Aftermath: Part IV

Fuji watched them silently, his shoulder pressing lightly against the wall of the school building.

They were high school students, no older than sixteen or seventeen. One was thin and lanky, with shaggy brown hair that fell over his eyes, while the other was shorter but more muscular, a heavy-set boy with a round face and a head of dark stubble. The thin one was still wearing the jacket the restaurant owner had remembered, a Seigaku High varsity jacket with his surname – Ikagawa – stitched in blue letters across the sleeve.

Fuji gave a tight smile at the sheer dumb luck of it all, and continued his silent vigil as the boys made their way down the sidewalk, heading away from the school building and towards the front gates. He let them take a few steps off of school property, then he followed them.

The van was parked around the corner, gray and rusting. When he saw the two boys piling into it, Fuji hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then began a quick survey of the surrounding cars, his fingers tugging covertly on door handles as he passed. The third one he tried clicked obediently open, and a brief search of the car's interior showed a spare key taped to the underside of the visor.

By the time he had adjusted the seat for his smaller frame and fitted the key into the ignition, the van was just pulling out onto the street, its left taillight a glaring red through the shattered casing. Giving silent thanks that his sister had taken the time to teach him the basics last summer, Fuji slid the car into gear and followed. The words grand theft auto never once crossed his mind.

Almost forty minutes later, the van skidded off the pavement and onto a dirt road that ran through the woods. Fuji didn't dare follow, knowing it would make his intent too obvious, and so kept driving--but once the van was out of sight, he pulled over, scrambled out of the car, and took off at a sprint down the dusty road that still bore the imprints of heavy tire tracks. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, his breath coming fast, and it had nothing to do with the sudden exertion.

Eiji and Oishi had been missing for five days. What had happened to them in that time? What state would he find them in? Would he find them?

Knowing that worrying wouldn't help, he shoved the thoughts out of his mind, sucked in another lungful of air, and kept running.

He wanted to just let them go. It was cool having them here, yeah, fun to fuck with their minds and stuff, but it was getting less and less fun every day. He was tired of watching Jun beat up on the dark-haired kid, and really tired of listening to the red-headed one crying. He wanted to just forget that this whole thing had ever happened--just drop the two of them by the side of the road or something and leave it at that.

But it was finally dawning on him that it couldn't be that simple. Not anymore. Because the most important thing in this whole fucked up mess was making sure that they didn't get caught, right? And if they let these guys go...

Well, shit, they'd seen their faces, hadn't they? It was always kinda dim in the cabin, so maybe they hadn't seen them well enough to identify them or anything, but still. They'd been seen. And if they just dumped them out on the road, those two would lead the cops right back to the cabin the first chance they got, and who'd be in trouble then, huh? It was his dad's cabin, for fuck's sake--all the cops had to do was look up whose name was on the deed and he'd be caught.

But what the hell else were they supposed to do with them? It wasn't like they could just leave them tied up here forever.

He knew there was another way. There was a way to make sure no one could identify them or lead the cops back to the cabin...but that wasn't something he wanted to think about, so he didn't.

But Jun did.

At first, he was sure Jun was just talking big, trying to scare them with empty threats, but now he wasn't so sure. Because the last time they were here, when Jun was teaching the dark-haired kid a lesson for trying to help his boyfriend get away, Jun had said some stuff that sure as hell hadn't sounded like he was bluffing. Stuff about his old hunting knife, and what he was gonna do with it--what he was gonna do to the red-headed kid. And all the time, the red-head was sitting right there, listening to him talk about it, just sitting there and shaking, not making a sound, just shaking...

He pushed the thoughts away and forced himself to return to the present. Jun was just easing the van to a stop by the cabin, which meant he was going to have to figure out what to do pretty damn quick. As he climbed out of the van, he started thinking that maybe he could convince Jun to drop the kids off at some other road, way far from here so there'd be no chance of them finding their way back. Or maybe they could--

He stopped.

Jun was walking up the cabin's steps ahead of him, arms swinging casually at his sides, same as ever...but there was something attached to his belt, something that was glinting a steely silver in the fading light.

The realization hit him like a punch to the ribs, and for a minute it was hard to breathe.

This was for real.

This was no game, no joke. This was real. Jun was going to do it. He was seriously going to do it. And that left him with only one question worth answering.

Am I going to stop him?

By the time Fuji reached the cabin, the patches of sky visible through the leaves had shifted to a deep, midnight blue, and he could barely see the hazy shape of the path in front of him. But the glow from the cabin's windows drew him the last fifty feet or so, and finally he found himself standing in the dusty driveway with the cabin just a few feet away, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath, the van beside him clicking quietly to itself as it settled.

His legs were burning and shaking from the run, his lungs spasming from the exertion, but he forced himself to take no more than a few seconds' rest. When they had passed, he took one last deep breath, pushed aside his exhaustion, and started up the building's rickety wooden steps, keeping his footsteps quiet and taking care to stay out of the line of sight of the windows.

