The phone rang next to the gearshift. I glimpsed it vibrating for a second before the detective picked it up, his brows furrowed as he cast a brief glance my way.
He said curtly, "Yes?"
Silence… He listened.
His tone shifted slightly—more cautious, less reactive: "Where? …When?"
I looked at him, watching his features gradually harden—as if something unexpected had just surfaced.
He said, "Alright... I'm nearby. I'll be there immediately."
He hung up, returned the phone to its spot, and stayed silent for a few seconds.
I asked calmly, "Is it about the case?"
He nodded without looking at me. "Yes. They've found something... a new detail. They didn't explain, just said I needed to come in."
"Does it concern the location? Or the victims?"
He replied while adjusting the side mirror: "They didn't specify. But they sounded serious."
Then he turned to me, his tone softening slightly: "Want to come with me? Or should I drop you home?"
---
We entered the station. It was quieter than usual, but something unseen weighed in the air.
A young officer approached, handed the detective a file, whispered a few words, then walked away.
The detective opened the file, skimmed through it, then looked up at me.
He said directly, "We've found something new."
I didn't respond.
He continued, "Three of the victims worked as doctors at a hospital in the Shinzou District."
I stayed silent, watching his face.
He closed the file slowly and added, "Seems like Shinzou isn't just a coincidence."
Another officer entered, holding a new file. "Upon review, most of the journalists and administrators also had connections to that same hospital—or at least the district—at different times."
Silence.
The officer added, "If the suspect was a doctor, as believed, he might've worked there. Or been linked to it somehow."
The detective nodded slowly, then turned to me. "Shinzou Hospital might be the key. If we're to understand what happened—this is where we start."
---
We left the station without much conversation.
The city remained quiet, the sky thick with heavy clouds, as if waiting for the right moment to rain.
We got into the car. The detective behind the wheel, as always. He glanced at me before starting the engine. "We might find nothing... or we might find everything."
I didn't respond.
The road to Shinzou Hospital wasn't long—but it felt that way. As if the distance was measured by how close I was getting to something I wasn't sure I was ready to face.
As we approached the building, something inside me tightened. It looked ordinary... strangely familiar. Its windows, the gate, even the fence surrounding it.
As if my body remembered what my mind could not.
The detective asked as he parked, "Does it look familiar?"
I answered slowly, "...I'm not sure. I don't hate it. But I don't feel at ease either."
---
We got out.
The main entrance was quiet. Nothing suggested anything unusual. A nurse at the desk, a few visitors in the waiting area.
The detective approached the receptionist, introduced himself, and asked to speak with someone from administration.
She pointed to the elevator. "Fourth floor. Director's office."
He nodded, then turned to me. "Let's start there."
---
The hallway was long and quiet, the floor polished to an exaggerated shine. At the end stood a large wooden door.
The detective knocked in a steady rhythm.
A voice from inside—calm, masculine—called out, "Come in."
We entered.
A well-dressed man in his fifties sat behind a wide desk. He looked up at me—and his expression changed.
He stood slowly, then said without hesitation, "I know that face."
I didn't move. My shoulders tensed—not out of fear, but something older. Familiar.
The detective asked, "Who is he?"
The director stepped forward, "He was a surgeon here… a talented one. His name was… Takeshi, wasn't it?"
I stared back, saying nothing.
He continued, "He worked with us from 1997 to 2000."
The detective took notes, then asked, "Why did he stop?"
The director sighed and sat back down. "He was dismissed. There was… an incident. A medical error. Complicated. I don't recall all the details, but the matter was closed rather quickly."
A brief silence.
Then the director pointed to a door off to the side. "The hospital archive is there. You'll find his file under staff records."
The detective nodded and we followed him in.
---
The archive smelled of old paper. Narrow, dusty, lined with shelves and dated boxes.
The detective scanned labels until he paused at a black folder: Takeshi – 1997
He opened it. The first page showed my face—more confident, younger.
Date Hired: 1997 Department: General Surgery Date Terminated: 2000
He looked from the picture to me, then said quietly, "So now we know who you are..."
I didn't respond.
I stared at the signature at the bottom of the page. My handwriting—familiar, yet it felt like I was reading the name of someone else.
The detective kept flipping through notes, then looked at the director again.
"One more thing. It may sound unrelated... Did the hospital regularly receive journalists?"
The director didn't seem surprised. He just nodded. "Yes, often. Some came to document rare procedures or complex cases—of course, with patient consent. Others covered accidents or unusual events."
"Did they have permanent clearance?"
"Some did. Those officially authorized by the Health Ministry. Others had temporary passes, mostly for human interest stories or major incidents."
The detective looked at me, then back at the director. "Do you have a record of all journalists or media crews who came in the last five years?"
"We do—in the Public Relations office. Not perfectly detailed, but it's there."
"Good. We'll need that."
He jotted a quick note, then said, "If all these people—doctors, administrators, journalists—passed through here… then something here was worth burying."
The director simply nodded, as if he understood what wasn't being said.
---
The detective closed Takeshi's file slowly, then asked, "Have any doctors gone missing recently? I mean—in the past few months?"
The director hesitated, then said, "Three."
The detective gestured for him to continue.
"All vanished within close intervals. No resignations, no notice… they just stopped showing up."
"Their names?"
"Dr. Yamada – Surgeon. Dr. Nishimura – Neurologist. Dr. Arai – Radiologist."
The detective wrote down the names without a word.
"Were they reported?"
"Yes. We followed protocol. But no results came back. It was ultimately considered voluntary disappearance."
The detective asked, "Did they work with… Takeshi?"
"Yamada and Nishimura did—around the same time. Arai joined later, but worked in the same department."
A brief pause.
The director added, his voice lower, "They were good doctors. But… nothing in their behavior suggested they'd simply vanish."
The detective nodded and said quietly, "We'll need copies of their files."
The director picked up the phone and calmly instructed his assistant: "Please retrieve the full files for Dr. Yamada, Dr. Nishimura, and Dr. Arai. Make complete copies for the investigators."
He turned back toward us, his expression now unreadable.
Minutes later, the assistant entered, carrying three neatly copied files. She placed them on the desk.
The detective took them, flipped briefly through each, then placed them carefully in his leather briefcase.
He stood and said, "Thank you for your cooperation. We may be back if needed."
The director nodded silently. Then added, "I hope you find what you're looking for."