1st of September 2008, 2.00 am, Hiroshima prison

Two hours after midnight. A lonely ray of moonlight was falling on the dirty, mossy wall, having made its way through the barred window, too tiny and too high to actually enable anyone to see out. For a while, the sole inhabitant of the skimpy place, whose eyes were blankly staring into the ground, could observe a shadow play in the dust. His flourishing fantasy immediately started to process them – a flaming kirin, king of the animals, who, when the moonlight changed its direction, shape-shifted into a horned cat, licking its paw, who then changed into a snake protecting its twitching egg, then into an eagle, furiously beating its wings like if in haze, then into an open gate from which something looming, dark and uncertain was coming out, but it never really took form, for the single ray was suddenly extinguished by a cloud. Then, there was darkness.

Mana closed his eyes, for there was nothing to see, and curled up into a ball, searching for a position in which his sharp hipbones would stop hurting. It was in vain. The wooden bench was simply too hard. The thin pillow and patched blanket, that might have provided him with a tiny bit of comfort, lay neatly folded at his feet, untouched. Outside, a violent storm began to rage, bringing along a wisp of coldness, yet Mana would rather freeze to death than touch the possibly unwashed beddings. For all he knew, they could have even contained fleas or worse vermin. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and tried to recall how soft the silk of his bed sheets at home had felt against bare skin, how the air had always been fresh, breathing with vanilla, magnolia and lime fruit, how his body would sink into the mattress when he laid down, how he could fall asleep to the sound of music instead of thunder. Somehow, all of that seemed so long ago and so far away that, even though he had still been able to enjoy all those comforts only a day before, he felt like if they had never been real. Like if all his life so far was but a dream and this cell the only reality, overwhelming and unchangeable.

That´s the end of the band, Mana thought, soon people will know, remember and judge. He sincerely hoped that the boys would be able to find jobs, although it was rather unlikely – their connection with him, their boss, author, mentor, producer, and yes, friend, was too close. People would always suspect, create theories about how they must have known all, must have helped Mana, must have tried to provide fake alibi for him, must have been as evil as the man who had discovered them and whom they owed so much. What he had done, and what he had not done, would forever close the door… and Takeru… poor Takeru. They would have to let him go, they would just have to… he was innocent! The others might not have known it was all over yet, but they would read it in the morning paper, or hear it on the news, or in the streets. Mana was certain the media would be full of him the following day and perhaps many days after. Soon enough, everyone would wish him a death sentence.

It doesn´t matter. Nothing really matters, he tried to persuade himself, mulling the last thought in his head over and over in the rhythm of the regular beats of raindrops against the windowpane, which where rapidly growing in speed, no   -  thing  - mat  -  tters, no–thing–mat–ters, no-thing-mat-ters, nothing matters, nothingmatters, nothingmatters, nothingmatters, notthingmattersnothingmattersnotthingmattersnothingmatters, until he finally fell asleep.

 1st of September 2008, 7.30 am, Hiroshima prison

„Manabu-san“ Mana´s eyes snapped open instantly, like those of a doll, as he awoke with a start- He hadn´t heard the creaking of the heavy door, yet it gaped open and a female policist, accompanied by a bulky guard, stood framed in it. „If you would follow me“, the woman invited him with a gesture that was in fact a strict order, and they both knew that, but neither of them showed it – he out of pride, she out of respect she had for him. As the guitarist slowly rose in full daylight and made his way out of the cell, it was strikingly obvious to her just how much he didn´t belong there. There was nothing aggressive in him, all the menace washed away along with his gothic make-up, and his white skin stood out strangely against the peeling walls and his simple, dark orange shirt and pants. The clothing he wore were obviously too big for him, so big that the shirt slid down when he moved and exposed one of his shoulders, which made him look even tinier and more fragile. As he trailed after the policist, he couldn´t help but notice the eyes following him from the tiny barred holes in the door of every single cell. Some of them were genuinely curious, some simply bored, some full of hatred, some eyed him with slight concern and  in some, there was… lust, hunger. Those scared him the most.

