"Mom?"
"Eiko? Is that you? It's nice to hear you, I haven't in a while." Your mother's voice had been sweet and comforting, just like her gentle face and curly short cropped hair long gone white.
You made sure to be quick and straight to the point, not wanting to drag out the conversation, "Yes– it is. I need your help."
"My help? What with?"
"Ryuzen. He's been kidnapped."
"Ryuzen? Is he safe? What can I do?" Her voice came panicked, rushing and stumbling back over itself.
You took in a breath, you hadn't talked to your mother in a while, and it was difficult.
"I don't know mom. But, his kidnapper– he's been sending me letters, tormenting me–" you would be cut off by your own heavy sigh, "But, anyway, I have a few hints from the letters. I need your help researching them."
"Why don't you just call the police?"
Your voice sounded harsh even to yourself, "No, no police," Your response was quick; you had never liked the police.
"I see– that's fine. What clues do you have?"
Straight to the point. Your mother really reminds me a lot of you. I'd always forgotten how traits could carry over, generation to generation, I've only met her a few times anyways.
"I need you to talk to Kazuki. Get whatever information you can get about recent events– he was odd, ask him about something, anything. I don't know what it is, but he knows something I don't, I can just tell."
"Of course, I really must go. I'll see what I can do."
The conversation was over as soon as it had started, and a silence seemed to linger through your apartment. You slowly rose from the chair, stretching your back and sighing, before you decided to act on one of the clues– to look at the blood splatters.
You gradually opened Ryuzen's door, and it emitted a low creaking, like the low growl of some beast. The floorboards groaned as you stepped inside, raising the hairs along your back. You hurried over to his bed, and there it was, the blood splatters. They were in neat droplets, almost as if the kidnapper had placed them there neatly. They were not dragged, rushed, almost as if they had been arranged there intentionally.
Gasping, you realized, these were not an accident, but placed with purpose, like some sort of morbid artform. You felt cold fingers brush along your spine.
What could that mean? Had Ryuzen made the blood himself and held it there? But that was ridiculous, why would he do such a thing?
You would sit there, thinking, but there was no good explanation. The blood seemed too intentional, how could that be? Maybe, it wasn't Ryuzen's, but something placed there to lure you out, so you would know that Ryuzen had been kidnapped. But who would have easy access to blood?
Irina.
Her husband, you could recall, was a butcher. Of course they would have access to blood, they had it from their slaughtered pigs and cows– such a disgusting thing, you've always found meat off putting in a way.
When would she return from her business trip? It had already been three days. Or had it been four? You were losing track of time, it felt like it was slipping through your fingers, like how sand falls through an hourglass, each grain falling all too fast.
Maybe she had already returned? But she couldn't have if your son was still missing. She had to be the one to have done it, it was the only thing that made sense.
Now, I would laugh at this moment. The thoughts that lead you ever so astray. I know you well, but of course, you would not know that, you could not have guessed such a thing until you met me, face to face. I wonder, if now, you regret such poor thinking.
Where did Irina work anyways? You had asked at the dinner party, but she had avoided the question, redirecting the conversation. She was so secretive in nature. And her husband, a butcher. She must surely know her way around knives and blood and gore. Such thoughts haunted you, bringing up images of your poor son, bloodied, with Irina hanging over him, smiling with such brutality. No– you could not let such images infest your mind, it would only cause you harm.
The only way to find out if she was back was to knock on her door. So, you padded across the small hallway to the door, shoving your shoes on and yanking the door open.
When you finally reached Irina's door, not ten feet away, you took a deep breath, calming yourself.
You knocked on the door, or rather, pounded against it, not realizing how aggressive you had been, you really needed to get that under control.
Again, that dark headed boy stuck his head out the door, why was it always him?
"Eiko? Again? I guess you want my – ah what do you call? – mother?" His speaking was better, but still had that awkward clunky feeling and pauses to recall words.
"Yes, I would like to talk to Irina."
He turned back into the house and called out something in Russian which you could not quite understand.
I believe he said, "Mom! Eiko wants you, please come quick." But of course, you would not know that.
You could hear a shuffling of feet and then, Irina took Ilya's place.
"Eiko, I heard that you had wanted me while I was away, what for?" Irina's voice was tight, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, it was apparent that she too was suspicious of you.
You fidgeted with your rings nervously. You now knew that she, of course, could not have kidnapped your son, unless she had miraculously hidden him at her house.
Well, yes of course, he could be there.
Your shoulders grew stiff and you had an unsettling feeling in your gut. What if he was in her house? Locked in a cabinet?
Searching for an excuse, you stammered,"I– I wanted to see if you wanted to come over for dinner, I don't know your family well and wanted to meet you, especially as my son is friends with yours."
