e wanted to merge into the night. He sat in the car with the windows rolled down, letting the air wash over him. This was the only way he could relax, and it was the one thing he had missed in prison, the feel of the air on him. His arms and legs were numb from the cold, and his whole body had begun to shiver. In the summer, his blood would have been thick with the heat, but now his mind was clear. Wrapped in the darkness, his hand could feel a density in the air that wasn't there in daylight. He stretched his long arm through the window and felt the cold breeze.

Still dressed in his uniform, he was waiting here for Masako. He had parked across from her space, in the dark at the back of the lot, and had settled in to wait until six. He wondered how she would react when she came back exhausted from the shift and found Kuniko's underwear on her car. He wanted to be there to see her face, her straggly hair, the dark circles under her eyes.

Just as he was about to light a cigarette, he heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel. A woman's light step. He stuffed the cigarette in his pocket and held his breath. Masako had come back. She looked around for a moment; then, apparently satisfied that he wasn't there, she headed for the Corolla, no longer bothering to be cautious. Without making a sound, Satake opened the door and slipped out of his car. She gave a muffled scream as she discovered his little present. Realising he would never get a better chance, he crept up and grabbed her from behind. As his arm went around her neck, her fear ran through him like a current, and he realised how much she attracted him.

'Don't move,' he said, but she began to struggle frantically. Pressing one arm into her thin neck, he wrapped the other around her body. Her fingernails dug into his forearm through the fabric of his uniform, and she kneed him between the legs. It took all his strength to subdue her, but eventually she lost consciousness.

At last he had her. Shouldering her limp body, he went back to his car for rope and bags. Where could he take her now that he'd been driven out of his apartment? With no place to go and no time to look for somewhere else, he set off toward the abandoned factory. When he reached the drainage ditch, he realised that the cover had been pulled up in one or two places, so he switched on his flashlight to see where he was going. The black water glittered beneath his feet, and the concrete cover shifted ominously under their combined weight, but he finally managed to cross the ditch. He threw her body down on a patch of dry grass and checked the rusty shutters. He could move them by pushing with all his might, but the grating noise made Masako stir and frown uncomfortably. Working quickly, he raised the shutters high enough to duck under and pushed her inside.

The building was cold and dark. It felt damp and smelt of mould. He let the flashlight play over the space, thinking how much it resembled an enormous, concrete coffin. But high in the ceiling he could see a row of windows that would let in light when the sun came up. The factory had apparently made boxed lunches before it closed down. The metal rack of an old conveyor belt and a counter for deliveries had been left behind. He smiled, realising the rack would be perfect for tying Masako on to - nice and cold.

She was still unconscious. He picked her up and laid her on the long ramp. Defenceless, with her mouth hanging slightly open, she looked like a patient anaesthetised for an operation. He slipped the jacket from her shoulders and tore off her sweatshirt. Then he took off her shoes and socks and dropped them on the floor. As he was pulling off her jeans, she began to regain consciousness from the shock of the cold metal on her skin. But she seemed disoriented, unsure where she was or what was happening to her. She lay on her back, staring around with a muddled look.

Shining the flashlight in her face, he called her name. She turned her eyes away from the light and seemed to search for him in the darkness.

'You bastard!'

'No, you should say, "Fucking bastard! What a lousy trick!"' She was still moving sluggishly. He pinned her arms to the rack and she stopped struggling.

'Why?' she said, looking puzzled.

'Just say it.' He had dropped his guard for a moment and her foot shot up, catching him in the groin. As he groaned with pain, she twisted away and jumped down. She was still nimble for a middle-aged woman, and she managed to slip through his arms and disappear into the darkness. 'Don't think you can get away!' he called. He searched for her with the flashlight, but it was too weak for the cavernous space; instead, he stationed himself in front of the shutters and waited. If he guarded the exit, he would get her eventually. Besides, there was something about the situation that amused him - the more she resisted, the more it excited him. She was so stubborn, and it made him feel loathing and elation in equal measures. 'You might as well give up,' he called, his voice echoing through the building. Her answer came a moment later, apparently from a distant corner.

