The Bad Life – Chapter 14.1 – Raymond Goodman’s Predecessor

Author: nicotine

Dave Watson started Instagram six months ago. His follower count is 217 people. He has been actively posting for six months, with a total of over 500 photos uploaded. Judging from the photos, his personality seemed ordinary. He commutes to work by bicycle and takes his dog for a walk every evening. He was deeply immersed in the drama called <Game of Thrones>, and he made sure to go see a play twice a month. His job involves frequent overseas business trips, especially to Italy. Recently, he has become obsessed with Japanese food and eats out at Japanese restaurants three or four times a week. He does not have a current girlfriend. Instead, he consistently volunteers at a shelter for abandoned dogs every weekend.

While boredly scrolling through the photos he had uploaded, I suddenly lifted my head. When the doorman opened the door, a neatly dressed man appeared with his dog. It was Dave Watson.

Finding out where Watson lives was not difficult. Every time he uploaded a photo on Instagram, he tagged the location information, and since signposts occasionally appeared in the walking paths in the photos, figuring out where he lives was as easy as eating cold porridge. I found his workplace address on Facebook and followed him for a few days, memorizing the faces of several of his colleagues.

I watched Watson disappear to the end of the street with his golden retriever. When I felt certain that he would not return, I started walking. The doorman recognized me and opened the door. This was because I had been frequently coming and going as the boyfriend of the man living on the floor above Watson for the past week. Even now, I was on my way back from running an errand to buy cigarettes for that man.

I got on the elevator and pressed both the third floor and the fourth floor. When I got off on the third floor, the door that appeared had Dave Watson’s name on it. I left the empty elevator to go up to the upper floor and stood in front of Watson’s front door. I had already secured the key. I had slyly taken it from Watson’s pocket just last evening while he was on his walk. Thanks to the fact that Watson was not the type of diligent person who would change his key in just one night, I was able to easily enter his house.

Instead of turning on the light, I turned on the cellphone flashlight. The apartment layout was similar to the one on the fourth floor. I examined the living room and kitchen, several rooms including the bedroom, and the bathroom one by one. As expected, there were no traces of living with someone else. It was certain that only Dave Watson lived in this house. After turning on the light in the bathroom, I went out and checked. The light in the bathroom being on was visible from the front door.

I returned to the bathroom and looked inside. The shower towel could be used, but it seemed too soft and likely to tear. The hand towel. The hand towel was excessively thick. I picked up the hose attached to the shower and pondered for a moment, but it did not seem like a very good method. Then, suddenly, I discovered the shower robe hanging behind the bathroom door. The robe belt tied around the waist was appropriately long, appropriately thin, and sturdy enough to be just right. This should do. Finally, I felt satisfied.

Watson usually walked for roughly thirty minutes to one hour. There was plenty of time left before he would return. While filling the bathtub with water, I smoked a cigarette. It felt somewhat exciting, but on the other hand, I felt awkwardly too calm. Eight years of effort could turn to nothing in an instant once again. And perhaps, the futile actions of eight years could finally bear fruit.

Now that such a long time has passed, I thought that whether it is success or failure, either way does not matter anymore. If I catch a clue, that would be enough, and if I do not catch a clue, that would also be enough. If this time too I fail to catch a clue and lose direction once more… Well, I do not know. Nearly ten years have already passed. Perhaps the time has come to forget everything and live on.

The bathtub was filled with water. It was warm. I put out the cigarette and quietly waited for Watson. Watson returned around the time the water had cooled to lukewarm.

Watson would hesitate when trying to insert and turn the key. This is because the door is not locked. He would feel something strange. He thinks he locked the door when he went out for the walk. But Watson is not the type of cautious person who would call security over something like this. He opens the front door and this time properly checks and locks the door. He ties the dog temporarily at the entrance. This is because he needs to clean its dirty paws.

While trying to clean the dog’s paws, he feels something strange. When he lifts his head, a streak of light is leaking out from inside the house, which should definitely be dark. It is from the bathroom side. Did he not turn off the light? Feeling puzzled, Watson drags his slippered feet and approaches. When he enters the bathroom, that is when he realizes something is wrong. This is because the bathtub is filled to the brim with water. He definitely has no memory of filling the bathtub with water. Before Watson can turn around with a chilling premonition, a soft robe belt wraps around his neck.

Splash.

Before the man can scream, I grabbed the back of his head and plunged it into the bathtub. As he struggled, water splashed up and water sprayed everywhere. But for a man in his thirties whose only exercise is riding a bicycle on his commute, escaping from my grip is not easy. Before his body stiffened, I pulled his head out of the bathtub.

