A/N: Okay, so... that was more than a week. But lengthwise, it's like two for the price of one! Also, I'm pretty sure you'll like this chappie. Oh, and cookies go to anyone who recognizes the allusion that I added!
Chapter 5
Thursday, Late Morning:
Nanjiroh sighed. "Nanako, could you get the door?" he called from behind his newspaper as the doorbell continued to screech.
His frazzled niece wiped her sweating forehead with the back of one wrist. Preoccupied with the stove covered in hissing, overflowing pots, she snapped over her shoulder, "Uncle! I'm a bit busy!"
Nanjiroh rolled his eyes, stood and dropped his paper onto the table with a thunk. He froze. Nanako bustled away, oblivious. He breathed a sigh of relief and lovingly adjusted the edge of the paper back over the latest edition of Busty Asian Beauties.
Striding down the hallway, he hollered, "All right, all right, I'm coming! Let go of the bell already!" Yanking open the door, he cried petulantly, "We were just about to eat!" Then he did a double-take. "Took you people damn long enough," he muttered.
A young, uniformed man snatched his hand back from the buzzer with a guilty look. Next to him, a middle-aged woman's serious face didn't even flicker as she bowed. "I apologize for the inconvenience. You are Echizen Nanjiroh-san?" She waited for his assent. "My name is Santiago Isabela, and I am with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department." She lifted a thick-veined hand to the man beside her, who was fresh-scrubbed and probably just out of the Academy. "This is Ogata Kenshin."
He glanced from one to the other. "You're here to talk to Ryoma?"
"Yes."
"Good." He hissed, "That bastard should rot in jail for the rest of his life!" Ogata looked startled at that. Nanjiroh stepped back out of the way and gestured in the two. Slipping off their shoes, they followed Nanjiroh into the living room. Once seated, the Hispanic woman folded her hands in front of her. The monk (ostensibly, anyway) flopped into an armchair.
"Well, Uncle? Who was at the door?" Nanako called from the kitchen.
He yelled back, "The police."
She dropped a spoon with a clatter. "What?"
Ogata stifled a chuckle. His partner shot him a glare, and he hastily straightened his expression.
Nanjiroh grinned at him and repeated, "It's the police."
His niece stepped into the kitchen doorway. She bowed, asking a little nervously, "Are there any refreshments you would like?"
Ogata lifted a finger with a hopeful expression, opening his mouth to speak. Santiago cut him off, replying, "No, thank you." Nanako smiled and bowed again, retreating into the kitchen. The resumed banging of pots and dishes was quite a bit louder than before. "All this work, just to grow cold," she grumbled, barely audibly even to herself.
"Echizen-san," the woman began again over the noise. "You are Echizen Ryoma's father?"
"Yeah, the brat's mine," he replied.
Amusement spread into her chocolate eyes, seemingly against her better judgment. "Right. Well, obviously you know of the incident on the Umemaru?"
He frowned. "You mean the ship?"
Ogata nodded. "Hai."
Nanjiroh growled, "I know enough." He narrowed his eyes at the thought of his son's bruises. "Ryuzaki told me what the other regulars said."
"Ryuzaki?" eagerly inquired Ogata.
"The coach." Nanjiroh waved the matter off.
"I see," Santiago said. "Hasn't Echizen-kun spoken of it at all?"
"No, he hasn't," he muttered.
She considered that a moment. "Well, if it's all right with you, we'd still like to ask your son a few questions. His statement will be immensely helpful in our investigation."
"He's outside." Nanjiroh pointed with a thumb.
She hesitated, suggesting, "Perhaps it would be best if we spoke here."
Nanjiroh rose to his feet. "All right. But I'm staying in the room when you talk to him."
"Of course."
Hands folded underneath his neck, Ryoma lay on his back, watching the clouds puff across the azure sky. Like a rain stick, the cool breeze whispered through the branches. His emerald-and-ebony hair drifted across his cheek as a fog would, soothing and obscuring. The wind pressed against his skin the dark, soft fabric cloaking him from head to foot, fluttering the free hems and caressing a path down his sleeve, up his calf, and around his stomach. A flower's gentle aroma floated down to him in the wake of a gust, and then was sent swirling away only a moment later.
Ryoma hoped that this desperately needed peace would not be as ephemeral as that scent. Ah, here it bobbed again, like a shed petal on the surface of a creek – sucked in by a hydraulic downriver of a rock, only to be thrown out again wilted by the turbulence. Yet it glided on, persevering toward its unknowable destination.