'I won't give up,' she called. 'But I want to know why you're after me.'

'Because of what you did to me.'

'Then you've got the wrong person. It's Yayoi Yamamoto you want.'

'I'm done with her.'

'Done how?' she said. Her voice was trembling now, with fear or from the cold. She must be cold; her feet were bare and she had nothing on but a T-shirt and underwear. Moving quietly over to the ramp, he bundled up her clothes and tossed them in a corner to make sure she didn't get them back. Just then, she spoke again from the darkness. 'You took her insurance money, didn't you? Then why isn't that enough? Why've you got it in for me?'

'I'm not sure myself,' he murmured in her direction.

'Because you lost your business?'

'That's part of it,' he said. But it's also because you're the only one who knows the real Satake, the one who tore off the scab that had formed over all that time.

'But not the whole story,' Masako said, her voice calmer now. 'You also like me, don't you?' This time he didn't answer, but he edged toward her through the dark. 'It seems a bit weird, doesn't it? I'm forty-three, past the age when men notice you; and I was never that kind of woman. You must have some other reason.' His heavy boot clattered against a can and Masako fell silent. He listened, trying to tell where she'd gone.

There was a faint noise behind him, and he spun around and began hunting her in the other direction. She was trying to force open the shutter at the delivery bay and slip out. Lunging through the dark, he caught her just as she'd managed to get her upper body through the opening. He grabbed her legs and dragged her back in, then slapped her hard across the face. As she collapsed on the dirty concrete floor, he shone his flashlight on her, wanting to see her face. She shook back her hair and glared at him. It was the same - the same look as before. He grabbed her by the hair and forced her to keep looking at him.

'You are a fucking bastard!' she said, spitting the words at him.

'Yes, I am.' He peered into her angry eyes. 'But I've been waiting for you.'

'You're dreaming,' she said in a steady voice.

'No, I'm not,' he said, studying her face for a moment. The other woman's features had been as sharp as a knife, not really like this one's at all. This was Masako Katori staring at him now, her eyes loaded with hostility. Their faces were different; Masako's lips were thinner, more severe. But the eyes were identical. His heart filled with joy and anticipation, like a rising tide. How high could she take him? Would the pleasure he'd kept locked away for seventeen years return again? Would she be able to show him what that other experience had meant?

He ripped off her T-shirt, leaving her in nothing but her plain white bra and panties, but she continued staring at him.

'Stop,' she said. 'Kill me now.' Ignoring her, he stripped off her underwear. At this, she began to struggle again, but he held her arms and, lifting her up, carried her to the rack. He lay on top of her to stop her thrashing. She gasped under his weight and then went limp. He found the rope he'd brought with him, tied one end to each wrist, and then pulled her arms over her head to fasten them to the rack. 'It's cold!' she yelled, her body writhing on the icy metal. He watched her for a moment in the beam of the flashlight. Her body was thin, almost desiccated, and her breasts were small. He slowly began undressing.

'Go ahead and scream,' he told her. 'No one'll hear you.'

'You may not know it, but they're tearing down the building next door,' she said.

'And you're full of shit,' he said, slapping her again. He'd meant to hold back this time, but her head snapped to one side from the blow. He didn't want to overdo it, to have her die before he was ready; and it would be boring if she were unconscious. He was worried for a moment, but then her head turned and she fixed him with her cold eyes again. Blood was trickling from her lips.

'Kill me quickly,' she said. The other woman had been just as insistent, screaming at him to kill her while he was beating her. His excitement built as his mind raced back and forth between the two women, between reality and dreams, as if it were riding a highspeed elevator. He bent over her and bit her bloody lips. Then, with her cursing through clenched teeth, he forced himself between her legs.

'Dry as a bone,' he muttered.

