Mokuba's Plan
By Pearl of the Dark Age
Disclaimer: Do not own - got it?
Chapter 3
The next morning in Osaka, Amelda woke Mokuba up for breakfast. He continued his lecture of the previous night. He reminded Mokuba that it was not cool, it was not smart, nor was it safe to run away. He wanted Mokuba to fully understand the wrongness of it all. The night before, Amelda had decided to take Mokuba with him not only because he was indebted to him, but because he feared Mokuba would just try again. Next time, Mokuba might not be so lucky. Then, Amelda would feel that he himself was responsible. Miruko's death weighed on him as it was…
Amelda lectured Mokuba for four and a half hours. Mokuba was lectured by many people on a regular basis, mostly from Nii-sama and authorities at school. However, it was different coming from Amelda. He could draw upon his own experience of living on his own at such a young age. He did not live; he merely survived. Mokuba nearly cried when Amelda told him of the time he was deathly ill, sleeping in a stone-cold building that was drafty from mortar holes. Amelda described what it was like to be completely alone without water or heat - with no one to comfort you. At this point, the stony face returned; Amelda fell silent.
Mokuba wondered whether or not Amelda had to go to work. Just because it was summer vacation for him, did not mean the rest of the world was on holiday. It turned out that not only did Amelda not work during the day, but he did not work during the week, either. This puzzled Mokuba, and he wondered vaguely if Amelda was still involved in something shady. He did not press the matter.
In the end, Amelda and Mokuba exchanged "pinky promises." Of course, this was after Amelda explained to Mokuba what a pinky promise was, that it was part of his own culture growing up, and emphasizing the sacredness of it. Mokuba promised to stay inside at all times and be good, and that if Amelda kept him for a month they would be square. Amelda promised to protect him, feed him, and keep him well for a month. He also promised that at the end of summer vacation (which is only a month), he would return Mokuba to Kaiba in one piece.
While Amelda was napping on the couch, Mokuba fixed himself a sandwich for lunch. The apartment was what Mokuba had expected, after seeing the car. It was small. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were all one room, which was about only half the size of Mokuba's bedroom at home. There was only one other room besides what was called the bathroom, and that was Amelda's bedroom - which was the size of a closet. Somehow, Amelda had managed to squeeze in a double-size bed (4) and cascades of books.
The biggest difference, Mokuba thought, is that my room is organized. Amelda's apartment was free of crumbs and stains, but it was a mess. Mokuba knew Nii-sama would have popped a hernia if Mokuba kept his room this way. He thoroughly enjoyed just looking at the place and its odd decorations, even if he did not know what everything meant. He could not understand why there was a strand of what looked like Christmas lights indoors. What puzzled him more was that they were chili-pepper-shaped light bulbs - instead of the usual shape Mokuba was accustomed to; bordering the top of the walls - circumnavigating the square, multi-functional room. Why? he had to ask himself. The posters made more sense, even if he did not know who the musicians were. There was a foot-tall, nude figurine on a stand in a corner, fluffy teddy bears in assorted colors - each with a little picture on its belly - strewn about the room, a dartboard with some guy's picture taped onto it that Mokuba did not recognize, and a large steak-knife embedded into the wall. This last bit was the most disturbing, but it did not look like Amelda had aimed for the dartboard, but the door - as it was right next to the frame. Still, even with teddy-bears and knives, Mokuba felt safe and secure, rather than endangered.
A little bit of jelly oozed onto Mokuba's fingers as he bit into his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He licked it off, figuring he wouldn't get yelled at about napkins from Amelda. Mokuba contemplated life confined in this small space for a month. He watched the black and white TV, which Mokuba had first mistaken for a radio. It was very small with a large aerial on top. In fact, it doubled as a radio. Amelda had explained it was a vintage Japanese model from the mid-60's. In other words, Mokuba thought, cheap. There was no way to watch movies on it, much less play video games. The picture flickered in and out as he watched the report of a missing 13 year old - himself.