"Ryoma?" came the familiar voice of his father from behind him. The boy jumped. "The cops are here to talk to you."
Ryoma's slow-moving, half-asleep peace shattered into a thousand pieces. He sat bolt upright, spinning around to face Nanjiroh. "What?" he whispered. Shaking his head, he protested, "I – no. No."
His father strode closer, crouching in the grass before the terrified boy. "Ryoma, I realize that you don't want to talk about this. But the police need to know what you know." He held out a hand. "So why don't you come inside?"
Ryoma shot to his feet. "No!"
Nanjiroh stood, too. "Ryoma! Don't you want this Sakurafubuki to go to jail?" His hands fisted. "He hurt you!"
It still angered Ryoma that his dad had found out what happened, even as much – or as little – as he had. The preteen wanted to yell, "So?"just to be spiteful, but he hesitated. It was true that he was furious. It was also true that he never wanted to talk about it.
The freshman narrowed his eyes and stalked past Nanjiroh into the house.
The officers rose to their feet at the sight of him, eyes widening. Ryoma glared at them out of a blue and black face. "What?"
The woman's gaze slid past him to Nanjiroh. "Has this boy been to the hospital?"
Ryoma snapped before his father could reply, "Does this answer your question?"
He lifted an arm, shoving down the sleeve to reveal gauze.
Santiago lifted an eyebrow. "No, actually. It doesn't." She shifted her gaze back to Nanjiroh as her expression hardened. "I'll ask again; has he been to the hospital?"
"I, uh… no," Nanjiroh stammered.
Her nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply. "Then we shall regroup there, along with one of our CSIs. Is that acceptable?"
Ryoma interjected, "What? No! I'm not going!"
Nanjiroh chastised, "Ryoma!" His son stabbed him with his eyes.
Santiago was not good with children, much less traumatized ones. She'd been assigned the child cases anyway, probably because she was one of the only women on the police force. Uncertainty and frustration spread across her visage as she turned to her partner. Ogata cleared his throat, stepping toward the boy. "Echizen-kun," he said softly. Ryoma eyed him warily. "You know, it won't be so bad. It's just a little doctor visit." Ogata let a small smile spread. "Don't tell me you're afraid of needles?"
"No!"
He chuckled. "Good. So why don't we go, then?"
"Che." Rhyolite suddenly avoided the other's gaze. He crossed his arms.
"Come on, Echizen-kun. It'll be good for you." He leaned in close and winked. "Maybe they'll even give you a lollipop."
The boy glowered.
"My bad." Ogata thought a moment, and then his face lit up. "Well, then instead how about you and I get ice cream afterward?" He looked ridiculously excited at the prospect. Pointing behind him to Santiago, he whispered, "You know, she's a health freak, so she complains whenever I eat any kind of junk food. But I think I might get away with it if you help me."
Ryoma frowned. "Please?" Ogata pleaded, giving the boy his patented Puppy Dog Look of Doom.
"No."
Ogata stood back up, a small frown wrinkling his brows. "Aw, but I love ice cream."
That nearly brought a derisive chuckle out of Ryoma. The freshman glanced over his shoulder at his dad, who shrugged. He turned back to Ogata. He himself had thought about stitches for the cut on his hand… . "Che. Fine."
"Great!" Ogata beamed.
"Okay, Echizen-kun," began the doctor as he entered the small exam room, eyes on the chart in his hand. The door whooshed shut behind him, sealing the group in with a faint antiseptic odor. The brown-haired doctor looked up, gaze flicking from Ryoma who sat on the exam table, to Nanjiroh, to Ogata and Santiago leaning against a wall, and finally to the male CSI in the corner, before returning to the boy. "I see here on your chart that the nurse already did the basics – blood pressure and the like."
There was an uncomfortable silence as the middle-aged man watched Ryoma. The freshman finally pointed out grumpily, "That's not a question."
He looked startled. "No. No, I suppose it wasn't." He nervously adjusted the lapels of his standard-issue white coat and smoothed down his bushy eyebrows. "All right, then," he muttered as he pulled a wheeled stool out from beneath the supply shelves and sat down. "How are you doing today?"
Ryoma's reply of, "Fine," was nearly imperceptible. He shifted. So many people he didn't know in such a small space scorched him with claustrophobia. He wished they would all just leave him alone.
The doctor frowned slightly as he assessed Ryoma's features. Leaning in uncomfortably close to his face, the doctor inquired, "How well can you see out of this black eye?"
