If there was any chance of catching that woman tonight, Itachi knew, it would be at her house. He crossed the last long fairway behind the hospital grounds, running as hard as he could. Ahead of him, Kisame sniffed the ground, then plunged through the tree shadows, a mottled streak.
As long as he kept going, Itachi could maintain a precarious equilibrium, concentrating on the single thought of getting to the house fast.
It was when he paused to track his direction or lift the rusty tines of a wire fence to climb through that the rage surged in him again, like poison through all his senses.
The unexpected shock of what had happened struck him like waves. The bitch, he thought again and again; the bitch, the lousy bitch.
Leaving the lawn, he jumped into the rough grass.
Back in the dark room, he thought she was a nurse. Since she was dressed in pale going-home clothes, he's thought she was coming in to say good night to his Sakura. As soon as she left, he planned to help Sakura finish dressing in the clothes he had stolen from the clothesline; then he's lower her out the window and escape into the night. But his plan had backfired, because of that stupid bitch.
That was why he hadn't moved, hadn't done anything to stop her. And then it was too late to do anything. It was like watching a ball of kite string unwind faster and faster in his hand till it was out of string and his fingers hurt.
The effect of what that woman had done went on hovering beyond his consuming rage and his ability to understand it.
To Itachi, everything was quickly reduced to its simplest terms: if he caught that bitch tonight, he would kill her.
You've really done it, he thought. Now you're dead.
He thrashed through the back edge of the rough and came out on an old cow path fronting the woods. Grasping his knees, he stopped in the barren, his breath loud and ragged, his head throbbing.
Long needles of pain stitched up his arm from his bandaged, burned hand. In the east, the quarter-moon showed a rust-colored curl of light like the rim of partly buried paint bucket.
Kisame trotted up to him, panting, his dark eyes quizzical and his tails rolled back into a dense ball of fur.
"Good boy," Itachi said between breaths. "You did your part."
As if obeying just the sound of Itachi's voice, the big dog promptly sat down. But Itachi hardly paused before he was off again, turning and jogging away. Kisame ran along after him.
The creaking woods closed over them. Running parallel with Itachi, but straying from his side, Kisame loped through the underbrush. On the other side of the woods, Itachi heard the whine of a car on the highway, saw its moving headlights glittering through the trees and then fade away.
It was traveling in the same direction the woman had gone -into town. He had followed her home several times and was familiar with the background.
Five minutes later, on the far corner of Konoha Street and Linkin Avenue, Itachi came to a halt, studying the white framed house in the dim row of houses before him. He ran forward a few steps, then slowed to walk across the intersection.
In his approach, he stayed across the street from the house, walking very fast on the the dingy lawn to silence his footsteps. He could see that the light was on downstairs.
At first he thought it was a man's television set, but the light didn't bounce or flicker; it was a faint, steady light, coming from the hall or kitchen. When he passed the light, the living room was quite dark, except for the beam of light from the other room.
Beside the house, the driveway was empty, the garage closed up. The woman's minivan didn't come back here; he was too late. Without uttering a sound, he slumped where he stood. Kisame came up to him from across the street, his tongue dangling from the side of his mouth and his big grisly face masked behind the white stream of his breath.
Unless the car was hidden in the garage, she'd done it; she grabbed Sakura, and nobody knew.
But me, Itachi thought. Nobody but me.
Down the long wintry street, a car turned toward him and he crouched back against spindly hedges and dropped to his haunches to wait while it passed. He called Kisame to him by puckering and mooching his lips, and the dog lay over on his back to have his stomach scratched.
His muzzle had been bloodied when he attacked the car; his whiskers were now frosted with blood. Still he lolled on his back as Itachi stroked his furry chest. The run had not depleted Itachi's anger, but now his body tensed with an even deeper knowledge.
It's over, he thought, nothing left to lose now, and he began to shake so hard he had to sit on the damp grass and chew on the bandage on his hand to stop. As soon as the fan of light sped past them, he stood and nodded to Kisame to come. He looked up and down the street.
