Caught Unaware

Chapter 7

By:  Max*the bishie deliverer

Disclaimer:  Check chapter 1, please.

A/N:  Reformatted.

~*~*~

The house was just as he remembered it, as well as he could in the dark drizzle of the night. His entire body was soaked from standing outside too long and he sneezed. A shiver ran down his spine as he fumbled in his pockets for a key that would let him into the abandoned house. The grounds had grown over from neglect, but the wild grasses gave the area a seaside look, quite the contrary to the field that the "cottage" would be a term that he used lightly, sat on which was intended to be dark and foreboding.

Damien sneered as he found the keys, making his way to the rusted out screen door for the mahogany door underneath. Several layers of dust, coated the copper-toned door, but the lock was as stubborn as ever. He tugged on the door, grasping the knob with both hands as he strained against the key. "Damn door," he shouted, kicking at the door.

Without a final kick, the door swung open gently into the dry, yet stale home. He took a deep breath and held it for ten seconds only to exhale shortly after and kicking up years-old dust in the wake. Coughing a few times, he managed to stop his eyes from watering before going back into the rain-soaked night. Keys in hand, he opened up his trunk and removed another duffel bag, this one looking like a regular sports bag.

Gotta' look good in the morning anyway.

~*~*~

The morgue's hallways were covered in pristine white, which was ironic to what went on inside. Bright lights lighted the ceiling, leading to a set of stainless steel doors, each with a rectangle of plastic that swung inward into a green-tiled laboratory whose gray floor was lined with gurneys and various other medical equipment.

The room was dark except for the bright halogen spotlight above a covered corpse.

The sterile equipment stood nearby as a man sat in the corner, murmuring his findings into a microphone. "Subject was a female, twenty-two years old, approximately one hundred and forty-six centimeters long and weighing about eighty-two kilograms. Abrasions found on anatomy were characteristic of beating and rape. Semen samples were sent to genetics along with hair and foreign object samples. Time of death is recorded in hospital records-what the hell?" The coroner stood up as the lights came on simultaneously.

"Did you identify the cause of death," came a icy voice from the doorway.

The doctor squinted at the new arrival and then let his contorted features relax. The detective's face was hidden in the shadows caused by the lights, but the visible skin seemed almost yellow in appearance. Yellow and safe, for he knew that this detective was one of the best, not to mention, had helped him put his wife's murder to rest, so the coroner owned him. "Cause of death was severe trauma to the head as well as suffocation. She drowned on her own blood, Date-sama."

The elder Date closed his eyes, suppressing the urge to roll him. The more he thought about it, nothing made sense anymore, At first, this murder which sent him from Sendai to Tokyo at the drop of a hat. Now his son's guardian being stalked by someone with a sick sense of humor, a hunch, and finally, his only son's eighteenth birthday. Taking a deep breath to relax despite his obvious discomfort, he turned to meet the coroner eye-to-eye. "How old was she again," he asked softly, knowing and dreading the answer.

"Twenty-two, twenty-three," was the dignified response.

The swinging of the steel doors was his response.

~*~*~

She was up at the crack of dawn that Friday morning, barely stumbling out of her office. No, wait, this isn't my office. She stopped and looked around at her surroundings. No computer, no desk, no damned uncomfortable chair, and sure as hell no carpet.

No office, but she was back in her forever-tainted bedroom.

The nausea was almost too easy to give into as she stared at her dresser mirror, her haggard, rumpled and not-so-attractive reflection gaping back at her.

She looked like she'd been through hell and back.

The skin on her face had been pulled taunt and caused shadows to form on her face in the soft room light. Jade eyes looked set back and ringed with violet-black bags that would most likely show through concealer. She looked tired and after kneeling down to get into a dresser drawer, she felt it.

A wane smile broke out onto her fatigued face without warning, but she immediately squelched it as she proceeded to head toward her bathroom. Sneering at her present state, she picked at her shirt that had the slight stench of vomit clinging to it.

Gross, and I slept in this...

The bedroom door creaked open as the bathroom door shut. Byakuen padded into the room with natural grace and flopped onto the floor's softest rug with the same type of motion. His large head sniffed at the air, the smell of chemicals that Torrent used to clean the area with, still lingering.

Just then, trained ears heard the sound of faucet handles turning and falling water accompanied by the smell of damp heat. At this, a pleasant growl, almost purr filled the air. Normalcy seemed to be returning.

The room was silent except for the whine of water in hidden pipes.

Ten minutes later, the silence was shattered as the phone rang, the sound causing Byakuen to jump and Nasuti to come running out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, which had been hastily wrapped around her chest.

She picked up the phone, the smooth plastic almost slipping out of her wet hands, as well as the bulky towel that had come untucked from its place between her breasts. "Moshi, moshi," she asked cautiously into the mouthpiece, her pulse racing as she leaned up against her bedroom's wall. Water dripped from her tied up hair and what was not up, hung in dark tendrils, still wet from her washing. The scent of fragrant shampoo enticed her senses as she heard the caller speak.

