Surprise Chapter this week, courtesy of zero-damage from reddit, who had the time to do his thing early.
Catherine: Thanks for your kind words, as always. :) I have been pondering how to handle some parts of the story while remaining respectful to zero-damage's work on "Shortest Distance". In this chapter you'll see how I chose to skip some encounters he wrote, while adding some he did not. I'll continue this way of writing, so that you, the readers, don't end up simply having a poor mirror-image.
I have considered doing Kanji-Interludes when zero-damage had Naoto interludes. Not sure yet of that would be redundant or give the story more polish. I'd love to hear what you guys think. :)
August 21st, 2011
There are so many amiable ways one could wake up in the morning.
The slow, gradual awakening that comes when the sun rises and slowly floods the room with light. The smell of foodstuffs, tea or coffee. Having ones name called by a loving family member. Birdsong, the rushing of waves – even thunderstorms could be a nice thing to wake up to.
Unfortunately for Naoto, she woke up pre-dawn after a fitful nightmare by falling off the couch, straight into a small heap of papers, folders and discarded clothes.
Scrambling to her feet, slipping as some papers slid away from under her, her hand reached for the side of her leg to pull out her gun. She peered around the barely-lit room in panic when she found herself unarmed. It took a few moments to realize that not only did she not have her weapon within reach, but that she also did not need it.
Relief turned her legs into jelly and she dropped hard on her knees, her throat feeling ragged from panting. She slanted forward, her left hand steadying her, her right hand clutched to her chest. Calm yourself. It was only a dream. Nothing really happened. You are safe in your own apartment, not battling for air; not fighting for your life.
After allowing herself some long minutes of controlled breathing and having her eyes adjust to the little bit of light there was, Naoto came to her feet. No wonder, really, that she had slept poorly. She had fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by the case work of the murders. Fractions of her dream returned, one of them being pushed under water, an assailant trying to drown her.
This is of course to be expected, when falling asleep fully dressed… and still bound. Breathing was an issue while wearing her chest binding already, add to that being asleep and slumped into the couch. She had likely struggled for breath rather badly before she woke up.
She unbuttoned her shirt and released the binding on her chest. Immediately she felt her emotional distress recede even further, as she felt the first deep breaths unhindered by her masquerade. Starting the day at this point was as good as any other she decided, and turned towards the bathroom. Or at least trying to get there. Barely catching herself, as she stumbled over a small but unexpected stack of reference books.
Her apartment had turned into… it was not messy. She simply had spent the last week deeply involved with the case. There was no time to straighten up or sort through the boxes she had filled with discarded information. But still, that only her shelves had any semblance of order was somewhat out of character for her. She'd find some time to fix that, just not right now.
Entering the bathroom, she turned on the light without thinking, and winced from the sudden brightness. Pressing her eyes shut hard, she blindly tossed her shirt and bindings towards the general direction of the laundry basket. Very slowly re-opening her eyes, she continued to undress, added the remainder of her clothes into the basket and stepped into the shower.
She stretched out and pressed her hands against the wall. Leaning under the stream of hot water, allowing the sore muscles in her shoulders and neck to relax; letting the muscles in her back take back some of the work her bindings had claimed for over a day. She needed to finish her work so she could allow herself a proper resting schedule again. Right now there was so much to do that she could not spare the time, but falling asleep from exhaustion three nights in a row had started to negatively affect her physically. If this kept up too long, it might start to affect her mental prowess.
Right now, it was not sluggish thoughts that were the issue. As soon as she allowed her mind to drift a moment, her thoughts flickered from note to note, photo to photo, every few seconds a new scrap of evidence popping into her mind. She tried to tame the wild race of her consciousness, feeling overwhelmed by the staggering amount of work before her, and the avalanche of facts that pushed forward. Bringing it all to paper in an orderly fashion once she was refreshed from her shower would surely help with that. It would also be something she could hand over to Dojima to understand where it was headed right now, and why this case had taken a wrong turn.
