Chapter 4
Denial, Anger, Depression
After the endless bouts of typing leading up to the most recent deadline, Akihiko Usami looked up one bleary-eyed morning to find that the dishes had not been washed, the ashtrays and garbage were overflowing, the phone message machine was blinking, and his lover, Misaki Takahashi, was nowhere to be found.
"Misaki?" He visited each room in the penthouse apartment but did not find him. He checked the clock. It was 7:00 in the morning, too early for Misaki to be at school. Where on earth could he be? And how long had he been gone, Akihiko wondered. Everywhere he went, there were signs that the house had been left unattended for more than a few hours.
"Takahiro? It's Akihiko. Have you seen Misaki? No? When was the last time you talked to him? Well, no, I've been on a deadline, I haven't noticed a thing…Well, where could he be? …Oh, God, Takahiro… Misaki is missing."
He hung up the phone, leaving his hand on the receiver. He lifted it and dialed again. "Hello. Akihiko Usami for Aikawa-san. Yes, I'll hold. Aikawa-san. By any chance, have you called my house and spoken to Misaki in the past three days? No? No, it's nothing. Thank you. Good-bye."
Who could he call now? What about that bastard friend of Misaki's? He wouldn't tell the truth. Let the police talk to him. They'd get it out of him with torture, no doubt.
He made the call, then sat down to wait for Takahiro, who'd said he was leaving work after hanging up.
Akihiko looked extremely uncomfortable talking to the police officer. His arms were crossed, his chin tucked in, and the shadows under his eyes made him look suspicious, even to Takahiro's eyes. He gently took his old friend by the shoulders and led him to sit at the kitchen table and invited the police officers to join him. Takahiro, an old hand at the domestic arts, made tea and watched Akihiko stiffly answer questions.
"He was definitely here two days ago. That was the day that I wrote the bit about Kaminari and the frog." The police officers exchanged a look.
"I spoke to my brother on the phone that day, so I can verify he was here. I called this number," Takahiro chimed in to support his friend. The police officers looked at him with carefully neutral faces.
"Did he say anything about taking a vacation?"
"No! He's in the middle of a semester! He wouldn't do that."
"Does he have a girlfriend?"
"No." This was Akihiko. The killer look, unfortunately, was not lost on the officers.
"Did you two have a fight or something?" The taller of the two officers fixed Akihiko with his dead, black eyes.
"Nothing out of the ordinary, no. I was working on a novel, as I said. I think he mentioned something about going out with that friend of his, the one with the stringy hair and the smirk." The officers exchanged a look again, and Takahiro got a very bad feeling. "I just told him there was no way he was going to go out drinking with that creep, and he'd better be back on time to serve me dinner. But then I ran into some trouble with the end of the chapter, and I kind of lost track after that." Akihiko turned white, and his eyes caught Takahiro's.
Takahiro groaned inwardly. He didn't want to blame Akihiko. He knew what the man was like. But how could he not notice for two whole days that Misaki hadn't come home?
It was clear when they left that the police considered both Akihiko and Takahiro suspects, and Takahiro doubted that they would do much more than keep a close eye on both of them. He looked at Akihiko, who seemed unaware of just how little the police were likely to do for them. Even though his anxiety level was high, he couldn't help feeling for Usagi, who looked like a complete wreck. Takahiro was deeply touched. Not too many landlords cared this deeply for their tenants.
Takahiro happened to know Sumi's number, and he called the lad. Sumi claimed that he hadn't seen Misaki for days, in fact he had tried calling several times but had gotten no answer. Takahiro closed his eyes and swore under his breath. He believed Sumi, but no doubt the police would question him and find out if there was anything fishy about his story.
Takahiro felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He sat heavily on the couch and held his head in his hands. A cool hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Takahiro." Akihiko looked on helplessly as Takahiro wept.
Akihiko woke up. It was cool and dark, because his bedroom was an inside room with no windows. He could sleep better in the gloom. Now he lay under the covers, with Suzuki-san on top of him, almost smothering him. A feeling of doom filled his chest.
"Is it safe to wake up?" he murmured to Suzuki-san. Wisely, Suzuki-san decided not to venture an opinion, even when Akihiko squeezed him so tightly he almost perished. Getting no joy from the large, stuffed bear, Akihiko waited for a sign. None came. "I'm awake," he admitted to himself, and got up slowly.
