HEY EVERYONE!
HOW ARE WE DOING OUT THERE!
Yeah, so, I was compelled to write something new. Sorry it took me so long to got this out, I did promise to write it in like, November, when university finished, but a lot of shit has happened. I actually got a full-time job (Gack) and other stuff. That, and I'm inherently lazy :D
But yeah, I hope you guys like thi. It's different from anything else I've written, which is good. I think. I put a lot of effort into this, more than I normally did. THink you can tell that by the 800 word count HAR HAR HAR
But yeah, I'm going to like, shut up now, and let you all get to reading. Hopes you likes it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, yadda yadda yadda.
Bakura awoke with a gasp. He jerked underneath the covers of his bed, half-rising from the warm comfort of the duvet, heart racing and a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He was tense for a moment, caught between the dream-memory and waking, the sound of gunfire still in his ears. He soon rolled back over in bed with a groan, pressing his face into the cold, unused pillow which resided on the right side of the twin sized bed.
Shit.
He lay there for some time, a tangled lock of hair caught in his mouth, air rapidly staling as he breathed against the warming black linen. His mind still ached with a drastic lack of sleep, but with his head resembling a blackened tempest, the man eventually pulled himself into a sitting position, conceding that sleep had escaped him.
What's the time? Rubbing at his eyes, Bakura groped for his cellphone, which was somewhere on the bedside table. Hands closing around the smooth, cool metal, he activated the device, staring at the luminous numbers on the small frontpiece. 4:12AM. Great.
Fuck it. Knowing that he would have to get up in three hours anyway, Bakura swung his legs over the side of the bed, switching on the bedside lamp. He found his bathrobe in a chocolate puddle on the floor, pulling it sleepily over his lithe frame.
Fucking nightmares. He switched on the coffee maker before the light. He had his priorities. Squinting in the harsh light of the yellow lightbulb, Bakura groaned, switched them back off, and simply drew the blinds, the endless lights of the city illuminating the room, sharpening the fuzzy outlines of his furniture, enough to see by. I'm twenty-eight years old. How the hell am I still plagued by nightmares, like I'm six again?
Oh, to be six. Bakura snorted, shook his head, and poured the steaming coffee into a mug he couldn't be bothered rinsing. He inhaled deeply before taking a sip, the bitter smell of freshly ground coffee beans helping to chase away the fatigue. He swallowed a mouthful, a deep gulp of the stuff, as dark and as thick as mud, wincing a little. Bakura liked – needed – his coffee strong. He downed another tablespoons' full, shuffling over to the window and leaning his head against the glass. His breath fogged the spotless surface, and with a mild interest, he began to trace vague patterns in the glass, knowing it would cause a smear, not caring.
Bring! Bakura jumped, slopping a little coffee over himself in the process. He wiped at the rapidly cooling liquid with his palm, not really worried (coffee stains never showed up in a brown bathrobe), before padding across the otherwise silent room to where his phone rested on the matte plastic cradle.
"Hello, Bakura speaking?" He eyed the clock, seeing the time was now 4:24. Who the hell would be calling at this hour?
"Bakura." Of course. Bakura took another sip of his coffee, frowning. Ailean. What is it at this time? Must be big... Even homicides were usually held off until 6am – she knew how terrible his sleeping was, and tried not to wake him unless it was really important. "You need to come to west forty-ninth street. I² Towers. There's been a murder."
"Uh-huh." Bakura took another sip of his coffee. "Got any I.D yet? Age, gender?"
"Bakura... it's Malik Ishtar."
Bakura froze. The coffee cup in his hand slipped from his stilled fingers, flinging blackened liquid all over the charcoal carpet, splashing his sofa, the legs of his coffee table, his toes.
"I'll be there in five minutes."
How the fuck did this happen? It was the singular thought that ran through Bakura's mind as he rode the elevator to the ninth floor of the plush apartment building, escorted by two police officers. He saw for himself the advanced security of the place – the gate that required a code to pass through, the fingerprint access, and the permanent team of three security guards. And no wonder: I² Towers, a cluster of three skyscrapers housing a hundred and twenty-five luxury apartments, a gym, pool, spa, bar, gardens, and God knew what else, were among the most expensive and sought-after living facilities in the city, home to movie stars, politicians, corporate giants – and certain children of notorious crime lords. Everyone in here probably had an assassin tailing them, frequent death threats, or an attempt on their life. It really was amazing that it had taken this long.
But Malik. Bakura refused to believe it. He had never met the boy – not in person, but he showed up sometimes in the papers. Drunk driving, assault, arson once – nothing big enough to pin him on, and his father made sure that they all went away. To kill a crime lords' only son was a surefire way to instigate a war.
Maybe that's what they want to happen. Bakura stepped into the hallway, staring carefully about himself. Malik's apartment was easily distinguishable from the rest – the yellow tape and four police officers that surrounded were a slight indication. Bakura reached inside his leather jacket, hands closing around the badge. He held it up to the armed guard silently, the officer nodding and drawing aside, Bakura ducking under the yellow tape that had been tacked across the doorway.
"Shit." He sighed, taking the black hair tie from around his skinny wrist, drawing his wild white hair back from his face. "What have you got Ailean?"
