Junko Furuta

The Downside of Writing

Junko Furuta

Sometimes, research can be a real bitch, because occasionally you see things that can't be unseen. 

A part of me wishes that I'd never discovered the awful truth about a teenager named Junko Furuta....and another part of me is damned glad that I did.

Junko Furuta was just an average 16-year-old Japanese girl on her way home from school when she was kidnapped by four male classmates - one of whom she'd rejected. 


The four boys tortured and raped her for over a month. 


The objects she was raped with caused internal injuries, and she eventually succumbed to internal bleeding.

It has always seemed to me that God cares very much for children. 

After all, I do, and I was made in His image, right? 

So, it made sense to me that the adolescent victims of murder - the worst of the worst here on Earth - would have a special place by God's side in my novels.

For an accurate depiction of God's house, I needed a special girl...a girl that helped Him get the other murdered children off to school in the morning....a teen with a tragic background, who could only thrive under God's watchful care. 

I found Junko. To my regret.


I cannot imagine a worse death for a young woman than to be tortured and raped by people you know. And she was, not once or twice but hundreds of times. Until it finally killed her. 


Junko, to last a month under such circumstances, must have had an incredible spirit. A spirit that should be remembered.


So I did.


Junko Furuta, in the little world I invented, helps God get the other murdered children off to school in the morning, and makes sure He takes His blood pressure medicine. Junko is also a strict vegetarian, so no more bacon for God!

Make no mistake, I could have used a fictional character. 


But I have a daughter, and every time I thought of Junko's real death back in 1989, I cried....so I decided to incorporate her into two of my books.

I have no idea why her death affects me the way it does....perhaps it is because if that had happened to my daughter Ivy, I'm pretty sure of two things. 

1: The guys that did it would have waded balls deep into a river of fuck, and 2: When I was done with them, my life would be over.

Junko is also responsible for my description of a special place in Hell for the type of person that harms a child. I would happily trade that for her life, though.


I hope God exists....I really do. And, more importantly, I dearly hope that a child like Junko is safe at God's house. 


The thought helps me sleep at night.

Rest in peace, Junko.

Does Junko's story strike 
chord with you?






*************






Below is an excerpt from my novel, She is My anger

This is the opening of the book

First, you see things from Harry Moss's (a dead FBI agent) point of view, then you see things from God's perspective

Most of the book is told first person from God Himself

8:24 a.m.

JHAD Headquarters

Heaven

 Watching the overhead monitor carefully, Harry Moss knew he had a problem. He sat back in his chair and tapped the desk thoughtfully, wondering how to handle the situation. Junko shuffled into the office and quietly poured coffee, setting the cup on the table with a half smile.

“Is everything all right, Director Moss?”

“Junko….how many times? Call me Harry.”

“Yes, Director Moss.” Junko Furuta slid out of the room without a sound, shutting the large glass door behind her.

Harry sipped the coffee and grunted. The Japanese girl had been his personal assistant for a year now, and despite her shortcomings, she made an excellent pot of coffee.

Harry turned back to the new algorithm on the display, which was showing a counter ticking down. Five days left now…at most. Damn. Probably a lot less.

Every six months or so down on Earth, a monster came out to play…a monster who only targeted children in the worst way possible….quite successfully, too. Unfortunately.

Harry reviewed the file again. Jonas Martin was 37 years old and at some point in his life he’d come up with a unique way to make little girls disappear. Fifteen kids so far; and he would begin scouting for number sixteen within the next couple of days.

JHAD actually didn’t track very many serial murderers, being relatively rare, and certainly none who got rid of the evidence so well. Martin had been at his business for roughly eight years now, but that was only part of Harry’s problem.

Jeremy Pinkerton, one of the senior programmers, walked past the office trailing a toddler. The child tugged Jeremy’s hand until he relented and entered the room.

“Imogen!” Harry picked up the girl and set her in his lap. Imogen had been murdered a few weeks earlier in Scotland. Since no one had been waiting for her when she arrived in Heaven, Jeremy Pinkerton and his wife had adopted the adorable child.

“Sorry, Harry.” Jeremy said sheepishly. “Couldn’t get a sitter today. Helen has the South American desk downstairs.”