August 25th, 2011
"I get all that, and I don't think you're completely off track -" Dojima started.
"My reasoning is not flawed whatsoever!" Naoto pinched her eyes shut and her hand flew to her forehead. The headache had now been present for four days thoroughgoing. The pain she could deal with. The distraction that came with it was another matter entirely. She slowly opened her eyes, rubbing her forehead slowly.
The look on the detective's face changed from irritation to concern. "Are you feeling all-"
"I am fine." Her hand jerked back to her lap. "I simply was up late and am feeling slightly unfocused." She turned back to the two big file boxes she had brought along to the office today. "If we could continue, I have further proof here that Kubo was not involved in the first two murders. I have also prepared itemized lists that will provide the evidence. I urge you to present these to your supervisors."
Dojima-san sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair. He could sigh all he wanted, so long as he finally listened.
She had spent long hours both at home and here at the station to clearly assemble and label the information they had on the three murder cases. She had taken specific care to even cross-reference the conflicting bits of information in such a manner that no one, not even Adachi, would be able to misunderstand. Naoto articulated at length which bits of information linked where; where needed proof was missing; how the scenes differed.
And yet she caught him leaning back in his chair and gazing at the ceiling several times. He busied himself with scribbling geometric shapes in a notebook, checked his phone, and mournfully glanced into his empty coffee mug.
"Dojima-san? Please, keep your attention on the matter at hand. We are about to try a young man for crimes he did not commit. Not only that, we may very well be on the path to allowing the real murderer to go free!"
He had not looked at her while she spoke, and still did not. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sounded tired.
"Shirogane-san. I see how much work you put into all of this. I cannot believe I am saying this, but I value your input on all of this. You may just be a kid-" Naoto flashed him a glare and straightened her back- "but you did good. That said, the matter is in the final stages. We will not be adding new evidence to the case at this point, or take apart the case that the district attorney has built."
Had he been listening? "Dojim-"
"No, Shirogane. I am sorry, but this is where our work ends." He finally sat back up and turned to face her. "I even agree with most of your findings. You're a smart one, wonder boy, and I think you'll go far. But before you do, there is something you'll need to learn. Sometimes a case simply needs to be closed. Inaba is a small town. People are scared and worry because they have not been given a solution yet. It's been months now that we have been working on this. The brass wants a pound of flesh and they will get it with Kubo. Our work ends here."
He stood and she jumped to her feet along with him. This didn't make sense. Dojima-san's implication here warped all she knew and understood about the legal system, about justice, about the profession of a detective. He was making a grave mistake and it was up to her to stop him. Maybe reason could work when logic seemed to fail him.
"Detective, surely you worry about another murderer still being out there? Is preventing another death not the true goal of capturing the murderer? If you present my findings, I am certain you can show the value of a proper solution to your superiors."
He hesitated at that. "I have a feeling that the first two murderers were linked to Yamano. Someone wanted her. They did away with the poor girl because she could identify him. There was no serial killer in the making here, Shirogane." He reached out to clasp her shoulder and she dodged away under his hand. He just shrugged. "Learn to let it go."
A proverbial avalanche of thoughts drowned out any semblance of coherent thought she may have had left as she watched him toss her assembled evidence into the boxes, stack them up and drop them besides his wastepaper basket.
Staring at the boxes at her feet, she murmured "This is a crass miscalculation…"
"Life is full of mistakes. Go home, Shirogane. Get some sleep."
She wasn't sure if he had meant well, but she left the discussion in a bitter mood.
After this discussion, Naoto spent another five hours at the station, trying to find any other officers or detectives who would listen to reason. Anyone at all who could possibly help her push back and address the issue correctly and with the right goals in mind.
August 26th, 2011
Her apartment was in a sorry state; littered with discarded food containers, case notes and discarded clothing. Somewhere in the back of her mind she even realized that. There may have been the echo of a mild scolding, a memory of some adult getting her to understand the necessity of an orderly living space. She ignored it.
