Up in Flames

He hated hospitals with every fiber of his being. The sterile smell and constant, distant beeping took him back to the wasted weeks he had spent in one as a child thanks to his body's unique reaction to adrenaline, particularly the anger fueled variety, causing him to break nearly every bone in his body at one time or another.

Yet here he was. His back was stiff and aching, small spasms causing the muscles of his lower back to contract uncomfortably as he sat rigidly on the hard plastic chair. The bitter smell of beer was faint, but still present on his shirt. There were bloodstains along the chest, sleeves, and shoulder now, from where the girl had rested against him as he carried her. Running a hand through his blonde locks, he grimaced. His hair felt stiff in some places from dried sweat and greasy in others due to not making it home for a long overdue shower. He felt disgusting and was acutely aware of the fact that he might smell equally so.

Bouncing his right leg nervously as he tapped his foot on the white tile floor, he snuck a glance at the nurses' station, locking gazes with an elderly gentleman who was behind the desk, typing furiously away at one of the computers. The man's gaze grew cold and hard as he studied Shizuo's face briefly before returning to his work.

Shizuo's eyes dropped to his hands, which were folded in his lap, his thumbs engaged in some sort of absentminded war with each other. Nurses and doctors whizzed by him, their scrubs and lab coats white blurs in the corner of his vision. None of them stopped to pay him any mind.

Letting his head rest against the wall behind him, he stared up at the ceiling (God, even that was pristine, white, and sterile.), wondering about the girl behind the door to his right. He had overhead a doctor telling one of the nurses that her blood loss was substantial, but that they had stabilized her and that she should rest under observation for now.

That was two hours ago, as they wheeled the hospital cart noiselessly into the room. He wondered how long she would need to stay and if she would have any visitors.

"Excuse me." A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. Shifting in the chair, he let his gaze settle on the newcomer before him.

A middle aged woman with straight, jet black hair stood before him. One look at her police uniform told him everything he needed to know about why she was here. He straightened in his seat, bowing his head briefly out of respect.

"How can I help you, officer?"

"Such manners, for one so young." She smiled warmly at him, her brown eyes crinkling at the edges. "I just need to ask you a few questions about the young lady. You are the one who found her and brought her here, yes?"

Nodding, he willed his stiff body to rise, his six foot frame quickly dwarfing the officer's own. She turned on her heel and moved off in the direction of the empty visitor room, Shizuo trailed behind her, wondering if her demeanor would change once they were inside and alone.

Stepping inside the bright, cheerful room, she motioned for him to sit on the plush black leather couch against the wall. He complied, hearing the click of the lock as she pressed her finger into the center of the doorknob. Moving to stand before him, she pulled a small notebook from the pocket of her vest and smiled reassuringly at him.

"So, let's start with the basics. What's your name?"

"Shizuo Heiwajima." He focused on his breathing, trying not to get ahead of himself and to only answer the questions as she asked them. This wasn't the first time he had been questioned by the police and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Very good. Can you tell me where you were coming from when you found the victim and at what time?"

"I was coming from work. Around eight this morning."

"Good. Can you describe the scene for me?"

His breath caught in his throat as the alleyway flashed across his vision. Closing his eyes as the taste of bile rushed up his esophagus and spilled into his mouth, he swallowed, looking past the officer at the opposite wall.

"Take your time." She reached out and patted his knee, her face soft and her voice low and soothing. This was the first time any officer, male or female, had had such compassion for him. He couldn't help but wonder why, but he supposed it really didn't matter.

"It was..." He stuttered to a stop, his chest constricting and taking the air from his lungs. Gritting his teeth, he took a deep breath in before continuing.

"It was horrifying. Cuts littered her skin, some long, some short. Blood had run down her body. Her shirt was torn, her skirt too. That had been thrown further down the alley. Her forehead had a big gash in it and that was bleeding. Running down her face and getting in her hair. I pieced her clothes back together as best I could and I picked her up and brought her here because I had to do something. She couldn't die. Not there. In that filth. And all those bastards on their way to their jobs who probably saw the whole thing and didn't even bat an eye and..."

He had gone from speaking calmly to screaming the words at the top of his lungs. His ears were ringing. His heart was racing. His shoulders trembled as his hands clenched and unclenched.

"It's alright, son. You've been through a lot today." A hand rested lightly on his shoulder and he came undone. Shoving his face into his hands, he let out a strangled cry before letting the tears of rage and overwhelm flow from his eyes.

"You did good. It's going to be okay."

_____

Steam rose around him, the hot water falling from the shower head and onto his skin, familiar and constant, bringing him back to here and now. Running a hand through his wet hair, he gripped the faucet and shoved it down, turning the water off. Sliding open the glass door, he stepped out of the shower, droplets of water falling to the shower mat. Goosebumps pricked up over every inch of his body, the air of the room against his wet skin causing him to shiver.

He grabbed a towel off the rack beside the shower, running it along his limbs before moving to his midsection and hair. The cotton felt rough, like sandpaper against his skin. So much for the relaxing shower.

Tossing the towel aside, he moved into the bedroom slowly, his mind so full of fog it was having a hard time telling his body how to move. Fumbling with the drawers on his dresser, he finally slid the right one open and retrieved a pair of pajama pants. Stepping into them and dragging them up his legs, he turned to his bed, the papers and files strewn about atop the sheets making him feel ill.

Aside from a few passages that he had highlighted, there wasn't much information contained in them that was new to him. That pissed him off.

On top of that, he was certain these documents were sanitized. The initial report claimed that, after the fire was extinguished, they had yet to find the victim's body. He knew that that was true. They had found no body in the loft that he and Chouko had shared.

The body had been recovered three days later, however. Or, at least, what was assumed to be her body. Charred beyond recognition, fingerprints gone and every tooth in its head removed, a corpse had been recovered from the city park just two blocks from the scene of the crime.

Information pertaining to that part of the incident was absent from the files he had been given. They made mention of finding her body, but were vague on the details of how, when, and, most importantly, who tipped them off.

He was stuck with what he had. Attempting to contact the bastard who had sold him the documents was out of the question. All moles and informants used burn phones, leaving them unreachable after a transaction was complete.

All but one. The thought flashed through his mind and behind his eyes like a neon sign. His vision clouded and he raised an arm to his eyes, dragging it across them in an attempt to clear his vision and still his mind all in one go.

It was no use. His mind was made up.

"There's no other way." He breathed, moving from the dresser to the nightstand.

The concerned expressions of his friends filled his mind as he retrieved his phone, flipping it open with quiet resignation and punching in the number that was emblazoned in his brain thanks to years of harassment calls.

I'm sorry.

It rang twice. A snicker came before a voice dripping with gleeful sarcasm all but sang to him through the phone. A cold pit formed in the center of his stomach as the fog of desperation overtook his mind.

"Shizu-chan! I'm flattered. To what do I owe the honor of being graced by a call from you?"

_____

So give her back to me,
You know I can't afford the medicine that feeds what I need.