Days Without Sun
Chapter Eighteen: Preparation
Akihiko returned to the apartment. His careful eyes had noted the brown sedan that had followed the taxi he'd hailed from the moment he'd left Santo Justino's office. Entering the lobby of his condo, he also noted a couple unfamiliar men loitering there.
The author wondered if he might not be being paranoid, but he'd learned quite a number of things over the years after being subjected to his father's meddlesome scrutiny and one of these was when he was being tailed.
Akihiko stepped into the quiet apartment. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and his lighter off the coffee table and stepped out onto the balcony. He lit up and drew a deep drag. Moving over to the edge he peered over on to the tree-lined walk below and noted that it appeared empty.
After several more minutes of silent surveillance, carried on under the guise of smoking, Akihiko felt relatively assured that no one was watching him from this possible exit. Of course. What kind of crazy person was going to go over a six floor balcony? He was just an author after all? Right?
Akihiko stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the patio table and crossed back into the apartment. He moved into his bedroom. Once there he began to slowly unbutton his shirt. He laid the garment carefully on the bed and then pulled the light tee-shirt he was wearing beneath it over his head.
This movement disturbed the locket around his neck. Long fingers immediately sought and stilled it.
Akihiko's mind was in chaos.
"Misaki."
He whispered the word under his breath like a prayer. Akihiko soon resumed his stripping until he stood naked, each item of clothing neatly arranged on the bed he'd not slept in since the day of Misaki's abduction.
Akihiko sank down slowly to the floor in the middle of what he had dubbed his "Misaki Space." His bare ass bumped the cold floor and his balls contracted as they brushed the chilled surface. He drew his long legs up to his chest, wrapped lean arms around his shins, and bowed his head behind his knees. He struggled to quiet his anxiety-disordered mind.
The rational, logical part of his processing told him that Aikawa and Santo Justino were right: he needed to leave Misaki's rescue to the professionals. He'd spent all afternoon, trying to absorb every aspect of what was going on in the investigator's office.
Akihiko searched his photographic memory going over every image, every detail that had been pinned to one of the walls or flashed on one of the computers' screens.
While he was sorting through all this data, the animal part of his mind was raging.
THIS FUCKER STOLE MY BOY! HE CUT OFF MISAKI'S FINGER! HE HAS TO PAY!
Akihiko wrangled this mad part of himself into a cage in the corner of his mind. But he could still hear it pacing with every accelerating beat of his heart.
TWO DAYS!
Who knew what further horror could be inflicted in those eternal hours. And Akihiko feared this with his whole heart because he knew his Misaki was alive. He felt this with such burning certainty, it was a wonder he didn't combust where he sat.
Not only that, but bringing the police in as Santo Justino was doing, Akihiko knew there would be no vigilante justice. There would be a trial if the man, Villinski was apprehended. A long trial, no doubt, and who could say for sure the FUCKER would even be convicted?
The idea of Misaki being subjected to this, on top of whatever other violations the boy had experienced, was too much. Akihiko felt tears of unmitigated fury well in his eyes at this. He felt his heart reel up and crash like a wave against the confines of his chest.
Anyone watching the man, however, would have no clue as to the roiling emotions that churned within him. Looking at him as he sat there, his breathing was even, his body completely still.
Akihiko remained like that for over two hours, until the shadows had lengthened and the sun rolled lazily down the horizon. Then he raised his pale head and blinked his amethyst eyes, returning to the surface of the world from the depths of his thoughts. Slowly he rose and moved over to his closet. He withdrew a lightweight, long sleeved, black shirt from within it and after this a pair of black pants.
"Artist clothes" Misaki had laughingly called such a uniform once, after he had begun dragging the boy to the openings of various art exhibitions.A bitter smile twisted Akihiko's sensual mouth at the memory.
Tonight these would serve a different kind of purpose.
Akihiko grabbed clean undergarments and then dressed quickly in the noir attire. He pulled on black socks and a pair of expensive black athletic shoes. Once his ensemble was completed, he reached up into the closet and pulled a duffel bag from its top shelf. Opening the bag, Akihiko rifled through it. He pulled out a cell phone he'd never used before and checked the charge. Opening it he placed a call.
"Yes, I'd like to rent a vehicle, something dark, black if possible. Four-wheel drive, sturdy and I need to be able to pick it up in an hour." The Portuguese he'd learned the last months as he'd searched for Misaki once again served him well and he was able to navigate this simple transaction, easily.
Akihiko pulled a wallet out with credit cards listed in another name. This was his emergency Usami bag, another thing he kept handy no matter where he traveled. All thanks to his father's wonderful parenting style.
His arrangements made, Akihiko closed the phone and put the wallet away. He knew he was being overly cautious, but with the technology that Santo Justino had and the fact that the man had obviously put a tail on him, he would rather be safe than sorry. He reached into the duffel and pulled out next a wicked knife in an ankle sheath and strapped that on. Another in a wrist sheath was also quickly added.
