Chapter 4: Restitution
Mitsuru hunkered down on the rooftop of the abandoned warehouse he called his lair. It would be dawn soon and he would have to relinquish his tenuous grasp on wakefulness and get some much-needed rest. Hell, he was so tired; he had to sleep. But Mitsuru would find no peace tonight or any other night. Not ever.
The complete return of his memories, the prize he had long sought for, did not offer him the surcease he thought it would. Rather, he was consumed with horror and self-loathing and anger and despair. It was all clear now. The amnesiac haze that had tormented him for eight years had been all but destroyed. Igarashi’s nameplate had been the catalyst; Shinobu’s appearance and their subsequent liaison, the killing blow. His mind was fully his own once again, and not impinged upon by false hunger and tantalizingly obscure dreams.
And it was driving him mad.
I killed all those people. And how I enjoyed it, lusted for it! All those people. Dead. Because of me and my warped mind and my weakness!
Mitsuru stopped himself from baying in agony at the fast-fading moon. He would not give that man the satisfaction of controlling him ever again. And really, now that he knew everything, he should be rejoicing. He would be able to claim his life back. Wouldn’t he?
No. I am damned. Just as he’d planned it. He knew I would never be able to go back and reclaim what I once had. He made me a monster and that’s what I’ve become. That’s what I am. I can’t even stand myself. What makes me think anyone else would be able to?
Shinobu.
At the thought of his lover, Mitsuru did give in and screamed in wordless fury and sorrow. His voice echoed across the dark waters of the harbor, rebounding on the ugly concrete of silent warehouses. An errant seagull startled up, gave an inquiring cry, then launched from its perch on a lamp post nearby.
I wish I could fly away too. Fly away and never have to see his face again. What must he think of me? How much does he know? Will his love be stronger than his repulsion? How can I bear to lose him now, when he’s the only good, pure thing in my life I have left?
But it was precisely because Shinobu represented all that was good and pure that Mitsuru had to leave him. Nothing in this world could compel him to subject his lover to any more suffering. He refused to drag Shinobu into the pit of ugliness and horror that had become his life. Shinobu deserved far better than he.
He’ll forget about me. He has to. And he might even be able to do so willing, especially when he finds out the truth. I know it won’t be long; he’s too damned persistent for his own good. Once I’ve disappeared again, he’ll keep poking and prying until he discovers what I’ve become, what his father has done…
His father. Norio Tezuka. Mitsuru’s despair transformed instantly into white-hot rage. He knew now that the son of a bitch had implanted a series of memory bombs in his mind, methodically stripping away any semblance of his humanity whenever Mitsuru set them off one by one. For, any time he had come close to realization, whenever he would come across a stray thought that had to do with his pre-vamp existence, it would immediately trigger a landmine in his brain, compelling Mitsuru to give in to a base, animalistic hunger that effectively stopped him from pursuing his memories any further.
What Mitsuru did not know was why. The old man’s motivation was clear enough, but why the elaborate charade? Why not kill Mitsuru and have been done with it, eight years ago? Why a vampire, for god’s sake? If he was to gain any sort of peace and closure, Mitsuru knew he had to confront the devil and set everything to rest. And if he died in the process – Mitsuru was not fool enough to ignore how powerful the Tezuka patriarch was – at least he would die with all his questions answered.
Small comfort, that. But it was all Mitsuru had and he clung to his angry purpose with a fatalistic desperation. He had plans to make now. He needed to get the old man away from Japan, where his influence was strongest. America was a neutral playing ground; the confrontation had to be here. Plus, it would save Mitsuru on airfare.
The sun was coming.
Eight years, you unbelievable bastard! I have shunned the light and lived in isolation and darkness and fear. I have hidden in places even a Jew in fear of the Gestapo would be loath to hide in. I have wandered the world aimlessly, killing innocent people for nothing. I have lost eight years of my life and sanity all because of your overweening prejudice and ambition. This ends now!
