This is a story I heard from the Master.
Chapter 9: The Photographer
It was late autumn during my second year of university. I was standing alone in front of a small apartment building. It was an old, shabby building located a bit away from the downtown area. Living here was a man named Amano, known as "The Photographer." He was a bad friend of the Master's, someone who handled dangerous photos for a steep price—the kind of illicit pictures that a regular town photo shop would never develop. The Master used this place for both his detective agency work and his private business. I had never once seen him pay for the private stuff. He always found some excuse to threaten the man and force him to do the work for free. Amano seemed to have weaknesses he was being held over, so while he would act tough at first, he would always end up losing the argument and reluctantly obeying. Amano had a chubby, thoroughly unhealthy build, and watching from the side, it felt like some kind of BDSM play. Yet, despite being treated with such disdain, Amano always looked strangely happy whenever he met the Master.
"You pig." "Oink."
Having witnessed this miraculous exchange with my own eyes, I couldn't help but think that way.
The elevator was out of order, so I took the stairs up to the third floor. In the middle of the hallway was a room with no nameplate—Amano's castle. What must the neighbors think of the countless suspicious and shady clients who came visiting here? I rang the doorbell and hammered on the door. "Yes, yes. I'm here. You don't have to bang like that. Was there ever a time I wasn't in?" The door opened a crack, revealing the round, bespectacled face of a man with tangled hair plastered to his forehead behind a security chain. "Oh, it's you. Just you today? Another errand?" I had come here alone on the Master's behalf several times before. Each time, Amano would show a look of disappointment. "There are some negatives I want developed. I brought them. Oh, and here's a snack." I shook a convenience store plastic bag in my right hand from outside the chain. It was a can of Sangaria melon soda. "W-What, this again? Just wait." Sighing, Amano unhooked the chain. Slipping my right foot into the doorway, I thrust my left hand straight at Amano's right thigh. With a sharp, crackling *bzzzt* sound, Amano groaned "Agh!" and collapsed on the spot. "H-Hot, hot, hot..." Clutching his thigh, his large body folded in half. I stared at the black device in my left hand. It was a stick-type stun gun. While some toys mostly just made noise and flashed light, this was a genuine self-defense stun gun. Even so, it shouldn't have been all that powerful. I had tested it on myself beforehand, and it definitely hadn't packed this much of a punch. Amano must simply be weaker to pain than I imagined. Suppressing a pang of guilt that I might have gone a bit too far, I squatted down and spoke. "Mr. Amano, I'm sure you realize, but that's a stun gun. I came to find out if this is the only way to make you talk. Can you stand up?" Amano raised his head, groaning. "W-W-What, what the hell are you doing? Hh. Why would you..." "Stand up." I flashed the stick-type stun gun right in front of his face and ordered him. Trembling all over, Amano slowly got to his feet. "To the workroom." "A-Alright, just put that thing away." We walked from the entrance further inside. On the way, as we passed the room used as a darkroom for developing, the sour smell of chemicals stung my nose. As usual, I just couldn't get used to this smell. The room in the back was cluttered with a chaotic mess of objects. The space in front of his computer desk was his work area. To prevent him from suddenly grabbing some heavy object lying around and counterattacking, I kept the stun gun pressed against his back as we walked. "D-Don't push me. I said I won't resist." "Sit down." Amano slumped into his favorite chair and let out a heavy sigh. "Was that errand business a lie? Hh. Why are you doing this? Hh." Every time Amano spoke, a wheezing sound of escaping air could be heard. The room had thick curtains drawn shut, making it feel like you would lose all sense of time in the middle of the day if you didn't check a clock. "You have... Kanako-san's photos, don't you?" "Huh? What did you say?" "The ones of her masturbating." Amano flinched. He seemed to understand what I was here for. "Hand them over." I brought the tip of the stun gun closer to his eye level. "W-Wait. Hh. Th-That was just something she imagined..." "Hand them over." I brought it even closer. If he tried to play dumb again, I intended to let him hear the