A/N: A jump sideways; Naoto awaits the inevitable.
Her watch lit up, then vibrated against her wrist. 19.00 hours.
The elapsed period of time between a subject's appearance on television and their absence first being noticed - whether immediately reported or not - was a rounded average of three days, and in all cases the disappearance had occurred in either the afternoon or evening. Even the hour of her television appearance had been selected to conform with those of the other victims. It was now a matter of waiting.
Naoto sat perched on the edge of her futon, toying distractedly with her tie and occasionally glancing at the open bedroom window.
There was no other choice. All other avenues had been explored. No matter how implausible, there was only one explanation for the choice of victims, and only one explanation for the safe return of the last four.
They should have been honest.
No matter. She was capable of doing this unassisted. If this 'investigation team - or whatever absurd moniker they'd assigned themselves - did not ensure her safety, she would escape the kidnapper on her own. Save Yamano, the other victims had all been children, and none had possessed Naoto's degree of expertise and experience.
She stood up and walked to the front room, cap clasped tightly in her hand. As always, the apartment was empty save for her. Hopefully the kidnapper would realize as much and feel confident in striking. She needed this to work.
Even the most incompetent investigator ought to realize that Kubo wasn't the killer. The crime scene was wrong, the cause of death was wrong, and he would have had no opportunity to ever meet Yamano. Naoto had informed the other detectives of this, repeatedly, and none had listened. The Inaba police force consisted entirely of idiots - and Ryotaro Dojima, the only member with any degree of insight, had agreed with her in private conversation then hung her out to dry in front of the superintendent.
Don't rock the boat, he'd said. In other words, surrender to the stupidity and apathy of her colleagues.
Dojima had seemed intelligent.
The only option now was to validate her theory directly. Kubo was in jail. Her kidnapping would prove that his sole crime was a bungled copycat killing. Naoto would obtain some evidence to the true killer's identity and modus operandi while awaiting the arrival of Seta and his friends, then present it to the police on her return. She might even apprehend him or her unassisted. Up until that point, Naoto had avoided thinking about the impossible third outcome, but even it held some comfort. A body hanging from a telephone pole would prove quite conclusive.
She'd begun pacing at some point, back and forth in front of the shelves opposite the sofa.
She was putting her faith in children. Amateurs playing games, pretending to be detectives, obscuring the facts - and somehow saving each other from the killer. Naoto had been trailing them since Kanji Tatsumi's safe return and was still no wiser as to their true involvement. They were a tight-knit group. She'd known that from the start and the trip to Port Island had confirmed it. It had also confirmed her complete ineptitude for socializing.
Naoto had remained calm and respectful throughout their impromptu meeting at the Escapade nightclub and had done her best to join in with conversation. She had sat through that ridiculous game, withstood Rise Kujikawa crawling on top of her and even attempted a mutual exchange of information. Revealing personal details should have inspired the others to provide a clear explanation of their involvement in the case - not a stream of hysterical nonsense from someone who Naoto had been led to believe was one of the most demure, upstanding young women in town.
Personas, television worlds, shadows. Absurd. They'd been laughing at her the entire time.
Tatsumi had been the only reasonable one there, Hanamura's crude misinterpretations notwithstanding, but his attempts at conversation had still been a transparent ploy to throw her off their trail. She'd been wise not to inform him of her plan. In any case, he wasn't crucial to the team. Naoto had observed their meetings at Junes on multiple occasions, and Tatsumi's attention had almost invariably been devoted to food. Seta was clearly the leader - and of a rather rag-tag group.
And yet they had managed to rescue each other on three occasions. Presumably they would be competent enough to decipher the reasons behind her behavior.
Hopefully they would notice she was gone.
...Of course they would. They needed her.
Naoto paused at the far right of the shelves. Amid the many reference books and binders of papers stood a framed photograph of a slim, dark-suited man with salt and pepper hair. She glanced at the photo, then at her phone resting on the arm of the sofa.
Pointless. Grampa would only worry.
The doorbell rang: once, twice. Naoto almost jumped.
Would the kidnapper approach her so directly?
Her hand tightened around her cap as she walked to the front door - what she would've given for a peephole - and pushed down the handle. She took a deep breath, then pulled the door open revealing nothing outside save the empty hallway.
No visible movement at either end, no doors in the corridor left open, nobody standing by the elevators. Under any other circumstances, it could be construed as a prank. Naoto forced herself to turn away and walked inside without closing the door, expecting what followed even before she heard the footsteps at her back.
A strong arm grabbed her roughly from behind, snaring around her ribs tight enough to hurt, and a rag was shoved over her mouth. It smelled sweet - chloroform, much as she'd guessed. Despite this, her first deep, desperate breath came on instinct.
Go limp. You planned for this.
She dropped as heavily as she could - not difficult, her legs were already turning numb - and kept her breaths as slight and infrequent as possible. Her heart was hammering rapid-fire in her chest, blood pounding in her ears, and she lashed out a feeble kick on instinct.
It didn't connect, and the person behind her only tightened their grip.
Stay calm. Look at them. Are they male? Female?
It was impossible. Everything was blurred. The rag was gone and arms were pushing her inside something dark and rough. A bag?
Naoto's head swam. The floor beneath her vanished and her breathing grew quicker, shallower.
Stop panicking. Analyze. Memorize.
No voices. He was alone. Strong arms. Definitely male. Strong enough to carry her. The walk too, long strides. A door slammed hard somewhere behind them - or in front? Too hard to tell - and then another. Footsteps against concrete and the sound of another door, this one metallic. A jerk upwards, a swing back, a sudden weightless lurch - and the sensation of ice crawling over her skin. Why ice? Where did he - why -
Her head throbbed; reasoning became impossible. The last thing Naoto felt was the jolt as she hit the floor, hard enough to knock out what breath she had left, before the numbness finally won out.