Still in her pajamas (when had she last actually gone to bed?) Naoto stepped over a stack of files, squeezed past a discarded pile of copies, pushed a few file boxes aside with her foot and hopped over empty food containers to reach her couch.
There simply had to be a way to persuade Dojima-san and Sawaguchi to continue the work before them. The latter had started to try and prevent her from gaining access to the detectives. Why he would do that, she was unsure. Had someone directed him to do that? From the personality of the man, she would not have doubted he had taken it upon himself.
There was a murderer on the loose. This wasn't the case of some petty crime; not the matter of simply a thief being active. Unlike tax evasion or counterfeiting, people could lose their lives here.
In her mind, she had tried to find the missing pieces over and over. She even had reverted back to a professional assassin having been called in. The lack of traces meant that the perpetrator could very well have been a professional who knew how to evade detection.
She picked up a couple of loose pages from her note pad. They were filled with random lucid strings of thought. She had, at least for a while, tried really hard to fit Niteline and the rumor of the midnight channel into the current theories. Any time she hit a block in her trails, she picked the thought of the television show back up. Also, the teens several weeks ago had spoken of the television, as if they had any idea of how these ridiculous theories could be linked. Still, nothing she tried lead anywhere.
She crunched the notes up and tossed them in the general direction of one of her 'rejected ideas' corner. She would pick up and sort out the discarded papers. Maybe tomorrow. Possibly.
She ran her tongue over dry lips, wincing as she felt the sharp edge of cracked skin. She was clearly dehydrated. It showed in headaches, general sluggish thinking and the odd cramp. Yet, it wasn't really on her mind. She wasn't hungry or thirsty as such. Food and drink needed to be considered, alongside picking up her apartment. Later.
Maybe she had tried to start at the wrong end of things. Talking to Sawaguchi, the patrol officer who had found the first two victims, could being another ally to her. Surely he had an interest in avoiding further murders. The streets and the people living in them certainly were his main concern. There was still the chance that he was simply blocking her access because Dojima-san had asked him to.
Naoto glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes to four in the morning. Deciding it was too late to try and sleep again and too early to start writing, she got up and started to poke through the different piles of reference material, copies of files and reprints of pictures she had gathered. She knew she had one more shot if she simply started by approaching the police officers.
Ignoring the headache pulsing whenever she moved, she carelessly upended another file box and started to add evidence to her theory into it. She simply had to make them see. She would not have case 25 be sullied by bad investigative measures she had no control over.
August 27th, 2011
Naoto stormed after Sawaguchi through the darkened streets. He had the gall to take her files and stick her work into the shredder, right before her eyes, then simply leave the office as if nothing had happened?
The snickering of the other officers present still replayed in her head again and again. Why they would willingly engage in childish bullying when the reputation of their department (and hers) stood on the line…
And then there was Adachi. After a … disagreement with the young detective over the proper handling of evidence, and the subsequent order to "Go home and get some sleep, kiddo" from another officer present; she had rushed after the patrol officer in a last desperate shot to get him to listen. Why would no one listen to her? Did they not see; did they not understand how vital this matter was?
"Sawaguchi-san... Sawaguchi! Please wait!"
The officer not only did not wait, he did not even turn around to look at her. Instead, he turned right and entered the north end of the shopping district, walking as if nothing was amiss.
But she simply could not stop. She had to make them understand. She had to ensure they would not let this mistake carry on any longer.
Running to catch up, she called out again. "Sawaguchi-san! It must be in your own interest as well to ensure that the right person gets caught! You'll want to avoid further deaths in your town, am I right? If you take just one read through my assembled data you must agree that Kubo-"
The officer stopped and turned to face her. A slow smirk spread over his face. "Naoto, look. You're an okay kid. But Kubo did it. He confessed, we have the evidence we need to lock him up for good."
Calling me by my first name?! Naoto felt outrage well up, hot and unhindered. She was exhausted, she was tired, she felt weak and shaky and now this man had the absolute arrogance to address her like a member of his own family?
