A gunshot sound blasts through the long hallways of the school. The science professor just blew his head off, and a great commotion takes over the classroom; the students are hysterical, screaming and bursting out of the place at the face of such horrendous action. Most of the girls start crying, and others throw up; what they want the most is to get out of there. A stampede forms in seconds, full of students trying to flee as fast as possible. No one foresaw this—a teacher taking his life in front of the class. What kind of sick, twisted person would do something like that? And the real question is, why?
Akasha: Guty, let's get out of here!
Guty: I must stay here, wait until everyone gets out so you are not crushed by the crowd.
Just like everybody else, Akasha is in shock; her body is trembling, and tears pour down her face. This scene is not for the faint of heart.
Akasha: Why do you have to stay?
Guty: I have to take care of something…
Once most students leave the room, I tell Akasha to leave and walk her to the door so she may leave calmly. After she leaves, I go back to the death scene. I walk over to the professor's corpse lying on the floor. I examine the weapon he used to take his life: a .45 caliber Colt M1911 handgun, single action, semi-auto. This particular weapon was the standard issue sidearm for the United States Army from 1911 until 1985. Designed by John Moses Browning at the Colt factory before the Second World War, this weapon is hard to come by, even more so in Japan. Some criminal group must have imported it.
After some time, a group of teachers accompanied by the school principal enters the room. Their reaction is quite different from the students': anguished faces, horrified screams, bursts of tears. Everyone seems truly impressed by the scene.
Guty: Principal… is there something about this teacher that I should know?
Principal: He used to get angry fast, and whenever he disagreed with something, he would wrathfully protest. On many occasions, I sent him to the school's therapist. Thanks to this, his overall humor and stress levels improved drastically. I really don't know when he had this horrendous downfall.
Guty: The school has its own psychologist?
Principal: Of course, it is part of the protocol to have one inside the premises.
Guty: I see… Where can I find them?
Principal: His office is located on the second floor, just beside the stairs.
Guty: Thank you. I'll go visit him… hopefully, he can provide information about the teacher's mental state.
Principal: Unfortunately, he's gone already. He usually checks out earlier than the rest of the teachers; if you want to find him, it's best to be here early tomorrow.
Guty: Fine, tomorrow then.
Principal: Classes are over for the day; you may leave if you want to, Agent Guty.
Guty: Thank you, Sir. By the way, I need to check all the medical certificates of this class's students.
Principal: I will give you my password so you can access the records online.
Guty: Excellent. See you tomorrow then.
While I make my way to the exit, I notice the school bus is gone. I will have to take a taxi home. Despite it being 3 p.m., it is cold outside; Japan is freezing during the winter for someone from hot weather like me.
A taxi arrives after 15 minutes. I indicate the address to the driver, and he acknowledges it and starts driving. Today was a hard day at school; two people died—one student, one teacher. The cause of the professor's suicide is still unknown. I hope tomorrow will bring answers. A death like this leaves a lot to think about, while the other death was even more alarming—hacked to pieces with a machete, without a single witness. Hard to believe.
Cab Driver: Sir, we have arrived.
Guty: Thank you. Here you go.
Cab Driver: Have a good day.
Guty: Likewise.
I get out of the taxi and walk to my apartment. It's a long way up the stairs, but I've never really cared. As I get closer to my apartment door, I search for my keys. My stomach growls—I am starving. Once I eat, I'll look at the students' medical records; there are 40 of them. A big task ahead.
I go inside, leave my backpack on the couch, and sit down, staring into the ceiling.
Guty: Ah… I needed a rest…
I relax on the sofa, but my stomach demands food. I face a tough choice: stay resting or go make dinner.
Guty: Hmmm? Has this place always been this quiet?
The apartment is unusually silent. I walk around, looking for anomalies, but everything appears untouched. Maybe I'm just tired and paranoid.
Guty: A steak would be nice…
After enjoying my meal, I head to the sink and notice something.
Guty: Hmm? Why has the sink stopped dripping?
Last night, I heard the leak clearly. I didn't use the sink this morning. Why would it stop suddenly?
Something is wrong.
I rush to check the bedroom window, but my legs fail me. My head spins.
Guty: What the hell…?
I grab my phone, send a quick message to my supervisor, and dial emergency services.
Guty: Quickly! I need an ambulance at Apartment 4, Akiho Street, Sakurada!
Receptionist: Right away! The ambulance is on the way.
Guty: Thank you, miss…
I hang up.
Guty: Dammit! I was poisoned. Someone tampered with my food while I was gone.
Despite the venom coursing through me, I try to stay calm. It's hard when you can't feel your limbs, and breathing grows harder.
Guty: Easy, easy… stay calm…
Minutes pass. A piece of paper near me catches my attention. I struggle to reach it just as the medics burst through the door.
Medics: There he is!
They load me into the ambulance, administer a general antidote, and speed through the streets.
Paramedic: All symptoms derive from a toxin produced by Clostridium botulinum. Just one nanogram is enough to kill a full-grown man…
Exactly what I didn't want to hear.
I realize I'm still clutching the piece of paper—a band-aid.
Guty: This is Kintaro's band-aid!
Medics: Please lie down! Or the venom will move faster!
Suddenly, a call reaches the paramedics, ordering them to drive far away from the city.
Medics: Why do they want us to do that?
Driver: Orders are orders. We must obey.
Medic: Are we just going to let him die?!
The ambulance speeds toward the outskirts. My superior must have arranged this. Now, my life rests in the hands of the driver.
Minutes later, we are far enough.
Driver: Let's go!
He flees from the vehicle.
Medics: We can't just leave him! We're medics!
Guty: Run!
Medic: No way! It's my job to help you, even if you die!
Guty: Gck…AHHHHH!
To be continued in Part 2...