He was just lifting his foot from the last step when he heard it.

"STOP IT!"

A scream, hoarse and barely recognizable, echoing in on itself in the confines of the cabin. For a long moment, Fuji couldn't move.

"STOP IT! STOP IT! OISHI!"

When the voice cracked on the last word, desperate and panicked and somehow still so Eiji, Fuji felt something in him change. The discomfort and the fatigue drained from his body in a rush, and all that was left was a cold, clenching rage.

Not even bothering to look around for a weapon, he walked over to the front door, twisted the knob, and kicked his foot hard into the wood. It hit the wall with a crash that made the floor tremble, but he barely noticed; his eyes were fixed on the scene playing out inside the cabin.

Oishi was on the floor, face down, hands tied savagely behind his back. The heavier of the two boys was crouched over him with a hunting knife clasped in one hand, the blade poised over the tender skin of Oishi's throat. Eiji was a few feet away, struggling violently in the grip of the other boy--Ikagawa. Eiji, too, was bound, but somehow he was still managing to put up an impressive fight, slamming the back of his skull into his captor's shoulder, arm, face, lashing out with his feet, using his entire body as a weapon. His eyes were wild, frenzied, not even seeming to notice that Fuji had entered the room. His only concern was Oishi--reaching him, saving him, or dying in the attempt.

At Fuji's sudden entrance, the boy with the knife spun around, his eyes going wide--but the weapon remained at Oishi's throat. If given time to think...if given time to move his wrist even an inch...

Fuji didn't hesitate. He sprang forward, moving with the agility and speed that seemed to visit him only on the tennis courts, and slammed into the boy in a full-body tackle, knocking him onto his back on the floor. The boy recovered from his shock fairly quickly, trying to raise the knife, use it against him, but Fuji didn't give him the chance. He grabbed one thick wrist and crushed it into the ground, listening to the satisfying clatter of the knife falling to the floor--but it wasn't enough, he knew it wouldn't be enough, so he got his legs underneath him and twisted around and brought his foot down hard on the boy's wrist, grinding the flesh under his shoe until he heard bone break.

The boy let out a howl and lashed out with his other hand, curling it into a fist; Fuji dodged it easily and came back with a blow that knocked the boy's head backwards, the back of his skull impacting hard with the floor. He wound back his arm for another punch, but the sound of footsteps from behind distracted him; he turned just as Ikagawa's hand clapped onto his shoulder and wrenched him away from his target.

He staggered backwards, nearly losing his balance, and grabbed onto Ikagawa's arms in a reflexive attempt to steady himself. They struggled for a few moments, shoving back and forth, trying to force the other off-balance, before Fuji finally managed to plant his feet and push Ikagawa hard away from him. He stopped then, only just noticing that the other boy--the one with the knife--was no longer lying on the floor where he'd left him--

A hand grabbed onto the back of his shirt and tugged; he stumbled back a few steps just as a flash of metal tore past him, catching the hem of his shirt and clawing a long slit through the fabric. He spun around, confused, and saw Eiji standing there behind him with a hand still caught in his shirt, his face dirty and tear-streaked, his eyes shadowed and rimmed with red. Sluggish trails of blood seeped from his wrists, coating his palms and dripping from the ends of his fingers, and Fuji realized with a slow kind of horror that Eiji had managed to rip his hands free of their bonds by using his own blood as lubrication.

All of this lanced through his mind over the course of an instant, and then he was spinning back around to face the boy with the knife. The weapon was clutched in his left hand, his right hanging limply at his side, and the expression on his face was murderous. Fuji knew immediately that this boy meant to kill him, and Eiji and Oishi too, if he could.

Instinctively, he took a small step backwards so his body was shielding Eiji, his arms held out to the sides to keep the other boy behind him. He prayed their attacker didn't notice Oishi still lying there on the floor; if he did, and decided to use Oishi as a hostage...

But the boy didn't even glance at Oishi; the whole of his attention was on Fuji, a tight grin baring his teeth as he took one step forward, then two, the knife trembling slightly in his white-knuckled grip.

"Jun!" came a hoarse cry from the other side of the room. It was Ikagawa, Fuji realized; the taller boy was picking himself up from the floor where he had fallen, his eyes wide and fixed on the glinting length of the knife. "Jun, come on, let's just get the hell out of here! Fuck these guys, man, let's just go!"

Jun's gaze didn't even waver; it was as if he hadn't heard the other boy at all. He took another lumbering step forward, and Fuji matched it with another backward step, feeling Eiji shivering against his back, listening to his friend's harsh, quick breaths as they whispered past his ear. Eiji's fingers were still wrapped in the fabric of his shirt, clutching it tightly; he could feel the damp warmth of blood as it seeped into the material from Eiji's cuts.

Jun grinned at him, a dangerous, feral glint in his eyes. "You're gonna pay for this," he said in a low voice. "You think you can just come in here and fuck with us? You think you can get away with that? You're dead, you hear me? But not before your fag friends get it first." He took another step, his eyes flickering to the wall behind Fuji, no doubt thinking of trapping him against it--

But Fuji didn't move back this time. He stayed where he was, the knife scant inches from his chest, and looked at Jun with eyes that made the grin fade from the older boy's face.