"The murder weapon, for one." She was bent over the body, light of her camera momentarily illuminating his face. Bakura wasn't perturbed by the body – he had seen plenty in his lifetime, and didn't find the sickly yellowish face, eyes wide open in shock, lips barely apart, horrific or disgusting. Ailean pointed to the gun, which had been bagged, nestled in her black leather case, the lid thrown wide open and tools plundered. Bakura crouched beside her case, pulling on a pair of gloves before lifting the bagged handgun, examining the weapon.
"Shit." The man muttered, again, turning the black gun in his hands. A .40 S&W, silencer attached. Every single person in the fucking city owns one of these. Pinning an owner would be next to impossible. "How the hell are we going to trace this back to anyone?"
"Not sure." Ailean looked deep in thought. "There's nothing here. No sign of a forced entry, nothing broken, doesn't look like a struggle at all."
"No witnesses I guess." Bakura straightened himself, taking a bag and a pair of tweezers, the ground beside Malik's lifeless head catching his eye.
"Actually, there was." Again, Bakura looked up. "His boyfriend. He's down at the station now, waiting questioning."
"Injured at all?" Ailean shook her head, lifting the viewfinder to her eye. "Did the killer not notice him?"
"If he had, I doubt he would have let the kid live." Ailean turned her gaze to Bakura, who was picking at pieces of glass from the carpet. "Look Bakura, I don't think this is gonna take that long. It looks like a pretty clean kill. How about you go and start talking to the witness, and I finish up here?"
"... All right." Bakura, who had extracted as much of the glass from the carpet as he could with his equipment, sealed the bag shut and replaced it beside the gun. "Try and see what the hell was going on here."
"Hmm." Ailean was still frowning. "To be honest, signs are pointing to the kid at the moment."
"Domestic?"
"Maybe." She blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. "I know that in a situation like this, it's logical to think of it as gang-related, but I just can't see any evidence pointing in that direction. If one of Akunamukanon's men knocked on the door, there would have been a fight. And I don't see a fight."
"Don't rule anything out yet, Ailean." Bakura muttered, mind going full tick. Not Akunamukanon's doing my ass. He's responsible for this. His gaze caught Malik again as he rose, the white-haired man staring at the dead teenager. The only son of Ishtar, shot dead in his own home.
This will mean War. He shook his head, pulling at the gloves. He stuffed them in his pocket, gave Ailean a curt nod, before turning away, and leaving the grisly scene behind him. He knew how Ishtar thought. He was traditionalist, conservative. His son was his life, his legacy. And he was ageing rapidly, rumour had it. He was sick, something terminal, and only had two years left, at the most. Now his son, who was to receive the entirety of his empire, was dead, and he could either leave it to his daughter, find and groom a new heir in two short years, or break it up amongst his closest followers. He'll spill blood for this. We'll be cataloguing a hell of a lot more dead bodies before this dies down.
Bakura smirked. And I couldn't be happier.
"He's just in there." The officer looked up from the paper he was reading, gesturing to the door. "Wanna have a look at his file?"
"Sure." Bakura took the paper from the policeman's hands, reading it closely. Nothing particularly interesting struck him. No previous convictions, no criminal history of any sort. Not even a warning. He was eighteen, born in England, mother deceased. "His record is spotless. Hasn't even stolen a candy bar from the corner grocer."
"Always the quiet ones." The policeman leaned against the wall as he received the file again, tapping this index finger against the manila folder. "Hey, if Ailean's done when I'm still in here, don't let her in. She can be a little... headstrong."
"Got it." He nodded with a chuckle, unlocking the door, and holding it open for the young detective. Bakura nodded his thanks, and stepped into the room, the metal door shutting with a soft clang behind him.
His first view was a mat of white fuzz. Bakura frowned for a moment, confused. It took a second for him to realise that it was a mop of hair. His breath caught in his throat, and he raised a hand to his own hair, clenching a fistful of the tangled locks. Bakura wondered if he was asleep, as the boy was entirely motionless, but after a second of watching, he realised that the teenager was crying, his frail form seized and trembling.
"H-Hello?" Bakura cleared his throat, the teenager starting. He lifted his head, but kept his gaze downward, a veil of white hair covering his eyes. Bakura sighed, and took the other chair, spinning it on one leg and sitting on it backwards, folding his arms on the back and resting his chin on his wrists. He hated weepers. "Look at me, please." He kept his tone gentle, but firm, aware of his fragile mental state. With a sniff, the teenager slowly raised his eyes, until they settled upon his face.
Bakura's heart jumped in his throat, breath staling. Jesus Christ. Even though his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, cheeks streaked with tear-tracks, hair a mess, he was still astonishingly beautiful. He was shockingly pale, as pale as the detective, but while it gave Bakura a chilling appearance of living death, this teenager looked more like a work of art, a Victorian painting or classicized statue, something so possibly idealised and beautiful that he didn't look real.
"What's your name?" Bakura set down the jotter pad and pen he had been carrying. He uncapped the pen, and wrote at the top of the page, Interview with witness on Malik Ishtar case #1.
