Chapter Forty - Asako Kato
CHAPTER FORTY
Asako Kato
ASAKO STUMBLED FOR words, her heart hammering in her chest as Mr. Archie’s gaze lingered on her. She wasn’t sure which was sharper, his eyes on her or the creases in his uniform. She had barely managed to stammer out a half-hearted excuse about misplacing her notebook.
“Funny thing about these doors,” he said stepping towards her and handing her the mop handle. Reaching for his retractable key chain, “They’re old, and the lock doesn’t always catch.” With a quick jingle of his keys, he found the proper key and stepped closer to the lock. The key chain gave a quiet thwip as he retracted them.
Asako blinked at him, her mind scrambling to find the words. Before she could muster a reply, he inserted the key into Bellamy’s lab door and turned it with a soft click, he pushed the door open.
“What? How? Why?” She stammered, taking a step back, her journalist instincts overridden by sheer confusion.
Mr. Archie turned to her and gave her a wink, taking the mop handle back from Asako. “Some stories are worth telling,” he said cryptically. He looked amused, a faint smile on his lips. He stepped towards the middle of the hall and began pushing the mop back down the hall.
Asako stood frozen at the entrance, the open door beckoned her.
“What you’re looking for is probably on the bookshelf. But that would just be a guess,” Mr. Archie said casually, his voice echoed down the hall, and she heard his keys jingle softly as he disappeared around the corner.
Asako shook her head in disbelief. What had just happened? Had the janitor just opened the door for her and told her where to look? She had seen some strange things in the last few weeks, but this was definitely top of the list.
She grabbed the handle and stepped into the deserted lab. The space was dimly lit, illuminated solely by the screensavers of computer monitors The office smelled of that familiar industrial cleaner. She quickly scampered across the lab space and towards the back where Bellamy’s office was. She held her breath hoping he didn’t lock the inner door to his office, she reached again for the door handle and twisted it.
Unlocked. She stepped forward into his private office space off the back end of the lab. The office smelled faintly of wood polish and old books. There was a tinge of cigarette smoke as well. Grabbing her phone, she clicked on the phone’s flashlight and began scanning the space. She started with the obvious — desk drawer, and filing cabinets, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Frustration started to bubble up as she rifled through the neat stacks of papers and folders.
“Where are you hiding your secrets, Bellamy?” she muttered.
The bookshelf. How had she already forgotten Mr. Archie’s prompt? She quickly stepped across the office towards the towering book shelves, using the light of her phone she scanned the shelves — they were lined with psychology textbooks, statistics manuals, and old volumes of academic journals.
She ran her fingers along the spines of books. Some books appeared to be untouched, their bindings stiff. Then her hand brushed against a book that felt slightly off as if hollow. She pulled it out revealing a slim notebook tucked behind it.
Her pulse quickened as she flipped it open. The pages were written with small but neat penmanship. She clicked her phone’s camera on and started snapping photos of the pages. Each page revealed dry data, case studies, drawings of brains, and handwritten charts of numbers. She flipped through the pages, wondering if her breaking and entering was beginning to become a colossal waste of time. Flipping the page once more, her breath hitched as a note slipped out. This wasn’t anything scientific, it was something else. A series of symbols, ancient, and crude, drawn in a pattern that seemed purposeful, chaotic. She clicked her phone’s button, the camera grabbing a photo.
Alongside the symbols, written in Bellamy’s precise handwriting:
The Five Anchors: Those who embody Mind, Heart, Sight, Will, and Voice shall challenge the cycle. When the final bond is forced, the Watcher shall bow, and the Weaver shall unravel.
Below it, a hasty scrawling in red ink: “Summit dig, 1979: Confirmation of connection to prehistoric worship site? Same symbols found near the campus fountain? Why here?”
Asako’s heart pounded as she clicked more photos. Her eyes fell on a photograph paper-clipped to the page, a blurry image of a stone table unearthed during an archaeological dig. The tablet bore the same symbol.
Behind the photo was written, in more hasty scrawl: Local legend speaks of a ‘timeless game’ played by gods and mortals alike.
Words echoed in Asako’s head, “Some stories are worth telling.” What story was he talking about? What was it that Bellamy had discovered with this?
As she continued snapping photos, her phone buzzed revealing a message from Sil Clearwater.
I’m in town this evening reviewing a potential placement. Happy to meet for a late coffee? Are you available in about 20 minutes?
Asako gritted her teeth, this woman refused to answer any messages or phone calls until now. Then only give Asako twenty minutes? She wanted to dive into the notes in the journal, but that would have to wait.
I’ll be there. Meet at 24-hour diner near campus, be there in 20.
She replied and then sped through snapping photos of the rest of the notes in Bellamy’s notebook. Quickly, she replaced it in the hollowed-out book and set it gently back in its spot on the books shelf.
Every part of her wanted to review those notes, the quote five anchors rattled around in her head over and over again. But that would have to wait. Swiftly, she scanned Bellamy’s office to ensure nothing had been disturbed. Then quietly, she closed his office door and made her way out of the lab.
Soon, she was exiting the Henderson building and walking across campus, fat snowflakes had started to fall. They were wet and heavy, she looked up at the sky, large dark clouds hung lower over the campus. Her boots clacked beneath her as she quickened her pace to the diner.
It was at least a fifteen-minute walk from her present location. She knew she had one chance to meet with Sil Clearwater. Asako’s last message must have gotten Sil’s attention.
Please, I’m looking for answers about my sister, Izumi Kato .
Asako knew it was cheap to use her sister, she felt cheap doing it, but it was the last card she had to play to get Sil’s attention. It appeared to have worked.
Asako was nearly jogging now, the cold air stung her lungs. She needed to get her head in the game, so Asako began rehearsing the questions she would ask Sil.
The first one, What happened to my sister?