'Bastard!' She thrashed about, trying desperately to fight him off, to keep her legs closed, but he forced her open and entered her. It felt amazingly hot, but she screamed with pain, perhaps because she was too dry. When he saw the look in her eyes, he realised she must have less experience than he would have thought. He began to move, ever so slowly. He hadn't been with a real, flesh-and-blood woman since that day in Shinjuku, since that dark dream. The thing deep in his soul began to writhe, rise up and become real, promising to take him with it wherever it was going. To hell, and heaven. It was only in the final moments of sex with her that the gap between them could be bridged. This was what he'd been born for, and this was what he would die for.

But then, suddenly and too soon, the first time was over.

'Pervert!' she called him, spitting bloody saliva at him. He wiped the spittle off his face and rubbed it back in hers. Then he bit her breast to punish her. She tried to scream, but the sound died in her throat behind her chattering teeth. The first light of dawn was shining through the windows above them.

***

As the sun rose higher in the sky, light came streaming into the factory, and their surroundings slowly became visible. The panelling had fallen from the walls, exposing the bare concrete underneath. The partitions that had separated the kitchen and bathrooms had come down, leaving only the bare faucets and toilets. Oil cans and plastic buckets littered the floor, and a mound of empty soft-drink bottles lay near the entrance. But even in the light, it was still a bleak, cement coffin.

Hearing a noise behind him, Satake turned. A stray cat had wandered into the factory, but when it caught sight of him it ran off. There must be rats. He sat down on the floor, crossed his legs, and lit a cigarette. Then he watched Masako struggling on the rack, her whole body shivering in the cold. In a while, the light would reach them; and when it did, he would rape her again, only this time he'd be able to see her face as he did it. He would wait until then.

'Cold?' he said.

'Of course I'm cold.'

'Sorry, you'll just have to wait.'

'Wait for what?'

'For the sun.'

'I can't! I'm freezing!' she said. There was rage in her voice, but her words were slurred now from the beating. Her cheeks were swollen and the lower lip was puffy. Even from a distance, he could see that her body was covered with goose bumps, and he remembered that he'd thought of using a knife to scrape them off. But it was still too early for that. That was for the very end.

He pictured the thin, sharp blade sliding into her. Would it give him the same deep thrill it had all those years ago? It was that thrill alone which had defined him ever since, and he longed to feel it once again. He pulled a black leather sheath from his bag and put it quietly on the floor.

The sunlight had at last reached Masako's body. As it crept over her, she seemed to relax, and her pale, bluish skin began to take on colour, as though it were thawing out. Satake stood up and came closer.

'Did you make all those lunches on something like this?' he said. Masako just stared at him. 'Did you?' he said, grabbing her jaw.

'Why do you care?' She was too cold to speak clearly, but her anger was unmistakable.

'I bet you never thought you'd be tied up on one.' She twisted away. 'Tell me,' he said. 'How do you cut up a body? Like this?' He held her neck and ran his finger down her front, pretending to cut from her throat to her pubic bone. The pressure of his hand left a pale purple line on her skin. 'How did you come up with the idea of chopping him up? What did it feel like when you were doing it?'

'What does it matter?'

'Because you're just like me. You've gone too far to go back.' She looked into his eyes.

'What happened to you?' she said.

'Spread your legs,' he ordered, ignoring the question.

'No.' She pressed her legs together, and when he bent over, trying to work his way in, she kneed him in the face. He tried again, delighted that ^she still had some fight left in her. The winter sun played on her face, and as he lay there on her, he saw that her teeth were clenched and her eyelids tightly shut.

'Look at me,' he said, trying to force them open with his fingers.

'No.'

'I'll poke them out,' he said, pressing his thumbs into her eyes.

'Then I won't have to look at you.' When he took his hands away, her lids opened a crack. Wild black eyes showed underneath.

'That's right. Hate me more.'

'Why?' she asked, sounding as if she might actually want to know.

'You hate me, don't you? Just like I hate you.'

'But why?'

'Because you're a woman.'

