Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Misaki Takahashi felt as if a demolition concerto had gone off in his head. Syncopated rhythms bounced between his eardrums, making his head a makeshift timpani. Consciousness was coming, slowly. He fought to raise his eyelids, wiggle his fingers, a toe, anything. The conductor swiftly brought the concerto to fortissimo, and he began to choke. Something was in his mouth, down his throat, that prevented him from breathing or swallowing of his own free will. Misaki's eyes flashed open, the explosion of light only intensifying the relentless pounding in his head. Abruptly he fought to sit up, fought the hands holding him down, fought the tube lodged in his throat, unaware of his surroundings.

"Misaki. Misaki!" the voice filtered into his ear, unwelcome, grating. Bleary-eyed, he tried to focus on something, anything. A dismembered pain loomed threateningly on the edges of his consciousness. He dry heaved: a taste of bile, then something more metallic.

"Mr. Takahashi, please step back so we can make the patient more comfortable. Please, sir, or else you'll have to wait outside." The nurse brandished a long syringe, determination visible on her face. Takahiro reluctantly stepped aside.

Pumping the medicine into the IV, the nurse said, "This is a mild sedative. It should knock Misaki out for a little longer. Like the doctor explained, it's necessary for the swelling in his face and limbs to decrease, and for his vital signs to become stronger before he can have surgery. Your brother will be less traumatized if he regains consciousness only after the operation."

In this way, hours, days ticked by with Takahiro at Misaki's side. Regularly Minami came to relieve him, so that he could eat, take a shower, or sleep somewhere other than the cot next to Misaki's bed. Takahiro had tried to call Akihiko Usami multiple times at his home, on his cell phone, through his publisher and editor. No one seemed to know where the man was. Takahiro clenched his fist in frustration. The situation was worrisome itself, but without his best friend there to support him, Takahiro felt he was hanging on by a thread. Minami was lending all the support she could to her husband, but Takahiro had to keep a brave mask in place for her.

It was all Takahiro could do to stop from tearing his hair out. His younger brother lay immobile in the hospital bed, battered and broken. Takahiro had little clue as to why. The police had suggested a hate crime, possibly someone Misaki knew. Misaki is such a good kid, how could this have happened? He would have felt more confident had Akihiko been there. Akihiko was his pillar, the person he went to when he needed to find answers or advice. When Takahiro's parents had died, it was Akihiko who had helped him find the courage to raise Misaki on his own. He was deeply indebted, but he now found himself cursing the man. Just where was he at a time like this?

Within the week, Takahiro's brother would undergo extensive reconstructive surgery on his face. The plastic surgeon had warned him that the post-surgery Misaki was unlikely to resemble his former self. Too much damage had been done to Misaki's facial structure: both cheekbones shattered, one crushed eye socket, and a collapsed septum. Takahiro's chest tightened at the thought of being unable to recognize his brother. Misaki, who had their mother's dimples when he smiled. Takahiro wondered, should this prized feature disappear, how much else would be lost during this unexpected turn of events.

So Takahiro waited. He could only pray this retribution exacted upon Misaki had been paid in full, leaving him with a karmic blank check.