There were several pictures of him at different ages, including a recent one. The anchorwoman describes me pretty well, he thought. With a heavy feeling, he noticed that Seto did not appear once in from of the cameras.
Seto watched the video tape from his private home security camera over and over again. There, the taxi pulled up. There, his precious Mokuba got in. There, it drove away moments later. Upon this discovery, he immediately copied this footage and sent it to the police. They were still working out who the driver was.
Had Seto not stopped the tape at that point to replay it again and again, he would have found the little matchbox on wheels that was Amelda a few hours later. The thought never occurred to Seto to watch the rest of the tape. So, it did not occur to him to record the entire thing, either. If he had, the police would have arrested Amelda immediately afterwards.
Panic. When Seto felt panic he did not think straight. Seto rarely ever panicked, but he was panicking now. Replay. Again he watched the taxi pull up at midnight. Again, the sweet, little boy got into the monstrous machine. Again, the vile thing transported away the only thing that put breath into Seto's lungs. Seto was drowning. Replay.
"Kaiba-sama…" a voice trembled. Seto was as safe to approach as a dehydrated crocodile. There was no response. The tape came to the same end of the scene, again. Replay.
"Kaiba-sama?"
Very reluctantly, Seto turned off the monitor. "This had better be good," he acrimoniously cautioned.
"We found the taxi driver, sir."
When Amelda woke up a few hours later from his nap, it was to find that Mokuba had tidied things up. Messy piles were now neat piles. The breakfast dishes that sat soaking in the sink now were dripping dry in the strainer. His coat was hanging on the hook by the door (the knife is on the other side) instead of laying on the floor. His stuffed bears were stacked in a pyramid against the side of the couch. A pink bean-bag (8) had been unearthed. His boots that were under the table were missing. Amelda presumed correctly that Mokuba found where his other shoes were at the bottom of the bedroom closet and returned the pair to its brothers and sisters.
Unwilling to bestir himself, Amelda just relaxed for a while, stretched out like a cat. He observed Mokuba lounging in the bean-bag reading a book with a familiar lengthy title. Amelda smiled to himself. He had read that book once. He found it ironic that not only had he read it, too, given that not everyone would know what it was, but that it paralleled the current situation. He remembered Miruko and him planning to run away to the local museum, after Amelda had finished reading the story to him. Unlike Mokuba, their reasons were based on the book itself. Miruko wanted to take a bath in the fountain; despite the fact that he loathed taking baths at home. Amelda wanted to see the 'Angel' statue. He remembered how disappointed he was when he went to the library to look up the works of Michelangelo and discovered that the statue did not exist. However, his disappointment was overridden when he happened upon David. (5)
Amelda smiled. It's bittersweet, he thought. He cherished that story mostly because it was the last thing his father had ever given him before he died. Also, because it opened up a new discovery for him. He never found his 'Angel,' but he did find David. Amelda glanced over to the figurine in the corner. It was a porcelain replica, very expensive, but worth it. Amelda had a fine appreciation for art, among other things.
Mokuba glanced up from his reading. He followed Amelda's gaze. "What is that?" Mokuba asked, interrupting Amelda's reverie.
"Huh?" Amelda saw that Mokuba indicated the statue, "Oh… that is David. When I was ten, I read that same book you're reading now. I went to the library to look up the works of Michelangelo, and I discovered that statue there."
"You've read this book!" Mokuba exclaimed, "Will you write the report for me?"
"Not a snowball's chance in hell," Amelda replied with a laugh. "That looks like homework! I'll help you out, but I'm not doing it for you."
"Why is it called, 'From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler'?" Mokuba asked, confused. "Why is it such a long title?"
"The answer to your first question you'll find at the end of the book. As for the second question, I have no idea," Amelda answered jovially.
"How good is your English?" Mokuba asked suddenly.
"Pretty good, since it's one of my first languages."
"How can you have more than one first language?" Mokuba pressed.