<Cough! Cough, gasp, choke! Who, who…!>

Before he could continue speaking, I shoved his head back into the bathtub. Watson flailed his arms and struggled, but his strength was much weaker than before. When I pulled out his head and was about to plunge it into the bathtub once more.

<Gasp, please! Gasp, please, let me live! Please, choke, please!>

The damply wet robe belt was wrapped around Watson’s neck, tightening his airway. I forcibly turned him around as he was about to go limp. Watson closed his eyes to avoid seeing my face. How cute. I did not force him to open his eyes. I coldly stared at his messy face, soaked in water with tears and snot streaming down.

When I did nothing more, Watson spoke urgently.

<Money… I do not have money, but in the dressing room… there is a watch….>

<Wha… what….>

Although he was trembling with fear, Watson, realizing there was room for conversation, nodded frantically with his eyes tightly closed.

<First, to help your memory, I will explain. It is roughly seventeen years ago. It is a long time ago, but you will definitely remember. You were at a certain club back then. There is no other name, just a perverted kids’ orgy gathering called <Club>. How about it, do you remember?>

Watson’s body, which had been trembling like in a convulsion, now stiffened as if frozen. Watson, forgetting to close his eyes, looked at me with a shocked face. The wide-open eyes and paling complexion every time the club is mentioned were all familiar sights to me. While watching the fear, regret, despair, and questions passing over Watson’s face, I said monotonously.

Watson trembled his lips and repeated idiot-like mutterings like <How do you know that>. I tried to calm my impatient mind. During the past years, situations similar to now have happened several times. And I have struggled not to be frustrated by the repeated disappointments. I waited calmly until the panicked Watson calmed down and closed his mouth. In fact, guys like this become obedient quickly if you beat them a few times, but there was no reason to waste energy.

After staring blankly with his mouth closed for a few minutes, finally Watson closed his mouth that had been babbling like a madman. A heavy silence flowed. Even the dog bastard at the entrance was quiet. I pierced through the frightened Watson’s eyes for a long time. To the guy swallowing his breath, I asked softly.

<So. Do you know, or do you not know?>

After the silence, Watson slowly nodded.

I held the cellphone to the trembling guy’s lips. Watson opened his mouth while looking at the screen with the voice recording app on with scared eyes.

<I… I know.>

I stroked the man’s wet head. Watson froze stiff, unable to even breathe.

Just knowing about the existence of the club did not allow for high expectations. Among the guys I have found so far, there were a few more who knew about the club’s existence. However, they did not know who the core members were, and they had only popped in once by chance to the orgy gathering, and they were just drifters who had picked up some rumors. Whether Watson is one of those drifters or not… I will find out from now on.

I asked while staring straight into Watson’s eyes.

Watson looked at the recording cellphone with fearful eyes. I asked once more, but instead of answering, the guy trembled his lips violently and started crying. I watched him shaking his head for a moment. I placed the cellphone with the app on onto the sink. Watson grabbed my pant leg while crying. I slapped his cheek and pulled the robe belt that was around his neck. Watson screamed and thrashed about. It was no use.

I mercilessly pulled him and shoved his head into the bathtub. Water splashed roughly, and a wave of water sprayed on me too. I pulled Watson out of the water and plunged him back in. This time, without mercy, I repeated it five or six times before throwing him onto the bathroom floor. Watson collapsed on the tile floor like a worm and wailed. Even though the owner was suffering like this, the dog at the entrance remained quiet.

I squatted in front of him, who was barely breathing while streaming tears and snot. I picked up the cellphone from the sink and held it in front of his face again.

<Name?>

<Da, Dave! Da, Dave Wa, Watson… Sob, sob….>

<Gasp, sob, 1976, July 28… Please.>

<London….>

I looked down blankly at Watson, who was collapsed on the floor and sobbing like a child. The guy was hiccupping loudly while shedding tears. I patted his back to mean calm down, and he jumped in horror. I had not treated him particularly roughly, yet he was such a weak-hearted guy. When I stroked his back soothingly, the man who had been flinching at first gradually regained his composure. Watson, who had barely stopped his tears, cautiously looked up at me. While gently rubbing his earlobe, I opened my mouth.

I gripped his ear tightly and continued monotonously.

In truth, I had no intention of going that far, but Watson, whose mind was half gone due to the water torture, took it fully as serious. I pushed the trembling guy back roughly and slapped his cheek not too painfully.