'Then kill me!' she yelled. She doesn't understand yet, he thought. The other one did, but not her. He slapped her again, this time out of irritation. 'There's something wrong with you,' she said, 'something broken inside.'

'Of course there is,' he said, stroking her hair. 'Just like there's something broken in you. I knew it the first time I saw you.' Masako said nothing, but her eyes were wide open, with real hatred showing in them. He kissed her for the first time, tasting the salty blood on her lips. Blood had begun to ooze from where the ropes were cutting into her wrists - just as it had that other time.

He reached down and picked up the knife. Flicking off the sheath, he put it on the rack. She flinched at the cold, dangerous thing lying next to her head.

'Frightened?' he said. She shut her eyes, her body still shaking. Satake peeled the lids open again, searching behind them for fear, or the hatred that overcame fear. He entered her, searching inside her now. But searching for what? The other woman? Masako? Or was he looking for himself? Was it illusion or reality? Little by little, though he had no sense of time, her body seemed to be melting into his, her pleasure becoming his pleasure, and his hers. If they went on to the end, he felt he would vanish, disappear from this world, and he'd have no regrets if he did. He had never been at home here anyway.

He felt a desperate need to join her, to merge together. As he sucked at her lips, he realised with a twinge of sadness that she was looking at him with the same hungry stare.

'Does it feel good?' he said, his voice almost tender. She gasped but didn't answer. They were doing it together now, partners in it. Sensing that she was close to climax, he reached for the knife. He must get further into her. He could feel something stirring inside himself, feel the warmth spreading through his body. Together, they were heaven-bound.

'Please,' she whispered.

'What?'

'Cut the ropes.'

'I can't.'

'If you don't, I can't come. I want to come with you,' she pleaded, her voice low and raspy. He was ready now, so why need the ropes? He reached up and sliced through them. She wrapped her freed arms around his back and clung tightly to him. He reached behind her and cradled her head in his hands. He had never done it like this. Her fingernails dug into his back as their bodies moved together. When he was nearing the end, he cried out, feeling at last he'd overcome it, the hatred in him. But just as he was fumbling for the knife again, out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint of light. At some stage Masako had picked it up, and was on the point of using it. He grabbed her arm, knocking the knife to the floor, then punched her in the face.

She lay on her side for some time, her hands pressed to her cheeks. He climbed off and bawled at her, gasping with fury.

'You stupid bitch! Now we've got to start from the beginning!' It wasn't so much that she'd tried to stab him but that she'd spoilt the sensation he had worked so hard to bring back. But more than anger, he felt grief, that she hadn't shared his feelings.

She had lost consciousness. He touched her face where he'd hit her. If he began to pity her he wouldn't be able to kill her, and that deep need would never be fulfilled. She was right, there was something broken in him. He wrapped his arms around his head.

***

She woke up a short time later. 'Let me go to the bathroom,' she said. She was trembling violently and her head was still flopped to one side. He had hit her too hard. If he used her up like this, she might die before he could get what he wanted.

'Go on, then,' he said.

'It's cold,' she said. She sat up unsteadily and slid her legs to the floor. Reaching down slowly, she picked up her jacket and slipped it over her bare shoulders. Satake followed her as she made her way to the toilets in the corner. There were no posts or walls, just three seats that seemed to have sprouted from the floor. They were grey and grimy and there was no way of knowing whether the plumbing still worked, but Masako lowered herself on to the nearest one as if she had no more energy to waste. Ignoring Satake, she began to piss.

'Hurry up,' he said. She rose slowly and started back across the floor, but her legs were wobbly and she stumbled over an oil can, planting her hands on the ground to keep from falling flat. Satake ran over and grabbed her collar, dragging her to her feet. She shoved her hands in her pockets and stood for a moment, apparently dazed.

'Come on,' he said, raising his hand to hit her again. But before he could do it, he felt something cold brush across his cheek. It was like being stroked by an icy finger. The other woman's finger? Feeling as though he'd been touched by a ghost, he glanced around the empty plant, then touched his cheek with his hand. Blood was pumping from a deep gash.