"It's okay," the boy muttered.
"Do you wear contacts?"
"No."
The doctor pursed his lips in thought. "It looks like the right side of your head is a bit swollen, too," he murmured, half to himself. Snapping on a pair of latex gloves, he rose to his feet. As he brought his hands up to probe through the boy's ebony hair, Ryoma leaned out of his reach, eyes wary. "I'm just going to check out this bruise, okay, Echizen-kun?" The freshman forced himself to hold still.
Retreating, the doctor wrote a few notes of his findings, and then set aside the clipboard. Settling back onto the stool, he said, "This assault happened a few days ago, right?"
Assault? Somehow, Ryoma had never quite thought of it like that.
After leveling disapproval at the other adults in the room, the doctor asked softly, "Why didn't you come in earlier?"
Ryoma only blinked at him.
"Well, that's okay. You're here now, so why don't we see what's under these… ." As he spoke, he patted the boy's knee reassuringly, causing Ryoma to jump. "Oh, sorry again. I didn't mean to startle you." He gestured to the boy's wrist. "May I?" Ryoma gave a hesitant affirmative. Lifting gently the boy's right hand off of his knee, the doctor unwrapped the gauze. After studying the two parallel abrasions on the boy's wrist, his thick eyebrows raised and he glanced up at Ryoma's bruised face. Without a word, he set that hand down and moved on to the other one. He frowned at what lay under the gauze.
As he reached behind him for a sterile wipe the doctor queried, "What made this cut?"
Ryoma took a shuddering breath. Hazel jumped to his father's tense face and then back to his knees. "Glass."
Nanjiroh's mouth thinned to a mere pencil line. Santiago shared a meaningful look with Ogata. Her partner's brow wrinkled worriedly, and he nodded.
Just before the doctor pressed wipe to skin, the slender man in the corner sprang forward. "Wait!" He seemed startled at his own outburst, but still tentatively lifted the camera that was slung around his neck. "Evidence," he whispered.
Ryoma snorted. Idiots, all of them.
The doctor said, "Of course." Ryoma tensed under his grip as the CSI drew closer. "It's okay, Echizen-kun. Just relax." The boy frowned at him.
Once the man had photographed both of the twelve-year-old's hands, he told Ryoma, "I need to get some pictures of your face, so hold still." Once he'd taken a few more shots, he retreated to his corner.
The doctor resumed cleaning the wound and the skin around it of dried blood. Then he studied it. "Well, it looks like you did a good job of cleaning it when it was fresh. It's not infected. And I don't see any glass pieces still left in the wound. But I'm afraid you'll probably have to live with a scar, as it's much too late to stitch."
Ryoma sighed.
The doctor set the freshman's hand down, gathered up the gauze piled in his lap and dropped it in the trash. Spinning around, he opened a cupboard and withdrew a large, colorful adhesive bandage, which he then gently pressed over Ryoma's cut. The boy blinked down at it skeptically.
"All right, I'm going to need you to take off your shirt. Would you like less company?"
"Hai," he answered.
Santiago and Ogata pushed away from the wall and exited, followed by Nanjiroh. "We'll be right outside, kiddo," called the young man. Ryoma scowled.
The man in the corner shifted from foot to foot, murmuring, "Sorry." With a forefinger, he pushed his thick, black glasses higher up his nose.
The doctor switched his attention back to the boy. "Okay, Echizen-kun. Please remove your shirt."
Reluctantly, he did as he was told. The man in the corner gasped. Under their combined scrutiny Ryoma shivered. His athletic upper body was mottled all over with bruises; some areas were completely violet, yet a few others remained pristine. Around his neck burned two large handprints – a clear attempt at strangulation.
The doctor's voice carried a tone of worry. "That looks painful. Are you taking anything?"
Ryoma refused to meet their eyes. "Aspirin."
"Oh! The bruises haven't gotten worse, have they? Aspirin is an anticoagulant."
Surprised, the boy merely shook his head.
"All right. But just in case, you should start taking acetaminophen instead." The doctor gestured the CSI forward. Ryoma hunched over a bit as the man began snapping pictures. He shuffled around the boy to photograph his side and front. The man then backed out of the way again as the doctor scooted closer on his stool.
He gently probed the boy's injured ribs, wrenching a hiss from him. "Sorry. But it looks like your ribs aren't broken, so that's good." He stood to perform a similar assessment on Ryoma's back. "Okay," he murmured to himself. Straightening and walking back around, the doctor returned to his stool and scribbled some illegible notes on the chart for a time.