spark right in front of his face. I figured that once he heard that sound again, he'd become cooperative. It was that kind of unpleasant sound. But before that, Amano readily retracted his statement. "O-Okay. I'll do as you say. Stop it." With a gulp, he swallowed hard, his flabby throat trembling. Then, casting timid sideways glances at me, he took a key from his desk drawer. "G-G-Get back. Hh. There's a safe right there." There was something that looked like one against the wall behind me. Amano shoved aside a basket full of laundry and squatted down in front of the safe. "I'll open it now." He aligned the dial, inserted the key, and turned it. There was a click. What he took out from the safe was a large quantity of albums. They all had uniform gray covers with only numbers stamped on them. Amano selected one of them, placed it on a low table nearby, and began turning the pages. Every page held a few photos in film pockets, and all of them were the kind of pictures that made you want to cover your eyes. I knew Amano was a corpse maniac, but these were far more intense than any photos he had shown me before. Where on earth did he get stuff like this? Some looked like they were taken at accident scenes or terrible hospitals, but many appeared to have been taken on battlefields. Amano seemed to use computer bulletin boards to interact with overseas enthusiasts, so did he acquire these by repeatedly trading? Just as I was starting to feel sick, Amano's hand finally stopped. He slid thick fingers into a pocket and pulled a photo out. "Th-This is it." Amano looked up at me with the expression of a student confessing a forgotten homework assignment. When I saw that photo, a sensation like my blood boiling rushed through me. I instinctively clutched my chest. I had expected as much. It was a photo being used for self-pleasure by a hardcore corpse enthusiast, a necrophile. Too much force went into my hand gripping the stun gun, and with a flash, a crackling spark echoed through the room for a split second. "Eek!" Frightened, Amano cowered and curled up, clutching his head. "Did you do this?" I asked quietly. Amano frantically shook his head, saying, "No, no." "It was an accident. She was in a terrible accident. Hh. I-I just happened to pass by." *Bzzzt, bzzzt, bzzzt!* Along with the harsh sound came the unpleasant smell of burning dust. This time, I had pressed the switch of my own free will. Amano, having watched it happen just fifty centimeters from his face, must have realized that. "That's not an injury from an accident." "I saved her! I brought her back and treated her. Then she started breathing again, and sh-she..." "Became your friend?" "Yes. Hh. We've been together ever since. I'm her savior." "You didn't call an ambulance, you dragged her into your room thinking she was dead." "Wait a minute. Hh. I didn't do anything. Hh. Hh." His breathing was rough. Staring intently at the stun gun thrust before his eyes, he shook violently. I squatted down and looked into Amano's eyes. "Who did it?" "............" I could hear the sound of him swallowing. Amano made the motion of swallowing hard over and over again. "You know the guy." "I-It really was just a coincidence. At the time, I didn't know either of them." "Did you just stand by and watch without saying anything because you thought you might get to see a corpse?" "No, when I arrived, it was... well, it was already like that..." His voice trailed off into a whisper. I slipped the photo into my breast pocket. "Don't tell him I talked. At that time, he was... possessed by something... or so it seemed." Amano's words were cut short at the end by the harsh sound of *bzzzt, bzzzt, bzzzt*. I was taking out my misplaced emotions on myself. The shock of the stun gun raced from my thigh through my entire body in an instant. "Guh!" Suppressing a scream, I lowered my head. After panting for breath and enduring the pain, I stood up. "Sorry for all the trouble. Please forgive me for this." Amano sat slumped on the floor, leaning back on his hands as if his legs had given out, staring in dumbfounded shock. "Drink your melon soda. Well, I'm heading out." Leaving Amano speechless, I left the Photographer's workroom. Walking past the foul-smelling darkroom, I picked up my discarded shoes. As I stepped outside from the entrance, I slammed the heel of my right fist against the closed door. A loud *bang* echoed out. In the distance, a dog started barking. "So, basically acting like a guy with a prior criminal record, huh?" Scattering my hatred like mist, I started walking.
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