Mitsuru rose from his haunches and turned to face east with wild reverence.
~
Shinobu awoke to cold sheets and the compelling need for a shower. Mitsuru was gone; he had sensed that the minute he gained full consciousness. He threw off the covers that still smelled of sex, smiled at the lingering scent, then winced a bit on his way to the bathroom, still sore from last night’s exertions. But it was the good kind of sore, like the ache after a really satisfying Capoera workout.
It had definitely been far too long since he had experienced the delicious aftermath of lovemaking. Of course, it would have been better had he awoken to Mitsuru by his side; pre-breakfast cuddling had always been one of their favorite pastimes. But Shinobu was content to take what he could get. Eight years had taught him patience, if nothing else.
He was a bit miffed that Mitsuru had not at least woken him up to say good-bye, but Shinobu was not overly worried at his lover’s disappearance. Mitsuru could not have gone far. Shinobu would be a sorry excuse for a detective indeed if he feared losing one man in the span of a few hours.
Besides, he probably just went to go get something to eat. Mitsu always gets the munchies after sex. Plush this suite might be, but it’s woefully lacking in snack items.
Thinking of Mitsuru’s appetite conjured up visions of Mitsuru in general then Mitsuru’s behaviour last night specifically. Shinobu’s detective instincts whispered to him that something had not been right, that his lover had been decidedly off-kilter. True, a lot of that oddness could be attributed to the fact their reunion had not had the most auspicious of beginnings; getting shot in the chest by the man who supposedly loved you could make anyone a bit leery.
{But that’s not all, is it?} His subconscious gently prodded.
No, you’re right. There’s more. He didn’t remember me when he first saw me. That, in itself, is strange; I haven’t changed that much in eight years. Then, his reaction when I told him my name. And the haunted, hunted look in his eyes…
Shinobu’s deductive skills whirred to life as he twisted the shower knob and let the water run hot. So many questions. And, like a love-struck sap, he had let his emotions get the better of him and had tumbled into the sack before he could get some answers. He winced as he thought of what his superiors would have said, had they known of this mission in the first place.
Steam signaled the shower temperature’s readiness. Ducking under the stinging needles of hot water pressure, Shinobu resolved to do good by his training. He began a mental catalogue of the random facts that were nagging at him as he scrubbed his body vigorously with the loofah.
So, Mitsuru didn’t recognize me. And he attacked me when he heard my name. With a knife, no less! And he was quick, almost quicker than me. That smacks of some serious training. That, or he’s had cause to hone his skill under less than civilized circumstances. Then, when we made love…
Here, Shinobu paused in thought and loofah-ing. He savored the memory of their passion with a Caligula-like hedonism. The blood quickened in his loins and the detective felt his need harden immediately. He resisted the urge to turn the shower knob to “cold”; he would master this lust if it killed him! Returning the loofah to its ministrations, Shinobu picked his contemplation up where he had left off.
Then, when we made love, it was as if he’d found something he’d lost but never realized he’d lost it in the first place. There was shock and wonder and…desperation? And fear? What did he have to be afraid of? Me?
Shinobu rinsed, turned the water off, and stood in the shower stall for a moment, palms planted on either side of the knobs. He let the cooling air waft over his skin and listened to the droplets of water slide off him and plink slowly on the tiles. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, deep in thought.
There was one more piece of evidence to this puzzle, something his mind refused to dredge up because of the near impossibility of it all. But Shinobu was in detective mode now, and he would not be deterred. Ruthlessly, he flung the fact onto the table and flashed a glaring spotlight on it.
I shot him. In the chest. I heard bone shatter, I saw the blood pouring out of that wound. But when I brought him here, the blood had already stopped. And when I stripped him, his sternum felt whole, unbroken…
Granted, Shinobu had not been in any condition to examine the other man thoroughly. He had been in such shock that his ubiquitous training had taken control once more, methodically assessing damages and correcting the most obvious problems. Thus the stitches. Had his instincts determined a more serious injury, i.e. a splintered sternum, he was sure they would have called attention to it.
