You sighed, shoving open the grimy door to your run-down apartment. You dragged Ryuzen, your son, by his arm, ignoring the pain that flashed across his face as you wrenched it a little too hard.
A little or a lot?
"Mom, that hurts!" Ryuzen muttered. While he had attempted for it to be an exclamation, he was trained to endure in silence.
You responded, not with an apology, but instead turning your head the other way, tired.
"Rather than complaining, would you be a little more grateful? I just sat through that dinner party of your friends, next time, you're not going, you ungrateful little-" You stopped yourself before you could swear at the small boy, not for his own sake, but that of your neighbors.
The concern for your child that perhaps would be appropriate, was absent. But, you didn't stop to consider the implications this had on your parenting.
The door slammed shut, and you ignored it, stumbling over to the couch and carelessly draping your body along it, sighing as you reached over, scrambling for a pack of chewing tobacco. You unwrapped it, the movement so habitual that it took no time one handed. You sunk into the couch, relaxed as you started to chew.
Ryuzen quietly padded past you, past the dishes stacked high in the sink, past the garbage flung along the living room floor, past the discarded envelopes, torn open and scattered on the table.
As you lay there, your mind foggy, you heard a shuffle of feet, and a small cry that sounded not quite right, muffled by— something. A voice, low, almost imperceptible, and a grunt. Then, the slam of a window, which echoed through the quiet apartment, hanging in the air.
"Would you mind?" You called out to Ryuzen, frustrated with his disturbances.
But did you stop to think, to string them together? Perhaps, he was not simply a loud teen, but rather, one in distress. But no, because thinking of him was a source of anger, which was hardly constrained within your frail frame.
When the dawn broke, casting hues of bright reds and oranges, you would only then slowly start to force your eyes apart. As you stumbled off of the couch, you glanced at your appearance in your phone screen reflection. Your eyes were sunken and skin pale, your hair hadn't been brushed for a while, however, it still held a dull shine.
You would never admit it, but as I had watched you cycle through different phases of addictions– cigarettes, vapes, alcohol, and now which was honestly the least harmful of them all, chewing tobacco, I had watched you grow thin, your bones protruding at your shoulders, and wrists growing slender as your ability to care for yourself diminished.
It was around the time you had almost finished dressing in your work uniform when you paused, noticing the silence of the air. It hung thick, like a blanket draped over your small, cell-like apartment. You would wonder, if only briefly, where your son was. But you could only hold so much concern in that head of yours, so the thought would leave it nearly as quickly as it had entered.
You would then shuffle out the door in that limping gait of yours that always paused between your first and second step for your foot to drag along behind you like a discarded bag of rubbish – a result of an injury from one of your disagreements with Kazuki.
A disagreement or something more? I had always wondered the nature of your wording, if it concealed hidden meaning or an untold story? I have never gotten an answer nor ever will.
By the time you returned, night had fallen– you had gotten sidetracked stopping for a drink– or two– or three. It was unclear, you couldn't quite recall how many. That is besides the matter; details aren't important. What is important is that you know that when you returned home and pulled back the door, the silence that had haunted you earlier still lingered. Finally, you urged yourself to visit Ryuzen's room. You scuttled across the hallway –if you could call it that– and then forced open his door, which had been blocked by— something. When the door finally creaked open, you were greeted with a chair, old and in disrepair, which must've been what had formed the blockage.
The room itself was immaculate, with a neatly organized desk and closet with the sparse clothes ordered by color. As your eyes darted over to the bed, you would immediately be filled with ire at the unmade mess.
I had wished, that for once, I could describe it as something else, paint you as someone better. But alas, I can only describe what occurred.
As you inspected closer, you found neat droplets of blood adorning Ryuzen's white bedding, as if somebody had injured him. Your mind pieced together the images. That had been the disturbance last night. He had been stupid enough to get himself kidnapped. And now it was on you to fix this whole mess.
Your response, as ever uncalled for, was to scream.
I am not one to judge, so I will not do as such.
Immediately, your hazed thoughts would jump to the last adult he had encountered, flicking to the dinner party his friend had invited him to– yes, his friend's mother. The tall lady with that wretched home that reeked of a coppery smell. Ilya's mother.
What had been her name? Ahh, yes. Irina. You never trusted foreigners, although I'd never understood the inherent distrust. But as I have already said– I'm not one to judge.
You now would stumble out of the room and into the bathroom, splashing your face to tether yourself back with that thin, fraying strand, as well as to calm down your racing heart. You would compose yourself, and stalk out the door as best as you could with your limp.
The door slammed behind you.
Had you really shut it that hard?
When you finally reached Irina's door, you could hardly restrain yourself from barging through, but instead, you knocked on the door gently.