<Good. Snap out of it.>

<Sob….>

I held the cellphone to the guy’s mouth and asked.

<Nine, nine, nineteen, nineteen….>

Nineteen. I calculated in my head for a moment. It would be 1996, so the timing matches. As soon as I realized that fact, I tried to calm my fiercely pounding heart. This time it might really be lucky, but on the other hand, this time too I might just waste effort and return empty-handed. There were a few more things to confirm. While I was lost in thought for a moment, Watson seemed to think that this time I would definitely pull out a knife. The guy suddenly trembled his pale blue lips and babbled unsolicited words.

<It, it is true! Really! At nineteen, back then, just for fu, fu, fun, cu, curiosity….>

<…….>

<On, once… Sob, ugh… By chance, really, on, once… Sob….>

<…….>

<Please, please, forgive me….>

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. They are always like that. For fun. Out of curiosity. By chance once, just. In their actual lives, it might have been like that. In Watson’s life of over thirty years, the period he frequented the club is close to a fleeting moment, so it is true that it was really ‘by chance once’ that he stopped by. The victims of the club became nothing more and nothing less than frogs killed by a stone thrown in jest. But I no longer tell them how cruel the atrocities they committed were.

While looking at the terrified man, I continued leisurely.

<Th, th, tha, that, I, I….>

<Pl, please… Please… I was young… I was young….>

I slapped the whining Watson’s cheek and said monotonously. Watson held his cheek and lay prostrate on the floor, sobbing. While looking down at him, I carefully chose my words.

<So, you only went to the club once?>

It was obvious that it was a lie, but if he obediently answered other questions, I could overlook a lie of this degree. Without particularly pressing further, I moved on to the next question.

<…….>

<…….>

Watson only shook his head while breathing roughly.

Instead of answering, Watson rolled his eyes. It seemed he was less scared somehow. When I tightly pulled the damp robe belt wrapped around his neck again, Watson screamed.

<Ha, half a year! Half a year! Only exactly half a year… Really! I swear! Fuck, it is true, it is true! Bel, sob, bel, believe me!>

He finally answered honestly, but I could not just overlook the fact that he had lied several times. I grabbed the nape of his neck and dragged him to the bathtub. Watson screamed and thrashed, but when I plunged his head into the bathtub, he quickly became quiet. I plunged him into the water and pulled him out several times, then threw his limp body onto the floor. The man crawled on the floor like a worm and begged to be spared. I kicked his face and yelled at him to sit up straight, and he obediently knelt down while streaming nosebleed.

I stood tall in front of him, smoked a cigarette, and looked down at the soaked Watson. Watson kept his head bowed and did not dare to look up at me. Thanks to that, he did not notice that my hand holding the cigarette was trembling.

This is the first time. Coming this far is the first time. I have never seen a guy who frequented the club for half a year. Moreover, 1996 matches the timing. I deeply inhaled the cigarette smoke and calmed the trembling. I squatted in front of Watson and asked once again the question I had repeated countless times over eight years.

<Ye…?>

Watson blankly blinked his eyes clouded with pain. I asked calmly once more.

At that moment, an unconcealable light flashed in Watson’s eyes.

I stared piercingly at Watson. If he lied again this time to buy time, I swore I would cut off this bastard’s ear and throw it to my dog.

Fortunately for him, Watson did not play any more tricks. He nodded slowly while trembling. From his action, I obtained an intense certainty for the first time. The clue that had slipped through my fingers like it was about to be caught over eight years was finally right in front of me. I swallowed dryly. I took one more deep drag on the cigarette and put it out.

While looking straight at Watson, I took out a pocket knife from my back pocket. It was old, but the blade was still sharply alive. Watson’s face turned blue. I pinched the tip of his nose and, without smiling, said coldly.

Watson was so terrified that he could not even shed tears. With his nose tightly pinched, he breathed panting through his mouth and nodded frantically. I tapped the unfolded blade on the bathroom tile and asked.

<Surname.>

Watson made a bewildered expression. I said once more.

<Christopher… Christopher… Moore. It was Moore. Yes, definitely….>

<Se, seventeen? Eighteen? A, around that… We, we were the same age as us….>

Seventeen. Then, Christopher was sold as a prostitute at least by seventeen.

The day I first met the top-floor boys was already more than ten years ago. Nevertheless, the more I dug into their background, the more I shuddered anew at the cruelty instead of becoming numb.

