Near morning, a nearly forgotten dream…
A skinny tall boy, about thirteen or fourteen, sits on a rusty fire escape, his legs swinging restlessly from the edge. A cigarette dangles from his lip and a pack and matches rest next to him. His messy hair falls into his eyes and he shuts as the voices from inside the apartment behind him drift out the open window.
"I'm sorry ma'am, but we can't start an investigation for another 24 hours," an official sounding male voice states.
"Besides, he's probably just hiding somewhere," another voice chimes in.
"He's never anywhere but here! He comes home straight from school. He's a good kid damn it. He's never not come home at night." a nearly hysterical woman's voice argues.
"Listen lady," the second man says sternly, "we're doing all we can do. Policy is policy. We'll be back in the morning."
The boy jumps as dishes are rattled angrily in the sink. His mother doesn't answer the men. The boy hears the front door slam and watches the men walk to the car parked below him. They don't see him.
"That dumb bitch probably got drunk and forgot him at the mall or something. He'll come crawling back," the taller man grunts.
The boy takes a long drag, scowling down at them as they climb into their black car. He's suddenly distracted by being hauled to his feet by a strong grip on his ear.
"Kaasan—"
He reels from a hard slap, immediately tasting blood.
"Yohji, how many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my god damn cigarettes?"
The woman's voice is shaking.
"Kaasan…"
"Why didn't you walk him home from school? This is your fault!"
"Kaasan…" The boy frowns, a little blood running from his lip.
The woman opens her mouth as if to yell again, but collapses against the boy instead. They end up in an awkward pile on the fire escape. The boy hopes that the fucking cops are gone. The woman sobs and he pets her like she's a child.
"It's ok, Kaasan…it'll be ok."
"Yohji…"
Three days later the boy is on the fire escape. His cheekbone is bruised. He's smoking.
"Sota…where are you," the boy thinks. "I'm waiting for you. I told you I'd take care of you. You don't have to run away. I'm waiting for you Sota. Don't leave me, ok?"
The boy looks down, his heart leaping, as the black car pulls up again.
"Sota," he whispers. He pictures his eight year old brother bounding out of the car, exclaiming, "I'm hooooooome, Yoh-nii!"
He blinks as the two cops from before get out of the car and pause next to it, staring at his front door below.
"This isn't going to be fun."
"Whatever, that slut's probably got five illegitimate replacements running around this neighborhood. She's got an older brat too."
The boy puts out his cigarette. His hand is shaking.
"Don't be cruel…they didn't even find all of the fucking kid. Took all day just to identify the pieces."
The boy feels his chest tighten. His green eyes widen.
"Well at least he got us a lead on the serial killer. Too bad we had to slum for it," the man laughs harshly as the other shakes his head.
The boy stands and trips, falling back against the upstairs door to his apartment, he hears a curse from one of the men below as they spot him. He can't breathe. He opens the door as if in a daze. The woman looks up at him blankly from the couch, a bottle in her hand. He's falling and falling and then everything is black.
"Yohji-nii?"
Sota…
Yohji stares and blinks at Omi.
"Oh…goodmorning."