding ring gleamed on her ring finger.

"I have to go to work. You can stay home today, like always, Ryo. Watch TV or look through the photo albums. Maybe you'll remember a little more."

Ichinose Honami went into the room and picked out some ordinary clothes from her wardrobe. Unlike her loungewear, her regular clothes made her look much more capable and mature. Only then did you realize she was a working adult. And from the looks of things, your situation was practically that of a social parasite who was being kept by his wife and didn't even qualify as a househusband.

"It's okay. My salary is enough to support both of us, Ryo. You don't need to feel guilty."

She seemed to sense how you felt. Before putting on her shoes, she came back and hugged you.

"Don't worry. If anything happens, call me. The landline and your cell phone both have only my number in the contacts, and I'm the emergency contact, too. Today is no different from any other day. You'll be fine."

You felt like a child left at home by his parents, as if his mother were warning him not to touch this or that. The strange sense of dissonance made you nod irritably, as though you were waiting for them to hurry up and leave.

"I'll always love you."

Before closing the door, Ichinose Honami kissed your lips. You responded awkwardly and stiffly, and then she finally left.

You stood inside and heard a rustling sound from outside. Her warmth still lingered on your lips. You waited quietly until they cooled and the noises outside died away, then tentatively turned the doorknob.

"Creak."

The door opened just as you'd hoped, but only a crack—about one or two centimeters wide.

You stared at the three iron chains stretched taut by your feet. One end of each was fixed to the bottom of the doorframe, while the other was fastened into a chain lock on the handle outside. You tentatively reached out, but in the end could only squeeze two fingers through. You pushed hard, but the door didn't budge.

To put your situation plainly:

You were being held prisoner in this house.

You paced around the house, going from the kitchen to the living room, opening the refrigerator to look at the ingredients, and wandering over to touch the decorative paintings. When you realized you were the only person in the house, a vast emptiness engulfed you like a cloud.

Your memories held neither images nor sounds. There wasn't a single thing in the house you recognized. Even when Ichinose Honami carefully explained your photographs and other belongings, you couldn't remember any of the time you'd spent with her. You could only remember what had happened since you woke up that morning.

You returned to the huge wedding portrait. Closing your eyes, you tried to use it as an anchor and search your memory. But all you found were layers upon layers of smells: something like withered, rotting vegetation; berries that had grown too ripe and were about to spoil; the smell of a body decaying and dying... the smell of a corpse. They flickered through your memory, like the last rays of sunset struggling to fade into the night.

You read the letter supposedly written to Ichinose Honami once more. You carefully compared its handwriting with that on the slip of paper you'd found that morning. A person's handwriting could mature or even change with age, but certain strokes or unusual ways of writing particular characters were hard to alter. You looked at the "love letter" one character at a time and finally reached a chilling conclusion:

The author of this letter and the author of the note you'd found that morning were not the same person, even though both were signed "Kitagawa Ryo."

"One of them is fake." You found a pen in the study and, with your eyes closed, copied your name onto the paper five times.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw that the "Kitagawa Ryo" on the page was written in a third style, entirely different from the handwriting on the note and the letter.