A Winter of Ghosts Read Free Page A

in a dream. Therewere plenty of teenaged boys with spiky hair, and the kid was half-turned awayfrom him anyway. He could be anyone.
    Curiosity driving him, thatchill caress running up the back of his neck, he turned again and looked towardthe back of the car. The kid had his chin down, almost as if he were dozing offas well, but his eyes were open and he stared at the floor. The lights in thetrain car flickered and in each lightless moment it almost seemed that thedarkness outside the windows was trying to get in.
    Jiro
.
    But it couldn't be Jiro, ofcourse. Jiro had been murdered on the shore of Miyazu Bay, his body founddrained of blood, his shoes missing. Hachiro had been there when they hauledhis corpse out of the water. He could still feel the hollow place inside wherehis friendship with Jiro had once been.
    The resemblance was uncanny. Hachirowanted to look away but he couldn't stop staring. The train rumbled over arough section of track and outside the windows he saw the lights of shops andoffices — they would be arriving at Miyazu station in moments.
    The wan, yellow luminescenceinside the train car flickered again, off and on, off and on, off for severallong seconds, and then on again. The kid had not moved.
    Hachiro leaned forward to get afuller view of the kid, slid almost off his seat so that he could see pastbriefcases and small suitcases and outstretched legs. Then he froze, ice racingthrough his veins. His breath came in tiny, hitching gasps and he slowly shookhis head.
    The kid had no shoes on. Hisfeet were so pale.
    He turned to look at Hachiro,not in some random fashion but in a slow, sad glance that said he had beenaware all along of being watched. And when he smiled wistfully and gave a tinynod of acknowledgement, Hachiro could not lie to himself anymore.
    Jiro
.
    The train began to slow. Hachirocould not breathe. He locked eyes with the ghost — for what else could itbe? — and felt all of the sadness of his friend's death return. He wantedto speak, to ask questions, to say that Jiro had been missed. He wanted to run,to hide, to nurture the fear that rose in him. The lights flickered again andnow, for the first time, he realized that Jiro had faded, his presence thin asdelicate parchment, the shapes and shadows of the floor and the seat and eventhe window visible through him.
    The conductor's voice filled theair. The train lurched three times in quick succession, but the third was theworst, rocking Hachiro forward, breaking his eye contact with Jiro. He had toput a hand out to keep from being thrown from his seat as they came to anabrupt halt.
    As he turned, the doors shushedopen and people began to rise, grabbing their bags, chatter erupting as theybegan to herd out.
    "No," Hachiro said,grabbing his bag and standing.
    He thrust himself into the flowof disembarking passengers, searching the crowd for that spiky hair, thatfamiliar face. He caught a glimpse of a silhouette he thought might be that ofthe ghost.
    "Jiro!" he called.
    Several people gave himdisapproving looks, but most simply pretended not to hear him. Hachiro calledout again, fear and confusion warring within him, and he pushed through thecrowd and stepped off the train.
    On the station platform hestopped and looked around. Hachiro was tall and broad-shouldered, so he stoodhis ground and peered over the heads of the other passengers. He called Jiro'sname again, but already his hopes were fading. Someone bumped him from behindand he staggered two steps forward.
    People streamed away, reunitingwith family and friends and lovers and then vanishing from the platform. Onlystragglers were left when the train hissed loudly and the doors closed and itbegan to glide away.
    Jiro stood just inside thedoors, staring out at Hachiro as the train pulled away. He hadn't been there amoment before. The ghost watched him with sad eyes, and as the train rattledout of the station he faded from view.
    Gone again.
    Hachiro stared along the tracksfor a long time