He went to the corner and down the side street, and turned abruptly in the alley, left unpaved and unattended between the various back-yard demarcations. Against his sweaty skin, the wind was biting cold. He chose his steps carefully through the weeds, keenly aware of the noise he made.
After a few more steps, he turned Kisame loose and they hurdled the low iron railing behind the neighbor's house, then crossed the rough earth of the garden, and stood silent behind the ornamental birdbath.
An upstairs window glowed with a pinkish light, not in the woman's room but another bedroom. The glass in the back door shone dimly with the same shad of light he'd seen through the large front window. Somewhere in the middle of the house, then -the dining room or the hall -the light had been left on.
The garage was empty. So the woman who's taken Sakura was gone, completely gone.
His last spark of hope withered, and the necessity of what had to be done settled over him with a weight like iron. Somebody had to know where she was, somebody close to her…and somebody was home.
When the moon drifted free of clouds, it cast him in a pattern of drab, gnarled checkers. He breathed into his hand to trap the white fog spewing from his mouth. Freezing in his jacket, he stamped his feet slowly on the packed leaves. There was no movement or change in the upstairs room.
As he stood there, he knew he would go after Sakura and the woman and find them and bring Sakura back. He would go as far and as long as it took. He would need only a few things.
A picture of the woman would help, and he knew where one was. A letter to her from someone might give him a clue about where she was headed. And money; he's have to try to find some money. Already he was down to his last hundreds.
The house was too easy to get into. He had been in it before. Itachi checked his jacket pocket, and felt reassuringly the weight of the old leather-covered blackjack he'd found and taken one night from a desk drawer; and, in the other jacket pocket, the flashlight disguised as a pencil.
In his pants pocket he felt the ridge of the folded knife with one of its two blades broken off.
Kisame whimpered and stood, and sat down again. "You stay here," Itachi said. "Don't let anybody in. Don't let anybody." Kisame squinted his slant eyes and licked his muzzle.
Waiting for the light to go out, Itachi scooped two pain pills from his coat pocket and ate them dry from the gauze hand. He knew where the fuse box was, if it came to that. The medicine nibbled along his nerves and flared in his brain, numbing the throbbing ache in his hand and behind his eyes.
He waited for his vision to clear. Then he entered the house.
2
Jenny Haruno opened her eyes and the room was dark. For a moment only her eyes moved, skimming the night in the room for some half-remembered disturbance. She blinked and rubbed her eyes.
Shrugging higher on the pillows, she reached for the base of the lamp and slipped her fingers up the celluloid switch. It clicked; she blinked, but the darkness remained intact. Quickly she turned the switch two more times. Again nothing happened. She stared toward the flute lampshade with disbelief.
She wondered if the bulb had burned out as she slept-if, in fact, the quiet pop and sizzle of it going out hadn't been what had awakened her. She was thinking about how long it had been since she'd change the light bulb when she glimpsed the faint movement in the darkened doorway across the room. Her head had been turned toward the lamp when she saw the shape wrinkle and fluctuate on the outer edge of her eyes.
Twisting toward it, straining to see the doorway clearly, she heard the unmistakable slap of a shoe.
Jenny leaned forward on the bed to listen more carefully, and the house became a vast jar of stillness. Rising from its depths came the noises, tiny isp and spots of sound: the grind and clicking rotation of a doorknob turned, followed by the mute yawn of a door opened, and, under all the noises, the sound of that one faulty shoes. It's Riku, she concluded, nodding thoughtfully. That would explain everything. Just her dumb sister trying to scare her.
Peeling back the covers, she stood up from the bed, shrugged into her flannel robe, and cinched the sash and went to go follow the noise, but froze, remembering Riku had called a while ago to explain she wouldn't be back home for a while.