"R-Ryou Inoue." He gasped after a moment of silence, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. Bakura nodded, starting to write on the paper.
"Age?" Bakura looked at Ryou, toes curling in his boots. Ryou was sobbing silently, trying in vain to keep his tears repressed.
"S-Seventeen." Ryou's voice cracked, and he covered his hands with his mouth, shaking violently. Bakura set his pen down, something twisting in his stomach. He longed to touch Ryou, to tell him that it was going to be all right, to... comfort him. The man shook his head, inwardly admonishing himself. What are you doing, you idiot! Pull yourself together!
Must be the lack of sleep. He settled on the mild explanation, doodling lazily in the margin as he waited for Ryou's sobs to subside. Crying grated painfully on his nerves. He couldn't stand to hear people wailing for the dead. It was a futile effort, largely aesthetic, tedious. He understood that for some, emotions ran too high to suppress, and crying was impossible to avoid, but he himself hadn't shed a tear since he was a child.
"Ryou," Bakura started tentatively after he let him sob on for a few minutes. "I need you to calm down, please. I need a full recollection of everything you can remember in the past twenty-four hours, in order to piece together what happened to your boyfriend-"
"He's not." Ryou cut in with a sniff, pushing his hair back from his face. Bakura paused, a frown creasing his features.
"He's not?" Bakura repeated, making a scribbled note on his page. Ryou nodded.
"Well... A-At least... N-Not any more..." He clarified, voice wobbling. "W-We... We broke up, a week or so ago."
"I see..." Bakura's frown deepened. "Why?" He watched Ryou's reaction carefully, knowing this interview would be recorded and closely monitored.
"It... Just wasn't working out." Ryou drew in a shaky breath. "We wanted different things... I was a-a secret from his family," He paused to sniff, "F-For him, th-the spark just wasn't there anymore... We had a fight... Jeez, I can't even remember what it was about... A-And I left, and wh-when I came back, he had left me a note, said it wouldn't work, and that he was spending the night with his sister... Which was generous, c-considering it's his place..."
"Okay..." Bakura made another frantic scribbled note. "Did you meet again before last night?" Ryou shook his head, mopping at his dripping nose.
"I-It was the first time I saw him since we broke up. E-Except I didn't..." He swallowed, trying to recollect his thoughts. "I-I've had trouble sleeping recently. It's driving Miho crazy."
"Miho?"
"Th-the girl I've been living with. It's n-not ideal, I-I have to sleep on her c-couch, and her place is kinda... Yeah... B-But last night, I was so restless... It's been lots – not just M-Malik..." Ryou sniffed. "And... So last night, I-I took a walk. I-I just had to get out... clear my head."
"Where did you go?" Bakura asked gently, making careful notes on his pad. Ryou sniffed for what felt like the thousandth time, closing his eyes.
"J-Just wandered." He opened them again, beautiful chocolate eyes staring somewhat dazed at the tabletop. "For hours. Th-Then I looked up and realised I was on Malik's street. I-I didn't even realise... I was just... It was instinct, I was on autopilot."
"So you decided to go and see him?" Bakura frowned a little. Ryou nodded.
"I-I could see from here that his l-light was on. So I thought that it might be could. We broke things off... W-Without talking. There was a lot that still had to be said." Ryou let out a shuddering breath. "T-Truth is, I... I didn't want to leave him..." He pressed his lips together, struggling to stem the flow of tears. "I-I was thinking about... A-Asking to come back..."
"So you made your way up to Malik's apartment." Bakura turned the page on his pad, pen hardly leaving the yellow paper. "Did you meet anyone on the way?"
"Y-Yes." Ryou sniffed. "I-I still knew the combination number to access the lobby... Th-the security guard said hello... I've met him before."
"All right." Bakura underlined a few words, making another note in the margin. "About what time was this, Ryou?"
"U-Umm... About three, I think..." He sniffed. "I-I'm not too sure..."
"That's okay, we can gather that sort of information from the tapes." He wrote another note in the margin, tongue between his teeth. "Did you meet anyone else at all?"
"N-No." Ryou shook his head, sniffing. "I-I didn't see anyone else." Bakura nodded, motioning for Ryou to continue. "A-And then... I-I... I made my way to his apartment. I-I was so nervous... I had this speech planned out... In my head, about how I was going to beg for forgiveness and all that..." He swallowed, mouth sandpaper-dry, the swelling in his chest rising. "A-And... When I got to his door... I knocked, and there was no answer. I-I knew that he was still up, I could see the light on... I-I tried the door... and it was unlocked... So I pushed it open a-and..." Ryou burst into fresh tears. "H-He was on the floor... C-covered in blood... I-I rushed to h-his side, b-but he was..." He dissolved, burying his face into the cold comfort of his folded arms. Bakura sighed, sinking his head into his own hands, mind going full tick. He wasn't going to get any more out of Ryou, not now, and truth be told, he didn't know what use they would be. His testimony would be crap really. He was in shock, his memory unreliable.
"Thank you, Ryou." Bakura capped his pen, leafing through his notes. "Listen, you've done really well for me, okay?" Ryou gave no indication that he had heard the detective, the latter sighing. "Uh, is there anything you want? To eat or..." Nope. Bakura rolled his eyes heavenward for a heartbeat, and with a gentle groan pulled himself up from the chair, arching his back in a stretch as he approached the teen. He crouched down beside Ryou, gently touching his shoulder.