Harry waved a hand. “No problem. Have you seen the Martin projections?”

“Yeah….gonna be a bad one. You don’t think…?”

“I don’t know. I hope He doesn’t get involved. Remember Russia back in ’91?”

Jeremy nodded. “Err…honestly, Harry, God saved a lot of kids. It could have been much worse. Anyhow, come along Imogen. I have work to do.”

Imogen and Jeremy left as Harry watched, shaking his head.

The Joint Human Analysis Directorate, which Harry himself had organized into a top notch murder prediction and tracking station, was watching Martin with interest. SPEC 13 agents transmitted crucial data to Harry’s signal analysts, and in turn a computer model would run a target simulation on Martin and when he would strike again. It was all very state of the art.

This also wasn’t the problem.

Harry and Father God had become rather close over the last 42 years, and there was one thing you could take to the bank concerning God. Something you could absolutely bet your life on. Don’t mess with children. Period.

And that had Harry worried. When pushed far enough, God got mad.

Then He got even.

Harry’s biggest fear was that his daughter would be caught right in the middle.

8:36 a.m.

As soon as the elevator doors opened I could see Harry was stressed. Junko smiled brightly from her workstation and I gave her a finger wave, then entered Harry’s plush office and sat down.

“How is Junko working out?” I said, settling back in the seat. Harry blew out his breath and closed a file.

“Oh, fine. I guess. She only talks to me. Talk isn’t the best term, exactly. Why?”

“Just curious.”

Actually, I was a bit concerned about her, even if she was the best housekeeper I’d ever had. I was still waiting for the day when she began to blossom.

Junko Furuta, at the age of sixteen, had been tortured and raped for over a month before succumbing to her injuries back in 1989. The damage to her soul was so severe that she lived with Me, unable to interact with anyone else. She’d recently started working here at JHAD, which I thought was a huge step forward. I glanced at the monitor on the wall, noting that the countdown had begun.

“Harry, we both know why I’m here. Something has to be done.”

“Father, we have agents on Earth that can handle the situation. I have Black Ops, heck - Christine is even available. She’s my most trusted operative. Leave this to the professionals.”

Harry was referring to Christine Taylor. She had helped him build JHAD into what it was today, but her heart had grown hard and cold in the process. That could happen to anyone whose job involved tracking murderers for a living. I’d sent her to Earth to thaw out a bit.

Christine was an excellent agent, but I felt the situation required a different touch. And I knew Harry would fight Me every step of the way.

Jeremy Pinkerton’s kid peeked around the corner of Harry’s office, wanting to come in. I smiled broadly and held out My hands. Imogen ran and jumped into My lap. My shirtsleeves were rolled up and she immediately became fascinated with the hair on My arm, petting softly. Then she twisted a few hairs together and pulled as hard as she could.

“Oww!” I bellowed, to Imogen’s eternal delight.

“Sweetheart, that’s not very nice.” Harry said.

“I didn’t do it.” Imogen replied. Eyes as big as saucers, she really sold it.

I shook My head. “Harry, this situation with Martin is different. Sometimes, as you know, these things have to be handled personally.”

“Personally?” Harry said. “Like the fall of Bucharest? We aren’t supposed to interfere with mankind’s freewill. You know that.”

Imogen heard her dad calling and dropped to the floor, running toward the sound of his voice.

“Of course, I know that. Who do you think makes this crap up?” I chuckled. “More of a guideline than a rule, really. Don’t worry - I have it all under control.”

“Uh-huh. You are going to muck around and get my daughter hurt. That’s what I’m worried about. Never mind at all the pitfalls of Your presence on Earth.”

I sat back and folded My arms. “Harry, do you realize that you are My best friend? Do you really think I would endanger Andrea? Give Me a little credit.”

Harry stopped short. “Well. I suppose not. Now that You’ve guilt-tripped me.”

“That’s how I roll, Harry.”

“Fine…just promise You’ll look after my girl.”

I spread My hands. “Harry, I promise. But seriously, what could possibly go wrong?”

There wasn’t language strong enough to express how much I would come to eat those words.