Singing Through The Silence
Part 1 - Captive
Log Series 1 - Miscalculations
Log Entry - August 5th, 2000 1 : 43 P.M.
It was quiet, now.
Raito awoke to a sharp jolt of the ground beneath him, eyes lifting open groggily and taking a few moments to focus. He soon let them slip closed once more though, as the pounding in his head beat a steady rhythm behind his lids. Taking a deep breath, he tried remember the source of his splitting headache, and slowly fragments of memory began drifting back into his conscious mind.
He felt something wet trickle down his cheek as he shifted, trying to get more comfortable on the steel floor he was sprawled out on. Licking his lips, he tasted a sharp, biting copper that slid down his throat slowly, the thick liquid still lukewarm. Ah, that would be blood.
His blood, judging by the enflamed feeling of his forehead. Yes, he had been hit there, when the men came. He had been walking home from a quick tennis outing… had it been that morning? How long had he been out? Surely it couldn't have been more than a few hours?
But there was no way to tell, with no windows in the sides of his holding cell, if that's what it was. Sitting up slowly, his stomach angrily rebelling, he was quick to discover his hands tied behind his back, held together by a thick, rough piece of rope. Twisting his head as far as it would go, he was just able to see the expertly tied knot binding him. There was no chance of pulling a Houdini out of this, no matter how much his shoulders hurt or his wrists were rubbed raw.
Hating the indignity of the action, but honestly too dizzy to even attempt to stand up, Raito slowly crawled and scooted toward one side of his confinement. Finally reaching the wall, Raito pressed an ear against the side of it, closing his eyes to concentrate on listening. Hopefully he'd hear something that could tell him where he was, or what the hell was going on. He had been kidnapped, that much was obvious, but he still didn't know why or by whom.
But all he heard was a vague whooshing sound, with a small rumble interjecting every once in a while. It almost sounded as though his room were moving? That made no sense, unless….
He was in a vehicle. A large vehicle obviously designed for holding items of substantial value, if the thick, solid steel walls, the soundproofing, and the lack of windows were anything to go by. Okay, he had something to work with. Now, what did being in a vehicle mean?
It meant that he was being moved, likely out of the Kanto region, where someone might recognize Raito. This obviously wasn't some spur of the moment kidnapping, they had thought it out well, even getting such a protected mode of transportation to get him from Point A to Point B. Premeditated then, so it was not an act done on any truly emotional basis, and well thought out in its details, as well as cautious in its execution. After all, they had to have been watching him, and had to have known his schedule to catch him at the one time he was alone with no one else about, the early morning (or unholy hours, as Sayu called anything before ten) tennis practice. He went out at five and was back home by six, and usually enjoyed the quiet solitude of his lone exertions and practice.
Until of course, those very same habits had been plotted and taken advantage of in the form of his kidnapping. So, the men were smart, meticulous, had good resources, and were doing this for a reason.
It really wasn't that difficult to guess their possible motives. After all, his father was Chief Director in the NPA, which meant holding a member of his family hostage was a trump card indeed. They were likely known criminals on the run, hoping to bargain for less time in jail or some other even less likely secession.
Though their coordination hinted towards a larger organization… crime on that scale didn't really need a Japanese cop's kid for things like hostages, most of the time. They just weren't as effective as their other options. Because they were international, they had enemies in nearly every large country around the world. Holding one ransom was hardly going to sway France or England into action, let alone a whole committee of representatives. Which was pretty much a given, since organized crime such as the mob or the mafia was never small scale in the long run.
So, unless he was missing something, Raito was being kidnapped by an independent group of criminals, which raised his chances of surviving considerably. While a group like the mafia wouldn't hesitate to shoot him should he outlive his usefulness, criminals without power like that backing them up would try to keep him alive to bargain with as long as possible.
Raito put his back to the wall, shifting his legs and trying to make himself as comfortable as possible considering the circumstances. He couldn't do anything at the moment, unless he really thought jumping from a moving vehicle was the wisest course of action. And that was made on the assumption that he'd be able to get out in the first place, which was seeming less and less likely. Add that to his tied hands and the condition of his head….
Well, he'd rather see if he made it through his kidnapping alive, instead of doing the criminals' job for them. On that note, he relaxed his shoulders, letting his eyes slip shut as he fell into an uneasy but recuperative sleep.
Terminated - August 5th, 2ooo 2 : 17 P.M.
Log Entry - August 6th, 2000 10: 16 A.M.