But it had to have been broken! There’s no way it could not have been, not at point-blank range like that! And I know I didn’t miss; I fished out the bullet myself! And then we made love…the loss of blood alone should have made him pass out in the middle of it all. But he didn’t. And I felt him, pressed my hands on his chest, and he seemed fine. In perfect health, even…This is insane!
Shinobu got out of the stall angrily. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. He grabbed a towel and stalked out the bathroom naked, as was his wont. The chill air of the bedroom was bracing after the enclosed heat of the shower, and Shinobu luxuriated in a brief few seconds of relief from his churning thoughts.
Then his laptop began to beep.
Jesus! When it rains, it pours!
Shinobu hastily toweled off and emerged from the guest bedroom to the living room he had set up as an office. A sudden sweeping apprehension assailed him as he planted himself in front of his computer, dampness staining the red damask of the chair he sat on. It had the same flavor of last night’s premonition. He hoped to God it didn’t involved Mitsuru again, although something told him that this was a vain hope. Still, as he hit the mailbox icon, he prayed for a message from one of his sources, from the LAPD, from Norio, even.
Apparently, his run of bad luck wasn’t through with him yet.
Shin. Don’t try to find me. Leave well enough alone. Mitsu
A twitch thing was happening to Shinobu’s left eyelid. It was the only evidence of the effect the email message had on him. Had anyone else been watching, the detective was the epitome of grace under pressure. Only those who truly knew him (like Mitsuru) or those who had closely studied him (like his rival operatives) would have been able to detect the seething anger that threatened to dislodge control from its precarious perch.
Shinobu squinted at the screen. He hated computers. They were so impersonal, devoid of any emotion. He couldn’t even deduce Mitsuru’s tone or inflection by those sentences; there were no flourishes or blots as there would have been, had they been hand-written.
And dammit, Mitsuru! Not even a single emoticon!
Shinobu pushed away from the table in frustration and began to pace. He realized he needed some clothes, considering the fact that the suite was mainly window and glass and he didn’t feel like putting on a free show. So he continued his pacing into his bedroom and yanked out his one pair of jeans and a white linen shirt. Shrugging into the pants and not bothering to button the top, Shinobu reentered the living room and resumed his circuitous path around the computer. Every once in a while, he would pause, glare at the infernal machine and its even more infernal message blinking balefully at him, then pace some more.
A niggling thought scrabbled at him, but he was still fuming and was not prepared to listen.
Of all the unmitigated gall! Love me and leave me, will he? Order me around, will he? We’ll see about that! When I get my hands on you, you unconscionable wretch…
The niggling thought plucked at his sleeve persistently.
Wait a minute! Stop the presses! What do we have here?
The niggling thought nodded urgently as Shinobu’s eyes narrowed. The detective stalked back to his laptop and reread the message closely.
Those words…I’ve heard those words before! Last night, yes. But some time else…a long time ago. That last December, at la casa de ma familia. When we confessed. When otousan spoke to him. When he disappeared...
The niggling thought huzzahed.
And he used our nicknames. So he must not mean what he’s saying. He doesn’t really want me to leave him be. This has to be a clue, ne? So, about that night. Dad? Something about Dad?
Shinobu furiously pecked at the computer, not really knowing what he was searching for, but galvanized into action nonetheless. He’d been in situations like this before, when he’d followed a hunch on a wing and a prayer and had stumbled onto the answer somehow. He just hoped that his bad luck had tired of toying with him and had gone off to disrupt another poor bastard’s life.
Dad. Dad. Tezuka. Shinobu supplied his pass code to get into the family company’s mainframe.
Tezuka Corporation. Tezuka Industries. Tezuka Financial. Tezuka…ChemCo? What’s this?
The detective’s pulse quickened, a sure sign that he was on the right track. He clicked to enter the site but was barred by a firewall.
