8--8
1: 30 AM, November 8, 2138
(One year later)
8--8
The bathroom was smothered with steam, making vision difficult but offering the feeling of a tempered sauna. The spray of the showerhead was raining down on the legs of Sakura, rat er than her back. Recently she'd discovered that by lying down in the bathtub with her legs stretched upward, making her body bend in half, she was able to think a lot more clearly. Maybe it was the fact that she was lying and rested, or that the hot water was causing her to breath in really clear oxygen. Either way, it worked. Besides, by the end of the day, her feet were always sore from wearing heels all day, and the hot massage of the shower helped sooth the ache directly.
The last year had been a killer on Sakura. First, as she predicted, the scandal of the assassin's escape was still regularly shown on the news. Her father had gotten a hold of the security tapes of that day so no one was able to see how a single teenager got past twelve grown men. And her father never watched it – so no one knew that Sakura had let that teenager get away, either. The fact that the boy was still at large didn't help her father's situation either.
Secondly, since she was now sixteen and her body was fully developed, she was attracting too much attention from boys at school. Sure, there were a few that were after her personality instead of her looks, but she still had to say no. Her reason wasn't as believable as it used to be, though … Yukito had been in Vancouver for the last 8 months, and her admirers would always retort, "What kind of fiancé doesn't see his wife for a year?"
She glanced down at her chest for a moment, frowning. "I don't see what everybody's making a big deal about," she mumbled out loud. "I'm only a B-Cup … and I'm a size 6. There are a lot of girls smaller than I am. And prettier."
The voice of reason in the back of her mind said, they're after your money and your power.
Sad, but probably true.
And thirdly, the reason for her thinking-shower, she was having issues with her secret research.
Her father and brother didn't question it when she stopped pestering them to give her a job. She had occupied herself in her own mission, one that her relatives and fiancé would not approve of, but seemed too b sy to notice that she was doing anything. She was trying to prove that the assassin was innocent.
The DVDR in her room was constantly recording the news channel. If there were new video of the assassin at work, she would save it. Late at night she would be running through the videos, enhancing voices that she couldn't hear, or sharpening the picture. When her father got back from the more extreme incidents involving the boy, he would always have bags evidence that the experts would discard. She would be digging through garbage bags at two in the morning, looking for some kind of sign, or clue, that would help his cause. Just a few weeks ago, after a man and his wife were shot, they brought back a ton of junk from the man's den, including a voice recorder that no one thought anything of. Sakura nearly jumped out of her bed when she was listening to it that night, when the shriek of the Pymetrian language filled her ears. The woman's voice replied in the same language, acting as interpreter for her husband – and the parts she could hear of the husband (in English) literally spelled "traitor."
She never knew why she was doing this; trying to prove the boy innocent. Maybe she was just that bored out of her mind. So bored, that she would hack into the government mainframe and look at whatever she wants. So bored, that she spent every moment of her spare time thinking over evidence or videos or whatnot. Or maybe she really wanted to help him. Her mind over exaggerated the look of pain and fear in his eyes, and at times she found herself thinking that he was purely innocent, like he was Spider-man or something and the whole city didn't trust his good deeds. Other times she thought that he was a brilliant actor/killer, and that the best thing to do would be to set all of her research on fire.
But she was too deep into it now to give up. Especially tonight.
After almost a year of scanning the networks on her computer, she found the surveillance video that he told her to watch again; the murder of Caine Desmond and hat wife.
The problem was the only surveillance tape available for that house was from the far corner of the foyer. The only image you saw was the boy sneaking into the house (appearing from the bottom of the screen) and sneaking around a corner. The majority of the tape was staring at two walls. There was no audio available, and the most you could see of Desmond was his arm from around the corner of the house, as he fell to the ground, dead.
Unfortunately, that tape showed no evidence to prove him innocent. If there were audio, then yeah, you would've been able to hear SOMETHING, like a struggle of some kind. But this just looked like the assassin was breaking and entering just to off the guy.
