Kokone was dead.

She was drenched in a pool of her own blood. The gash on her neck was deep. The killer struck fast and mercilessly. Then again, Shiro thought as he stared at the scene, anything short of a deathbed would make a murder merciful.

An open window pane helplessly slammed back and forth, guided by outside’s raging winds.

“Izuru and I found the body.” The journalists explained to the rest. “We bumped into each other in the hallway. Being that we were, uh, both starving, we decided to go to the kitchen. I know, I know – given everything we discussed before, it might not have been the best move. But if he didn’t kill me, hunger would’ve.” He shrugged. “Anyway, we’d just gone through the door to the east hallway when we spotted the door to Kokone’s room slam shut. A scream followed soon after. The door was locked, so we broke it down. And – there she was.”

Makoto stared at the window. “Looks like our killer was in a rush. This was fifteen minutes ago or so? Great. Tsujiko, me and Ms. Hinata bumped into each other in the game room half an hour or so ago. We stayed there until we heard you guys scream.”

Kaede nodded. “True enough. Tsujiko was the last to arrive, but she was definitely there when you witnessed what you witnessed. She wasn’t that far behind me, either.”

“Just goes to show quickly it took me to beat you in pool.” Makoto pointed out.

“Now isn’t the time.” Kaede said promptly. “In any case, as things stand, we’re unfortunately left with an obvious suspect.”

“The coma guy.” Shiro murmured. “Still, I thought he was in the cleared for what happened in the Club Room?”

“It’s foolish to assume the existence of a single culprit. Or the idea that these murders aren’t being orchestrated by two independent parties.” Kaede argued.

The journalist shrugged. “Well, you’re the mystery author, I guess.”

“I checked him not that long ago, though.” Tsujiko insisted. “I’m telling you. He wasn’t in the shape to do any of this.”

“I’m afraid I can’t trust the judgment of someone that isn’t a doctor.” Kaede told her.

Tsujiko looked at the door. It had two locking mechanisms to it. The first was the standard lock, requiring a key. Directly above it was a deadbolt, similar to the one Tsujiko had in her own room. They were fairly new – vertical for unlocking, horizontal for locking. Looking at the side of the door, both of the locks seemed to have been broken.

“Looks like the door was locked with the key and deadbolt…” she murmured. The key to the door was on the floor, on the other side of the room. It was the key to the room – no doubt about it, given the engraving on it.

Tsujiko touched the deadbolt. She felt something sticky on her fingertips.

“What is it?” Makoto asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Probably nothing.”

< A section of you is missing. >

They kissed in the darkness of the storage closet. Albeit not the worst place either of them had done such a thing, nor the best one they had available, it seemed like the only fitting place now, given the murderer roaming their halls. Kokone was attacked in her own bedroom. None of them were safe.

In his arms, however, Tsujiko did manage to find some semblance of safety.

“Well? Give it some more thought?” he grinned, his teeth shining in the dark.

“Let’s not talk about that right now, okay?” she whispered.

“I love you.” he said.

“I… I know.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “I’m sorry. This is all just a bit sudden for me.”

“You only live once, you know.”

“Which is precisely why I don’t want to rush this.”

“Do I look like the type of guy to drive us off into a ditch?”

“I don’t know. You’ve got the hands of a bad driver?”

“Whaa? How can you tell that just by hands? Are they tiny? I’ve always known they’re tiny.”

She giggled.

He kissed her again.

“I can’t believe I found you.” he said.

She kissed him.

As long as he didn’t talk about the past, it was okay.

< Section is missing. >

Izuru paced up and down the parlor, much to Shiro’s annoyance. He understood the man’s trauma of seeing his co-worker dead. But he also understood he was hungry, and that Shiro was the only one who knew best how to operate the damn kitchen.

“I don’t understand.” The butler muttered. “I-I don’t! How could this happen? I—She—Listen. I understand what im-impression she might’ve given over the past few hours. And I don’t know what’d gotten into her. I really don’t. But she was a good girl. A sweet girl. She always did her best. I-I know I sometimes yelled at her. I know I was sometimes harsh, I know was unfair, I know I was—I was a terrible person to her and I wish I—” His voice quivered. “For was so young! T—To be killed like that, I—”

Shiro cleared his throat. “Izuru.”

