A visit

Suguru Geto's movements had been restricted to the bare minimum. Every morning at seven, Kiryū appeared at his dorm room door on the dot, a scanner in hand. A number flickered on the screen. He recorded it on his clipboard, said, "All done," and turned to leave. At noon, the same routine. At seven in the evening, the same routine. Three times a day, less than a minute each time. Iguchi and Tamura took turns standing guard downstairs from eight in the morning to eight at night. It wasn't Kiryū they distrusted. It was Suguru Geto. They were afraid he would run. Suguru Geto had no intention of running. There was no need. Three weeks left. Twenty-one days. Counting the days somehow made them pass faster.

He was no longer allowed in the cafeteria. An assistant supervisor delivered his meals to the reception room. Suguru Geto ate here three times a day, then left his tray by the door for Iguchi to collect. No one ate with him. Satoru Gojo had come once, only to be stopped at the door by Kiryū. Kiryū said, "The reception room isn't a place for receiving visitors." Satoru Gojo gave him a look, said nothing, and turned to leave.

On Wednesday afternoon, Suguru Geto sat in the reception room, reading a book Yu Haibara had borrowed for him from the library. He read slowly, his mind wandering every so often. Footsteps sounded in the hallway and stopped outside the door. Someone knocked twice, then pushed it open.

Satoru Gojo stood in the doorway, carrying a bag. Kiryū stood behind him with a sour expression.

"Mr. Gojo, you can't just walk into the reception room."

"Get out." Satoru Gojo didn't look at him.

Kiryū didn't move. Satoru Gojo turned his head and gave him a look. Kiryū released the door handle. He took a step back, turned, and left. His footsteps gradually faded down the hallway.

Satoru Gojo came in, closed the door, and sat across from Suguru Geto. He set the bag on the table and took out two bowls of ramen, pushed one toward Suguru Geto, and opened the other for himself. He snapped his chopsticks apart, stuck them into the bowl, lifted some noodles, blew on them twice, and put them in his mouth.

"From the cafeteria. Still hot," he mumbled.

Suguru Geto looked at the bowl of ramen. Slices of chashu were neatly arranged over the noodles, sprinkled with chopped scallions and nori. Steam rose from the bowl. He picked up his chopsticks, lifted some noodles, and put them in his mouth. They had a firm, springy bite. The cafeteria's ramen had never tasted this good. Maybe it was because he hadn't been there in so long, or maybe it was because Satoru Gojo had brought him this bowl.

"Satoru," Suguru Geto said, "Kiryū will file a report."

"Let him." Satoru Gojo didn't look up. "He can write that I barged into the reception room, refused to follow regulations, and threatened Association staff. They can even arrest me if they want."

"Aren't you afraid the Association will give you trouble?"

Satoru Gojo put down his chopsticks and looked at Suguru Geto.

"When have I ever been afraid? What about you? What are you afraid of?" His voice was low. "Geto, they're keeping you locked in this room now. Three check-ins a day. You can't leave the dorm building, can't go to the cafeteria, can't see anyone. They call it centralized supervision. Give it a few more days, and they might stop letting you go back to your room. Make you live in here and sleep on that table."

Suguru Geto was silent for a second. "I'm afraid you'll get dragged into this."

Satoru Gojo stared at him for a few seconds, then picked up his chopsticks and went back to eating.

"I'm already in it," he said.

Suguru Geto said nothing. He simply lowered his head and finished the noodles in his bowl. Satoru Gojo stacked the two bowls and put them back in the bag.

"I'll come again tomorrow." Satoru Gojo stood up.

Satoru Gojo walked to the door and stopped without turning around.

"Geto, how's the echo?"

"Still shrinking. It's the size of a fist and a half now."

"Does it talk to you?"

"It does. Shows me images."

"What images?"

Suguru Geto thought for a moment. "A door. That iron door."

Satoru Gojo didn't ask which iron door. He simply stood there with his back to Suguru Geto.

"Geto, if that door opened, would you go in?"

Suguru Geto didn't answer. Satoru Gojo didn't wait for an answer. He pushed the door open and walked out. It closed softly behind him. His footsteps receded down the hallway, then Kiryū's voice cut them off. "Mr. Gojo, you can't." After that, there was no sound at all.

On Sunday, Shoko came.

She didn't knock, just pushed the door open and walked in. Kiryū followed her, scanner in hand. His lips moved a few times, but no sound came out. Shoko turned and gave him a look. Kiryū shut his mouth, stepped back, and closed the door.

Shoko sat across from Suguru Geto, took a cigarette from her pocket, and watched him for a while.

"Is the echo still shrinking?"

"Yeah. It's smaller than a fist and a half now."

"Does it talk to you?"

"It does. Shows me the iron door in the Old Library's basement."

Shoko tapped a finger lightly against the table. "Do you want to open it?"

Suguru Geto was silent for a few seconds. "I've thought about it. But I haven't opened it."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what's behind it."

Shoko took the cigarette from her mouth and set it on the table. It rolled half a turn across the surface and stopped.

"Geto, Ichiro Nakajima spent forty years in that basement. It wasn't the chains that kept him there. He kept himself there. The thing inside him had already become part of him. If he left, it would leave too. He didn't want to hurt anyone, so he chose to stay." Shoko's voice was low. "You're not Ichiro Nakajima. The echo inside you is shrinking. It listens to you. It talks to you. It won't hurt anyone. So you don't need to lock yourself away."

"Geto, the infirmary's been quiet this past month without you. Not the good kind of quiet." She didn't look back. "Come back soon."

"Okay."

She left. The door closed softly behind her.

That evening, Suguru Geto wrote in his diary in his dorm room. He wrote the date in his notebook, then added, "The echo showed me an image today. Ichiro Nakajima's hands looked as though they were grasping at something. The image lingered on those hands for a long time. I don't know what the echo is trying to tell me. Maybe Ichiro Nakajima was still clinging to a door he'd never opened, even as he died."

He closed the notebook and set it beside his pillow. He turned off the light and lay down.

Suguru Geto closed his eyes. Before his consciousness sank into darkness, he thought of Satoru Gojo's face, of Shoko with a cigarette between her lips, of Yu Haibara's smile, of Nanami. They were all outside the door. He was inside. Not that iron door, but the door to this reception room, the door to this dorm room, the door to the cage they called "centralized supervision."

The door wasn't locked. He could open it whenever he wanted. He simply chose not to.

But choosing not to open it and being unable to open it were two different things.