The men had driven all through the night, finally stopping midmorning the next day. Raito had never given it much thought, but was thankful now that he was largely a creature of habit. A habit which had the plus of giving him an excellent internal clock, as his body still wanted to follow his routine even when his mind knew it was impossible.
Somehow, even as his stomach growled morosely, he still managed to feel nauseous at the thought of food. It was only natural for him to be hungry, seeing as how he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, and he had never missed a meal before in his life. But his head and the still thriving migraine were telling him that eating would not be a good idea, unless he wanted to taste the food twice.
Besides, it wasn't as though he could just ask his kidnappers to pull over at the next stop, Raito would really appreciate a bite to eat, if it wasn't too much trouble? He'd be laughed at in the best case, beaten in the worst, if they didn't appreciate his sense of humor.
Raito estimated it was about an hour before they came to a halt, the stop a bit abrupt and throwing Raito off balance. He groaned as he was thrown across the hard floor, his tied hands unable to catch him, earning him a few new bruises in the process.
His eyes were assaulted by light as the back of the… van, maybe, was opened. He had to blink rapidly as he squinted, having grown used to the dark after the day long drive. Once his eyes adjusted though, he immediately latched onto his kidnapper, taking in and filing every detail he could find. After all, when they were caught and he was asked to testify, he'd have to identify the man. And Raito was nothing if not thorough.
His perusal was cut short when the man let out a growl, as if he'd figured out what exactly Raito was doing, before grabbing his arm and pulling him forward. Thrown onto a rough, gravely ground, Raito just managed to catch himself on his side rather than his face, gritting his teeth as he was imbedded with small shards of rock and glass. He was not allowed to remain in place for long, as the heavily built man grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, dragging him to his feet.
Raito looked around, his eyes taking in the sight of an… airport.
He felt a drop of sweat run down his suddenly frigid body. This wasn't good. It seemed he had drastically underestimated his captures, both in the brains and resources department. For them to even consider taking him to such a public area, and be under the impression they would not only be able to maintain control over him, but smuggle him onto a plane…. These were no small time kidnappers.
And if they managed to get Raito out of the country, it was game over. They could be anywhere in the world in a matter of days, with little, if any, leads to follow if they covered their tracks well enough. And if there base were in say, the Congo, there was about a one in a million chance of Raito ever being rescued.
And if they were in a large organization, something big enough to catch their attention, and then drive them to the desperate act of kidnapping… well, that implied some pretty big, unreasonable demands on their part. Demands that could be met under no circumstances.
But it was either cooperate with them now, and be used ineffectively against the Japanese government, or be shot. Raito wasn't going to kid himself by thinking he was the only child that would suit the men's purposes. They could cap him right here, leave him for dead without any trace of the perpetrators, and go find another child to kidnap. A child neither as smart or resourceful as Raito, who had less than zero chance of escaping or aiding investigations.
And above all, Raito had one hell of a survival instinct, and there was no way in hell he was going to die for such a stupid reason as useless struggle.
So he didn't fight, just stood there as his captor held his arm tightly, and watched as the men began to unload an assortment of… violin cases? Raito's mind took a temporary vacation as he took in the odd sight, thinking it was just his luck to be kidnapped by criminals that were also musically inclined.
His bemused ramblings stopped there, as cases were promptly snapped open to reveal a wide assortment of weaponry, including machine guns, automatic rifles, pistols, and even a few grenades in a lone violin case. It was obvious that the men had been prepared for the worst sort of resistance in undertaking their little 'operation', whatever their goal may be. It wasn't until they pulled out a cello case that Raito began to get truly nervous. What kind of weapon was large enough for them to need a case that huge? Were they carrying around an atomic bomb or something?
To Raito's surprise however, when the case was snapped open, it was completely empty. He pondered at the point of such an item, but when his captor shoved him in its direction, it purpose was made crystal clear.
They were going to hide him inside to smuggle him into the airport and out of the country.
And he had no choice but to get into the cramped space like a good little boy, or get a bullet through the brain in an attempt to escape.
Oh well, Raito had never claimed to be the self-sacrificing, heroic martyr type.
Before he could cram himself in though, while thanking the heavens and gene pool that he had a slim build and was fairly flexible, he was grabbed once more. Raito opened his mouth, grunting in shock, but the sound was quickly cut off by what felt like a large rubber tennis ball. He heard a snap and felt a tight band around the lower part of his head. He was effectively tied and gagged. And, as he was shoved into a crumpled heap at the bottom of the case, the lid closing with a soft thud as the sound of latches filled the air, blind too.
Raito closed his eyes and did his best to relax as the case was hefted up, and he was roughly carted off like old luggage.