"You will not address me in that manner! I do you the curtesy of addressing you properly, the least you can do to a freelance detective" here he snorted a laugh "is to do the same in return. You cannot possibly want me to believe that you are so incompetent to not see the proof when I labeled it out for you and so unqualified that you feel threatened by someone younger than you to actually having to point it out?" She rambled. She realized she was rambling. She also realized she was shouting. Neither mattered. This man, this stupid, shortsighted, ludicrous little man held in his hand the future of possible women and children in this town and he simply laughed!
His voice was soft as velvet when he replied. "And you are taking yourself way too seriously."
He tried to turn around and keep walking, but she shot past him, back straight, shoulders up, blocking his path. "You may conceivably ignore me, but you cannot possibly ignore the facts! Morooka was attacked and killed by Kubo, but that's all he did. He-"
"Yeah, and he will be punished for that and for what he did to Yamano and Konishi as well."
"I'm telling you, he isn't the killer!" Her voice sounded weird to her ears. She felt the lump in her throat trying to constrict her. If he walks away from this she may well lose her only and last chance to solve this matter before anyone else would suffer. And she risked her first unsolved case. Raising her voice, her practiced low range cracking at the edges. "Are you people blind?"
"Okay, wonder boy, that's enough. I have work to do. You can go along and play detective elsewhere now. And if it helps you, I'll promise you that we will punish Kubo, okay?"
"While you're wasting time, the real culprit will-"
She snapped her mouth shut. Sawaguchi had turned away and was striding down the road. He had shut her away as neatly as if she had turned into thin air.
Naoto tried to find more words. She made a slicing motion with her arm, started to rush forward again. But she stopped after simply stamping out her foot. She felt sick. Tired, sick, desperate, shocked, frightened, shaky. If she could be only a little honest with herself, she actually shook with untamed fury as well as with the fear of failure. But this was not the end. She still could crack this. The police may stop working diligently, but she would not. She could not simply give up and let a possible serial killer escape and remain free to strike again.
Her shoulders and back loosened. Her hands slowly balled up into fists. Another battle demanded her attention. Her eyes were stinging and she felt hot tears of exasperation well up, blurring her vision. Still panting she shifted her focus to try catching her impotent rage and shut it down. She could still catch up to the man, but if he saw tears, he would dismiss anything further she had to say.
She did not hear the sliding door beside her open.
Did not hear him approach.
Did not hear him say anything.
"C'mon, don't-"
A hand brushed her shoulder.
Naoto's reflexes reacted before any kind of coherent thought would form through the red mist soaking her thoughts. She dodged, took two rapid steps back and ducked, ready to tackle the possible assailant.
The next second she realized that the shadowy figure towering before her was Kanji Tatsumi. Just as she had dodged away, he jerked back. His breath caught, as if he has been surprised. Why would HE feel surprise? He had been trying to grab her after all! To make it worse, her carefully assembled scraps of self-composure came crashing down.
"Wh-What are you-" Naoto started out to snap at the boy, but her voice started to break apart and she felt a whimper trying to climb up her throat. She spun away from the blonde and lifted her arm before her eyes.
"S-sorry, man, I d-didn't-"
"You - I don't-" The tears she had battled fell. Big, obvious, shameful drops catching on her arm and the back of her hand. The shiver of anger fled, overturned, and she now found herself fighting the urge to sob out loud in frustration.
Why was he here? Why had he come? Why was it that the one person she needed to be able to keep in careful control was so close to see her break down and cry? So close to see her carefully built persona as a junior-hardboiled detective shatter? And even though she had turned away from him, he would still not leave.
"I just wanna - look, what was with that cop?"
Sawaguchi. Adachi. Dojima. In her minds' eye she saw them talking about her. Laughing. Dismissing her work. If she were to add to that the stigma of emotional instability that clings to women, her future would be over.
Helplessness fled as quickly as it had tried to take control of her. Cold anger came crashing back and instantly suppressed her tears, her shivers and the lump in her throat.