Ryou jumped, jerking under Bakura's hold and on instinct, grabbed his arms. The white-haired pair froze, noses just six inches apart. His lip trembling, Ryou only held the gaze for a few moments before looking away, nausea rising in his stomach.
"Did you need anything to drink or eat, Ryou?" Bakura was soft spoken as he disentangled himself from the teenager, heart thudding rather oddly. What's my fucking problem...
"S-Some water, please." Ryou breathed behind parted lips. "A-And... s-some tissues..."
"All right." Bakura gave a single nod as he straightened up. "I'll send someone in. I just have to discuss some things with my partner. An officer will be in to collect your personal information. Don't worry Ryou, this won't take long." Something strange stabbed in his stomach. Did he just try to... reassure him? Ryou nodded, breath shaky, and lowered his gaze once more to the tabletop. Bakura collected his things, headed to the doorway, and paused, turning to the slim figure. He opened his mouth, as if to say something. What? What am I going to say to him? What can I say? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I feel so... Awkward?
Bakura opened the door, stepped through, closed it behind him, and leaned against the metal panel, letting out a long breath. Interviewing witnesses were always so soul-sucking. He closed his eyes, hearing rather than seeing Ailean open the other door, to the room that led behind the one-way mirror and approach him, shoes clacking. Why does she bother to wear nice shoes? Just who the hell is she trying to impress?
"Judging by your reaction, I guess you believe that piece of bullshit." Her voice bit like nails. Bakura pushed himself of the door with his right foot, opening his eyes and turning to Ailean, a frown knitting his eyebrows.
"Bullshit?"
"Yeah, bullshit." Ailean rolled her eyes. "Come on Bakura. It was the kid. It's a textbook case. The ex in a crazed fit of despair, has shown up at his former lovers' house, things get heated, someone gets shot."
"Ailean..." Bakura said slowly. "I don't think he did it. It doesn't make sense. He had everything to lose and nothing to gain from Malik's death."
"There is no such thing as a rational killing." Ailean reminded her partner. She was cold, clever, logical, and calculated, just as Bakura was, perhaps even more so. It was why they made such a great team, why they had such an impressive record. "Why, you got any ideas?"
"Akunamukanon..." Bakura muttered. "Or his son. Look, think about who he is. No one wants him dead more than those people. They're the ones who will profit from this death."
"Nice theory Bakura, but come on." She was beginning to become aggravated with Bakura. The man was usually as dreadfully practical as her, so why was he proposing something so... unfounded? "The Ryou boy is at the scene, he has a motive, and the murder weapon..."
"You don't know that's his." Bakura shot back, eyes narrowing. "Look, we need more evidence before we can start to build up a case against anybody. This is far from the end Ailean."
"Oh, I know." She sounded somewhat cool as she took off her glasses, examining the lenses. "I'm just expressing my thoughts. Keep your hair on, Bakura." Ailean replaced the glasses, looking thoughtful. "Did you get any other possible witnesses or info?"
"The security system at I² Towers." Bakura murmured. "Tapes, the guard, shit like that. We need to establish when Ryou arrived, I.D anyone walking around that time of night, any sort of suspicious activity."
"Right behind you." She gave a small, sideways smirk, following Bakura as he started to make his way down the hallway, narrow and lit by fluorescent light, crouching on the ceiling. Bakura leafed through his notes again as he walked, examining the short paraphrases of Ryou's testimony. He resisted the urge to turn his head, look back at the closed door, as though he would somehow be able to see through the thick metal door and see inside.
It wasn't until he was starting up his car when Bakura realised that he had forgotten to fulfil Ryou's simple request for water.
Bakura tapped a finger against the covered steering wheel, the nail clipped short, because long nails on men were 'gay', and they were a hindrance when he was forced to wear the latex gloves. Jammed again, the congested streets failed to cope with the rapid influx of traffic. What else was new? Bakura reached for the stiff paper cup of coffee, raising the now lukewarm liquid to his lips.
"You need to cut back." Ailean remarked from the passenger seat, rearranging her thick hair as she turned to regard her partner. Bakura gave a weak shrug. "That's gotta be your fourth cup this morning."
"You counted?" Bakura eased the car forward, inwardly cursing the stupid clogged streets. "You sound worse than my mother..." It was an easygoing, light-hearted statement, but Bakura's throat still closed, the word mother dropping like a stone into a deep, dark pool.
"Coffee's been linked to cancer you know." She brushed Bakura's silence away, having grown used to Bakura's frequent lapses from reality years ago. "And lots of other shit. You're not doing your body any favours."
"If I die young, it won't be from coffee." Bakura remarked dryly, but all the same he set the last quarter of the cup in the plastic holder, leaving the dregs to coagulate. "You know the death rate for people in our career."
"Fourteen-point-seven-four of the DCPD are killed before retirement." Ailean recited faithfully, her gaze fixed again on the Netbook in her lap. "Fifteen percent of which are suicide, seven percent in hostage situations gone wrong, thirty-three percent are from organised crime... approximately." It was more, of course. She added with a little thrum of her heart, smearing her perfectly-applied lipstick with her top teeth.