"She reminded me of you, Yaguy."

A blush burned her cool face and her breathing grew ragged from distress. "You're sick," she whispered icily, fighting the urge to scream at the caller, whose data did not show on the caller ID.

"She was begging and pleading for me to release her. She was mine and soon, you'll be there. You'll know what it's like," the voice was the same one that plagued her for the past few months and it sounded awfully familiar, like she had heard it and not on the phone.

"Leave me alone," she spat, very much aware that the others were still asleep around her, so she kept her voice to a scathing murmur. "You killed Ming!"

"Only out of practice for you, my lovely."

She gagged and slammed the phone down, unable to listen to anymore. Not caring if she was in a towel or not, she slid down the wall to the floor and buried her face into her bent thighs. "Why me?"

Byakuen walked over silently and sat next to the anguished woman, allowing her to channel her fear though him as she grabbed a clump of his ruff.

"Yaku-chan," she whispered into his striped fur, "why me?"

~*~*~

Damien hang up the phone and smiled.

He could hear the undiluted fear at the other end and it gave him pleasure just knowing that. They say that after terror, the desire is at its highest, and he planned to use it to the best of his ability. Looking at the table that the phone sat on, he picked up a notebook and flipped it open. Its contents were to an extent of a thorough dossier, one that he pieced together himself. The first page was her schedule, what she did and when she did it, even to the fact of whom she was normally with.

The blond, Seiji was his name, was on there more than once.

Seiji, whoever the hell he was, could not be Japanese with his erratic blond hair and violet eyes. The more Damien dwelt on it, the more the young man could not even be human nor male, with his effeminate looks and standoffish temperament. It should have been easy to get his desired object, but with that, thing, in the way, it was nearly impossible. He could even go as far as to say that the teenager was a guardian angel, but anyone in their right minds could tell you that those beings do not exist.

Damien was never in his right mind when it came to Nasuti Yaguy.

He knew her inside out, from the first pencil that she stole, to the time where she got caught leeching data in Normandy, France. He knew the reason that she came back to Japan all the way down to the day that her oji-san perished. \

From that moment up, until recently, everything was wiped clean.

Most likely because the Tokyo government computers ceased to work when the majority of the city's population vanished to the demonic force that was banished by an elusive group of young men.

No one knew who they were.

They were viewed as dangerous, but then Nasuti stood in front of countless amounts of people and responded otherwise. He fell in love with her then, her passion for the young men obvious in her words and her actions.


He looked at her schedule and then at the dingy calendar hanging on the wall. The day was Friday; her day off that she usually spent grading papers and helping students that were falling behind in their courses. He turned his attention to the large package sitting on the old kitchen table and smiled.

He would visit her today and who knew, maybe she'd finally understand.


~*~*~


The day went surprisingly well, Nasuti reflected with a wary smile. She slid into her plush desk chair and yawned. It had been a long week between her classes, the stalker who had been very quiet lately, she had no idea whether he moved on or not, but it did not matter, he was gone, unless something happened between then and Seiji's birthday on Sunday. She ran her hands though her hair, grateful that it was not curly. "Ah, gotta' love surprises," she yawned as the phone on her desk rang.


She picked it up calmly; the only one who called the business line was Shin, who was probably wondering where she was. "Moshi, moshi," she answered, slight amusement coloring her voice.

The voice on the other end confirmed her inference as she surveyed the pile of research papers on her desk. She noted the one on top and grimaced. Darrien, oi.
"Nasuti," Shin questioned from the other end.

"Hai. Tell the others that I'm working late, wait, put Seiji on if he's there."

"Okay," Shin muttered, rustling sounds heard as the phone changed hands. She waited with baited breath as the melodic voice of the bearer of Korin filled her ears.

"Nasuti, why did you leave so early?"

"Gomen nasai, Seiji, I meant to wait, but this is the day that I have to work late, I'll be home by midnight at the earliest."

"Nasuti, why-"

"Seiji, onegai," She interrupted his coming argument, knowing that his protective streak was kicking in, but she was not up to feeling guilty all night. "These tests need to be graded and it is not that quiet at home. I love you all to death, but Kami-sama knows, sometimes the noise level is unbelievable." She heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up.

Nothing.

The voice on the other end wished her good luck and an annoying buzz filled the space. She hanged up and set back to her stack.

Three hours and nine cups of coffee, black, later, she reached the halfway point in the large stack. She glanced at the name and nearly groaned. "Damien, Damien, Damien, your layout alone will fail you." She scanned the page for the necessary parts of the title before her breath caught in her throat.

"No," she whispered as she looked at the title.

 Her name read black in the dim office desk lamp as she dared to turn the page.

An eight by ten inch glossy picture of her stared back up at her as she eyes caught sight of a yellow post-it.

"Behind you," was written in bold script as she turned around at the sound of rustling clothing.

"What are you-" she yelled only to go silent as something heavy connected with her temple, sending her into the depths of pained unconsciousness.

~*~*~

To be continued…