He would be found soon, his father would see to that. It didn't matter that they were taking him out of the country, there was a way to find him.
There had to be.
Terminated - August 6, 2000 10 : 27 A.M.
Log Entry - August 6th, 2000 3 : 02 P.M.
Raito had never understood claustrophobia before that day, when he was shoved and latched in a cello case for what seemed to be an endless flight, with barely enough room to breath. Each intake of breath was its own torment, as he tried to suck the air in around the unforgiving rubber ball of his gag, never getting enough to satisfy his starving lungs.
But it was enough to keep him alive and conscious, so he supposed that was what mattered.
He had always thought that fear of small, enclosed spaces was a bit irrational, as walls did nothing but protect those inside them. From the weather, the cold, other humans… walls were fortresses behind which humans could feel secure in their safety.
He had forgotten that walls could also be used to cage. Not being able to move his arms at all, having them crammed into his sides for hours now… it roused instincts inside the young man he hadn't even known he had. It was all a matter of fight or flight. He was being held against his will, he couldn't even move, and all he could think of were desperate attempts to fight out of it and run, as far and as fast as he could.
But fight or flight was rather useless in his situation, as he could do neither. He could only sit, and wait, and listen to the sound of the luggage shifting around him. The only silver lining he could find to be thankful for was that everyone thought there was an instrument in the case. And instruments were delicate, which meant the case was handled with more than the usual amount of caution. Luckily, he was firmly tied down in a secure area, rather than tossing and tumbling with the normal lot.
But on another note, it only added to his growling trepidation, as it added yet another detail to the meticulous and ingenuous kidnapping, that they would make sure he was not harmed while transported.
He wasn't sure what to think about that. Didn't want to think about it period. So he controlled the desperate pants that wanted to escape from his mouth, trying to ignore the drool crusted at the corners of his lips.
He could not panic. That was what they wanted. He could not feel inferior. That was what they were hoping for. He would not give in.
And that, that was just him.
Terminated - August 6th, 2000 3 : 09 P.M.
Log Entry - August 7th, 2000 12 : 46 A.M.
Raito didn't wake when he was being untied from storage, nor when he was being driven to luggage pick-up, or even when he was hauled up and driven away. The fog of deep sleep wafting around his head was only penetrated when the case was opened, bright, artificial light shining through his closed eyelids and startling him into the land of the living.
He tried to yelp as he was picked up out of the case, but the gag still forcing his mouth open prevented more than a weak grunt. He would not call it a whimper. Whimpers implied weakness, and Raito was far from weak.
Though he was finding it hard to stand up, his legs having fallen asleep over half a day past. Trembling, the calve muscles shook at the shooting needles of blood rushing back into the appendages, and it was clear they wouldn't support him for long. The kidnappers took no notice as he fell to his knees, feeling dizzy and sick to his stomach, but still thankful to be out of that case.
He never wanted to see another string instrument again. He knew too much of what it was like to be one now, carted around in the hot, black cases. At least the instruments were lucky enough to actually fit in them, without folding over upon themselves,
Raito refused to feel grateful when one of the kidnappers removed the gag from his mouth. They were the ones that had put it there in the first place, and if they thought he would thank them for taking it out again, they were sadly mistaken.
He allowed a few minutes to pass before attempting to rise on unsteady limbs. With a few attempts and no small amount of effort, he was standing once more, his back straight and face composed. But still, the kidnappers paid him no mind. They bustled around, sorting and gathering the other cases in their arms, disappearing out of the room and coming back for another load. One by one, they left and didn't come back, the last one shutting and locking the door behind him, leaving Raito alone in silence.
The room was, at first glance as well as hundredth, unremarkable. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all a smooth, middle gray concrete, with no windows and only one door. There was no furniture other than a small toilet in the corner, and a pipe Raito assumed was for water, both rusted and gritty. Altogether, it equaled a complete and utter dump, but it served its purpose. He only hoped he wouldn't have to endure such… unsanitary conditions for more than a few weeks. Raito hated unseemliness and was an advocate of everything sanitary, so his living compartment was almost a personal insult.
Sitting down cross legged in the middle of the small space, so as to avoid the dirtier corners, Raito supposed he did have a few things to be thankful for.
At least they had given him a toilet.
Terminated - August 7th, 2000, 1 : 50 P.M.
Log Entry - August 16th, 2000 2 : 45 P.M.
