Old Fumiko stared at us for far too long.

She didn't say anything. She barely blinked. Her eyes looked... empty. Not in that poetic way of someone lost. Truly empty. As if she'd left something important behind and now only the shell remained.

Yuki shoots me a glance. That look like "what the hell is going on here?" Then she turns her eyes back to Fumiko, trying to stay polite.

— Can we come in, Mrs. Fumiko?

— Come in...? — she repeats, as if the word hurt. — Inside... yes. It's... it's safe. You can come in... now.

She turns and walks slowly. Each step seems like an effort. As if her body still wanted to stay still. Yuki and I follow her in, and as soon as we cross the threshold, the smell hits us.

Rotten.

It was like the house was decaying from the inside out. A rancid, damp, acidic stench... it made you want to back out immediately. Crumbs on the floor, furniture overturned, curtains hanging as if they'd been ripped down in some fight — or some breakdown.

I'd seen this before. When I lost Emi, I trashed my own apartment. Grief is like that. Sometimes the body explodes when the mind can't take it anymore. But there... something was different. Fumiko didn't seem grieving. She seemed absent. Detached.

She approaches an armchair flipped over on the floor. Calmly, she rights it. Then she stares at the furniture for a while, as if waiting for it to speak to her.

— You... want to sit? Here... it's a good spot... I think.

The smile that comes with the words isn't welcoming at all. It's tense. Forced. Almost a cry for help disguised as kindness. I nod and sit in the chair. Yuki chooses the newly uprighted armchair.

Fumiko keeps watching us. The same smile. The same stiffness. It was like being in a theater where the actress forgot her lines and just kept smiling to buy time.

— We came to talk about your husband's disappearance. — I say, getting straight to the point.

— Would you like some coffee? — she replies, with a sudden excitement that doesn't match anything at all.

My mind freezes. Did she hear what I said?

Is she trying to pretend everything's normal? Or is this some kind of denial? Yuki gets uncomfortable too and tries to stay on track:

— We'd like to know when you last saw your husband?

— I... I'll make coffee. You like coffee, right? Everyone likes it... — Fumiko says, completely ignoring the question.

She heads to the kitchen. Hurrying. Almost excited. Like she'd been triggered by an automatic command.

Yuki leans toward me and whispers:

— I think she's totally nuts.

— That's not a "think." It's a certainty. — I reply dryly.

— Are we really going to get any info out of her? Or are we gonna have to exorcise her?

I think it over. But before any idea forms, Fumiko is back with two cups. That smile persists. Firmer. More unnerving.

She hands over the coffee.

The smell hits me before the sight. Something wrong. Way too wrong. When I look into the cup, my stomach turns.

Chunks.

At first, I don't know what it is. Yuki's eyes widen, almost letting out a scream. I get it. There, floating in the thin black coffee... were pieces of raw meat. Chicken pieces.

Yuki swallows her anger. She's about to say something, but I raise my hand in a discreet gesture, and she gets it.

Not here. Not now.

— Thank you for the coffee... now, about Takeuchi Masanori. What was he doing the last time you saw him? — I ask.

— We were arguing in the park nearby, two streets from here. — Fumiko answers coldly, automatically. Like a recording.

Then she smiles. Wider. But something drips from the corner of her mouth. Dark saliva, thick, with an acidic smell like spoiled vinegar. It was identical to Masanori's slime, only... weaker, as if it was still forming.

That was enough for me. We weren't going to get anything useful there. Just more questions.

I stand up.

— Well, I think we're heading out... Thank you for your time.

— You're welcome, bad man... I'll see you again.

The smile stretches as if her skin might tear. It chilled me to the bone. That wasn't just a weird comment. It was... personal. There was something there. Something that saw right through me.

I signal to Yuki, and we leave together.

Outside, the air felt cleaner, even with the cloudy sky and the growing cold. Still, we didn't want to leave the car near the house. Fumiko seemed too unhinged. Better to keep our distance.

Even though the park was right there, we decided to drive. For safety. Just in case she decided to follow us, or worse... who knows. That woman had already crossed several lines in my head.

We drive in silence. Yuki stares out the window, lost in thought. I keep my eyes on the road, but my mind is still inside that house. The black drool. The inhuman smile. The rotting smell.

Arriving at the park, we park the car on a side street and get out.

The place is deserted. No one. Just wind, trees, and lonely benches. The kind of silence that makes noise.

Yuki looks at me.

— So, what do you expect to find, old man?

— I don't know yet. I need to check here. And you, stop slacking and look for clues too.

She makes her usual pouty face. But she starts looking around.

We spend some time searching the park. Nothing special. Until, at a nearby shop, something catches my eye.

A camera.

A security camera perfectly positioned. Pointing straight at the park.

My eyes light up. Maybe... maybe we can see that couple's argument.

Maybe we'll see something Fumiko didn't tell us. Or didn't want to tell us.

Or... something she doesn't even remember anymore.