Billy led them down a hallway. He slid back a thick-paper door and entered a room with a lace curtains covering the only window. There were a few floor pillows on the tatami mat, but the only real furniture in the room was a low wood table that had been turned into altar. The table was covered with cat statues. A few of the smaller cats were carved from wood or jade, but most were ceramic souvenirs with painted-on whiskers. All the cats stared at a bowl containing three shriveled up oranges and a martini glass filled with polished stones.
Hollis sat down on one of the floor cushions and tried to figure out what to do. He had traveled thousands of miles to find this place. Three men had been killed, the Tabula were looking for him, and here he was sitting in a house with a crazy old lady who collected ceramic cats.
The Itako came back in the room wearing a short white cotton jacket with Japanese symbols printed on it. She extended her hand, said something in Japanese, and Billy Hirano gave her five thousand yen. The Itako counted the money like a peasant who had just sold a pig and slipped the currency beneath one of the cats. Then she bustled around the room lighting candles and incense.
When the candles were burning, the old woman knelt and opened up a polished wooden box. She took out an elaborate necklace and carefully draped it around her neck. The necklace was a dark rawhide strand that held old coins with holes in the middle, yellowed bear claws and a few twisted pieces of wood. She stared at Hollis for a few seconds and spoke in Japanese.
Billy translated. “She wants to know what you’re looking for.”
“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe Sparrow actually talked to this woman. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Don’t make her angry, Hollis. An Itako is very powerful.”
“As far as I can see, she’s just an old lady with a lot of souvenir kitty cats.”
“Do what she says,” Billy pleaded. “Tell her what you want.”
Hollis turned to the Itako and spoke in English. “A friend of mine has died. I want to talk to her.”
Billy translated the request. The Itako nodded calmly, as if someone had just asked her for directions back to the train station. She reached into the box, took out a long strand of stone prayer beads, and held a fistful of the beads in both hands. Closing her eyes, she rubbed the beads together as she began to chant a Buddhist sutra.
It felt like the cats on the altar were staring at him with mischievous smiles on their little white faces. The Itako looked old and tired, and a few times she seemed to lose her way through the long recital of prayers. Suddenly, she stopped chanting and her chin slumped down to her breast. Seconds later, her head snapped back up and her entire body became rigid. A convulsive force passed through her body and the prayer beads fell onto the mat. The Itako sucked air into her lungs and, when she exhaled, a sound emerged from her slack mouth.
At first, it was nothing but nonsense syllables, and then a mix of Japanese and English words. It felt as if someone were moving a tuner, scanning through different radio stations. More words. A garbled phrase here and there.
It was her voice. Vicki’s voice. But he couldn’t believe that was possible.
“I-I missed you so much, Vicki. And maybe I’m just hearing your voice in my mind. This can’t be real.”
A long silence. The Itako’s body shivered and her eyes rolled upward.
Hollis felt as if he had cracked open and was falling apart. “Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m so lost, Vicki. So goddamn lost. I don’t know where I’m going.”
“I can’t forgive the people who killed you.”
The Itako breathed out one last time, and collapsed onto the floor as if the life force had been ripped from her body.
17