Author's Notes:  Long time no update huh?  I write my fics in a pattern so when I was struggling with 'Slipping…' I had to put everything else on hold.  But this is only what?  Maybe around 3 weeks since the last chapter…not too bad I guess…but classes started again yesterday!  *anime sigh with white cloud out of mouth* but at least it's snowing here…looking to the bright side…  Okay this chapter's Sakura's point of view, so not really any big developments; gives some interesting background information though…

Otaku-hime:  Thanks a lot for your words…it really means a lot, especially when I get all into perfectionist mood…

To Someone (thank you, thank you….*11 minutes later* thanks a lot…I've been trying really hard to make my writing somewhat okay.)

Thanks to mya, pokey (I think I agree with you about the employer…we need someone to piss Syaoran off…hint, hint), A Dude Named Randy (hmm…yes, Touya would be interesting, but if anyone's gonna kick ass in this fic, it'll be Naoko…), Earthy, chibicherry, Final Fantasy Princess, xINg ChEnG, Ami*Thest (yes, he'll do that in a later chapter, or something else may happen…*dramatic organ flourish*), Loper, Misty Showron, An-Author-Out-Of-Pen-Names (what a mouth full; if you keep writing, your style with improve…)

Arigato Creatistar:  I'll put off the award until I feel like I deserve it…sort of disappointed over how weak chapter 11 of 'When everything….' came out.  But I'm warning you….you better be typing IOD right now…*dark smile widens*

And now a super big dedication to both Kavi-chan and Rhea-chan.  You both pointed out that he could use a tracer; I totally forgot about that, so the plot yes could very well fail if I don't address it.  It'll be talked about in a later chapter…something I think that makes sense, but if it doesn't…humour me please?

Disclaimer:  This really makes me unhappy.  I do not own Cardcaptor Sakura.  CLAMP does.

The Hunt for a Cherry Blossom

Chapter 5:  The Victim

October 19

It's dark, but then again, it's always dark.  I pick up the match by my right hand and strike it.  A little flame bursts to life and I try to light the stub of a candle I have before I burn my fingers.  The pale glow is all I've known of light for a while, months, maybe a year, it gets hard to keep track of days when your watch has stopped and there's no window. 

The room's large and open, not very crowded, empty really, like an unfinished project, walls half papered, some rickety furniture piled in one end, a few boxes stacked up high in the other.  A set of stairs leads upward to a door, the barrier to my freedom.  There's old lamps in here and outlets, just no light bulbs.  Darkness.  I sleep on a hard little bed, very musty like it hasn't been used for years.  It's a bit small too, more for a child to sleep on, but I found a way to curl up on the mattress underneath the light blanket and fall asleep every night, or whenever I'm tired.

I look around another time, the same surroundings I've had since I was put here so long ago.  Nothing's changed except for a few rearrangements I made, so I wouldn't trip over anything or stub my toes or break a bone.  There's a gaping wound in the wall where I thought I could escape, ground and scarred by hours of digging with a rusty screwdriver.  I gave that up when I realized it was solid bedrock around this room, probably the first suspicion I had this was a basement of sorts.  An empty plate sits on a small table in the center of the room, a patio chair pulled up to it, the remnants of lunch.  Always the same too, a bologna and cheese sandwich with a glass of milk, maybe a piece of fruit.  If that isn't torture I don't what is.

The candle's light flickers for an instant, the flame's path illuminating the nearest corner, something small and rectangular laying carelessly on the carpet.  I go and pick it up, its familiar weight in my palm, my trusty little cell phone.  It's cracked after I threw it against the wall in a fit of frustration, not my most pretty moment I'll admit.  I doesn't matter now anyway; it's pointless to regret breaking the cell phone when the batteries had already failed.   I don't how many hours I searched through all these boxes down here for some kind of electrical device with the hope of finding a battery.  But in the end, there weren't any.  So here I am now, cut off, and I mean completely cut off, from life.  For how long?  Six months maybe? 

I stare blindly into the shadows, expecting to see a mysterious man step out from behind the pile of boxes, handing me some key to escape with.  No such luck, nothing emerges.  I lay my head down on the pillow, pulling a book from under the mattress, something I found early on in the one of the unpacked crates.  Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll; weird but pretty funny.  It's maybe the twentieth time I'm reading it, but what else is there to do?  My eyesight's a little worse but what do you expect reading by candlelight.  What time is it; I suspect night's come around; I'm a little hungry.  As if hearing my thoughts, there's a warning knock on the door.  I see the light shine through the crack between the door and the top of the steps.  Quickly, the book is replaced underneath me and I blow out the candle, the smell of smoke around me.  A moment later, the door opens, a dark figure silhouetted against the light.  He holds a tray, standing like giant, towering above me.  I strain my eyes to penetrate the overwhelming brightness and find some clue behind him.  All I can distinguish is a white wall, two switches in the center of it.  Big help.  He bends to place the tray down on the top step and turns to go.  I've long since given up trying to talk to him, having received no answers.  The door slides shut with a loud crack, the clicking of a lock into place. 