Why had you said that? No, you didn't want to be friends with Irina– and how could this help you get inside her house to see if she had done something with your son? What were you doing?
I have always been astounded with your rigid thinking. The letters showed that the kidnapper knew you well, very well. How could it be Irina? But of course, you were prejudiced against her from the start, with your mindset about foreigners.
"Dinner– I'm sorry but I am unable, my husband needs help at the butchery, our whole family will be occupied," Irina answered in her awkwardly pausing speech, clunky in the same way her son's was, but you could see her standing taller, towering over you, as if she wanted to intimidate you.
You were inwardly relieved, but of course, could not show that to Irina, and you took a long pause before replying, "Oh, I'm so sorry about that, maybe another time."
This was your perfect opportunity, you could use tonight to search her house for clues.
You walked back towards your apartment, happy with yourself, and you sprawled out across your couch, enjoying the relaxation.
After a few hours, the sun had descended from the sky, sliding down like the large yellow yolk of an egg.
Overhead, there were vibrant blues fading into deep oranges and reds, and a golden light cast into your apartment, illuminating the door. You now knew it was time, and gathered your wits, calming yourself with steady breathing, something which was beginning to become a habit, an occasional replacement of the chewing tobacco.
Creeping down the hall, you spotted their door, jiggling the handle– it was locked.
You sighed, why must things always be so difficult?
You rummaged through your pockets for a hairpin before inserting it into the hole– it was a simple lock, one of the push ones on bathrooms, all you had to do was find the right place to push in, a key wasn't necessary, although it made it far easier. You focused, feeling the hairpin until you found that sensitive plate and pushed.
Click!
You tried the handle, and this time, the door unlatched effortlessly. When you stepped inside, you found a neatly kept apartment, the dark counters wiped clean and the pale oak floors vacuumed, with a vase of blood red roses on the small dining table. Spotting the door to what you could only assume was Irina's and her husband's bedroom, you scurried down the hall, quickly opening it. The door creaked, startling you.
Hurrying over to her bedside table, you had no time to think, as you didn't know when she would be back. You slid out the drawer within the nightstand and examined it, dumping her documents and other things out on the floor, but no matter how hard you searched, you found nothing. This was a problem, you still hadn't found anything and time was running out. You scurried to the cabinets lining the other wall and flung their doors wide. Scrambling through their contents, you urgently searched for clues, but still found nothing.
Creak…
Shit, this was all going to hell. That was the sound of the door. You could hear footsteps, the voices of Irina and her family. They were coming closer, and you wouldn't have time to put everything sprawled on the floor back neatly. You shoved everything back into the cabinets and drawers, before diving under the bed, hoping a plan of escape would come to you. You held your breath so as to not make a sound, remaining as still as can be.
This was when I knew you were screwed– you had just burned a bridge with Irina, and she was sure to not help you after this. Planting seedlings of mistrust is not a good method. If you had stopped to think, you could have befriended her and used that as a way to get information, but instead, you chose this method. How many times must I be disappointed by you?
Then you remembered– your son's kidnapper had gotten him out through the window, you raced to the window in Irina's room and shoved it open, before clambering up onto the sill and preparing to jump off, glancing down at the balcony of an apartment a floor below.
Taking a deep breath, you swallowed your fear, before leaping out of the window, adrenaline rushing through you. After what seemed like an eternity of wind rushing through your hair and the ground nearing, you landed on the balcony in a haphazard sort of roll. Pain shot through your ankle, and you winced, looking upwards to see long graying blonde hair framing a face looking down at you.
Irina's face.
"Eiko? What are you doing here?" Irina shouted down at you, her face red with anger.
"I was just– leaving you a gift, hopefully you can find it!" You called upwards, finding a quick excuse to be in her apartment.
"I don't see a gift?"
"You have to look, sorry, I've got to go!"
You could hear a little kid's voice full of confusion, "Mommy, why is there a crazy lady falling from the sky?"
Ignoring it, you glanced around, spotting the fire escape ladder. You reached out and swung onto it, using that to finally reach down towards the ground. Your ankle wasn't too bad, not broken or anything, maybe just a little sprain. So, you gritted your teeth and got up, preparing to climb the stairs back up to your apartment, and now, you had to sneak a gift into Irina's room.
You took a long exhale, you kept getting yourself into ever-deepening trouble.
Later that night, you slipped a letter under Irina's door. It was the gift you said you had left. Inside the envelope was a small glittering silver necklace with a dainty shell, the one you had latched to your neck when you found it.
You didn't know why you had given it to her, but just looking at it pained you. It was time to let go of it.
Padding back to your apartment, you felt empty without it. A cold breeze let in from an open window winded through the hallway, brushing your cheek, not in comfort, but in warning.