Access denied, my ass! What sort of access would I need to enter a public domain site?
He tried a different avenue of entrance.
Access denied.
Shinobu grinned ferally. A challenge! This was going to be fun!
A few minutes were all it took to break down the site’s pathetically thin defenses. It probably would have taken another hacker an hour, but Shinobu was a professional. Once in, it was laughably simple to evade other block programs to get to the core. Shinobu knew he should be more stealthy. Hell, he was charging in like a bull in a china shop; the system’s intruder alerts were probably driving the programmers insane! But Shinobu didn’t care. Someone had gone through the trouble of setting up access codes to a site that shouldn’t need one; and his personal codes were inactive at this level. Why? He had every right to be here and he was not about to pussyfoot around some programmer’s wet dream to gain entrance.
Shinobu sunk into that relaxed, almost trance-like alpha state that he’d learned worked best to cajole his sixth sense into action. His eyes half-shut into mere slits as he let them wander down list upon scrolled list of data. His finger worked the mouse like a harpist on acid. And then…
The God Project?
Warning bells sirened in his subconscious. Shinobu clicked on the link and was immediately transfixed by the name that headed the first chart: Mitsuru Ikeda.
Ah, shit, Mitsu! What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now? Shinobu thought grimly.
Then he began to read.
~
In Japan, a laptop similar to Shinobu’s had also begun to beep, but for an entirely different purpose. Norio Tezuka ignored the computer in favor of the phone call his personal assistant had insisted he take.
“Hai?”
“Tezuka.” The growl on the other end, though low and guttural, was unmistakable.
“So, the prodigal son has returned to the fold,” the old man leaned back in his leather chair and tapped at the headset’s earpiece, a minor affectation.
“Spare me the Biblical references, Tezuka. I’m in no mood for religion.”
“We were wondering when you’d come around to calling. We missed you, you know. You lost us well and good these past few months. I assume you’re in America? That was the last communiqué we had.” Norio glanced irritably at the beeping laptop and swiveled around so his back was to it and his massive oak desk. He wanted to savor this moment.
“Your people were better armed that time, too. My compliments to your weapons purchaser. Tell him I love the knife. And its previous owner loved it, too. His spine was loath to give it up.”
“My, my. Tetchy today, aren’t we? Did something happen to upset you?” Norio purred.
“Don’t play coy innocence – it’s unbecoming in a man your age. Makes you sound like a cheap knock-off of a Bond villain.” The voice was poisonously pleasant.
“Alright. No games. What do you want?” Norio gave up his languid pose and sat up in his chair, his sharp eyes glinting with venom. He turned to face his desk once more.
The study door opened and Norio’s personal assistant, usually impassive as he’d been hired to be, was now waving frantically at the laptop. The old man shooed him away.
“I think I’ll make you wait. After all, what’s a few hours of your life when you’ve stripped away eight of mine?”
“And what does that mean?” Norio’s assistant had subsided briefly, then had apparently screwed his courage to the sticking point. Defying his employer for the first time in over a decade, the assistant strode over to the laptop and began punching keys. Lucky for him, Norio was too engrossed in his present conversation to pay attention.
“Come to Los Angeles. I’ll be at the Griffith Observatory on Saturday, midnight. That’s two days from now. Is that enough time to get your entourage assembled? Because you’re gonna need them.” Then the phone went dead.
Norio slowly unhooked his headset from his ear. He had nothing to fear; the man was bluffing. But he would go to America; he was magnanimous like that. And he would show this upstart what the consequences were when crybabies played wargames.
“Sir?” His assistant drew his attention to the laptop which, by now, was not only beeping madly, it was scrolling data across its screen with increasing rapidity.
“What’s going on? Why the hell is it doing that?” Suddenly, Norio Tezuka felt the first stirrings of a cold dread fingering at his heart.
“It’s the God Project, sir. Someone’s hacked into the core. And they’re stealing all the files.”