I trudge up the stairs, past the tray, turning the doorknob as I've done for every day since I've been here.  It won't turn, nothing new.  Anger sweeps me again.  Why can't I escape here?  Even breaking down the door wouldn't work.  How does someone as weak as me crash through a solid wooden door?  I take a seat on the stairs, looking disdainfully at the sandwich I know is there, though it's too dark to tell.  Picking up the tray I cautiously make my way down the stairs and prepare to have my little solitary, candlelit dinner.  I'm right.  The sandwich is there; bologna again, the same lettuce but a different cheese this time.  What variety.  Today I have grapes, seedless I hope at least.  The milk has spilled a little, a puddle forming around a box of matches and thick candle.  A new candle and box of matches…so today's Monday?  Another week then…  I pick up my dinner and munch monotonously on it, stopping every few bites to sip a little milk. 

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Tray placed neatly back at the top of the steps, I pick up some scattered clothes from the bed and head to the bathroom.  A loose flannel shirt, a pair of worn corduroys, obviously men's clothes.  My work clothes have long since become thread bare, the white shirt turned gray, the black pants faded gray too.  I suppose I looked like a fashion victim after the first month, but then again, who was going to see me?  On another rummaging expedition into the boxes some time ago, I came across these old clothes, quite big on me, but who can I complain to?

I take the candle from the dining table and head over the far side of the room, stopping in front of an unstained door.  I enter and find myself in a pseudo bathroom, a shower, toilet, sink with no running water.  In the dim light I can make out my appearance in the mirror.  I'm still the same as I remember, no scars, no dark bags, no horrific bruises.  I eat, sleep and sometimes talk to myself.  My face is a little pale I guess, but what would you have expected if you hadn't seen daylight for so long?  My hair's grown out, not too long, still controllable but looking a big unmanaged.  Though I can't do anything about it right now, I must remind myself to make an appointment for a haircut when I'm rescued.  When I'm rescued…yes, it all hinges on that doesn't it?  The candle goes onto a soap dish over the sink, casting a dim glow in the room, little sparks reflected off the tiles and shower door.  My fingers find the button of my shirt…

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I pause as I undress, a familiar building of anxiety in my chest.  There's times you can't control it, this horrible fear coming from the bottom of your stomach accompanied by questions like 'what does he want with me?' 'will I ever be found?'  But they only last a few seconds before I force myself to remember those who I know would not stop to find me.  Tomoyo, Oni-chan, Otou-san, Chiharu, Rika, even Syaoran.  I let my mind rest on him for a while.  It's been a long time since I've heard his voice, very long, definitely months.  He said he'd find me; he hasn't yet.  But I'm sure he will; he sounded determined.  I wonder why?  But thinking about him passes some of the really boring hours; what does he look like?  What's his personality?  He sounded rather nice if not a bit serious.  He laughed once, maybe he's not all work and no play…but that's all just guessing. 

The sounds of running water drums away the heavy silence, the rising steam filling the small room like a mist.  I step under the hot jets and want to soak, forcing some shampoo onto my hands and running them lazily through my tangled hair.  Not even conditioner.  He spares no expense.  Inhaling the soap's fragrance, I lean against the shower walls, the trails of water tracing my face and body.  Without making any movement, I let the soap run off me.  For this moment, I've taken a refuge from boredom, from fear, from frustration.  The invigorating water cascades around me and I forget everything.  I'm back in my apartment enjoying a refreshing shower, wondering when Tomoyo will get home.  I'm planning out what to make for dinner; I'm talking aimlessly to Kero like a child.  I'm singing along to a song on the radio taking sideways glances at the TV.  I'm getting dressed for work, riding on the bus, serving dinner, taking orders…the water turns colder.  I'm in the shower again.  Reluctantly, I turn off the shower, wrapping myself with a towel, dripping all over the floor.

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Alice's words waver for a second as the candle adjusts to a stray wind.  So she's after the rabbit is she?  I know what happens next; she falls and keeps falling.  I sigh under my breath, yet it echoes loudly in the empty room.  The novel returns to its hiding space, why I bother to conceal it I don't know.  He doesn't even come down here, or else he'd have known about my phone calls.  I move my hand to the nightstand, really an old desk), and pull open the topmost drawer.  I take out all my possessions to look at, my wallet, keys, some letters, a wristwatch.  Apparently he never bothered to search me.  I open my wallet letting a few stray pictures fall out.  I can't help but tear when I look at them, Tomoyo and me on a ferris wheel, oni-chan and otou-san at our summer cabin…

I unwillingly put them back, shutting the drawer silently.  I close my eyes for a minute feeling the silence fall around me, brushing me with an icy hand.  Curling myself into a ball and pulling the quilt to my chin, I let my eyes open and stare into the darkness.  I'm sleepy, but for a short moment I think I can see the stars, just long enough to hope that I'll be found.

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Review please?  Next chapter will be Syaoran's interview with…the employer and fellow waitresses!