He set down his pen, scanning the half-naked boy. "I see a hint of gauze around your right ankle, so if you could remove your shoes and socks… ." Ryoma gingerly complied. Once again, his cut was examined, photographed, cleaned, and rebandaged. Then it was lowered back to the floor with an admonition to take it easy.
"I'm sorry about this, Echizen-kun, but now I need you to take off the rest of your clothes."
Ryoma stared at him in horror. "Don't want to."
The doctor sighed. "I know it's a bit uncomfortable, but I need to assess all of your injuries." Gesturing to the CSI, he added, "And the police need to take photos for evidence."
Fear threatened to drown him. The anger that followed on its heels, though, was much safer. Glaring at the doctor, Ryoma slid off the exam table, shucked his remaining clothes and stood nude, quivering – whether from anger or mortification, he didn't know. Tempting though it may be to fold his arms across his groin or even his chest, Ryoma felt it would be less embarrassing to stand erect, and so he forced himself to do so.
The camera flash flared yellow across the swirling colors on the boy's closed eyelids. A few interminable moments later, he no longer heard click of the shutter. Ryoma cracked an eye.
"Echizen-kun," the doctor questioned worriedly, "How did this bruising happen?"
Something in the man's tone made Ryoma open his eyes the rest of the way and turn his head to look. He almost griped, "Which bruising?" but then he discovered what the other meant.
Standing behind the boy, the doctor's gaze was trained on the boy's buttocks. Ryoma flushed and shrugged it off, facing forward again.
The doctor straightened from his scrutiny, returned to his stool and asked, "Do bowel movements give you any pain?"
Ryoma's eyes bugged out a bit. "Um… yeah," he murmured.
"How much does it hurt, on a scale of one to ten, ten being excruciating?"
"Uh… three?"
"Has there been any blood in your stool?"
"No."
"Well, that's good then at least." With a sigh, the doctor adjusted his already pressed white coat and announced, "You may get dressed now. And please excuse us. I need to speak with your father and the police a moment."
Bewildered, Ryoma was left alone in the small, sterile room.
"Sometimes I hate this job," the doctor muttered to himself as he closed the door. In the hall, he faced the four adults with arms folded. He sighed again. "This is a grey area in doctor-patient confidentiality. I don't really feel comfortable sharing this... but judging by the marks and his reactions, I suspect that this was not just physical assault, but sexual as well."
Horror spread across their faces, and in Santiago's case, was quickly smothered. Nanjiroh's mouth formed soundless syllables. Finally, he managed to whisper, "Are you sure?"
The doctor shook his head sadly. "It's been too long since the attack. Even if we did do a rape kit, there's almost no evidence left after 72 hours."
Nanjiroh covered his mouth with a shaking hand, staring through the doctor at the closed door. "Is he okay?"
The doctor sighed. "He has extensive bruising, a few abrasions and cuts… ." He maintained eye contact, adding, "He also has two bruises around his neck in the shape of hands."
Within Nanjiroh's eyes an abyss of pained rage began to swirl, gathering itself for a maelstrom. The doctor stepped back once involuntarily, swallowing, more than glad that he wasn't the intended victim of that protective fury.
"Sensei," spoke Santiago, unaware of that intense expression, "is there nothing more you can do?"
The doctor swallowed again and smoothed out his eyebrows. "I could get blood and urine samples to test for any possible STDs. But beyond that, I can really only advise rest, painkillers, and hot packs for the bruises."
The doctor dared to turn back to Nanjiroh. "However, I can at least give you a note to excuse your son's absence from school."
Ryoma's dad struggled to control the fury and scratched out, "Oh, right. Thank you."
"Be sure to take him to a good therapist," the doctor added.
His eyes finally cleared. "Hai. Arigatou gozaimasu, sensei."
Santiago rotated toward Nanjiroh with a weary sigh. "Speaking of samples, we'll need to get a swab of DNA from your son, if that's okay. Also, if you still have the clothes – unwashed – that he wore when he was attacked, we'd like to collect that as well."
"Anything to get that bastard behind bars," Nanjiroh agreed.
"Ah," Ogata sighed happily, resting one hand on his stomach. "That was delicious!" He sat up a little, ignoring the scowl of the Hispanic woman beside him. "How's yours, Echizen-kun?"
Ryoma merely stared up at him from beneath his bangs as he raised another spoonful of chocolate ice cream to his lips. His heaping bowl was halfway demolished by now.