Akihiko then withdrew a Glock seveneteen handgun from the bag. He checked it over carefully. He quickly changed the seventeen round clip for the longer one holding thirty-three bullets. He tucked it into the shoulder holster he was not yet ready to slip on and then set this lethal get up back in duffel as well.
He'd bought the gun off of one of the bodyguards he'd hired to help him make his rounds passing out the fliers about Misaki. He still marveled at how easy it was to acquire a firearm here in comparison to Japan. After purchasing the gun, Akihiko had made the man take him out to a gun club to practice, until he was sure he knew all this weapon's particular eccentricities.
Despite his genteel appearance, he was actually no stranger to guns. His grandfather in England, where he was raised until the age of ten, was a bit of a gun freak, and by the time his father, the senior Usami, had come to spirit him away, he had already accompanied his grandfather on any number of hunts. Though in truth, he never had developed the same taste for blood as the old man.
Akihiko pulled a few other things from the bag: gadgets and smaller elements of his arsenal that he secreted in various places on his person. From what he had gathered by all the data available at Santo Justino's office, the man who had taken Misaki was incredibly smart and even more incredibly dangerous.
One more quick check of the bag made sure that he had everything that he needed. Akihiko took one more thing from the bag: a stapled document.
He set the sheaf of papers on the dresser and took up a pen from the dresser's top, wrote a few notes. It was a copy of his will leaving everything he owned to Misaki, if his lover was somehow recovered and he didn't make it.
Should both of them perish, Akihiko left everything to Hiroki. In either case he'd called and made an amendment a few weeks ago and added a significant amount of his wealth to go to Aikawa. He hoped if she ever found herself the recipient of this, it might communicate in some small part, how much her support during this ordeal meant to him.
Akihiko stepped back from the dresser and turned to go. Then he hesitated. He stood there motionless a minute and one of his large hands slowly drifted up to his throat. He caressed the locket he wore there. Then he brought his other hand up and with slightly shaking hands he reached around and undid the clasp on the chain.
He bowed his head and kissed the cool metal of the locket. "Misaki, I'm coming," he whispered. "Please wait for me, Love." With this, he stepped back up to the dresser and set the locket on top of his will.
Akihiko grabbed the bag off the bed and went into the room Aikawa was staying in. It had been designated Misaki's previously, though the boy never used it, except to hide out in occasionally when his ass got too worn from his horny rabbit's attentions.
Akihiko crept in and opened the closet. His nose caught a whiff of the delicate perfume Aikawa occasionally wore that lingered in the weave of her clothes. For some reason, despite all the sexual antics he'd engaged in over the course of his life, being in the editor's room without her knowledge, smelling this scent, made him suddenly feel sordid.
The author rooted around and found what he was looking for on the closet floor. Before coming to Garopaba, he and Misaki had spent a week in Rio de Janeiro where they had taken several rappelling classes before spending a day traveling over the surface of the Pedra do Urubu .
It had been a whim of Misaki's. Akihiko was only too happy to oblige: anything that would lift the youth's spirits and take his mind of the loss of his brother. Akihiko remembered how pleased he had been to see his sometimes apprehensive boy's eyes shine as he'd conquered the rock that day.
His heart ached with the memory.
Like most things Akihiko did, the event had not been conducted in moderation. He had indulged in buying both of them all the gear and the riggings for their adventure. Akihiko lifted the bag that held all of this. He gave a sad smile in vindication at this moment after all Misaki's chiding about the waste of money and the chaos caused by his hoarding tendencies.
Carrying this and the other satchel, Akihiko stepped out on to the patio. He picked up his pack of cigarettes and his lighter for one last fag.
He smoked the cigarette slowly, luxuriating in the nicotine rush. The tip of his smoke glowed orange as he took a pair of sleek, night-vision glasses from a pocket and slipped them on as he listened and watched for any observers. The sun had set now as a cool breeze was blowing in from the shore, stirring the heavy air. With one last curling gray exhale, Akihiko finished his cigarette and crushed it out. Then he set about quickly donning his harness and attaching the riggings to the condo's stout balcony railing.
He drew the duffel bag straps up onto his shoulders. He draped one lean leg over the railing. He knew what he was doing was mad, irresponsible, arrogant. But there was no way in hell he could bear the idea of Misaki being held somewhere, away from him, hurting, tortured, for one more bloody moment.
He hoped that Aikawa would forgive him for breaking his promise. One more in his long series of missed deadlines he supposed, though this time he would be premature rather than tardy.
Akihiko gave the cables that would be supporting him in the descent of the six stories of the building he was going to scale down, one more testing tug.
Satisfied at last, Akihiko offered the rising moon one more whisper of "Misaki." And with the name of his beloved still burning his lips, he took a deep breath and hurled himself over the edge.
Sorry about the mixup folks, I got this and the last chapter out of order. Bad author… Damn.
Thank you for reading and please review!