Days Without Sun

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.