Well-dressed people fill the streets near Jiyugaoka station. The clothing stores are shuttered, but someone is always in sight, either up ahead or trailing behind. Businessmen gather at soda machines or shuffle out of hole-in-the-wall drinking establishments and restaurants. Further from the train station, homes with one or two lights on and tiny apartment buildings line the streets.

When I was younger, we used to walk between Jiyugaoka and Yoga as a family. Walking made Sophia and I strong and fit. We used various routes, but the sweet nostalgia of our main route, through a park and along a road with farming fields on both sides, always relaxes me, even nowadays. The Yakuza will never look for me on these roads. By the time I meet up with Alan, I'll be recharged and radiant, like Cynthia.

As the streets grow darker and quieter, my pleasant memories butt head to head with the horrible feeling from Nakameguro station. If this happy route can't snuff out the dread, nothing can, so I keep going. While I walk, I pull out my amulet to fight evil, my yakuyoke, and admire its colorful cloth. If demons exist, then yakuyoke might be real and have power too.

I rub the yakuyoke. Demon, don't let anything bad happen to me or Cynthia. My father started this, but he's risking his life right now to fix it, even if I don't know what he's doing about it. Keep him safe too. I hold up the yakuyoke and squint at it. No magic visibly radiates off its shiny orange and yellow surface, but I keep the yakuyoke in my hand. I squeeze it tightly.

Instead of letting fear make me walk faster, I slow down and savor the dark sky and houses. I wish I had another weapon, something more modern than the yakuyoke, something more mundane, like a gun or taser, but people are in the houses and apartments. The streets are empty, but the presence of unseen humanity all around gives me strength. Everyone gets premonitions when they walk alone at night, and nothing happens to them. It's an ordinary evening, and I'm taking an ordinary walk.

When I let Mr. Lombardi down, the disappointment on his face scars me. Praying to a demon, like I just did, would not be a joke to him. He and Sophia are Catholic. I'll go with them next Sunday. Maybe I can confess. The priest will say the black smoke isn't even a demon. He won't believe me. So I'm not praying to one exactly. It's just talk, just thoughts. Meaningless thoughts.

Overhead, the dark sky goes on forever. I don't think the demon's up there. It's not really nearby or listening. It's just me out here. And I've walked this distance at this hour recently. After studying at a coffee shop in Jiyugaoka with Risa and others, I often walk home alone. Ten-thirty and forty-five minutes doesn't feel too late or too long to me, and creepy guys usually haunt busy places. Most of them are cowards. Most of them are too chicken to actually talk to a girl. If you stay alert, walking here is safe. Sometimes, I see elementary school students out this late on their way home from cram schools. It's completely safe, and the weather's pleasant, even in a short, one-piece dress without a jacket.

One of my favorite parts of this route is near some quiet homes and a cemetery. The cemetery's on high ground and hard to see behind the houses, but I know it's there. Long ago, I walked through it with my family. While I try to glimpse the cemetery behind the tall houses, Joel replies to my last message. We spotted that Porsche. Heading from Nakameguro toward Yokohama.

I stop reading and walking. The glossy black sky stretches far overhead, from the unseen cemetery to the other side of Tokyo. I stare at patches of sky, trying to figure out if it's natural. I read the last sentence of Joel's message. Makiko, where are you now?

My fingers don't shake. They should, because this could be my last message ever: The demon's not heading to Yokohama if it stopped in Jiyugaoka like I did. I add a row of hearts and one skull.

Anyone can die like a runaway. Even me. I'm not special, just because my fathers are rich.

I look up and down the street.

My mind could play tricks on me, even if Yakuza aren't after me, even if I never saw the demon before. I put away my phone and clutch the yakuyoke. I apologize to God for praying to the demon and apologize to the demon for calling it a demon. I don't expect any answers, and don't get any. Maybe it would be comforting to talk to someone while walking. I could call Cynthia, but I don't. I might get too engrossed in a conversation to pay attention to the silence. I also don't call, because Cynthia doesn't need to listen to my screams while helplessly holding a phone. Neither does Risa. She wouldn't understand at all. Doing that to her would be selfish.

Staying calm. Playing down the danger. Maybe that's bravery.

An isolated stretch near the cemetery leads to a grassy park with a tiny stream and a wooden structure for escaping the noonday sun. It has a roof, floor, and back wall. It could be my nook, my cranny, until Alan has enough time to evade Nobu and check on Cynthia and get to the hotel in Yoga. Unfortunately, the dense brush along the footpath that connects this street to the back of the park would be the perfect place to grab brave me, hurt brave me, and dump my dead body. Someone could chuck it over the fence where the cemetery comes down to meet the park.

If I call Alan, he won't get things done that he has to get done before we meet in Yoga. If taking this route was a mistake, it's too late anyway. "Demon," I whisper, "Is that you I hear?"

Thank you very much for reading QUIET!