"And the other fifty-five percent?" Bakura looked over at her, satisfied he wasn't going anywhere soon. She gave a little shrug.
"Just shot on the job, you know? And something smaller, ten percent I think, is cancer, strokes, other so-called natural causes."
"So-called?" A whitened eyebrow arched.
"Well, if you died from, say, prostate cancer, I wouldn't call that a natural cause. You did it to yourself with all your damn coffee."
"You know, maybe you should drink more coffee and less of that herbal tea shit." Bakura commented, rather coldly. "Then you'd be less tired and crabby."
"Well sorry." Ailean rolled her eyes, knowing full well who the tired and crabby one was at that moment. "Take the next left, and we'll be at Miho Nosaka's apartment."
"Does she have any idea?" Ailean was pecking away furiously at the keys, a frown on her ethnic features. She shook her head, the frown deepening. "At all?"
"I thought it prudent to hold off a call of a visit from the cops." Ailean muttered. "She might have done a runner for all we know. We have no idea what kind of person she is."
"She let Ryou crash at her place." Bakura pointed out, his chest tightening at the thought of the young man. "If she's good enough friends with him, than she must be nice."
"Why, because Ryou's a real angel?" Her tone was dry and sarcastic, inciting a frown and a growl from the white-haired man. "Sorry, I just don't share your naive view on the boy."
"I figured." Bakura's jaw was clenched, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He turned left, into fifty-fourth street, where the traffic was somewhat clearer and he was able to push the car past thirty miles an hour. "It's not naivety, Ailean."
"Then what is it?" The female detective muttered, closing the lid of the Netbook, sliding the brushed metal tool into her purse. "For the love of God, don't tell me you have a thing for him."
"What?" Bakura gasped, heart backflipping magnificently. His foot slipped on the accelerator by accident, the car lurching painfully. Behind them, a taxi squealed, narrowly missing the bumper, the driver mashing the horn. "Don't be stupid." Bakura sputtered, mouth dry and face flaming as he eased the car forward, ignoring the incensed shouting and waving fists in his rear view mirror. "He's a frigging witness."
"He's your type." Ailean pointed out, checking a couple of unread messages on her phone. Bakura frowned.
"Type?"
"Yeah." She slid her phone back into her pocket, not bothering to reply. "Skinny, girly-looking, and barely legal." Ailean snorted, and with a rush of relief, Bakura realised she was joking. Half-joking. "Hey, this is the building. Take the handicap park there, nothing else close by." Bakura obeyed, pulling his Mercedes into the yellow-edged spot. The pair slid out of the car silently, carrying only their badges, and sidearms in black leather holsters concealed in artistically-cut jackets. The white-haired male buried his keys into one of the smaller pockets, following Ailean as she entered the apartment lobby.
"Not exactly a fancy place." Her lip curled in revulsion as she examined the dimly-lit room. The sun had risen an hour or so ago, but light still struggled to penetrate the lobby, one window boarded with cardboard, the rest spotted and streaked with mould, cobwebs and dirt. A single dusty bulb hung cheerlessly from the ceiling, bathing the vaguely smelly room in unshaded yellow light. "Guess the landlord doesn't spring for a cleaner."
"You've got a college girl living by herself in a place that's in the CBD." Bakura pointed out as he made his way up the stairs, deciding not to grip the cracked wooden banister. "Rent can't be more than a hundred bucks."
"Oh, college life." Ailean remarked, side-stepping a broken hypodermic needle. "I almost miss it sometimes."
"Heh." Bakura snorted, trying to picture the immaculate, calculating Ailean Rao as a drunken frat girl. It was amusing, and also wildly impossible. "Didn't realise forensic science students knew how to party."
"You know it." She gave a somewhat wry smile as they lapsed into silence, examining the graffiti on the walls, trying to avoid empty beer cans, more broken needles, used, leaky condoms, and God knew what else on the disgusting staircase. As they turned into the poorly lit hallway, Ailean winced. "Ugh. What's that smell?"
"Dunno. Don't want to know." Bakura kept his eyes peeled for 3F. "My guess is there's no security, so addicts and homeless use the stairs to crash."
"Good thing we didn't run into any this morning, then." She spoke not out of any fear of running to danger, but the prospect of arresting and booking any leftover drug abusers, tedious and time consuming, a practise that was slipping by the wayside in the DCPD. Ailean's footsteps stilted in front of the door, examining the lettering. The F was upside down, a screw having been removed, but there it was. She knocked on the door, three sharp raps with her knuckles, stepping back to await the introduction of Miho Nosaka.
Ailean had a habit of judging people by their surroundings. It was one of her many idiosyncrasies which she had picked up after her four years studying forensic science, before the scholarship money ran out and she got too 'old' to pay her way at Fantasy, forced to join the Force at the ground level, starved of any future education. The young detective was expecting someone to blend in effortlessly with the deteriorated environment, a futureless tramp who would herself be shooting up in the darkened stairwell ten years down the track. She was to be surprised.
"Who is it?" She sounded shy, so shy and quiet.