In addition, anger toward Watson, who was shamelessly sitting in front of me, swelled up. Whether once or twice in the past, the guys who had participated in the <Club> were living ordinary lives with normal faces. What about the boys who were dragged to the <Club>? Where are they? Could those boys also be somewhere, enjoying a walk with their dog after work, uploading whatever photos on Instagram, and living?

All those boys are dead. No one survived. No one remembers them. No one looks for them. No one except me does that. With eyes burning with hatred, I glared at Watson. I will find those boys. I will find the deaths that someone hid and buried.

I said while tilting the blade diagonally on the bridge of Watson’s nose.

<W, w, wait… Just a moment, wait a bit….>

Watson stammered with his lips trembling violently.

<Cherry… We called that kid Cherry.>

<Cherry?>

<Also… Also… He was said to be good at swimming, swimming….>

When the blade dug into the bridge of his nose, Watson stiffened his whole body like wax and shed tears silently.

At that moment, Watson bowed his body down and suddenly vomited. I stepped back from him and folded the pocket knife. I had no more business with him. If it was about the club, I already knew enough. What I wanted to find out from him was only about Christopher, and Watson gave answers beyond my expectations.

I left the vomiting Watson alone and moved slowly. I wiped my wet hands, ended the recording app on the cellphone, and hesitated while trying to leave the bathroom. I turned back and steadily looked at Watson, who was crouched on the floor crying. Unlike how I had threatened him a little while ago, I said calmly.

<Dave.>

Watson lifted his head with a ridiculous flailing like he was electrocuted.

<I, I wo, will not, ab, absolutely….>

<The <Club> friends hate people babbling about them.>

I still did not know at all whether the <Club> still exists or who belongs to the <Club>, but I always threatened the guys like this. The guys always succumbed to such threats. Because they know better than anyone about the <Club>.

<Especially, George hates rumors spreading, I hear.>

I left Watson, who was nodding frantically with his jaw trembling, and exited the bathroom.

Even in all the commotion, the dog at the entrance was quietly lying on the floor. When I opened the front door and went out, the dog followed behind, dragging its leash on the floor. When I got on the elevator, it followed and got on too. The dog followed me all the way outside the apartment. At the bus stop, I caught the first bus that arrived. Through the bus window, I looked at the dog sitting at the stop wagging its tail, then turned my head.

The winner of the 7th Oxfordshire County Regional Youth Swimming Competition held in 1996 was Hugh Donwell.

The face of Hugh on the monitor looked much more youthful than what I remembered. He had a medal around his neck and was smiling brightly, revealing white teeth. No one would guess the vicious and brutal nature hidden behind that smile. I stared piercingly at the boy with blue eyes and flushed cheeks, then scrolled down. What I was looking for was not Hugh. When I scrolled down a bit, the list of participants appeared below the award list. I could find his name absurdly easily.

Christopher Moore. Born in 1977. From Chedstone School in Oxfordshire County. There was even a photo included. I was able to see Christopher’s <normal> photo for the first time. The Christopher I knew was only the face in the photo sold to the brothel. When I faced the innocent boy’s face smiling softly at the camera, however, surprisingly, I felt indifferent. I indifferently looked at the cheeks deeply sunken characteristic of a boy entering rapid growth period, the pale complexion, and the slightly shadowed under eyes.

The one I had tracked for eight years had this face. He was straight and neatly handsome, but he was an ordinary boy that one could encounter anytime while walking on the street. The words Watson had mumbled last evening came to mind. <Ordinary, just, an ordinary kid….> It is as he said. He was an <ordinary> boy who could not even imagine a future of being sold to a brothel. I printed Christopher’s photo and left the library.

After that, I stayed in Chedstone for a few days. If I recklessly went to the school and demanded information about Christopher, nine out of ten I would definitely be dragged to the police, so I decided to use the same method I used to find Watson first. I searched all Chedstone School alumni of our age on Facebook. I holed up in a motel for a few days, tapping only on the laptop and searching, but there was almost no information that caught on.

It would look suspicious, but I had no choice but to go around on foot. Actually, this method was not so bad if I just dressed neatly. I should shave my beard first, though. After being cooped up in the room for a few days, I cleanly shaved the beard I had not shaved once and dressed neatly. It would be good to wear glasses or something, but I forgot to buy new ones after leaving them at my ex-girlfriend’s house.