He padded out to the kitchen in his pajama bottoms and started water for tea. He got the teapot and strainer down, and one cup. He stared at it, resenting its singleness, wishing there was a reason to take down a second cup, not that he ever had thought to serve tea for Misaki. He returned to his bedroom and dressed for the day. Underwear. Suit pants. Dress shirt. Tie. Belt. Vest. Socks. Shoes. Akihiko Usami rose, on the outside every inch the man who had won both the Naomori and Kikukawa awards. On the inside, he felt a terrible crumbling feeling, as if his whole self was being turned to sand by Misaki's disappearance.
The water had boiled, so he poured it over the tea leaves waiting in the pot. He wondered idly how it would feel if he poured the hot water on his hand instead. He imagined the burning, searing sensation, and it lightened the pain in his heart for just a few seconds. He set the timer and retrieved his newspaper from the mailbox. By that time, the tea was ready, so he sat at the kitchen table and drank it while reading the newspaper.
In former times, he would have read the headlines first and then gone to the book reviews, then followed up with local news. Now he went straight to the crime beat. Eager eyes roved the page in a spiral, rapidly taking in the headlines, and then once more, slowly, he reread the headlines to make sure he hadn't missed anything of importance. Then on to the local section. This he read meticulously, word for word.
A clue could be hidden in the most mundane of articles or columns, an anxious voice urged him. The question man, he always checked that. A story about the zoo or the Hama Rikyu Garden. Student protests. The debut of a new film. Misaki could turn up anywhere. Anywhere.
Anywhere but in his own home. Akihiko looked around the living room as if Misaki might materialize out of the wall or the couch. He finished with the important parts of the paper and carefully folded it and put it in the stack of discarded papers that was accruing in a corner of the living room. If Misaki had been here, he'd have taken them out to be recycled. So the pile remained.
He let himself out and retrieved his car. He looked at the passenger seat. How many times had Misaki sat there, looking annoyed, bored, cheerful, nervous, chatting, arguing, complaining? His hand strayed to the seat and hovered over the tan leather. "Misaki," he muttered, without knowing he did it.
Time to go. Akihiko had a daily routine: a different route each day, partially overlapping with the day before. His plan was to cover all the districts of Central Tokyo: Akasaka, Akihabara, Asakusa, Chiba, Chiyoda, Ginza,Harajuku, Kotoku, Minatoku, Narita, Odaiba, Roppongi, Shibuya, Shinjuku, Ueno. Misaki had to be somewhere. The boy had never lived anywhere else.
Driving slowly, conning the sidewalks with careful attention for dark hair, pale skin, short stature, that slight slouch. Misaki. Wandering the streets of Tokyo with the aim of finding you.
Endlessly searching, with no results.
On the weekend, Takahiro rode shotgun. Akihiko had a touching faith in the love-seeking properties of Takahiro's eyes. If anyone could find Misaki, it was the brother who had invested so much time and effort in raising him. But now, Takahiro was at work, and Akihiko was patrolling on his own for brown hair, slight figure, canvas bag strapped over his shoulder. Misaki, I miss you. Come back.
It was dark when Akihiko returned to the apartment. Suzuki-san was waiting dispiritedly on the couch. Akihiko sat and put a comforting arm around the oversized bear. "I tried, Suzuki-san." He got out a cigarette and smoked for a while, he didn't really know how long. Then: "Well, Suzuki-san, I'd say it's time for bed." The bear came along, tucked under one arm. Akihiko took his clothes off in the proper order. He hung up his pants and vest but threw his shirt on the floor. He stared at it as it lay there, a testimony to absence. He crawled into bed, pulling Suzuki-san in with him and covering them both with the comforter. "Good-night, Suzuki-san." Then, more softly, so the bear wouldn't hear, "Good-night, Misaki."
Life had gone on in this way for two weeks. The reading of the newspaper, the daily drive, with or without Takahiro, Manami helping out when she could. Various policemen were spotted lurking in Akihiko's and Takahiro's neighborhoods. Takahiro made an effort to greet the ones he recognized, but Akihiko walked or drove by them stony-faced. Takahiro worried that this would only antagonize them, but Akihiko was too miserable or too stubborn to care.
The second weekend after Misaki's disappearance, Takahiro brought a pot of stew over for Akihiko. Manami had mentioned that Akihiko was looking pale and thin, and so Takahiro had made some of the pork stew that his friend claimed to like.
"Here you go, put this in the refrigerator."
"Thank you, Takahiro." For a moment, Takahiro was afraid that Akihiko would cry. Looking over his shoulder, he got a view of the living room of the apartment. There was a tall stack of newspapers that hadn't been there before, and books piled haphazardly on the kitchen table. Suzuki-san slumped on one couch, looking bedraggled.