"We're with the Domino Police Department." Bakura spoke up. "Can we come in?"
"U-Um..." She sounded distressed. "Show me your badge. I can see you through the peephole." Bakura turned to his partner, Ailean nodding. He extracted his leather holder from a hidden inner pocket, showing the hidden girl his badge, and also the identification card. "All right." The pair heard the soft click of five locks in quick succession, and with a creak, the door swung open, and Miho Nosaka stood silently on the doorstep.
"Can we come in?" Ailean was surprised to see the shy, blue-haired girl in a plain white shirt and Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms.
"S-Sorry for asking like that." She stepped aside to let them pass. "It's just... People have tried that to get in before... With other girls they know live alone, and..." Miho trailed off silently, closing the door behind the two detectives, replacing all five sturdy locks. "This is about Ryou." Something sparked in her soft eyes. "Please... D-Don't tell me you found his body anywhere..."
"Oh, no." Bakura watched as she sat down on the edge of the couch, thin hands, lumps of bone and skin and sinew, twist and turn. "Not exactly..." Miho looked up, the dulled spark flaring.
"Have you heard the morning news report yet?" Ailean kept her eyes on the young college student, not looking around the apartment. It was so dank, so cramped and drafty and dim, that it would have seemed rude to do so. Miho shook her head, brushing back a lock of blue hair, wildly frizzled from sleep.
"Miho, Malik Ishtar has been shot." The girl let out a soft cry, a slender hand plastering itself over her mouth. "Sometime in the wee hours. Ryou found his body, and we're holding him at the station for the moment."
"Did... Did he..."
"Did he do it?" Ailean pounced. Miho nodded dumbly, eyes brimming with tears. "We can't be sure of anything yet." She watched the young girls' reaction very, very closely. "Why... Do you think he would have?"
"Ailean!"
"Sorry." The woman apologized, a fleeting glance swinging in Bakura's direction. "But we need to ask you some questions. And seeing as you and Ryou are close... are you close?" Ailean enquired, again watching Miho's reaction.
"Um... We're friends, yeah." A slight blush, a twiddling of the fingers. Someone obviously had a hopeless, unrequited crush. "We're both studying English Literature at the college, so pretty much all our classes are together, and we study together all the time... Sometimes I think we're the only people in the course who take it seriously... Most of the other students are just doing it to fill gaps in their timetable, or 'cause they thought it would be easy..." Miho fell silent, musing for a few seconds before shaking herself out of her torpor, blinking. "But yes... We became friends pretty quickly, and when Ryou broke it off with Malik, I offered my couch..." The blush deepened, Ailean gripped with aggravation. Ugh. It would be hard to get anything unbiased out of this one.
"Let's continue this down at the station." Ailean spoke firmly, giving Bakura a look. "Just so everything can be recorded and official, you don't mind do you?"
"I have the morning free." Miho was still obviously in shock. "So yeah... but if it were to wrap up by one, that would be great... I have a lecture then."
"I'll drive you to the college myself." Bakura promised, earning a small smile from Miho, who stood up, straightening her shirt a little.
"Thanks." She gave another soft, quiet smile, before heading to the bedroom. "Just give me a few minutes to change. Oh, and um, how is Ryou doing?" She looked back at Bakura, who looked somewhat pained.
"Not good." He said simply, uneasily. Miho brushed her eyes quickly, turning away once more.
"Not surprised." She breathed, voice shaking, closing the door gently behind her.
"Thought you oughta see this, Bakura."
The man started as the thick newspaper was slapped down on his desk, lowering the lid of his laptop to examine the headline. Goro Inogashira grinned as he sprawled out on the spindly chair before the desk, watching Bakura's reaction.
'Malik Ishtar Murdered.' The lettering was capitalised, in black, each word two inches tall. Bakura groaned as he skimmed through the article – low on facts, but high on opinion, pseudo-knowledge garnered by attention-hungry hangers-on who clung to the tails of the Ishtar family. Bakura threw the newspaper away with a sigh, raking his fingers through his hair.
"They reckon it was premeditated, ordered by Akunamukanon." The young, aggressive, and slightly bullyish police officer folded his hands behind his head, looking sly. "But word in the office is, the kid did it."
"We don't know anything yet." Bakura spoke with gritted teeth. "Fuck, I hate working in public crimes. We'll have to solve this twice as fast, or there'll be an outcry. They say we can't do our job."
"You're the best detective under thirty." Goro pointed out, resting his heels on the edge of Bakura's desk, testing him. "You and Ailean can solve this... Speaking of," his longue curled around his upper lip at the mention of the woman. "Where is she?"
"Down at the lab." Bakura spoke shortly. "Getting the autopsy reports, prints, DNA, and shit. Why?"
"Just curious." Goro held up his hands. "Nothing else."
"Uh-huh." Bakura snorted. "I'm sure it's nothing." He looked up at the ceiling, apparently deep in thought. "I think- Oh, hey." The male straightened up at the sight of the shy blue-haired girl in the doorway. "Wondered where you had gotten to."
"Finding the bathroom was harder than I thought." Miho forced a tiny smile, eyes sliding from Bakura to Goro. "Um, when do you think you'll be finished?"