I do not know if I should say thanks to Julia, but anyway, I had an appearance that easily gained favor from people. Occasionally, when I had to face Julia’s face (it was in advertisements), I newly discovered how surprisingly similar she and I looked. If I just trimmed my hair a bit and wore clean clothes, most people did not find me suspicious. Far from finding me suspicious, it was common to meet people who approached me friendly even if I stood still.

I took Christopher’s photo and the first place I went to was the church. But the priest was a new one who had been appointed a few years ago, so he knew nothing about Christopher.

The priest said while shaking his head.

It was disappointing, but I had not placed great expectations either. Instead, I went around to old pubs and restaurants in the vicinity. It was much easier to ask something in pubs. I got a harvest on the fourth day of inquiring around. An old man who had run a pub for a long time remembered the Moore family.

<Ah, I remember. Was the son a swimmer or something like that?>

The man said while pushing a beer glass toward me.

Goosebumps rose all over my body. It was the first clue I had caught one week after arriving in Chedstone.

<Yes, that is right. Christopher Moore. He even participated in regional competitions and such.>

<Yes, that is right. I know, I know. The son of that family. I remember.>

The man scratched his cheek with sparse beard.

<Well, it has been a long time since I heard about those people.>

I asked without even being able to drink the beer due to tension. Instead of answering, the man stared at me intently and asked back.

I casually took a sip of beer and added.

The man leaned his elbow on the bar.

The man seemed to think he had made a slip of the tongue, so a moment later he changed his words. He said it was not a double suicide but . The nuance clearly meant the double suicide he had initially slipped and said.

However, he did not know any more details beyond that. What the cause of the suicide was, where the son moved to, whether any rumors had come after that. It seemed that Christopher had held the funeral alone after his parents’ double suicide and then cleanly disappeared. It was also difficult to probe further. If I seemed suspicious, rumors would just spread unnecessarily, so I had no choice but to say <That is unfortunate> and change the topic.

I sat at the bar and chattered about useless small talk for about an hour before leaving the pub. The late summer evening weather was muggy with a belated heat wave raging. I thrust my hands into my pockets and moved my steps toward the church. After hearing the story of the Moore couple’s double suicide, my chest felt stuffy and uneasy the whole time. I had lived through all sorts of guys over eight years, and even though enough time had passed that I could be numb by now, it was always like this. It was always this ominous and left a bitter taste in my mouth.

The sound of singing flowed out from the church where the evening mass had begun. I went around to the back of the church through the garden. There was a cemetery operated by the church. I scanned the tombstones rising above the well-maintained grass field and strode forward. It did not take long to find the names I wanted.

The year they died was 2000. It was the year Christopher turned twenty-three. It seemed that Christopher had been sold to a brothel and somehow rescued. There was no need to carefully predict the next story. It probably flowed in a typical development. If it was a double suicide, the parents must not have been able to endure the pain. I slowly stroked the tombstone with my fingertips.

A sharp voice came, and I turned around. An old man holding a broom and dustpan stood frowning.

But the old man did not soften his frown. He approached with steps that were unusually fast and wide-striding for his age. Even though he was much shorter than me, he had an ominous aura without any sign of being intimidated. The old man interrogated with an openly suspicious expression.

I pretended to hesitate for a moment and answered.

<Friend?>

The old man snorted.

My ears perked up. My shoulders stiffened involuntarily, but I tried to maintain composure and turned to look at the old man.

Since the old man did not answer and just glared, I asked once more.

The old man snorted once again. But he was not an old man with a tight mouth. He shrugged his shoulders unnecessarily and spat out.

Who is Christine now? Unable to say anything due to the unexpected answer, I just stared at the old man. The old man narrowed his eyes and poked my chest with his fingertip.

It would sound like an excuse, but there was no helping it.

The old man sneered.

The old man mocked with eyes that were unpleasantly blue.

Leaving only those words, the old man abruptly left.

The old man’s name was William Lanson. He had worked as the church and cemetery caretaker for forty-two years. He had lived his entire life as a bachelor, relying only on God, and the only person he properly conversed with was the priest. He received respect from the villagers, but there was no affection or goodwill in it. It turned out he was famous for having a rotten personality.

After observing him for a week, I concluded that no one among the villagers liked the old man. He responded to people who greeted him with nods that felt almost rudely short, and if kids happened to damage the garden by mistake while playing pranks, he would scold them with a scary face as usual. I never saw William smiling even once. He always walked around with a stiff face that looked angry, as if the world would collapse the moment he raised the corners of his mouth even slightly.