She stared up at the ocean-blue tiles across the ceiling of her bathroom, enjoying the massage her calves were getting from the spray of water. Sighing, she turned the water off and slowly stood up, careful not to fall, as she grabbed a towel and dried off.
She emerged from her bathroom a few minutes later, wearing some pajama pants and an old t-shirt. Her curtains were open, revealing the lights of the city. Checking the clock on the wall proved that it was 1:30 AM – and she felt ready to jump out the window herself.
Sakura got onto her knees beside her bed, thrusting her hands in between the mattress and the box spring. She grunted as she struggled with two objects hiding inside. Finally pulling them out, she revealed a laptop and a thick binder chronologically and alphabetically filled with DVD's, photos and newspaper clippings. On the cover of the white plastic, it read, EVIDENCE in black Sharpie marker.
She sat on the bed and crossed her legs, facing the city skyline, as she opened her machine. The screen was exactly where she had left it, inside the deepest mainframe of the World Computer System. She stretched her arms above her head for a moment, before typing and clicking the keyboard.
All that time spent, she thought. All that time looking for folders and cracking passwords and all I get is a video that doeqp't help me one bit!
Suddenly, she came across a new folder. It read, 'Surveillance of San Jose, California – 139th, Yorkshire Blvd.' She would've ignored it and kept going, but part of her wondered, why does that sound so familiar –
She flipped open the binder, turning pages until she reached a section labeled Ashimoto. Carefully, she scanned her notes, looking for something – There! She jerked to a stop, reading an address. The nearby preschool that he talked about – it's right in that neighborhood! This is probably the surveillance camera from that area!
Clicking on the mouse pad, she opened the folder and saw billions of dates. After looking up the date of the incident, she scrolled through the thousands of video files, and finally came upon the time. Feeling nervous and excited at the same time, she double-clicked the mouse to open the file.
It was late afternoon, and thankfully, there was some low audio. A loud air-raid siren was screeching through the air, signaling citizens to return to their homes. That's right, she remembered. It was right before the Pymetrians attacked.
Soldiers were running through the streets as the camera rotated from left to right, when she saw a soldier wave his buddies ahead. He started to walk down the streets alone, and when the camera reached as far right as it could go, she saw the three-way road that was there. And around the corner of the farthest wall, she saw a brown head.
It's him.
Her heart thumped, but she shook it off. That seemed to be happening a lot, lately … getting worked up over that boy. Whenever she saw him on camera, or a picture … she seemed to get excited. But she told herself that now was not the time to get worked up.
Just then, the soldier was walking quickly to the edge of the road, and she heard something indistinct in the background. To her surprise, the soldier was raising his gun, ready to fire –
- when the boy jumped out and shot him in the head.
Sakura yelped, then clamped her hands over her mouth, cursing herself silently since she might wake up her father. After a few tense moments of silence, when she heard no movement from outside her room, she focused on the screen again.
The boy was looking at something around the corner and talking to it. It wasn't in view of the camera, but it proved one thing; that there were people behind that (possibly preschoolers like he had said), meaning he was innocent and she had hard evidence for it.
She grinned and softly clapped her hands, before saving the file to a disc. That certainly brought me out of my funk, she thought. And put me in a better mood to go to sleep. Yawning, she closed her machine and the binder, shoving them back under the mattress, before crawling under the covers and succumbing to exhaustion.
8--8
Cafeteria lunches are absolutely dismal.
Yes, because it was a private school the meals were fully cooked and contained all the right food groups and portions. But due to shortages from the southern states due to combat, they had been cut back to military rations … not to say Sakura was a picky eater. But army rations … well they weren't even fit for the boys who fight for her country.
She poked at the cold cuts on the plastic plate, sighing, wishing simply for a hot chocolate. And for her kitchen … maybe a nice, home-cooked meal, with her brother in attendance for once. And Yukito, too …
She shook her head almost violently to rid the thoughts from her mind. Her brother was never home for dinner. Her father was a rarity, as well. Yukito was in Vancouver, doing insane amounts of paperwork and helping pass new Emergency Act laws. She couldn't bother him with an evening back home.
