The cab needed a wash. Bird shit on the windshield. A white streak. Kenji smeared it with the wiper fluid. Made it worse. A greasy rainbow.
His passenger was young. Phone glued to her hand. Thumbs flying. She talked. Loud. To him. To the air.
"...so messed up, right? Just pops up. After all this time. A ghost."
Kenji grunted. A non-sound. He wasn't listening. He watched the traffic. The red brake lights. A river of stopped metal.
"My mom knew her. From way back. School or whatever." The girl scrolled. A bright glow lit up the backseat. "Says she was super smart. Pretty. Total tragedy."
The light turned green. He hit the gas. A little too hard. The girl lurched. Didn't notice.
"Got the notice this morning. The memorial thing. For the lawyer. The one who died in that crash? On Route 17? Months ago. They're finally doing a thing. For, like, closure."
Route 17.
The words were keys. They turned in a lock he didn't know he had.
His hands tightened on the wheel. Plastic creaked.
The girl kept talking. Voice like static. "...weird, right? To have a memorial so late? My mom says the family was messed up about it. Couldn't deal. Now they are. Whatever."
Kenji's mouth was dry. A desert. "What lawyer?"
"Huh? Oh. Some corporate type. Woman. Based in Osaka. Died last year. The notice has her picture. She looks young. For a lawyer."
He glanced in the rearview. Saw the girl's face. Illuminated by her screen. Saw her eyes flick up. To his.
"You okay, mister? You look sick."
"What's her name?" The question ripped out. Rough. A bark.
The girl blinked. Looked at her phone. Scrolled. "Uh. It's… Aoi. Aoi Satō. Why, you know her or some—"
He slammed the brakes.
The cab screeched. Tires screamed. The girl shrieked. Thrown forward. Seatbelt caught her. "What the HELL?!"
Horns blared. A symphony of anger.
He was stopped. In the middle of the lane. Engine idling. A rough shake.
Aoi.
Satō.
Her father's name.
Lawyer.
Route 17.
The text. The one he deleted. The photo of their photo. She's gone.
Not gone.
Dead.
A memorial. Months later. A ghost. Popping up.
His vision tunneled. The world narrowed to the cracked leather of his steering wheel. The smell of the cab. Old fries. Cherry air freshener. His own sweat.
"Hey! Are you, like, having a heart attack?" The girl's voice was far away. Underwater.
He couldn't breathe. His lungs were flat. Useless bags.
He'd thought… he'd accepted… the text was the end. The period. He'd buried her. In his head. In that silent, gray cemetery he visited every day on the bridge.
But this. A memorial. A public notice. It made it real. Solid. A fact in the world outside his skull.
Aoi Satō. Lawyer. Died. Route 17.
The ghost had a name. And a time. And a place.
"Mister, I'm getting out." The door opened. Cold air rushed in. "You're crazy. I'm not paying for this."
She left. The door hung open. A warning bell dinged. Ding. Ding. Ding.
He didn't move.
He saw the photo in his wallet. The faded half. The girl. The blue.
That girl was gone. Had been gone. Was now officially, publicly, eternally gone.
He should feel something. A finality. A peace, even.
All he felt was a violent, tearing rage.
He'd wasted twenty-seven years on a ghost. And the ghost had been walking around. Living. Being a lawyer. Wearing green coats in airports. Until a patch of wet road on Route 17 took her.
He'd mourned the living. Now he had to mourn the dead.
It wasn't fair.
The horn behind him laid on. A long, furious blast.
He reached out. Slowly. Pushed the passenger door shut. The dinging stopped.
He put the cab in gear. Pulled to the curb. Put it in park.
He took out his wallet. Pulled out the photo half. Looked at it. In the dim cab light.
He'd carried a piece of a living person. Now he was carrying a piece of a dead one.
The news wasn't news. It was a sentence. A life sentence, served in a moving metal box, for a crime he couldn't name.
He put the photo back. Started driving again. Automatic.
The city passed. A blur of light and shadow.
The ghost was gone. For real this time.
He was alone. Truly, completely alone.
It was the worst thing he'd ever felt.