"Just waiting for Ailean to come back with some lab reports." Bakura frowned at the e-mail he was reading. "Said she would be back at eleven." He glanced at the time. Eleven fourteen. "Don't know what's holding her up..."
"Um, I know this might sound weird, but can I talk to Ryou?" Miho inquired tentatively. "I know he'll be in shock right now, and if he can just talk to a friend..."
"Yeah, that should be okay." Bakura closed the lid of his laptop, and stood up, Goro's eyes widening. That was unorthodox. "You've finished your questioning, and we're only holding Ryou until the prints and DNA come back, just standard procedure. I can call the university for you, and get you both a few days of bereavement leave if you think that's best."
"For Ryou, definitely." Miho agreed, chest lightening a little in relief. "And I should be there... You know, take care of him and that."
"Of course." Bakura shot Goro a look, the officer heaving a sigh as he stood up.
"You're pushing your luck." Goro muttered the moment Miho had stepped out of the office. "Tsuruoka wouldn't be too happy with you breaking protocol."
"Tsurouka the most crooked bastard in this place." Bakura snarled in reference to the Chief of Police. "I know shit, Goro. The kind of shit that could get him fired and turn half the city against him. He won't touch me."
"Yeah, we're all as corrupt as hell." Goro gave a slight bow to Miho as he passed her. "A lotta blood on this thin blue line."
"Oh, go away, Goro." Bakura snarled disdainfully, a nerve touched. He wasn't going to be high and mighty – to claim that he was honest and scot-free was an outright lie – but still hated to be reminded of the corrupt practices of the DCPD. "Look, just tell Ailean were we'll be. Miho, come on." He sounded rougher than he liked to Miho, and winced. "Sorry." The detective apologized, rubbing his temples. "Just tired."
"It's okay." Miho followed Bakura, sneakers padding silently on the threadbare carpet. "I didn't sleep much last night either." She decided against further elaboration; she had gone over extensively the events of the past twenty-four hours, Bakura listening keenly. "Things were kinda loud... Everywhere last night."
"I lived somewhere similar for a while." Bakura could empathise. "Sucks, I know."
"At least you're not a girl." Miho mumbled, pulling her lightweight jacket closer about herself as they clunked down the stairs, the temperature sinking somewhat rapidly. "They try to break in, when they're really drunk. Which is often. Those nights I can't sleep."
"Have you tried telling anybody?" Bakura frowned. "Called us?"
"I do!" Miho's eyes shone with tears. "I call the police, all the time! All they do is tell me to keep the doors locked and not let anyone in. How the heck is that meant to help me?"
"I-I don't know." Bakura felt a little put on the spot. "That kind of thing isn't really my department-"
"'Course it's not." She was angry, Bakura realised with an inward wince. "You only deal with the bodies after they've been violated. Admit it, how many young women have you come across found dead in their homes after random attacks?"
"Too many." Bakura admitted, not wanting to reveal the body count. "Look, I know the system sucks, but we're working with what we have. The DCPD is flat broke. The police force itself is on the edge of striking, and they're talking about budget cuts for next year. We can't respond to every call out. And I hate that. I do." But I can't address the problem myself. Bakura knew why the Department was so underfunded, where the money was really going; it was just like every other government institution, sucking the money through a filtered hose. Tsuruoka had a hell of a lot to answer for, but with his connections, to both the Corporations and the Families, they weren't going to get rid of him in a hurry, and no one who knew the sordid details was brave enough to topple the corrupt Chief.
"We're here." Miho nodded as Bakura paused outside one of the doors, flanked by two Officers. "He's probably still shaken, so don't try to set him off again, please."
"'Course not." Miho looked to have recovered from her minor outburst. Bakura wondered how long she'd been holding the fear and outrage inside, letting the bubble of discontent slowly ferment until it reached toxicity. It would have taken a hell of a lot of nerve to say what she had to a detective, deep in the bowels of the central police station.
"Okay." Bakura took in a long breath as he turned the doorknob, unable to be opened from the inside, and held it, letting the air warm in his lungs. The action was disconcerting, causing his heart to race as he let it out again, pushing the iron door slowly ajar. Why did I hold my breath? Was I... bracing myself?
Perhaps. Bakura's heart certainly continued its uneasy flip-flops as his gaze fixated on Ryou. He had calmed himself down somewhat, staring blankly at the tabletop, clutching the sides of the chair and letting his rumpled hair fall whatever way it chose. His slender little shoulders were hunched over, and Bakura noticed his knuckles were bone white on the edge of the seat. It looked as though he was bracing himself, against some kind of earthquake or the threat of a sudden blow. Why is he doing that? Bakura studied him further, watching his muted reaction to Miho, who fussed over him, shedding a few tears as was expected. He was drawn to the teenager, something soft rocking in his stomach.
Oh, get a hold of yourself! Bakura cursed himself, swallowing. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a dry rasp issued forth. Bakura winced, and coughed. The sound cased Miho to look up with a frown, and even Ryou lifted his gaze, expression changing when he realised it was Bakura who had accompanied his friend. He softened, his pinched, frightened face relaxing, just marginally.