Not to mention, due to said Emergency Acts, it would take him at least ten days to get to New York City … too many military groups were being ambushed. Transports carrying dignitaries were being targeted. The government now advised for anyone who absolutely needed to travel to do so as inconspicuously as possible. There were unsettling reports on the news about how many families across the nation had chosen to leave their homes, disappearing without a trace other than they were fleeing to the north, to Canada. Some asinine reporters were calling this the new Underground railway – Pymetrians couldn't survive in colder conditions. There were also reports of people holing up in Aspen. Either way, things were looking desperate for the human race …
In a sudden rush of realization the noise of the crowded cafeteria hit Sakura like a ton of bricks, causing her to flinch and blink rapidly at the surrounding student body. They were all around her, standing near her table and sitting at their own. Despite the fact that no was in her comfort zone she pulled her messenger bag into her lap before forcing herself to eat her broccoli.
Inside the bag was her laptop, her schoolbooks, and her evidence binder. When she first began her 'project' she had nightmares about the maids changing her sheets and finding the charts and information about world networking databases, and hand her over to her own father. Because of this, she realized that her best bet was to keep her dirty little secret on her person at all times.
She munched dully on her greens, listening to the conversations around her. She wasn't able to associate with these people … they were all related to one man or another that tried to sabotage her father. Or they were related to suspected betrayers. Therefore she had a table all to herself. She didn't consider it lonesome – it gave her time to think. About her 'report', about life … and why she wasn't more cultured. Just recently she had decided that since life was looking so dismal and short, she needed to get as much out of it as she could. Therefore, she had gone to the library the other day and picked up a classic (a classic that hadn't yet been added to the Blacklist); Jane Austin's 'Pride & Prejudice'.
She had just gotten to the part of Elizabeth's best friend telling her she was marrying Mr. Collins when the bell signifying the end of the lunch hour rang. While the cafeteria made a unanimous groan and shuffled their things together before heading to their classrooms, Sakura simply picked up her bag, her book, and began to leave. Due to her extra time at home to do her homework, she was ahead of everyone else – she had no afternoon classes. A car always picked her up after lunch.
She hustled down the stone steps of her school, crossing her arms over her chest as a chill spread from the portion of her legs unprotected from her skirt all the way to her spine. She checked her watch – she was early. Usually it took longer for her to get through the mobs and reach the street where her chauffer waited.
Sighing, she leaned from side to side, trying to pass the time. She would get home, finish her work, read another chapter or two of P&P … and then delve into her project. The video was an extraordinary find. That only left about another five cases unsolved. Most were more recent, and had been so in depth that her brother and father never brought their work home. She would have to be sneakier about getting to the files …
A murmur of commotion brought her out of her thoughts again. She looked down the empty street. There was a media store on the corner. People were standing in front of the window – some grubby looking street dwellers, that could only hear the news from the store's window … but there were businessmen and more professional looking people as well. She frowned. This was odd. Those who were on top these days, in the midst of growing panic, tried to stay on top in every way shape and form. Curious, she looked over her shoulder. No sign of her town car in sight – she began to walk towards the store.
Some people heard the news and were instantly turning to the street to hail a cab. She could see the frantic looks on their faces, or their shock. She quickened her pace.
She could hear what they were all exclaiming about. Bits and pieces … nothing discernible yet … until one man suddenly shouted;
"THEY CAUGHT 'EM! They EFFING caught 'em!"
And she stopped in her tracks.
8--8
It was all over the news. The same footage was running over and over again all over the transmitors. The trial was tomorrow – and for such an occasion the prep meeting was held in her dining room. Her father and her brother were there … along with the judge who would be looking over the trial of the Boy Killer.
She had seen his face as the authorities took him into the holding facility – it really was him – and even though it had only been a year, he looked older somehow. He was taller, too, by a few inches. And just to make life a lot less easy he was still the most attractive boy she had seen.
She sat in her bedroom, debating her options. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, with her chin in her hands, she stared at the door. She could hear the murmuring in the other room. The judge looking after the trials was in there. And the binder and laptop and discs upon discs of evidence was sitting at the foot of her bed.