"Come on now, we have to be brave." Takahiro went to the table, began straightening the book piles and noticed that the sink was overflowing with dishes.
Akihiko's eyes widened. "We do?"
"Come on, Akihiko, you know what I mean."
"I do, I do. But do you know what that means to me? Do you know what it takes to be brave in my position? You haven't lived with Misaki for a year now. He was with me every day. And now suddenly, every day, he's not with me."
"Wait, I'm his brother. You're just a landlord. Don't act like it's harder on you than it is on me."
A heavy clank signaled the pot of stew being set down on the counter. "Let me tell you something, Takahiro. It's about time you climbed out from under that rock you've been living under. As to who has more right to miss Misaki, you just don't have a clue, do you? Misaki and I are lovers. And I miss him with every breath I take. I miss the sound of his voice, his step on the stairs, his cooking, his 'I'm home' when he walks in the door, and goddamn it, I miss the touch and smell of his body. So, Takahiro, think about that when you deny me my right to miss your brother."
If Akihiko had wanted to see Takahiro stupefied, he had gotten his wish. Takahiro was unable to speak for minutes after Akihiko had finished his speech. His heart pounded in his ears, and his throat felt constricted. There was a strange sensation in his head, and he thought he might pass out.
Takahiro finally found his voice, and it was trembling. "You had sex with Misaki?"
"Yes. Misaki and I are lovers, Takahiro."
"How long?"
"Since before he moved in."
Takahiro went white. "He- he was still in high school. You—you—that's illegal! He's not even legal now!"
"What, are you going to turn me in? Is that what you want to do? Shoot the dead man?"
"I didn't say that, but listen here, Akihiko. How can this have happened? Misaki is a normal kid, he, he isn't into that kind of thing. Now you, I'd guessed about you, but Misaki—"
"Misaki is my lover, whether you like it or not."
"Well, I don't like it. How did you get him to—" This was an awkward conversation. Takahiro really didn't want to have it, but his outrage at the transformation of his brother from a sweet, innocent kid to Akihiko's lover was too much to take without questioning. "How did you get him to do it?"
"You don't really want the details, Takahiro," Akihiko said with a slight smile.
"I just can't believe he'd do that willingly." Takahiro adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"But he did."
"So you say."
"You want details, Takahiro? First I kiss him. I force my way into his mouth with my demanding tongue. "
"Stop it, Akihiko."
"That's what he says, but I don't listen, because I know he really wants it. He's so shy, Takahiro, but that's what I like."
"You're going too far, Akihiko!"
"And then I stick my hand under his shirt and I pinch his delightful, pink nipples. And I make him moan. You should hear it, Takahiro. Just when he thinks he can't take any more, I put my hand in his pants and start stroking."
"Stop it! Stop it! Now you're being cruel!"
"And you don't think your words to me were cruel?"
"This is just too much for me. I have to go."
"What about looking for Misaki? That's who this is supposed to be about."
"Yeah, I'm spending all my free time looking for Misaki because you drove him away."
"I did? What are you talking about?"
"Obviously, you were being yourself, taking advantage of his naivete, letting him slave for you, preventing him from seeing his friends, and he got sick of it and ran off. It's your fault he's gone. Why should I help you clean up your mess? You asshole. If you hadn't been such a neurotic user, Misaki would still be around, and I wouldn't be worrying day and night about him."
"Neurotic user? Is that what you think of me, Takahiro?"
"Yeah, Akihiko. You're a nut job, and it's your fault that Misaki is missing."
"Get the fuck out of here. Get out!"
Takahiro left then. Akihiko leaned his back against the door, closing it with a snap.
The he slid down to the floor. And so began the torrent. Tears slid down his cheeks, first singly, then a steady flow. The pain built up in his chest, until it tore its way out with a sob. "Taka- Taka—Don't go!"
Tears, dirty tears, powered by images of those two men who he had loved so deeply and had now lost. What the fuck had he been thinking, antagonizing Takahiro like that? His only ally.
Emptiness stretched before him in his mind. It made him want to vomit, the thought of life without the Takahashi men. He crawled to his bedroom. He didn't even deserve to walk upright, someone who so callously hurt the man who had been his love of ten years and was the brother of the man he loved. Up into the bed, shoving Suzuki-san aside, and then grabbing him and holding him close. "What have I done?"
And the dirty tears fell until he reached oblivion.