It had been over a week since his capture, and still nothing of particular interest had occurred. Raito was kept in his small room, brought meals twice a day, and was otherwise left to his own devices. He had gotten used to the stale stench of the room after his third night of enduring it, and could hardly tell it was there anymore. He wasn't sure whether that was something to be happy about. He had a few new bruises in interesting places, as he was forced to sleep on the hard, concrete floor every night.
Raito had never known boredom could be physically painful. His legs muscles would twitch and wake him in the middle of the night, agitated from inactivity. Pacing back and forth in his small confinement could only do so much, and his body felt cold and fatigued more often than not. It was growing used to inactivity, and becoming lethargic, which irritated Raito to no end. His body was only reacting naturally to its conditions, but so many years of staying in perfect shape were being ruined in a matter of weeks.
He was also beginning to worry about malnutrition, as he never felt satisfyingly full anymore. His stomach was constantly cramping or queasy, going to the bathroom was quickly becoming more unpleasant than ever before, and his tongue was forgetting what real food tasted like. Every day it was the same thing; a bowl of bland rice and a piece of dark, crusty toast. Enough for him to live, but not sufficient to make him comfortable.
He had exhausted his mind thinking of word games, number games, story games, any games to occupy himself with, but he had given up after a week of trying to occupy himself. He was hard pressed to entertain himself when he was at home, free to do as he wished. In this limited area, dredging up interest in anything was just shy of impossible.
Mostly, he hated how quiet it was all the time. Usually, if things got too dull, he could always focus on another voice, tune in on a conversation nearby. Usually they were over trivial matters that Raito held in no real regard, but still. There was something captivating about the human voice, particularly the emotion displayed in it, that made it pleasant to listen to in most cases. Perhaps it was the fact that humans could communicate in such a manner, that speech existed at all that was so captivating. But in any case, it held the attention.
But there were no voices here, no noise other than those Raito made himself. And Raito didn't make very many.
He couldn't even hear the sound of his own breathing, the air being drawn in and out without making so much as a rasp on its journey. He did not tap his foot or his fingers, such habits were much too childish for him. And he was too still to disturb his clothes into making small movement noises, and too tired to care.
He wondered, if he were to close his eyes right now, would he even hear his heartbeat?
Terminated - August 16th, 2000 2 : 50 P.M.
Log Entry - August 21st, 2000 1 1 : 24 A. M.
After two weeks of nothing, Raito was removed from the room. Two men had walked him down the hall, one on either side, and taken him through a variety of twisting tunnels and passages. He walked for what seemed like miles to his stiff limbs, and was finally brought to a halt before another plain steel door. He had no idea how his kidnappers had managed to remember where exactly the room was, though he would have no problem with his photographic memory. Perhaps the information would be proven useful at some point.
Beyond the door was another concrete room, quite a bit more interesting than the one he had been kept in. There was a computer in one corner with multiple wires sticking out, and a window for the small satellite attached. In the middle of the room there was a nondescript camera on a tripod, as well as a microphone stand. Obviously they meant to feed out the video they would be recording, probably to the Japanese government. He had a feeling he was going to be the main star of the production, just to prove they actually had the hostage as they claimed.
Indeed, he only had to wait a few minutes (which was bearable after two solitary weeks) before he was shoved into a small wooden chair that he, surprisingly, hadn't noticed. Though it was possible that they had brought it in after his first perusal. He hissed in protest as a rope was wound around his body a few times, effectively tying him down to the chair, as well as being pulled so tight he could feel his ribs give. He gritted his teeth and took as shallow breaths as possible, though that was all he could take at the moment.
The kidnappers had gone to stand behind the camera, the big guy that seemed to be in charge standing by the mike. He signaled the man at the computer (mousy guy, with unattractive features, he noted), nodding to the camera man right after. After a few seconds, the man at the computer spoke.
"Alright, we've got a connection."
The leader held up three fingers to the camera man, then two, than one. The camera was switched on, Raito staring straight into the annoying red light, doing his best to keep his face calm. If he was calm and unharmed (for the most part), than the men receiving the feed would follow his example.
The man at the mike began to speak.
"Hello ICPO, as you have undoubtedly guessed, this is the kidnappers speaking." Raito hated how mocking his tone was, like he was talking to small children instead of the International Con-
Wait. They shouldn't have been talking to the ICPO; he was kidnapped from Japan. They should be speaking to the NPA. This was an isolated kidnapping.
"I'm gonna take a guess and say that you've got it pretty much figured out who is doing this, and more importantly, why we're doing this. But I may as well confirm your suspicions. Yes, we are all parts of the mafia organization."
For the first time in his life, Raito hated the fact that he had been right.