In particular, the people he hated the most were outsiders like me. He openly despised and mocked the American accent he detected in me, and every time he found me in the cemetery, he got angry and chased me out. Since the old man hated me so much, I gave up from the beginning on the idea of getting close to him. Instead, I no longer cared about the villagers’ gazes and went to the church every day.

I have never believed in God even once. I have never entered a church to pray either. Therefore, I did not attend the mass. Usually, I sat under the shade of a fig tree planted in the corner of the cemetery and watched William working. William consistently got angry and chased me out for a week, but on Sunday, for some reason, he approached striding without yelling loudly.

Wondering what the old man, who was unusually vigorous today, had heard, he spoke with a face sneering in mockery.

Moreover, he was particularly rude today. As always when he called me Yankee, I replied deliberately friendly.

<Why, Bill.>

William got extremely angry every time I called him Bill, but today was different. He grinned and said.

I lit a cigarette and looked over William’s shoulder. The mass had ended, and people were coming out in groups. Among them, I saw the familiar face of a man. It was the man from whom I had inquired about Christopher’s whereabouts at the pub.

William said triumphantly.

<Hmm….>

I smiled annoyingly at William.

As expected, William exploded in anger. He attached all sorts of nonsense like liars cannot enter the church and so on, and finally drove me out beyond the fence. I greeted the old man who was bursting with rage and turned my steps to have lunch.

Even after that Sunday, I persistently visited the church. By then, I had become somewhat acquainted with the priest and exchanged friendly greetings. The priest seemed to find it amusing that William hated me to the point of showing all sorts of disgust. Needless to say, William jumped in fury at the priest’s lukewarm reaction. The old man began to openly show pettiness.

If I was standing in the garden, he would suddenly hold a hose and start spraying water, if I was sitting on a bench, he would come with a mop and chase me away, and if I was squatting on the church steps, he would sweep my butt vigorously with a broom. That said, I did not just yield to the old man’s pettiness quietly. When the priest invited me to dinner, I shamelessly went to the rectory and took William’s seat, or while the old man was away for a moment, I solved all the crossword puzzles in his newspaper, thus taking moderate revenge.

The relationship changed when I had been frequenting the church for over two weeks. It was a leisurely afternoon when I was sitting on a garden bench, basking in the sun, and dozing off nod by nod. Suddenly appearing William woke me up with a thunderous roar. I yawned and looked at William, and he unexpectedly threw gardening gloves into my arms. I caught the gloves in bewilderment. As I was just staring blankly, the old man raised his eyebrows like a tiger.

The old man, still full of energy, clicked his tongue.

William did not wait for an answer and trudged toward the flower bed. When I just sat on the bench and stared, another roar flew in.

<Yes, yes. I am coming.>

I grinned and got up.

As if he had been waiting, the old man bossed me around all day with all sorts of chores. It seemed like he scraped together every possible task: organizing the flower beds, fertilizing, weeding, mowing the grass, cleaning the church windows, sweeping and mopping the wooden floors, painting the fence, maintaining the tombstones. But William seemed not to have thought that I would do the work that well. Over the past eight years, I had done all sorts of manual labor that there was nothing I had not tried, and I had once participated in church repair work. Therefore, the tasks William assigned were all completed without much difficulty in just half a day.

Finally, I took out the mop from the bucket, wrung out the dirty water, and shook it with a slap slap before hanging it up. By that time, the old man had an expression that was not just exhausted but utterly dumbfounded.

I asked while wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

The old man frowned deeply and glared at me, then said curtly.

Perhaps he felt sorry for making me work to death, because William treated me to an excellent meal. While I sat at the table reeking of sweat, the old man grilled a steak for me. The steak, seasoned only with salt and accompanied by broccoli, mushrooms, and carrots, was excellent. When I devoured it greedily without a word, William clicked his tongue and quickly grilled another steak for me. He was as skilled at cooking as he was at tending to the church duties and garden work. When I cleanly ate up even the last piece of carrot, the old man gave me a glass of wine. The wine was also excellent. However, William was strangely silent throughout the meal, so I followed suit and kept my mouth shut.

After the meal, I got up from my seat. William slowly followed behind me. Since the old man lived in a small house attached to the back of the rectory, we had to cross the cemetery. The sky was already tinged with sunset. I flapped my shirt, which was damp with sweat, as I walked.

<Friend, you say?>

William asked abruptly. When I turned around, the old man was standing a few meters behind. He was looking at a gravestone. I stood side by side next to the old man. It was the Moore couple’s gravestone.

