“I want you to keep an eye on the audience!”
Fukuzawa promptly looked back. On the stage, he had a clear view of the entire audience. Most of them looked as if they had no idea what was going on. Half of them simply stared vacantly, while the other half scowled at Fukuzawa for disturbing the performance.
Was the killer among them?
“Nobody move!” roared Fukuzawa. “This isn’t part of the act! Do not get out of your chairs! Keep an eye on the person next to you! If anyone runs or hides, then inform me immediately!”
A stir abruptly rippled through the audience, and fear spread like ice.
“Is he with the police?”
“What is he talking about?”
“Wait… Is this…? But…”
It was a scream that changed everything.
“Nooo! Tokio!”
A woman came tumbling over from the wing with a maniacal shriek. It was a performer from the troupe—one of the women Fukuzawa and Ranpo had talked with. She rushed over to Murakami as she screamed.
“No! This can’t be happening! Nooo!!”
A piercing scream even louder than anything before shot through the theater hall. It was the first domino; the audience’s focus shifted from the play to reality and from the ordinary to the unusual. Several people began shouting all at once.
“Th-the actor was stabbed! Somebody killed him! He was murdered!”
“Wait! Don’t move!”
A few people made a dash for the exit; Fukuzawa’s voice didn’t reach them.
A man had been stabbed before their very eyes, and he didn’t know how. But more importantly, the audience’s safety wasn’t guaranteed. It wasn’t reason that told him this; it was Fukuzawa’s instincts.
Fukuzawa then rushed into the audience seating. The killer could have been using this opportunity to escape. In fact, this would be their only chance to escape, since the police were about to cordon off the area. Whoever tried to run would be a suspect. Fukuzawa started grabbing people crowding around the exit and throwing them to the ground, but after one person was taken down, another would come. The chaos only continued. As the crowd violently jostled him, Fukuzawa repeatedly yelled for them to calm down.
Nonetheless, the confusion spread throughout the theater, rendering everyone into wild animals.
Fukuzawa dispiritedly took a seat in the lobby. The theater’s atmosphere had completely transformed. Staff members and police busily came and went as they discussed matters gravely. The theater had already been cordoned off, and the uniformed officers had closed off the building itself. The staff had found people trying to escape, but they brought them back. Therefore, the killer would still have to be inside, no longer able to flee.
The situation in the theater was quickly dealt with. Ms. Egawa must have informed everyone what to do in case of an emergency. Murakami was taken out in an ambulance, but a few other performers mentioned that he died on the way to the hospital. It was a fatal wound. Fukuzawa had witnessed the moment Murakami was killed. The width of the blade and the amount of blood—it was as if he had been stabbed by an invisible blade.
What in the world was going on?
Fukuzawa knitted his eyebrows.
Where was Ranpo? He disappeared before the curtains raised and hadn’t come back. The tragic event took place only minutes after he ran off, exclaiming he was going to stop the killer, but it appeared that not even Ranpo could make it in time. It made sense, though, given the short window he’d had.
But then why hadn’t Ranpo returned?
The bad feeling in Fukuzawa’s chest was like a weight dragging him down.
What if the murder didn’t occur because Ranpo didn’t find the killer in time?
What if Ranpo had used his inherent gift to find the killer, but then something happened?
What if Ranpo tried to stop the killer? If he tried to get in the killer’s way, then that would make him a threat.
Knives and bloodshed—a young boy who didn’t even know how to defend himself went to find the killer alone.