The office room she lead him too was too familiar, not in a good way – the previous day, he had spent ages in it, with no outcome at all. How many interrogations would it take until they realized he had nothing to tell? Mana was beyond excellent at keeping secrets and equally good at keeping silence. In this case, he also disposed of such an enormous level of determination, that every attempt of the policemen to pry information out of him was lost before they managed to voice it. Of course, they had to keep trying, using various psychological methods. Mana saw it like a power game of sorts, and hell knows he never liked to lose.

They let him lower himself into the chair and then, to his surprise, the young woman left the room in a rush. There was another policeman in the room, who however appeared to be very busy with something, rustling with papers in the drawer, turning his back to Mana. It almost looked like no one was watching him, like if he could simply walk away, but the guards were certainly waiting just outside the door to put him back in place, had he attempted that. He was being ignored strategically, Mana realized, they were giving him the silent treatment to increase the suspense, to make him feel nervous. It wasn´t exactly working, on the contrary – being allowed to spend some time outside of the cell with nothing to do was definitely a plus for him. The policeman must have noticed, because he eyed his prisoner suspiciously and then sat down at the table, across from Mana. He pressed a button on the side of the table and immediately his young female colleague re-entered, carrying a thick folder under her arm.

„For your own good, I hope you will be more talkative today“, the man started, aiming the table lamp painfully into Mana´s sensitive eyes. „Where is he?“ Mana silently blinked. „What is his real name, Mr. Manabu? We closely collaborated with our French colleagues, but didn´t succeed in finding any evidence of any living person under the name of Étienne Deveroux.“  Mana didn´t move. Somehow, this didn´t surprise him, but he couldn´t provide an answer to that question, even if he wanted to. „And the note“, the man added impatiently, „we need to know what it means.“ With that, he pushed a piece of paper, scribbled over with messy handwriting in a dirty red color that didn´t seem to be ink, over the table towards Mana. It was the first thing that seemed to capture the prisoner´s attention and he leaned over to take a closer look. The note was written in French, words equally distributed one per line. From top to bottom, it read:

London

Paris

Rome

Athens

Venice

New York

Sydney

Helsinki

San Francisco

Budapest

Berlin

Hiroshima

Las Vegas

City of light

FOREVER

 
„Are you to meet in some of the places? Is it a secret code? Tell me how to read it.“ The guitarist shook his head, running a slightly pink tongue over his lips like a thirsty cat. „Would you like something to drink?“ the female policist asked, concerned, and when he nodded, she brought him a glass of water with ice. They both watched him finish it, as if a drinking man was something they had never seen before. Then the girl took it from his hands and refilled it. As she placed it back on the table, her hand brushed over his for half of a second.

„You have to be reasonable“, she said with a voice that might have as well been used for calming down a rabid animal before it would receive the lethal shot, „it only takes two murders to get the death sentence here in Japan. The best thing you can do now to save yourself is to admit you have been deceived by this madman and tell us all you know. Then you can hope for a mild judgment.“ He lowered his eyes with what might have been incorrectly perceived as shame, while in fact he simply could not stand the sharp artificial light. „Do you have a sister?“ she insisted, knowing he did have one, „parents, cousins? You do, don´t you? Would you like to see them like THIS?!“ With that, she opened the folder she had brought and he found himself looking into it against his will.

There were photos, many photos of dead bodies, some taken in the morgue, the corpses hidden under a blanket with only the head sticking out, though even that was a scary sight already, as some of the heads were already rotting, missing eyes, or bulging because they had been in the water for a good month. Other photos were showing the deceased exactly on the place where they had been found: being pulled out of the river, from under piles of trash in dark side streets in the red light district, laying on the street, burnt nearly - but not entirely – to ashes. He had to close his eyes altogether, otherwise the water might have come up again. „If you close your eyes, the reality won´t cease to exist“, the woman added gently. She was good, Mana had to give her that, very good even, but his motivation was too strong. He would rather see himself dead than betray all he believed in.

The male policist sighed. „Let’s start from the beginning. When and under which conditions have you met the person who calls themselves Étienne Deveroux for the first time?“ And of course, Mana would not say anything aloud, but he knew that he would remember the day in question forever, till the end of all times.