She hung in the air, waiting to hear the retreat of footsteps and the quiet closing of the downstairs door, but neither happened.
The wait grew interminable. At last the slow flap of shoe recurred, but her racing heartbeat interacted with it too much for her to tell where he was. Through the bedroom door, open to the stairwell, she watched the lights of a passing car swell and disappear.
Her visitor was moving much faster now; she could hear his urgency so plainly that she decided he had to be upstairs, but she couldn't be certain. The darkness swarmed her eyes: the night air thickened to the consistency of molasses. He was stumbling through the rooms -once she was convinced she heard him in Riku's room -attacking the house with a heedless, fumbling haste. His impatience tightened her nerves.
She heard a glass breaking, not once but repeatedly, and endless small shattering noises. That time the noise seemed to come from downstairs. A drawer shrieked open, then shut. Another drawer opened. Apparently he was looking for something in particular, rushing violently about his search.
Let him take whatever he wants, she thought; then he'll leave. She had decided he could have anything if only he'll leave, when she remembered hiding Riku's valuable and cash inside the vase on the stairs.
She ached all over and wanted to cry.
When she took a step forward, abruptly all the noise stopped. Jenny began to move helplessly through the room, searching about for some defense while she listened for the flapping shoe.
There was utter silence.
Suddenly she heard an angry snarl of drawn breath in the doorway bedroom. Her muscles crawled under her skin, her inertia spread to her will. Everything stalled.
The figure seemed hardly to move; it was like a shadow collecting density from the dark. She saw the shape contract and expand, emerging toward her. Fear rose through her throat and broke from her lips in airless whimpering. Absolutely frozen, she couldn't move or speak, couldn't think what to do.
She saw that her intruder had a wrapped hand and when he spoke, his slow, guttural voice was as cold as ice water tossed on her face.
"Where's that woman?" he asked. "Where'd she take Sakura?"
Oh, not that, she thought, but the voice had spurred her to her senses. One of his hands, the unwrapped one, came up holding something that looked like a black baby rattle.
It wobbled soundlessly on the top of his fist.
"You shouldn't be here," she tried to say, but her voice a sticky whisper. "You're in the wrong house."
The moonlight bloomed brighter in the room and he was coming through it. Her breath backed up.
"Why," she said, "you're just a boy." A very tall boy in fact, and extraordinarily handsome as well.
The blow struck her across the cheek with astonishing velocity. It felt as if she had been hit in the face with a bolder. Her jawbone and teeth exploded; a bolt of intense white light seared the backs of her eyes, burning down like embers, and incomprehensible shock waves of pain erupted in her brain.
One side of her face began to puff and contort. He caught her as she fell and time stretched like elastic. She felt herself immersed with him, and his gamey animal smell was vile.
His arms came up around her in a kind of embrace and clasped over her throat, front and back, and he wrenched her head backward and to the side. A sharp, distinct, very loud crack broke the air -from the base of her skull outward she grew very numb and cold, instantaneously. She fell, crumpling hard.
Her head lolled to the side.
She tried to move it, but couldn't.
She tried to move her fingers, but couldn't.
Inches from her tilted eyes, she saw one shoe with a many-knotted shoelace and one sock foot. A pool of light snared and dazzled her face.
Stooping down, her assailant smile upon her with perfect white teeth to match his perfect features.
"You're dead," he rasped. "And that woman…You're all dead." He snatched and tore the words with his teeth. "I'm gonna string her up and gut her like a god damn dog." Then he told her to shut her eyes.
From outside, the angry growling and barking came even louder.
Jenny heard her assailant move from her side, his feet twisting fast on the carpet. She strained to open her swollen eyes to slits. She saw his shape step over her, wagging his flashlight.
She stared up at the eyes of Death.
3
Riku had rented a hotel room under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Moore, claming her husband would be arriving later to join her and her daughter.
As soon as the bellboy had left, Riku shut and locked the door, closed the drapes and the blinds, and turned to Sakura. The green eyes drilled into her from the middle of the room.