He slept; he dreamed of Tokyo streets, the endless, long, crowded streets of his home, filled with faces that were not Misaki's. Back, further back, he continued to dream, Tanaka holding his coat for him as he was about to leave for school. Looking up into the butler's warm, black eyes. Haruhiko interrupting, and Akihiko left in the empty doorway, his coat half-on.
Walking to school, along empty paths and streets, endlessly walking. How far could the school be? Plodding along, the road stretching far ahead of him.
Finally at school, he sits down, and the boy in front of him turns around. It's Takahiro. He makes a disgusted face and turns back around. No matter how many times Akihiko speaks his name and taps him on the shoulder, Takahiro will not turn around. Finally, he stands and hits Takahiro in the back of the head, causing blood to spurt out. Takahiro turns his head, but he has no face. Akihiko tries to scream, but nothing comes out.
Hiroki comes and takes him by the hand, leading him outside to show him a bundle on the ground. It's an abandoned child. Akihiko picks it up and moves the blanket to see its face. It's Misaki, but it's dead. Akihiko starts crying and cannot stop. Hiroki starts yelling at him. "USAMI-SENSEI! USAMI-SENSEI! USAMI-SENSEI!"
"Usami-sensei! Wake up, can't you? Wake up!"
Someone was lifting him and shaking him. He had to stop it to keep his head from coming off. He put a hand out.
"Usami-sensei! You're awake!" He felt himself smothered.
"Get off me," he tried to say, but all that filtered into his ears was a strange mumbling sound.
"Oh, I'm so happy! I was so worried. Open your eyes, open your eyes!" Now hands were slapping his cheeks. His eyes flew open at the same time as he raised his hands to break the wrists of whoever was abusing his face. Only when he came fully awake, he found he was barely able to lift his hands. He could see his tormentor, though. A thin but shapely and beautiful redheaded monster who went by the name of Aikawa.
"What on earth are you doing in my bedroom?" he asked this vision of evil.
"Sensei, no one has heard from you for over a week! You called me last Saturday, and then you fell off the face of the earth! And look at you! You're emaciated, and I could hardly wake you! I'm calling the emergency services right now."
"Stop that." His voice was a thready whisper, when he meant it to sound angry and commanding.
"Don't even bother with that, sensei. You're probably dehydrated as well as starving. To the hospital with you." She finished her call and turned to him again. "And I bet you haven't finished your chapter."
Glazed eyes stared at her out of dark sockets. She saw no understanding of what she had just said.
"Your chapter? The one you owe me, which was due ten days ago?" She lifted him by his shoulders and began shaking him. "Where is it, Usami-sensei? We're on a deadline, here!"
The door moved, and a man entered. "Hands off the merchandise, Aikawa-kun. Shaking can cause brain damage. You could stand on his nuts, though. I'd like to see that." Isaka. Now Akihiko really did manage to groan.
"Get out."
"Come on now, Akihiko, I'm here for your own good. I saved you from Aikawa. Show some gratitude."
Aikawa, with her monstrous charm, had wangled him a luxurious private room with a view of downtown. The doctor had assessed him as dehydrated and malnourished as well as depressed. Akihiko had resented being summed up in this way, but in proof of the doctor's diagnosis, he hadn't had the energy to put him in his place. A nurse had come and stuck him for an IV, and now he was tethered, lying on his back, eyes fixed on the window.
He had managed to shoo Aikawa and Isaka off, but now he was alone with nothing to do but lie here and remember what had gone before his collapse. Part of him wished Aikawa had been a bit lazier and had just let him fade away, but another, stronger part shoved that thought down and thoroughly rebuked him for allowing himself to get into this state. Misaki was out there somewhere. Would he ever forgive Akihiko if he gave up?
Suddenly he remembered the dream he'd been having when Aikawa had come. Misaki had been dead in the dream. A strange, oozing feeling crept through his chest. He tried to wall it out, but it persisted. What if Misaki was dead? Could anything else have kept him from contacting him or Takahiro?
No. No, no matter if it was possible. It wouldn't be acknowledged by Akihiko Usami. And with that, Akihiko gathered all of the stubbornness and willful ignorance he had in him, and decided he would eat, and drink, and keep his health, and persist to the end, whatever the end would be.
The young doctor who had attended him came in at that point to check on him and was just telling him he could be released tomorrow if he managed to eat and drink enough, when there was a hubbub in the corridor. "Noboru?" he heard, and a nurse came in and pulled the doctor away. No matter. He knew what he needed. From here, his path was clear.