THUNK!
Maybe not as gentle as you had thought.
I had always found it surprising the amount of temper you exact on everything related to Ryuzen. The people around him, and him himself. Maybe it wasn't just him, but everyone, or rather, the whole world you were angry at. I'd always wanted to know what such everburning rage could be born of.
After a few minutes of waiting, your foot tapping impatiently the whole time, the door had opened, revealing a tall boy with ruffled black hair.
You racked your brain for his name before asking, "Ilya, do you know where your mother is?"
You would notice him nervously darting his eyes back into the house– strange.
"Yes– uh –Ms. Eiko, she is on a business trip." He answered in a slight Russian accent, pausing between words, as if the language was unfamiliar on his lips.
A sigh escaped your mouth– of course she was on business.
"Was she not here last night?"
His reply was quick as if he wanted to get you out of his face, "Yes, she was. She left early this morning after running a quick— what do you call? —errand."
He softly closed the door, and you backed away. His manner was straight up odd. Maybe he was unused to not speaking Russian, which was obvious from his clunky manner of speech but the way he had herded you out left you confused.
Confused– let us be honest– you were suspicious.
Slowly, you returned home, although your apartment was ten feet away. For the five minutes it took for you to traverse the distance, you were lost in thoughts; possibilities.
An errand? Was that an errand to kidnap your son? The business trip a mere disguise to mask that she was busy with matters far more grave?
A slow creak emitted from the hinges of the door.
You hadn't remembered opening it, but again you didn't remember a lot of things.
As you plopped yourself down on the chair by the small dining table, a message from an unknown number flashed across your phone screen.
Eiko. It's been a while. Meet at seven tomorrow night at the park by 31st Avenue for a talk? I would love to see you. I assume you would have deleted my number, but it's me, Kazuki.
The message did continue, but you shut off your phone before you could read more.
Not him.
Your divorce hadn't been messy in any sort, but it had been nine years ago, Ryuzen had only been five. And although your divorce had been calm, your long and dragged out marriage to Kazuki had not been. While he never directly injured you, there was always a way of happenings that left you being injured whenever you were around him too long– little accidents which began to feel like not accidents. It had reached the breaking point when he accidentally swung his bag behind him too hard on the long staircase, and you had been distracted with Ryuzen, leading you to fall down the stairs and injure your leg, which caused the limp that haunts you even now.
I never remembered such things, but we all forget eventually, and we all have our different ways of memory. This is yours, mine is mine.
Afterwards, he had not wanted custody of Ryuzen or Miyuki in court, which left you with the responsibility of a five and fifteen year old, and not as much money as you would like. You did have child support, but it didn't do much to help the debt which you were still in from college. Although, now that you thought of it, since he was kidnapped and Miyuki off to college, there was no child support needed, but you would get him back soon enough.
You grabbed the pack of chewing tobacco, and sighed as soon as you began to chew. You opened your phone and made a call to Irina, you had been smart enough to get her contact the night before.
The phone rang, once, twice, thrice. No response. Eventually it went to voicemail. You turned off the phone, not wanting to leave a voicemail, and you were left staring at the blank screen.
Should you go to meet Kazuki? Maybe he had had something to do with Ryuzen's kidnapping. Maybe he had done it.
I'd always been astounded at the quick connections you would make– the conclusions you could jump to in a matter of seconds.
The more you thought about it, the more your mind began to drift to other family members who might have had a motive. While Kazuki's involvement seemed possible, there was another person who couldn't be ignored: your daughter, Miyuki. She had left to pursue her dreams against your wishes, her long bangs always covering her eyes, almost as if she wanted to hide from the world. You hadn't spoken to her in years, and you couldn't help but wonder if her resentment had driven her to do something drastic, like kidnapping her own brother.
I would like to interject. Although all of us have different ways of remembering, this is one which I find important. Miyuki is a wonderful person. I know you have not yet seen this and never will, but I have.
As you ponder, the possibilities overtake you. But why? Why would any of them?
Irina's plans and timing were suspicious, despite her apparent lack of motive. Maybe she was a jealous mother who saw Ryuzen's capabilities, or perhaps she was just a little bit off her rocker.
Kazuki, on the other hand, had given up custody, only to realize nine years later that he wanted involvement with his son. Why had he texted you now? Couldn't he have asked to see Ryuzen earlier? Even if he had, would you have ever let him?
Miyuki had become a rebellious child, and as an adult, maybe she had resorted to kidnapping her brother as a final act of revenge. It was confusing though, since she was ten years older than Ryuzen. Why would she care so much for him? Perhaps she saw him as nothing more than a pawn to get at you.
The board was set, the clues left out, and all that was left was for you to figure it out.