"Well, now, Sakura, what do you think of this?"
She expected no answer and she got none. She took off her mink coat, a gift from her mother eight years ago, removed the hairpin with the diamond eye, and laid her hat on the dresser.
"Aren't you warm?" she said. "let's take off your coat." She unbuttoned and slid the new jacket off Sakura's small shoulders.
"Now, isn't that better? Yes, it is." With some surprise, she noticed that Sakura was still wearing the small identification bracelet of beads from the hospital. It gave her a moment's start; had anyone in the lobby seen it? Would they know it came from a hospital? It was unlikely; she decided she was over reacting.
She went over and ordered dinner, and as she came back, she caught Sakura scratching at the crisp skin under the bandage on her hip, and trying to reach back to her shoulder.
'Oh Sakura," Riku said, "what are you doing? I know it must itch, but you shouldn't do that." As the sound of her voice, Sakura stopped scratching and twisted away. So this was to be glimmering of recognition Riku had waited for. She quickly smeared cream on the read fingernail marks and pulled the hem of Sakura's jumper down.
"You'll make scars." And she showed her the jar of cold cream and where it was kept in her purse; she told Sakura how to use it when she itched, because itching meant she was getting well -took one little finger in her hand and dipped it in the cream, and guiding her, let Sakura smooth it on her own cheek.
There was a tapping at the door and a boy wearing a red pillbox hat trimmed in gold, and gloves the color of mice, delivered their dinner, and it didn't matter, as she carried the tray into the room, that Sakura had globbed cream on her face and in her hair and all down her front. It didn't matter. Riku laughed and said to her, "My goodness, Sakura, did you itch all over?"
With a towel from the bathroom, she wiped the cream away as quickly as she could and went to make sure she had to remember to lock the door. Sakura's plate was so large that she had to hold it with both hands to eat.
"Okay," Riku said, "I need you to stand up." She took away the half empty plate and set it next to her own, then helped Sakura stand.
She unbuttoned the long-sleeved dress in the back and worked it off her arms. "I bought you some new pajamas."
But of course Sakura didn't answer. Her unyielding stare was now focused on the litter of cloths at her feet.
After Riku finished dressing her up, she turned on the radio and picked up Sakura and danced around the room with her. The girl had a puzzled expression on her face, but later it disappeared into a small smile at the corner of her lips.
Riku tossed her head back and laughed, then kissed the girl's forehead. This body she was holding was so frail and vulnerable, light and skinny. Pain ached her heart and she stopped jiggling with the girl and placed her down on the bed.
"Don't you worry, I won't let anything harm you ever again, you hear?" As the child nodded slowly, eyes half drawn shut, it had occurred to her how tired she must be after a long road trip and Riku tucked the child in.
4
Keeping her eyes shut, lying absolutely still, Sakura waited that night for sound she thought would never come -the woman's breath drawn deep and slow in sleep. She waited a little longer until there could be no doubt that the woman was sound asleep. Then, crawling silently, Sakura touched the side of the bed and slid to the floor.
Holding the hospital bracelet and a pencil in her fist, she slowly searched the darkened room until she came to the table with the case of flowers on it.
Stuck in among the flowers was a small white envelope with its flap stranding open. Slowly she pulled it out. Inside the envelope was a printed cards. And the backside was blank. There, Sakura wrote: STOP HER SHE GOT ME FROM HASPIDL.
Then she out the card in the envelope and slipped the bracelet in, curled around so that it would fit inside the envelope, too. She licked the flap and sealed it.
5
When they stopped at the Shell filling station some time later, to buy gas and go to the ladies room, Riku did not see the small hand come from the pocket; nor did she see Sakura place the envelope on the chair where the station attendant had been sitting, reading his newspaper. Her back was turned.
I busted my ass trying to climb a tree. Then I got stuck up there. Then busted my ass coming down. Yo.