Fuji's voice was soft, deadly. "You aren't going to touch them. Not again. And as for me..." He lowered his arms. "You can try."

He would never remember the next moments clearly. They would always seem fragmented, blurred, a whirl of motion and sound and sensation. The press of Eiji's fingers, digging into his shoulder. The whine of approaching sirens, still distant but drawing inexorably closer. The thud of retreating footsteps as Ikagawa sprinted out the door. The strangled cry that burst from Oishi's throat, coupled with the scrape-rustle of him trying to struggle to his feet, trying to reach them in time.

The subtle shift of expression in Jun's eyes as he lunged forward.

He must have moved. Looking back on it, he knew he must have, because otherwise the blade would have been buried to the hilt in his chest, and he would've been dead. So he must have moved. But he had no memory of doing so, or of dragging Eiji with him, or of grabbing Jun by the back of the neck as he passed and driving his face into the wall. For him, there was only that moment of cool, perfect concentration as Jun leapt at him--

And then he was kneeling on the other side of the room with no memory as to how he'd gotten there, cradling his left arm to his chest and staring--watching as the blood trickled from the swollen lump of Jun's nose. Watching as the other boy lay there, still and limp, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as the blood pooled around him.

He wasn't sure what disturbed him more--the realization that he was capable of such sudden, merciless violence...or the fact that some small, dark part of him was disappointed to see Jun still breathing.

"F...Fuji..."

He snapped out his thoughts and turned his head. Eiji was sitting beside him, dirty and still bleeding. He looked thin and pale, a shadow of the energetic boy he knew, his eyes dark with fear and uncertainty, his school uniform torn nearly to rags...

But he was Eiji, and he was all right.

He was all right.

Fuji felt the hot tears streaking down his cheeks, but he made no attempt to hold them in. He let them come, let them wash over him and cleanse him, and reached out with a shaking arm to pull Eiji close. He held onto his friend for a long time, burying his face in the soft red hair, holding Eiji so tightly that he wondered if he was hurting him, but he couldn't seem to loosen his grip. Eiji didn't complain, though, and wrapped thin arms around Fuji in return, his entire body shaking with cold or fear or both.

"E...tto..."

Fuji opened his eyes, not even realizing he'd closed them, and blinked through the tears to see Oishi standing in front of them. It was the first time Fuji had seen him clearly, and he was startled to find that his face was mottled with a heavy layer of bruising, his lower lip split and bleeding, and that a tiny cut traced the side of his neck, presumably from the pressure of the knife against it. He felt the rage flare in his chest again, but he was too tired to do more than let it burn itself quietly out.

Oishi, not noticing his regard, turned his body slightly to reveal the ropes that still lashed his wrists together.

"Gomen, but...could one of you untie me?"

Eiji gave a sound somewhere between a choked sob and a laugh and crawled to his feet, leaving Fuji's arms empty and cold. A moment later, he was fumbling with Oishi's bonds, muttering under his breath about how tightly they'd been tied and wincing when the coating of his own blood made his fingers slip. Fuji was just tensing his muscles to go help him when they heard heavy footsteps from outside, and suddenly policemen were pouring in through the doorway, flashlights and guns held at the ready.

Finally. He had put in the call from his cell phone almost twenty minutes earlier, only barely managing to gasp out the details of the situation as he ran.

As several flashlight beams focused on him at once, Fuji climbed wearily to his feet--and it was only then that he noticed the gash that traced the underside of his arm, a slim line of crimson that marked the three or four inches that had separated him from death.

He stared at the mark for a long time, then drew a deep breath, raised his head, and pointed to the still body in the corner. "That's him," he said tiredly. "The other one ran away, but I can give you his name."

He only half-listened as one of the police mentioned having caught Ikagawa as he tried to run. He was so tired all of a sudden, and for some reason was starting to shiver, even though it really wasn't that cold. He wondered if he was getting sick.

When the paramedics arrived, they caught sight of his arm and tried to usher him out, but he shooed them away, telling them in no uncertain terms that they should see to Eiji and Oishi first. He did, however, allow one of the medics to bandange his arm--outside the ambulance--and when she wrapped a blanket over his trembling shoulders, he didn't protest.

He let her persuade him to go to the hospital, finally, but only because that was where Eiji and Oishi were going, and he wanted to keep an eye on them. His friends were strong, but something like this must have taken their toll on even them. So he let himself be helped into the ambulance, and sat very quietly in the back corner for the entirety of the ride, ignoring the stinging of his eyes as he watched Eiji and Oishi lying in exhausted sleep on their respective stretchers, their hands intertwined even in sleep.

And finally even he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and drifted off with the warmth of the blanket seeping into his skin, the last of the tears still drying on his cheeks.

japanese glossary:
etto – um…
gomen - sorry