“The old men, I could understand. I mean, it still feels senseless, but I could understand how you’d want to gather those rich bastards in a room and go to town with them, you know?! But why her? What the hell was the point of attacking her?”

“The killer could just be trying to pick us off one by one.” Shiro pointed out.

“Then WHY haven’t we all barricaded ourselves in a room yet?! At least then, th—the killer might be put off by the power in numbers!”

“If there are two killers, then it becomes 3 v 2. Those aren’t bad odds.”

Izuru stared at the journalist. “Is it you? Did you do it?”

“What?”

The butler grabbed the journalist by the collar, pulling him out of the armchair “DID. YOU. DO IT?”

“What the hell?! N-No! I—I’m not the killer!” Shiro yelled.

“How does a journalist get here, huh? How could you possibly have enough money to stay a night here, let alone a whole week? You think I’m stupid? You think I’m just gonna let you kill me like you killed her?” Izuru’s fist came down on the journalist’s face.

“S-Someone help!”

“Yeah. Yeah, get your killer body to help you.” Izuru pushed Shiro away, slamming him against the ground.

“F—For crying out loud—”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m—Calm down! Just stop! I’m researching the plane! The plane!” Shiro tried desperately to catch his breath. The butler was proving far stronger than he first appeared.

“What plane?”

“A plane c—crash-landed on this island a decade or so ago, didn’t it?! The Phantom Flight?! You have to know about it!” Shiro used the coffee table as support. “Flight 879! Remember? Got lost on the way to Perth an—”

“Yeah, I know the flight, what of it?”

“People said the reason it crashed was—was because this island emitted some kind of electromagnetic field that tampered with the plane’s systems. I looked back and realized there were three other missing flights that disappeared whenever they had to adjust their route to go over this island. There’s something here. And I’m trying to find it. That’s why I’m here. I swear. That’s the whole story. My—My paper paid for everything. Please don’t hurt me. Just—”

“Stop!” Izuru exclaimed.

But Shiro had already sprung back. “—Just leave me alone!”

Under different circumstances, Izuru would have maybe chased after him.

But he was hungry.

So hungry.

< Come now. Try to remember your past form. >

Kaede shook the stranger. As hard as it might’ve been to admit it, he really did seem to be out cold. His body felt limp, in spite of the occasional shivering.

Makoto stood by the window as Tsujiko tended to Shiro.

“Guy’s lost his marbles.” Makoto proclaimed. “I told you. I told you not to hang around him.”

“He’s just upset. He’s hurt. I get it.” Shiro sighed. “He… definitely communicated the pain.” He flinched. “Ow.”

“Hold still.” Tsujiko told him.

“I’m—Ow—Trying.”

Makoto shook his head. “One punch and you fold like broken glass.”

“Psh.” Shiro rolled his eyes. “I’d like to see you take a punch from him. If it turned me to glass, it’ll send you to a different dimension, pretty boy.”

“Well,” Makoto smiled, “at least you agree I’m pretty.”

Kaede cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I’ll have to concede that the stranger couldn’t have pulled off any of the killings. For one reason and one reason alone.”

All eyes turned to her. Someone said: “Which is?”

“I’m fairly certain this man is paralyzed from the waist-down.”

< Section is missing. >

Izuru sat slumped in the parlor. Alone and defeated. He didn’t want to die on this island. Yet, the fact that Kokone was dead made him feel as if he should. It was a funny thing, the way fate worked.

He shouldn’t have punched the journalist. It was stupid. Even if everyone got out of it – even if it had all been the work of an intruder – he was now likely to lose his job.

He chuckled.

He cried.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey.

He cried some more.

He threw the glass away.

He took a swig from the bottle itself.

He got up.

He went to Kokone’s room.

He stared at the corpse.

He thought about dying.

He thought about all the words he’d never got to say.

He thought about her eyes.

He glanced at her bookshelf.

He noticed something was odd with one of the books.

He pulled it out.

It wasn’t a book at all. It was merely a hardcover – the actual pages had all been seemingly ripped out.

He took another swig from the bottle.

The cover read:

‘The Strange Tale of Beatnik Island’ by Itouikukuro.