<Yes.>

I answered shortly. William said bluntly.

I stared blankly at the old man’s wrinkled face.

When I thought about it, it was strange. I had said <Christopher>, but he had deliberately corrected it to <Christine>, and while mocking that he was not in his right mind, he did not teach me a single word about him, and upon reflection, it had been suspicious. If he hated me coming to the church, he could have told me about Christopher long ago and chased me away. My purpose was only Christopher. But William acted stubbornly in a strange way.

If I was not Christopher’s friend, there would be no reason for the old man to be this obstinate.

I answered belatedly. My voice cracked without me realizing it.

William asked curtly.

It was something I had never uttered even once after killing George. But for some reason, I said it honestly.

My voice was much more pathetic than I thought. It was unseemly. In that moment, I became absurdly honest, as if I felt some nostalgia from the old man whom I had only known for two weeks.

<Alone… it is hard.>

William let out a low sigh. However, without giving me even a glance, he said.

Silence flowed. Instead of answering, I bowed my head and turned around. When I had not even taken a few steps, the old man’s sharp voice came from behind.

Without turning around, I stood still. William continued heavily.

That night, I could not sleep.

To be honest, I myself had no idea what I wanted to say when I met Christopher. Over the past eight years, I had desperately searched for Christopher, but I had never once thought about what to say if I actually met him. I will think about it next time. Next time, I will organize my thoughts next time. I had always put it off like that.

There were many things I wanted to confess. But I felt like I could not say a single word. There were so many things I had to say, stories I wanted to pour out, questions I wanted to ask, overflowing, but when I tried to utter them, all the words got stuck in my throat. I was afraid that he, whom I had searched for over such a long time, might not be the answer. If I thought that way, if I thought there was no answer even after wandering for this long… emptiness tightened my breath. It was a terribly stuffy and painful night.

After tossing and turning, I finally fell asleep at dawn. When I woke up, it was late afternoon, well past lunchtime. It seemed the fatigue had accumulated thanks to working like an ox yesterday. I stretched fully and prepared slowly. Since he said Christopher usually came around evening to avoid people’s eyes, there was still plenty of time.

After finishing packing my things and even cleaning the entire room, I flopped down on the bed. I took out Christopher’s photo, which I had been carrying in my wallet all along, and looked at it once more. No matter how many times I looked at it again, he was just an ordinary boy. An ordinary boy who could be found anywhere. I was like that too. I was one of those boys. I folded the photo, put it back in my wallet, and got up. There was still a long time until sunset, but I did not want to lie still.

Perhaps because I was tense, my mouth kept getting dry. While walking to the church, I tried to forget about Christopher instead. I no longer worried about what to say first to him. No, I was worried, but I did not ponder it. When I see his face, some words will come out. Anyway, the important thing is to meet him. To meet him and… I stopped my thoughts and rubbed my face dryly. I was anxious.

However, when I arrived at the church, I completely forgot about tension or anxiety or anything like that.

As soon as I stepped into the garden, William, who was tending to the garden work, splashed water on me. Suddenly hit by a water bomb, I was at a loss for words and looked at William. William got terrifyingly angry.

William yelled while even throwing a bucket at me. I caught the bucket in bewilderment, but I was dumbfounded.

<Friend, you say? Friend, you damned bastard!>

In a flash of thought, I dropped the bucket.

<William, did Christopher come?>

William yelled while his body trembled with rage.

My mind went blank. I had missed him right in front of my nose. Because of a ridiculous mistake. Friends from high school, of course if I say that…! However, before I could ask William anything more, he splashed water and yelled, and because of the priest coming out hearing the commotion, I could no longer stay there. As I hurriedly fled the church like escaping, I gritted my teeth at the bone-aching mistake.

The frustration was brief. As I got farther from the church step by step, my heart, which had been pounding hotly, cooled coldly. I could not back down like this. How had I tracked him this far. I could not miss him so absurdly.

I returned to the motel and threw off my wet shirt. If I try to find a way, there is nothing I cannot find. First, I could steal William’s cellphone and mail to find out if he contacts Christopher. If not, I will somehow find out even by threatening that damned old man. I could not miss him again like this. Like this! While biting my lips and punching the wall, I suddenly stopped. The thought I had just had to myself made my body stop. I will find out even by threatening William. I slumped down and sighed.

I must be quite cornered. It is okay. Let us think of another way. Have I not always done that. Hitting a dead end is a familiar thing. Still, now it was much better than before. It is just that the frustration is great because I missed him right in front of my nose. I have found out Christopher’s surname, his hometown, his school of origin, and I even have a photo from his childhood, and moreover, I know that he is called <Christine>….

