Title: Nearly There

Disclaimer: Nope not me. Cannot for the life of me remember who either…

Warnings: Nothing really…bad descriptions of emotions again probably…

A/N: If anyone is wondering, the time differences are properly calculated to the closest time. I have literally worked them out using sources, they aren't just made up.

/actions or sounds/ "Speaking" "Past Speaking" 'Thoughts'

"'(actions while thinking/speaking)'"

"What's done cannot be undone."

In Shakespeare's Macbeth Scene 5, Act 1

Japan Tuesday 22:30, 3 hours since 'incident'.(1)

"Go!"

"...your fault!"

/Static crackling/

Everything was in a haze, everything kept returning in fragmented jumbles of sounds and words. It was a hellish nightmare he would not wake from for it plagued him even within his waking world and he soon discovered even the typical comfort of sleep did not appease him of it.

Still he could hear the metal ripping into the man's flesh, still he could see the crimson liquid flow from the wound…run down the blade…feel it splatter onto him…hear it drip upon the walls and floor.

It was driving him insane.

His eyelids were closed yet he was not sleeping. Sleeping was a form of resting, of rejuvenation for the mind and body…a requirement neither were getting out of his final stumble into this alleyway, into this cold brick wall where he promptly fell exhausted unable to move but a little.

His strained movements, his mind urging him onwards…away…had quickly ceased; his body…perhaps his soul…too bent and broken out of shape to budge. So here he lay, foetal upon the concrete with his back supported though not comforted by this reddish wall.

He was well aware that he needed to rest but deep down did not believe he deserved such a pleasure…he found himself believing he really did not deserve a lot of things that he once had or wanted anymore…true to the case this be or not. His almost silent wish was answered without hesitation as the images of this night refused to disappear, but instead swirled consistently around his mind and soul…choking him in guilt, confusion and despair.

The middle emotion – if say it were viewed by a psychologist examining someone upon those un-imposing chairs – was rather puzzling in and of itself…for why was he so confused over the incident mere hours ago?

He knew what had happened…the images were so fresh and clear it was hard not to…so what, one might wonder, the hell did he have to be confused about?

His grandfather's last words had barely made sense the first time round… the loving old man on the edge of his own abyss, a position that in his case was causing much pain and short of breath…was even less understandable now. He understood that his grandpa wanted him to leave, though he was not entirely sure he knew why...he thought he did upon actually removing himself from his long-time home and the happy memories that resided there…but in reality he had not got a clue.

Though his memories were correct and accurate, they were bouncing around like rabbits with only one or two actually following some sort of ordered succession and were not replaying the entire sequence as it happened. Built up, as it was, he was beginning to forget whether or not the scenes that were being play-backed were indeed the whole play of events…a notion which caused more than one sinking feeling within the pit of his stomach.

His grandfather had said 'Go!' more than once, he was sure so sure there was more to 'your fault', though the more he thought this, for so lost was he, the more he thought it was simply a denial to ease his conscience. He understood the static, the blood, the metal and the thuds…all of that made sense but he did not, could not and was not entirely sure he ever would understand why

WHY? Why why why why WHY! Goddamit!

Why had he...he…?

Once again the image resurfaced, flesh and metal and wood…his guardian's final gasping breath…static noise like that of an eternal din…before his body jerked up hard against the alley wall, he himself gasping…choking for the very same breath his grandfather no longer had the ability to maintain…eyes and throat intensely burning…gaining yet another crack in his soul that could almost be heard within this dreadfully dark night.

Cold…alone…petrified and agonized…he remained tearless, rigid…fighting both the nightmare of sleep and the hell of reality he had been unwittingly thrown into.

He would rest for just a bit more, he hesitantly decided, before following his minds commands disobeying all other pain from his body in light of such pain being justified in his mind and perhaps those of others.

Settling back once more; once more trying to alleviate his breathing and clear his mind ready for another opportunity to move on

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Somewhere in Germany Wednesday 17:30; 22 hours since 'incident'.

"Hello."

"Good evening, I am sorry to bother you madam, I am Chief Watari of Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. We have you listed as one Ivan Klimowicz' next of kin and we need to confirm that you are related to this person."

"Yes, yes I am. I'm his older sister."

"Could you give a basic description just to be sure please?"

"Why what's this all about? Is Ivan alright, what has happened?"

"We cannot disclose that information unless we are assured you do know him."

"I has been awhile but…my brother has hazel eyes, dirty; though some people call it sandy blonde coloured hair, pale and he has always been quite slim though not what I'd call skinny…um about 6ft and he has a scar on his face…will that do?"

"…I'm sorry to have to tell you this madam but your brother is dead…"

"WHAT?!"

"…we require a full body identification test and therefore must ask you to come here for the test and a few questions."

"H-how? My little brother…P-please tell me…"

"I'm sorry but..."

"Please mein herr I have to know and of course I'll get the next available flight…will his b-body be released to me??"

"Not at this moment in time. I shouldn't but…(mumbling) it is well news covered…Your brother was murdered…"

"…!!…"

"…We have a suspect. Unfortunately they are not in our custody as of yet. I'll arrange to have you escorted from the airport upon your arrival. Again I am sorry. Good bye."

"…bye…"

The silver piece clicked off as it had done a thousand times before; a dial tone being the only noise left in the suddenly silent room and the body of the smart middle-aged woman, once full of movement now stilled from utter shock.

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Japan Wednesday 08:30, 13 hours since 'incident'.

Yuri Zanker, the only witness in these current events was in many ways wrongly called so. He did not 'witness' the killings but merely thinks he saw the killer leaving the premises.