"It's nothing," she muttered, her voice being perfectly low and level. "Excuse me, I need to go." She tugged down her cap, dodged around Tatsumi and marched home.
For a moment she thought he took a breath to call after her. He did not, and she was glad for it.
One of the seemingly least capable here in Inaba, a young man who seemed to have a mild stutter, issues making friends and a police record thick as her fist, and he was the first one here to approach her and offer help.
The youth had given her an idea however. If she were to remain in Inaba and in turn get herself involved with the locals, including the students here, she should be able to continue her work without fear of being blocked by the police. For all they knew, they had gotten rid of her and she could just play along with that on the outside.
The easiest way to solve several of these problems was of course to enroll to the local high school. She would get that paperwork sorted out in the coming days.
Truthfully giving up and abandoning the case? She would not allow that. She would not allow them to ruin her reputation.
September 7th 2011,
It had been too long since Naoto had endured any kind of formally institutionalized education. That was the only logical explanation as to why fitting in proved to be such a challenge. The other option was that the general future of Japan was at peril, as the next generation was hopelessly incompetent and incapable.
She had explained to Grampa what her reasoning was and he readily supported her idea to attend Yaso High. Actually, looking back, he very, very quickly agreed. Possibly because he knew he had a longer trip to the United States approaching and knowing her in a regular daily schedule would put his mind at ease.
She had forgotten how… How utterly immature her peers were. She had not even entered the school building when Hanamura … senpai… had dubbed her "pint sized detective". Other nicknames of different level of quite dubious fondness were "Detective Prince", "Shirogane Heir", or "Short Stuff". The need for these bizarre nicknames were fully beyond her. Shirogane-san. Easy. Respectful. And most of all the proper and adult way of address.
Further, her fellow students seemed unable to keep records. If she had the muse for it, she could have created a bingo-card by now. Each lesson and class intersecting with certain names – Kujikawa came to the forefront of her mind at once. Other wanted to outright copy her homework. Where was the educational benefit in that? To study and learn any subject matter, practice was needed. If a student was unable to reproduce the work given as study assistance, simply copying the results would not anchor them in their mind.
Not that this was her only source of exasperation. The term had barely started and already they were preparing to leave on a school trip. There was next to no educational value in this undertaking!
Adding some extra shirts into her backpack, neatly covering the additional bindings she would take along, Naoto repeatedly doubted the rationale that had led her to enroll. A bit over a week ago the solution seemed so clear and logical. Looking for information, one goes to the source of the matter. Simple. That this source would end up being behind social barbed wire was not something she had put much thought into.
Instead of gathering new intelligence, she spent her days fending off approaches by female classmates, sneers from male classmates, and the oddly specific attentions of Kujikawa, who seemed to try and ensnare 'Naoto-kun' into some sort of social arrangement. Not even she would properly address her as Shirogane-san. It was maddening.
What also was maddening was the persistency of the idol. Invites to have lunches or dinners; 'Just hang out with me, Naoto-kun!'; offers to exchange phone numbers so they could 'chat more'… The detective was uncertain why or for which ultimate goal, but Kujikawa kept appearing – often followed or heralded by Tatsumi.
All of this would be solved at a later time, she was certain. Possibly right after fending off another invite to a 'study session'. The manner in which these took place had previously observed by Naoto. It was an extended snack time at Junes if it came down to it. Sure, books were open, but no one looked at the subject matter.
For now, preparing for the school trip took precedence. Naoto assembled three case files she would be taking along. She had time during the trip to work and unlike school and the implications of being locked up with a few dozen children, working would at least be a productive outlet for her energies.
Her gaze lingered on the files marked Yamano and Konishi as she stood in front of her desk. "I've not forgotten about you." Staring at this thick stack, she was reminded why she would suffer through anything this school semester would bring. Two young women needed to have their justice. And while others might have abandoned them…
Resting her hands on the files, frowning, she tonelessly repeated herself. "I have not forgotten."