Her brain went through her average problem solving process;
Option #1: Burst through bedroom door, show book of evidence and speak as intelligibly as possible (when facing the impending doom brought by her father and brother) and hope the judge comes to a reasonable decision.
Pros: Gets the dirty deed done and over with and she won't have to think of it again.
Cons: one could sound like a total idiot, given she has no time to prepare. Plus there are a ton of other men out there that would gladly throw her into the slammer without a moments hesitation. Then she would have years to think about this incident over and over again.
Alright then …
Option #2: Talk to the judge privately, if possible. Before the trial starts. It's ultimately his decision. He may be a reasonable man. He could come up with a solution that suits the boy and her.
Pros: Probably the best option. Least likely for disaster or impending doom.
Cons: How to get to judge and convince him to listen to her. He may not know of her, or her father's good reputation at all. Then there's the factor of her father's reputation being demolished by all this …
Option #3: Keep quiet. Let the chips fall where they may.
Pros: She does nothing.
Cons: She does nothing.
Groaning loudly she fell backwards on her bed, rubbing her hands on her temples.
It starts with one
One thing, I don't know why
It doesn't even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind, I designed this rhyme
To explain in due time
She tilted her head to the side … to stare at the photo on her nightstand. It was probably her most cherished possession. After staring at its contents for a moment, she sighed in defeat, rolling to her side and sitting up. Carefully she lifted the frame and smiled at the picture. Finally, she gave it a quick kiss of luck, took a quick, steadying breath before standing and pulling her evidence binder from underneath her bed, and stepping towards the door. She cracked it open a moment to listen in on the conversation.
All I know
Time is a valuable thing
Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings
Watch it count down to the end of the day
The clock ticks life away
" … this boy has six counts of murder against authority figures, another eight for officers of the force. And attempted assassination of an ambassador!"
"Which ambassador was that?"
"Does it matter?"
"I believe so, Anderson."
She gaped and clapped her hand over her mouth. President Anderson was at her dining room table. President-of-the-World Anderson. Oh god. And that last voice … she recognized it from before. It spoke again.
"That ambassador was Eriol Hiiragizawa."
There was an odd silence in the room. The voice spoke again. "In my opinion that makes him a hero."
"God Dammit, Reginald, why are you defending him?! He still murdered without cause!"
It hit her in an instant; Reginald Ormsby.
He was the man that sat with her all those years ago, at the conference. The man who stayed with her until her father got home at one in the morning.
Oh God.
It's so unreal
Didn't look out below
Watch the time go right out the window
Trying to hold on but didn't even know
Wasted it all just to
Watch you go
I kept everything inside and even though I tried
It all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually
Be a memory of a time when
"This boy is not the law! Nor is he above it! To maintain what little peace we have left we need to prove that the court is in charge!"
Ormsby sighed. " … alright. When do we hold the trial?"
Her father spoke. "Noon tomorrow. If we want to convey the message of order we need to broadcast it – but that can only happen with your permission."
" … fine. We'll use the conference hall."
Sakura shut her door. She didn't need to hear anymore … she knew what she had to do. She knew the consequences. Her reputation was ruined. Not only would Ormsby, a man she always held in great respect, think horribly of her, there was a good chance that no matter how privately she talked to him, the story would spread. But then again, Ormsby was probably her only chance in the world …
The binder crashed to the floor from her shaking hands. She hiccupped. This could probably be her last night as a free, innocent girl.
Shoulders trembling, she held her sobs until she reached her bed. She pulled her pillow over her head and the covers over her body before she openly cried. After a moment she reached her hand out and took hold of the picture on her nightstand, squeezing it to her chest. She muttered to it, "I glad you're not h-here …" she hiccupped again. "T-To see this … but … I'm so sorry …"
…. In the frame was her mother, smiling beautifully up at the camera as she held her innocent, free, pure and untarnished baby girl.
8--8
She did sleep. How could she? By the time she stopped crying she only had a few hours to devise how this would happen. After sneaking into her father's study and memorized his schedule, she was able to come up with the plan.