<Christine>.

If Christopher has been living all along under the name <Christine>, and has been cross-dressing or living after gender transition…

I jumped up. I roughly put on my wet shirt, grabbed my duffel bag, and left the motel. I immediately caught a bus leaving the village. It took only twenty minutes to leave Chedstone, where I had stayed for nearly a month. With this much clue, I might be able to find Christopher’s traces in Newkontan. Pressing William can be done even after that.

Newkontan was a place name that George had let slip eight years ago. George had once said he sold Christopher to a brothel in Newkontan. But I had never heard of a city called Newkontan anywhere. Neither in America nor in England was there a city by that name. I found out where Newkontan was while tracking down the <Club> members one by one. The guy did not know Christopher, but he knew the name of a famous male brothel district.

That was exactly Newkontan. Newkontan was the term referring to the male brothel district in the back alleys of Portsmouth. As soon as I found out where Newkontan was, I went there right away. However, even while fighting like dogs with the pimps and inquiring around by finding old male prostitutes, I could not catch even a clue about Christopher. At that time, the information I had was almost none. A boy in his late teens sold around 1996, all I knew was the name Christopher. There was no way I could find him. But this time is different.

I knew Christopher’s age, year of birth, hometown, his nicknames <Christine> and <Cherry>, and I even had a photo. This time, I will be able to find a clue in Newkontan. It was certain. I even felt a certain conviction. As soon as I arrived in Oxford, I bought a train ticket to Portsmouth. I could arrive by at least ten in the evening. And that time was perfect for visiting a male brothel district.

Brothel districts are bound to be near ports. I do not know when or where this custom started, but anyway, Newkontan was also near the port. When I got out of the taxi, the smell of the sea wafted strongly. I crossed the avenue lined with pubs and restaurants with quick steps. Perhaps because the weather was good, there were many people. There were also some tourists taking photos.

While mixing in with the people and walking, I slyly slipped into a secluded alley. After turning the bustling alleys several times, at some point, tourists are no longer visible. Families out together also disappear. Women are no longer seen either. At some moment, I end up walking side by side with men who hunch their shoulders and walk quickly. If I walk like that, I encounter a crossroads crowded with inns and small pubs that have a completely different atmosphere from the main street. That place is exactly Newkontan.

Just because it is a male brothel district, there was nothing particularly different from other places. There were no cases of soliciting on the street. In the past, skinny young men used to sit on the roadside, rolling and smoking marijuana while waiting for customers, but that was something from the nineties, and now it does not operate that way. Ordinary dressed men walked around the streets. There were almost no women. Men dressed like women were quite common.

I carefully observed the cross-dressed men whom I had not paid attention to before. But it was difficult to recognize their features. The photo of Christopher I had was from more than fifteen years ago. It would be hard to recognize even if they walked around bare-faced, let alone finding the boy’s face from back then in faces with wigs and makeup. I did not intend to stupidly search by looking at each face one by one from the beginning, but it was true that I had hoped for some luck, so I felt a bit regretful.

On the surface, I stopped in front of a strip club that looked like one where heterosexual men would frequent. The bronze strip club sign was a female silhouette sitting with her chest thrust forward and legs spread. The name of the strip club was <Moulin Rouge>. Moulin Rouge, what the hell, what nonsense. I flung open the door and entered. Fitting for a male brothel district, Moulin Rouge was a strip club where male singers and dancers performed. Instead, all the men on stage cross-dressed.

As soon as I entered the strip club, the loud volume of music made my chest feel tightly pressed. Through the flashy blinking lights and laser beams shooting on the walls and floor, cross-dressed dancers were dancing seductively on the brilliantly decorated stage. While strolling inside the club, I scanned the men sitting around the stage one by one. Among the guys drinking and chattering, the person I was looking for was not visible. I turned my steps toward the bar.

After coming back after a few years, the bartenders had all changed in the meantime. But luckily, the man I had been searching for until now was in the middle of flirting with one bartender. I strode over. I dropped my duffel bag on the floor as if throwing it and first grabbed the guy’s nape. The bartender saw me and shouted something. I pretended not to hear because the music was loud. I tightly grabbed his nape, turned the man around to sit him, and spoke friendly.

Author's Thoughts

There are numerous stimulating scenes involving rape, gang rape, violence, abuse, and drugs. Please practice discretion as you proceed.

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