"I learned English and my home language simultaneously," Amelda explained. "Both of my parents could speak English. My father's was better because he was the ambassador to the United States. So, he spoke in English when I was a baby, and my mother responded in our native tongue. They kept this up until I was three. By then, I could speak three languages. My mother had started me on Latin. Then they started the bi-lingual conversations again for Miruko. He used both languages in the same sentence when he first learned how to talk. My parents told me that I did, too."
"How many languages do you speak now?" Mokuba asked, fascinated.
"Eight."
"Eight!" Mokuba couldn't believe it. "So, you speak Italian, too, right?"
"No," Amelda was slightly confused by this presumption.
"You're not Italian?"
"No," Amelda was still confused. "Where are you getting this from?"
"Weren't you in Italy?" Mokuba asked. It was not entirely out of the blue. Amelda's memory jogged back to Mokuba's query the night before.
Amelda thought for a moment, "I was there on vacation, but that was years ago. It was around the same time that your brother was hosting KC Grand Prix. I think your information is well out-of-date."
"Really?" Mokuba rhetorically asked. He was more intrigued than worried about poor information. That was Nii-sama's department. "You are not Italian?"
"No," Amelda returned, bemused.
"Then, what were you doing in Italy?"
"I have a boot fetish," Amelda teased. Mokuba looked at him with wide-eyes, failing to get the humor. "I have been to many countries," Amelda explained, "but I've never seen Italy before. I always wanted to explore in great depth the art museums, churches, and the country-side. Plus, there's the Statue of David…" he pointed to the figurine.
Mokuba gave the statue a furrowed expression. He glanced down at the bean-bag he was sitting in. Next, the posters on the walls… they were all men. Then, he remembered seeing the glittery high-heels in Amelda's closet when he put the redhead's boots away. Mokuba gave Amelda another one of his stern looks, "Only perverts have fetishes."
"That's harsh," Amelda scoffed. "Don't be so judgmental. Besides, I was kidding."
"Amelda," Mokuba queried, "Is there something I ought to know about?"
"Aren't you the sleuth," Amelda cajoled. "I'm not Italian, but I am gay."
Mokuba was surprised that Amelda didn't show the slightest bit of embarrassment. Amelda did not move, did not flinch or blush. He continued to smile benignly as if they were talking about the weather. "I guess it doesn't bother you," Mokuba said quietly.
"Bother me? Ha! Why would it bother me?" Amelda laughed. He never had this reaction before, "Usually it bothers the person I tell. Are you bothered?"
Mokuba bit his lip, chewing it over momentarily. "No," he decided. "As long as you don't go for kids, there's no reason it would bother me."
At this, Amelda sat up, outraged, "I'M NOT A PEDOPHILE!" He screamed it at the top of his lungs. The television in the next apartment shut off momentarily, then resumed at a louder volume. Amelda's neighbors were used to this.
"I'm sorry!" Mokuba quickly apologized. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it!"
"There's a difference between men and boys," Amelda continued at a normal decibel, "and despite what you think, you are not a man." His voice was as cold as Seto's could get, "I'm attracted to men, not boys. Furthermore, you would never accuse a heterosexual woman of being a pedophile, would you? Even if you found her attractive - like your nii-sama's secretary that you mentioned last night. You have a lot to learn about love and about life. Your theories," he mocked, "are as immature as you are."
Mokuba stood up suddenly, throwing the book to the floor. For a split second, Amelda feared he was going to run out into the hallway to who-knows-where. Astonishingly, Mokuba ran straight at Amelda and flung himself into his arms. His whole body shook with sobs as he cried like he never cried before. Mokuba was pouring out emotions that had been locked up for years: the anger and resentment of being orphaned, the burdens he shouldered with his nii-sama, the chaotic events in his life, the rampaging hormones… No matter how well laid your plans may be, or how balanced the house of cards are stacked, something can always come along and blow the whole thing down. Mokuba and Amelda both were learning that you can always start over again.