Her father was to awake at six in the morning. He would shower, eat and dress, then head out to work at seven-fifteen. He would return five minutes later to retrieve the wallet he had left on his nightstand (like he did every single day). During those precious five minutes, Sakura, using the computer and printer in her father's room, make a copy of his Security Access card. She would give him the copy, since it had no microchip and would never let him into any secure portions of the Conference Center. He wouldn't need to get anywhere private until eleven thirty anyway, where he was to meet with Judge Ormsby and Touya in the holding cells, to escort the accused to his trial.
Touya would wake at seven thirty. He would shower, eat and dress as well. He took showers twice as long as his father – it would be during those crucial ten minutes where Sakura would make a copy of his security card and hand him the fake. The same rules and schedule regarding the card apply to him as they did her father.
Therefore the only ones meeting the Judge at eleven thirty would not be Fujitaka, who would be sending out a maximum-security alert (since his card was all-access) considering the possibility of an escape attempt in progress for the accused. And it would not be Touya, who would be calling someone (likely his father) to get his card to enter the detention center, only to discover his fathers card stolen as well, and go ballistic.
It would be Sakura.
Who was standing outside a vacant entryway to the Detention Center. There was no one down the hall. The time was eleven twenty-nine. Her father's card was expected to be swiped at exactly eleven thirty. She started at her watch, eyes following the ticker as it counted up to the twelve. With five seconds to go, she looked up one more time to see that the hall was clear.
Eleven thirty. Time to move.
She turned to the door, holding her binder and swiped the card through the lock on the door. The light turned green – she turned the handle and let herself in.
As she wandered down the halls of the center she tried to ignore the rooms that had were occupied. At the sound of footsteps some inmates rushed to the tiny window of their door, screaming instantly or ogling at the girl. She bit her bottom lip and hurried her steps. She knew where to go this time around, unlike last year where she ran like a mad woman.
She was slowly coming to terms with her decision to talk to the judge. She wasn't even close to being mentally prepared for however the judge reacted, but she would deal with that when the time came. For now, just for now, she had to do the right thing.
It came too quickly. She rounded a corner and saw him. Ormsby, with two guards, standing before a door. The guards told the prisoner to put his hands against the far wall before they opened the door. She gulped – too late to hesitate now – and stepped forward.
The guards were already in the room … but Ormsby heard her. He looked up curiously, his eyes crinkled with age … but smiled. "Sakura?" he asked. "I was expecting a few other Kinomotos … what are you doing he-"
"I'm sorry, sir, but if I don't talk now I'll never get it out right," she blurted out. Despite her preparation her hands were still shaking. When she finally reached him, he was looking down at her peculiarly.
Gulping, she told herself, Do the right thing.
And handed him the book.
The man simply held it open, flipping through the pages. After a few moments his eyes widened. But he continued to turn, stopping every now and then to read something. She gulped – it was unbearable. She couldn't watch him – a voice rang through her head.
"You are all that Fujitaka, Touya and I have left. We just don't want to lose you. Do you understand that?"
I do, she thought. But I have to do this. I'm sorry-
and that's when the guards brought out the Killer in handcuffs.
She stared at him with wide eyes. It was almost on this exact same spot that she had met him almost a year ago. It was him she was doing this for … or was it?
Was she really doing it because she believed him? Or because she wanted to justify letting him run free?
At that moment he noticed her, blinking for a moment before freezing to the spot. She took a step back – his amber eyes were burningly intense.
"You," he breathed.
Ormsby was brought back to reality at his voice. The guards stared from the girl to their commander. "Sir?" they asked, causing him to turn. "To the conference hall?"
Sakura stared up at him – this was the part she had no preparation for – the sentence.
…. And he shook his head. "No."
Sakura's head popped up.
"Sir?"
Ormsby sighed. "Bring him to … which courtroom is closest? And out of the way? Room Eight, right?"
The guards stared at each other doubtfully. "Well, yes, sir."
"Good. Lets all take a walk there."
The guards nodded … and one stepped forward to grasp Sakura's arm.
Sakura gaped. Oh god.