"U-Um, do you have any news?" Ryou asked softly, pushing back his hair. Bakura paused, hovering in thought. "M-Mr. Matsumoto?"
"Call me Bakura." He insisted shortly, repeating his abrupt cough. "And not really. Whoever killed Malik did it pretty damn cleanly, because we can't find anything. My partner, Ailean Rao, is just checking things out at the lab, but she should be back soon. By that stage, you should be free to go, Ryou."
"Oh no he is not." Aileans voice at the doorway made Bakura jump. "Miss Nosaka, can you please give us some privacy? Shut the door behind you on your way out." There was no smile, no hint of warmth in her voice.
"A-All right." Confused and deeply troubled, Miho walked out of the room slowly, the door clanging softly as she pulled it closed.
"Ailean, what's going on?" Bakura frown, studying Ailean before settling his gaze to the folder in her hands. "Those the lab results?"
"They are indeed." Ailean wasn't looking at Bakura. She kept her firm gaze on Ryou, words clear and precise. "They show that there were only two sets of prints on the murder weapon. Malik Ishtar and Ryou Inoue."
"That means nothing." Bakura argued quickly, Ryou letting out a terrified whimper. "The killer could have worn gloves. If-"
"Security footage obtained from I² Towers shows that between the hours of one to three A.M, Ryou Inoue was the only person who entered the ninth floor." Ailean cut over Bakura. "The security guard reported only occupants of the apartment entering and leaving the building after midnight at that time, aside from Mr. Inoue."
"Ailean." Bakura breathed. "No."
"Finally, the pattern of blood found on Ryou Inoue's clothing conclusively proves that Malik Ishtar was still alive when he had contact, something which directly contradicts his testimony." Ryou had stopped breathing, doe-brown eyes wild with fright.
"That doesn't-"
"Ryou Inoue, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Malik Ishtar." Ryou was absolutely stunned. "You have right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the sta-"
"No!" Ryou sprung alive, jumping from his chair and backing away from the woman, hyperventilating. "I didn't do it!"
"Don't make this harder on yourself." Bakura shook, utterly stunned as Ailean grasped Ryou's arm, the teenager struggling madly. "Please Ryou, do not compel me to use force!"
"Please!" Ryou was sobbing as Ailean broke out the handcuffs, forced face-first against the brick wall. "Bakura! Bakura, please! I didn't do it!" Tears streamed down Ryou's cheeks, moist brown eyes fixating firmly on Bakura's face. "Bakura, help me!"
"I'll take him up for processing." Ailean wasn't moved by Ryou's tearful plea. "Best you not be there. I'll meet you in our office in an hour, okay?"
"Ailean..." Bakura croaked, his chest aching. She turned away from her partner without another word. "No..." He tried to speak, tried to summon words to his lips, but they utterly failed him. The detective dragged a struggling, crying Ryou from the dimly lit room, leaving Bakura standing on the edge of a shallow pool of pale light, alone.
"No." He spoke again, sinking into one of the folding chairs. Bakura sank his head into shaking hands, trying to process what exactly had just happened. Ryou had been arrested. Ryou. He knew, in the depths of his heart, that there was no way that the kid had pulled the trigger. He had only met Ryou a few short hours ago, and had just a short interview, but Bakura was already positive of his innocence. He knew Akunamukanon and his son Atemu, he knew what that whole family was capable of. He knew they had a vast network of hired assassins, highly trained in the art of invisible murder. Any one of them could have slipped in, undetected, and do away with the teenager. The gun belonged to Malik for Christ's sake, it was registered in his name. The fact Ryou's prints were on it meant nothing.
He didn't do it. Bakura raised his head, trying to calm himself down, think rationally. And I have to prove that he didn't. It's my fucking job to prove it. He stood up, straightening his jacket and pushing his hair back. He searched through his pockets for a hair tie, using one to pull the wild hair into a low ponytail. I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I'm going to catch those Egyptian sacks of shit and put at least one of them away. After what they've done to me, it's the least they deserve. And I won't fail Ryou. I can't.
I'm going to break a million rules. Bakura winced as he stood up, with the creaking tenseness of a frail elderly man, making his way to the thick metal door. They've found their patsy, and enough evidence to lock him up. This case is, as far as Tsuruoka is concerned, closed. But I never back down from a challenge.
Akunamukanon is going down. I've been waiting for years for a case like this. An unpleasant smirk flickered across tight, pale lips. I'm going to destroy them. Even if it kills me.
Woooooo, feels good to be back, baby.
The other chapters will most likely not be this long. Most likely? More like definitley not. This one is the length it is, to, you know, set the scene, and whatnot. And cos it's AU, a lot needed to be set.
BTW, you won't find any OC's here, apart from, you know, unnamed extras. I'm borrowing a lot of people from the Manga and First series Anime, cos they're the most evil (and there's gonna be a lot of bad guys). Ailean seemed to be the most badass female in the series (Come on, she threatened to kill Anzu with a freaking TIGER. Shit rocks) so yeah, you'll prolly see a bit of her. If that's okay.
But yeah, will have an UPDATE SOON I hope. As long as I get lots of nice shiny reviews. You'll review, right?
Peace.