There it was again: standing feebly between the branches of the trees. It had one window with painted blue shutters. The young woman walked towards it as if strung along by some invisible force. She wore no shoes. The woman knew what would happen next. She would be forced to ascend the splintered wooden ladder and enter the rotted thing. She would be dragged into its entrance and she would dig her nails into the festering, green wood and feel the pain of her fingernails being uprooted. She would try and shut her eyelids, but they wouldn’t close and again she came face to face with her unborn child, laying limp and gray on a small, red table.

The woman awoke. It was still dark outside; the fleeting light of passing cars streaked across the far white wall. She lay paralyzed still. It sounded like it was raining. With the flick of her wrist, she pulled on the lamp string and the harsh yellow light caused the sleeping cat to dart out of the bedroom. She let her hands trace the full moon of her stomach. She exhaled and with a small napkin, wiped the sweat from her forehead. She counted back: this was the tenth night.

She walked to the kitchen with long, slow strides. Her husband was off in some faraway city again. She sat at the round kitchen table and picked up the glass of water she had left there. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the rather fluffy, orange tabby cat waddle out from the darkness. She let down a hand and it pushed its face against her skin. Soft. It started to purr. She looked up at the floral printed clock: 4:14 a.m. She looked at the telephone sitting dead on the counter. Her eyes began to sink, heavy and then–

Rrriiiiing! Rrriiiiing!

She jolted upwards, startling the cat again.
Rrriiiiiing!

She flung herself to the phone and put her hand on it–
Rriiiiiing!

“Ah…hello….?” She whispered into the receiver.
No response.
“Hello.” She said, louder.
Fifteen seconds of silence.
“Ms. Tamaki. How are you.” Responded a young boy. He couldn’t be older than 15.
“Yes, who are you?”
“I have been watching your dream sequences very carefully the past week or so. It’s been causing an uproar here at headquarters. We must meet at once. Are you free tomorrow? At around 5,” He stated, matter-of-factly.

Ms. Tamaki blinked twice. Watching her dream sequences? Who in the world could be capable of doing that? And who was this boy? Was she still dreaming?

“Ms. Tamaki, this is a very urgent matter. Are you still there?” The young boy asked with a hint of concern in his voice.
“Yes. I am free tomorrow at 5.” She went along with it. A knot loosened somewhere inside her as she said this.
“Good. I appreciate it. I can’t explain much now, but I will fill you in tomorrow. My name is Ainichi. Let’s meet at the small coffee shop across the street from the Shinjuku train station.”

She knew which cafe he referred to. The cafe owner was the one who gave her a kitten from his litter. Her orange tabby, Momoiro, was the first kitten drawn to her hands. This was a time when her husband stayed home.

She put the receiver down and stared at the phone for a period of time. How bizarre, she thought to herself. She walked towards her bedroom.

Crawling under the covers, she thought about the decaying infant on the red table. She recalled the very emotion she felt: remorse. Heavy, unadulterated remorse. But why remorse? She knew it was her child, fertilized by the seed of her dear husband, but she knew, at the very moment she awoke from this dream: it was she who had murdered the small thing.
She shut her eyes. She fell asleep again, but did not dream until morning.