Ogata smiled at him, rose to his feet and carried his empty bowl back to the break room. Upon returning, he glanced at his partner, then across his desk at Nanjiroh. "It's a little loud in here," he hinted, gesturing around the busy police station. "Why don't we go somewhere a bit quieter?"
Ryoma froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Cautiously, it continued its journey as its owner eyed Ogata.
"C'mon Echizen-kun!" he chirped. "Take your ice cream with you."
Rolling his eyes, Ryoma trudged after the two police officers, settling onto the metal folding chair that they offered him and starting studiously back in on his treat.
Ogata sat down and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning toward the twelve-year-old. "We just need to ask you a few questions and then you can go home, if that's okay." He glanced at Nanjiroh. "We'd like to record this." Santiago set a small tape recorder on the desk. Ryoma's upper lip lifted angrily as he glared at it. It wasn't himthey asked permission from – ever. It should be his decision.
Ogata started in. "Echizen-kun, a few days ago you were on a cruise with the other Seigaku regulars, correct?"
"Why do you ask things that you already know the answers to?"
Ogata was taken aback. "Um... to double-check?"
Ryoma smirked. "Mada mada dane."
"Well," he tried again, slightly flustered, "why don't you just tell me what happened, then, in your own words?"
The boy ate another spoonful, glowering pointedly at the tape recorder.
"Echizen-kun?"
Still, he did not answer.
Ogata took a deep calming breath. "All right, fine. I'll start. This is what we know. You and the other regulars were invited by Sakurafubuki Hikomaru to play tennis against his team. Other passengers gambled on the matches." Ryoma's expression remained blank as Ogata continued. "But after the first one, your whole team walked off the court. Sound about right?"
Ryoma nodded, albeit reluctantly. "What happened after you and your teammates left the court?" Ogata inquired as he reached toward an inner breast pocket for a notebook and pen.
Wide hazel eyes followed the gesture. The freshman's knuckles whitened around his grip on the spoon. "Echizen-kun?" Santiago asked uncertainly, causing Ogata to notice and pause. "What's wrong?"
Ryoma reminded himself to swallow the ice cream melting in his mouth. "N-nothing," he muttered, even as a memory flashed of another, older hand withdrawing a black handgun from a pocket like that.
Nanjiroh couldn't stand to remain silent anymore. "Ryoma," he exclaimed, shoving an edge of the boy's chair around to face him. "Please, just tell me what happened." His voice lowered. "The doctor said he thought you were sexually assaulted."
Ryoma gaped at him. Then his entire body flashed with the heat of anger. That had been his secret! How naive was he to have trusted that stupid doctor, after what had happened? Discolored face flaming, he shot to his feet. "Bastard!"
"Ryoma, he was only trying to help," Nanjiroh explained.
"No! No way!" The freshman shook his head violently. "He doesn't know anything! Nothing happened!"
"Ryoma," his dad pleaded.
The boy's eyes filled with tears. "NO!" he yelled, as though his mere denial could erase fact. "No, he didn't do anything to me! He DIDN'T!"
"Who didn't?" Santiago asked gently. "We never mentioned anyone."
Ryoma whipped his head toward her. "No one!" he snarled, smacking the tape recorder onto the floor. He snatched up the ceramic bowl of ice cream in both hands and threw it, shattering it against the wall behind the two officers. All three adults jumped. Melting chocolate slid slowly down the wall like blood.
Ryoma stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched. He whirled around and kicked his chair with his good foot, again and again and again. A short, wordless cry punctuated each kick.
Nanjiroh reached out to grip Ryoma's forearm, but pulled back at the last moment. "Ryoma, stop it. Look at me."
The boy ignored him.
"Please?" came Nanjiroh's voice.
Ryoma's lower lip began to quiver as he stared at the battered chair. Slowly, his large hazel eyes turned to his dad. He blinked, and the waiting teardrops slid slowly down his cheeks. His face twisted in misery. With a wail, he tackled his dad and grabbed him tight. He keened.
Nanjiroh hugged him back just as tight and rocked them both gently back and forth. His son sobbed, "It hurt! God, Dad, it… it hurt so much!"
Nanjiroh rested his cheek against the top of his son's head. "I know, Ryoma. I'm here," he breathed. "I'm here."
Ryoma gripped the back of his dad's robes with both fists as he screamed and cried. He didn't care that the sobs hurt his sore stomach or that the tight hug pressed into his bruises. It didn't matter.All that did was the slow swaying forward and back and the reassurance crooned into his hair.