Nonetheless Yuri was very important to the case, as he had described the individual trying to escape in a way that left no doubt as to their identity in corroboration with the other evidence. Still, when and hopefully not if, the lad was found, authorities would still require him to I.D. said teen.

Yuri was not a local and had come down on a vacational getaway from the company in which he was but an ordinary clerk.

Although he would hardly call being wrapped up in a double homicide case a holiday, short though it had to be. He was a well-to-do man yet, still training in business studies and economics in the hopes of being more than a lowly accountant, but it paid well and everyone knew it would have to do him for now.

At 26, some would ask why he had not already reached his goal or more closer to it. And always would they be answered: "I had personal troubles when I was younger. Between moving schools and the rebellious phase that all teenagers seem to go through, I never really concentrated much on my studies…if I turned up at all".

"…So now, regretting that stage of my life, I'm now trying to make up for it. I have no intention of getting stuck in a dead end boring career and cannot believe I almost blew it."

Close friends knew Yuri had a short-span concentration that he obviously retained from his youth and like then, dreamed of coming to a phase where he could waltz right through life with no worries, no money demands of great devastating importance and no hardship in the form of the above or kids. It was well known he'd never been very fond of 'little brats'; a term that he would stop using after a person turned 21 or 22, though if he had known them as kids he tended not to like them even after they grew up…and, of course, children had never been too fond of him.

He had a rather humiliating story involving a friend of a friend's baby girl; the details are not necessary…lets just say its an experience Yuri has cheerfully shoved out of his mind, never to return.

In both the man's public and private life he was seen as a hard headed individual. From the public eye, he could be described as charismatic, good for a laugh, friendly if a little strange at times, intelligent and determined in everything he did. Yet Yuri was also known to be fairly pessimistic and suspicious of both people and things though it never seemed to get him down. He enjoyed competitive sports and had done some training in kickboxing and aikido. At six foot, Yuri was no 'small fry', he was fit and medium built but with fairly broad shoulders that stood out – especially due to the close-fitting sleeveless T-shirts he always casually wore. Brown-blonde short cropped hair, dark green eyes, shaven face and smooth features – he stood at being called 'kinda cute' or 'quite handsome' depending on the female age group, without being ridiculously or downright gorgeous. Sure he had his fair share of marks, mostly due to his 'troublesome youth' days, but on the whole he was a reasonably average looking fellow…much like the rest of the sheep of the population…a private joke he once shared with an old mate… in not just appearance.

Yuri's private look on and into his life was a slightly different matter. He retained everything from his public appearance but gained some more things on the side; some things that may have attributed to his colleagues sometimes announcing he was 'strange'. Compared to work he was not so socially active, having only a handful of mates he could really trust and/or spend any time with. These friends knew him to be quite mean when he wanted to be…laughing at others expense, known to sulk and brood when he did not get what he desired, despite knowing half way through that he was not going to and rather hot-tempered if pushed. Indeed that had been many a reason why he had gotten into so much trouble before, unable to control his temper to the point where anger management therapy had become an issue some years back.

I suppose everyone has a cruel streak; "All men are evil…" (2) and all that and Yuri was no exception. There was more to this man than met the eye; even those that only knew him through work knew simply because he looked average did not mean he was; he was not a sheep…never had been…hoped never to be. He had a goal, a target in life…he wanted more than just the average lifestyle a normal lowly career could offer and being the determined, stubborn and strong man that he was, he would be damned before he let it slip through his fingers and he would give up any such prospect.

But for now, rush hour had started, in another city and at another time he would be in danger of being late…fat chance of that happening…he was on holiday, taking a break, seeing new sights and everything a tourist is supposed to do…except…two people had been murdered and he had insight into that fact; he was needed in more ways than one and his holiday had not yet been dealt its cards.

If only Yuri could add fortune telling to his number of talents…maybe that way he would realise just how much he was going to see, and do, before the final course of this trip was absolved.

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Japan Wednesday 20:35, 25 hours since 'incident'

Somewhere in Japan a lone individual sat smoking their usual brand of low-tar cigarettes inside a black Citroen C4. Picking up their expensive black/blue design mobile phone, a long-distance number in speed dial 6 was pressed with one finger; the phone registered the action and sending out its short radio waves to the holder of said number to produce a dull ring within the ear of the driver.

Ten times a sleek black phone rang out before finally being picked up by its owner, who had been expecting this important call. Their usual exchange was always on time, preordained and pickup only after ten rings as most other people would not stay on the phone quite so long.

A gruff but well nurtured voice drifted out of the still smoking individual's device...

"Report."

"Kid's being blamed like you said. Police don't have a clue where he is though but a lot of people are snooping around. Don't worry, the brat'll go down for what he's done, he won't get away with this."

"Tell me...which idiot messed up?"

"..."

"I see. I had hoped you would do better by me. Be warned, I will not tolerate failure a second time!" even through the phone the words were laden with iced temperament.

"Even with the stacks against him, I know that fool Dickenson will get in the way somehow...I don't want to take any chances on this, nor do I want him in the hands of the authorities! I suggest you redeem yourself my taking care of him, permanently. I do not care how you do it; simply request that you make him suffer for everything."

"Sure boss...pleasure is all mine!" in a far too cheerful yet creepy tone with an evil smile to match, the smoker severed his private call while flicking the remains of his cigarette out his open window. Car in gear, no one noticed another member of the human race, not-so-typical as the rest, drive past.

TBC...

(1)Continued from Chapter2

(2)Sorry but I can't remember who said that, only that it definitely wasn't me!

Thanks for reading, now just press the little button right below and I promise to try and be quicker for the next chapter!

See ya!