High & Low Oya High (FanFiction)

Chapter 16: Agonizingly Slow

(Fitting Music:  Farewell - Tido Kang)

     We climbed the stairs at a quick but steady speed.  I reckoned we must be at least three flights below ground which only added to the mystery of 'where were we'.  I liked to believe I knew the city and its suburbs like the back of my hand, especially the Oya High district, but I was at a loss.  I could not recall one building with an underground this deep . . . but then you never know what lies beneath an building from looking at the street-view.

     Regardless of our pace, we had not reached the top before a shrill scream blared throughout compound.

"Alarms, they know I'm out," I say, in between labored breaths, but Seki fails to comment to my obvious statement and wordlessly quickens his stride.  I groan, breaking into a jog once again to keep up.

"How close are we to the top?"  I ask desperately hoping to get out of here soon.  With the alarms off, I could only guess how long it would be before every corridor and stairwell was filled with Doubt members.  I did not want to get caught again...

"Close."

     No, I thought with a shiver, not if 'my dad' was 'missing his daughter', and I knew that the men earlier did not mean my adoptive dad . . . no . . . they meant Yamamoto--the man who raised me in a living hell.  I had no idea he was working with Doubt; if I had I would have run the moment Doubt members infiltrated Oya High the first time!

     I shake my head, I should have been more careful, maybe then I wouldn't be in this mess.

     It all happened so fast.  One minute, I was clambering up stairs on painfully thumping legs; staring at Seki's broad back like it was a plasma tv.  The next, the ground with millions of voices screaming overhead, booted feet stamping all around me; one hit the back of my head.  What sounded like Seki roaring and the horrific slams of skin and bone connecting with fists.  Then black, just black, no noise, no fighting, no Seki, no Doubt, nothing . . . just . . . nothing.

~*~

     I woke to a shrill ringing in my ears, a high pitched sound that blocked out everything else.  My eyes were open, but I could not see anything--it was too bright.  Not knowing what was going on, I tried to move my hands, my arms, anything, but they must have been strapped down or something, they would not move . . . I could not move them.  Panic welled in my chest, what was going on?  Where am I?  What happened?

     Then it all came back and hit my mind as fast as light to the universe.  Being sent to Oya High, Murayama, him assigning me to a floor, a fight, hospital, Doubt, leaving Oya High, my adoptive dad messing up, running . . . panic . . . I have to get away!  I have-

     Bolting upright, I came face-to-face with a scene that would wrench any heart.  My adoptive dad sat opposite me, barely awake, barely breathing.  Dark bruises peppering his fragile body, one eye was swollen shut, and a bloody, messy wound gorging out part of his shoulder.  Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, running the length of my lashes before dropping onto my lap.

"Dad," I whispered, my voice cracking but I did not care, "Dad?"  I tried again.

     He managed to weakly lift his head, focusing his one good eye on his beloved daughter, a hot tear sliding down his cheek, "They got you..."  A sob racked his body, "They got you."  The man turned his face away as if he could not bare to have me see him like this.  "They got you."

     Seeing him like that . . . my hair cascaded over my face as I dropped my gaze to the ground, biting my lip to try and keep the emotions bottled in.  He loved me.  From those few moments he met my gaze, I knew, my dad still loved me, and I had shouted at him.  The last time he heard my voice, I was shouting at him.  I wanted to say, I'm sorry, I wanted him to know . . . I wanted him to know I did not mean it, any of it.

     Instead, I shook my dark locks out of my face and forced my eyes to take in the rest of the room, avoiding my father's broken figure as best I could.

     A man stood behind me, one of his hands drapping over my shoulder, but the slight tension in the grip told me there was no escaping it.  Opposite my sitting form, was my adoptive dad, and to his left was Seki.  He was sitting stock stiff, his jaw clenched tightly, and fists balled so tight they had turned bone white.  He, too, was littered with contusions, but unlike my dad, he was bearing with them okay, but I expected that.  Seki got into fights all the time, it might as well have been his one true love.  However, my dad was a peaceable man, I doubt he ever used his fists for anything other than knocking on doors.

     The door swung open, and my attention immediately snapped over to the figure boldy sauntering in my blood stopping cold.

     He took in the room with a sweeping glance, a proud smile adoring his lips, and he nodded approvingly at my tear streaked face.

"It has been a long time, little one," his voice slid into its normal bored tone, "I missed you.  We always got on so well together."

     We had never got on.  I kept my mouth glued shut, averting my eyes which came to land on my father's shaking shoulders as he sobbed.

"Not even a greeting," tsked the man, his voice thick with disappointment, "You replaced me."

     He marched over to my dad, grabbing his hair with a gloved hand and yanking it up to peer into his eyes, "With this."  He tossed my dad aside, leaving him sprawled on the ground, and turned to face me.  "That filth can do nothing for you."

"He did what you cannot, Yamamoto," I whispered, fighting down the bile in my throat.

     He took a step back, his eyes widening in surprise, before raking his gloved hand through his dark hair, thinning with age, "Yamamoto?"  He seemed genuinely surprised, "Not 'dad'?  Am I simply 'Yamamoto' to you now?"

     I managed to build up the courage to glare at him, but no words would come.  He could never be my dad.  No, my birth father never acted like my father, and never would be.

     A deep chuckle resounded throughout the room, echoing off the walls and chilling my soul with the dark intent and malice it showed.

"I had plans, you know, Y/N," he said, no longer referring to me as 'little one' like he always used to, "Plans as to all this would turn out."

     He waved around the room with his leather glove, "I was going kill you quickly."  Yamamoto said it was if that was a blessing . . . a mercy on his part.

"But it means nothing now," the man dismissed with a shake of his head, "You can't be allowed that.  No . . . It shall be a slow death for you . . . agonizingly slow."