They should have put her on a closed ward with iron bars over the windows, not an open one where she could come and go freely. They should have put her in a straitjacket and pumped her full of medicine to make her happy. But because they hadn’t, Misaki had left the hospital. She was heading back to the town where she’d been born. She was likely going there to die.

I remembered the discussion we’d had a good while ago:

“Tsuburaya, the runner, apparently went home to the countryside right before he died. Then, he ate grated yam with his mother and father, it says.”

“Hm.”

“I guess everyone wants to return to their hometown before they die, after all.”

That was probably true. Misaki, too, must have started wanting to return to her hometown. She likely intended to dive into the sea from the tall, sheer cliffs at the cape, where she’d said she often played. It wasn’t going to be that easy, though. Now that I had found her suicide note and the train schedule, her luck had run out.

As far as I could tell from looking at the notes marked on the schedule, Misaki had boarded the train only an hour or so before. If I chased after her, I should be able to make it in plenty of time. I knew where she was headed, and on top of that, I had money. If I used taxis for part of the trip, I might even reach the destination before Misaki. There wasn’t any reason for me to worry.

On the night train, I opened a map, purchased at a bookstore along the way. I looked for that cape—the one where Misaki said she often played when she’d been little. Here it is. The map showed only one cape near her hometown, so this had to be it.

Misaki probably had boarded the train that had departed right before mine. Mixed in with people returning home for the year’s end, she likely was heading for the town where she’d been born, toward the cape known as a famous suicide spot. However, she didn’t know that I was following her.

I wouldn’t let her escape. I was certain to catch up with her. On that point, at least, I wasn’t worried. The problem lay elsewhere.

When I found Misaki, what should I say to her?

I understood her suffering, if only a little bit. It was just the very tip of her pain; even so, I could imagine it to some degree. She probably felt trapped, as though shed run out of options. And her pain would never, ever disappear, not in her entire life.

Of course, that was natural. In a way, her pain was common to all mankind. It was an ordinary suffering. Everyone is troubled by similar feelings. I, too, was troubled by them.