"And what we're calling to talk to you about is that pesky little weapon trade control bill currently being reviewed by the United Nations. After all, if that bill does happen to pass, it'll be quite a stitch in our organization's side, on an international level even. Therefore, having a common interest, mafia from all over the world decided to come together to pull off this little operation."
This was so much worse than Raito could have ever imagined. If the mafia had come together on an international level… with that kind of man-power and cooperation, not to mention the resources readily available - money, weaponry, transportation, technology, connections - the chances of him getting out of this incident alive were shrinking at an alarming rate.
Because no matter what the mafia did, there was no way the United Nations could bow to their commands. It would completely undermine what the entire organization stood for, which would result in losing all respect from the governments around the world. And the U.N. was a political power built on respect alone, and it depended on that recognition when it made demands.
And they would never stop a bill that could hurt a crime ring as big as the mafia just to save him, the mafia was smart enough to realize that. He was missing something, some important piece of the puzzle.
"By the way, I was curious, you wouldn't happen to have noticed anything missing lately, would you?" The man at the mike laughed, the noise coming out in a fair imitation of a pig being gutted. "Perhaps we should get down to business."
The man's tone lost the superior edge, coming out hard and ruthless. "You're smart men, but I feel the need to make the situation perfectly clear. We are currently holding thirteen children, ages eight to fourteen, the oldest being the boy in front of you now. As you've noticed, all are the children of either national political leaders or influential men in the police force. The countries we took them from include the U.S., England, Russia, China, France, Japan, etc."
Thirteen children? All of them with parents in such positions of power?
Raito had made a grave miscalculation. It was no wonder the man sounded so cocky. He literally had the most powerful men in the world by the balls.
"Don't get the wrong idea, we aren't negotiating for the children's lives at the moment. We're only informing you of the situation, and proving that it is as we say." The man let out a gruff chuckle. "Though, gotta say, Japan should be proud. This kid's done his old man proud, bitchy little ice princess."
Raito felt his lips curl up into a sneer he couldn't control as he glared at the man behind the camera. He knew his face was visible to literally the entire world, but he couldn't hold back the expression. The man was a crude pig, and he knew the sentiment was showing on his face.
When the man spoke again, he didn't sound quite as amused. "We'll give you a week to discuss what you've heard here, and then open communications. And don't worry boys, you'll see your kids soon enough. What condition you see them in is up to you."
An abrupt hand motion, and the camera and feed were instantly cut.
Raito smoothed out his expression as the man walked to the chair, realizing in hindsight, he may have just done a very stupid thing. This was confirmed when the man's fist came crashing down into his cheek, snapping his head to the side and no doubt leaving a mother of a bruise.
"The one expression you choose to make in two weeks… you really are a little bitch, aren't you? Well, don't worry. I'm sure you're already regretting it. And by next week, I'll make sure the only thing you can think about is how much you hurt."
Yes, a very stupid thing, Raito concluded, as another blow landed on his other cheek. Then on his temple. Then on his jaw. And again. And again. And again.
Finally he was thrown back into his room, his body sore, face bloodied and bruised, though thankfully not swelling. The edges of his vision were dark, slowly swallowing up his vision. His only conscious thought was that at least the blood rushing in his ears blocked out the stifling silence.
Terminated - August 24, 2000, 1 : 18 P.M.
End Of Log Series One - Miscalculations
A/N: Okay, first chapter of this fic is out! I'm just kinda depressed they didn't let me post it in my kick-ass font. Made it look a lot more official, that font did. Ah, well. I'm not gonna get my panties in a twist over it.
Okay, first thing I'm gonna do is warn people - the M rating is DEFINITELY on this fic for a reason. There is going to be seriously creepy psychological and physical torture going down, so just be prepared. The first part will be full of this, poor Raito, I am sorry to say, and if you don't like that, don't read any more. The second and third parts are much less graphic, and I'll try and make it worth the angst, alright?
THANK YOU SO MUCH TO MY AMAZING AND OVERWORKED BETA NILAHXAPIEL FOR ALWAYS BETA-ING MY STUFF SO FAST! YOU'RE MY HERO!! X3
And, as alway REVIEWS ARE WHAT I LIVE AND BREATHE AND DRINK - but I do not demand the joy they bring. If you don't want to review it, well, I haven't made it good enough.
And I've had some new stories bubbling up in my head, they're on hold for a while cause I'm doing so many, but check out my profile if your interested in the future. And I should have my one-shot, which I have decided to title Define "Compatible" out soon. So yeah, that's about it.
'Til Next We Meet!