Sweating and panting heavily, he gazed at the far end of the room where his coat was situated, which was also the location of his cell phone. He kept his feverish gaze on it, as he started to crawl with only his left arm and leg.
The cop's dead body lay in his way like an obstacle that seemed impossible to overcome, but Izaya had no time, he was losing blood and was in enough pain to pass out any minute.
Clumsily, with two of his limbs not functioning, he tried to make his way around the body, but ended up climbing over long legs.
He stopped briefly when his hand and knee touched something luke warm and firm, yet soft, and he had to turn his head to the side, everything spinning, his heart beating rapidly, as he noticed that he had touched the dead man's ankle unintenionally.
The rest of his trip through the room felt like a week long trip to a world filled with nothing but the crushing fear of not being able to make it. It seemed like ages had passed until he finally grabbed hold of the comfortingly familiar, soft texture of his jacket, shaking hands searching the pockets for his cellphone.
Laughing shakily in relief, feeling increasingly numb from shock and slow loss of consciousness, he pressed the device to his heart with a blood stained hand, like a dear friend he hadn't seen in years.
His fingers were slightly slippery with blood and perspiration, and he failed three times at deactivating the keylock, before the device flashed to life. The relief he felt made him tremble even more, as he navigated through the cell phone's phone book, until he realized something and abruptly stopped.
There was absolutely no reception down here.
His face scrunched up in utter sadness and desperation. Bitter tears filled his eyes upon realizing that he now had to choose between trying to climb a flight of stairs, or giving up and either dying or being found by someone and undoubtedly accused of murder. Technically speaking, he had killed someone, hadn't he? He had killed - shock kept him from completing that train of thought.
Later, he would have all the time in the world to feel guilty, when he could be sure that he wasn't going to die, or spend the rest of his life in prison.
He would have certainly been able to recognize and, in a grim way, appreciate the irony of this situation, but right now, his mind was focused on nothing but survival.
Clenching his teeth, his vision hazy from pain, he decided to move, the door seeming endlessly far away, even though he would probably have to crawl only about 3 to 4 meters.
Fear gave him strength he didn't know he had and this time he crossed the room differently, crawling past the corpse's head, and trying his best to block out the sight of blood, and the gaping hole in the man's head, something white peeking out from between the bloody flesh.
In his head, he only begged and begged to be able to make it, to call someone to get him out of here, no longer even caring that someone he knew was going to see him in this condition.
Sure, he could have called a normal ambulance, but that would have meant being found close to a dead body by people who would undoubtedly contact the police.
And even if he told them the humiliating truth, Shiki and his subordinates were the only witnesses, and even if they hadn't been as loyal to their boss as they were, two of Shiki's subordinates would have had to admit to comitting rape if they told the truth, so it was obvious they would testify to their boss' and their own advantage.
When he had made it halfway through the room, he started to feel incredibly dizzy and he could barely keep his head up. He looked back from where he had come from and noticed the large trail of blood he was leaving.
Fuck, if the police were to investigate here, he was screwed anyway with all the evidence he was leaving, meaning that he wouldn't only have to hide from Shiki, but from the cops as well.
But for now, all these things didn't occur to him. He just wanted to live, just wanted to get the hell out of here and forget. Deep down he knew that it was impossible to erase what had happened.
He managed to move another ten centimeters. Then the pain just became too much for him to take, forcing him to take a break, barely keeping himself up on his left arm and knee and balancing his weight so that he wouldn't have to move either his broken arm, or his right leg.
And then, the neon light bulb above his head flickered and died with a crunching sound, leaving him completely submerged in darkness.