Chapter Text
“...Mama? Can we go to the park?”
“Have you finished your homework already?”
“Mmhm. It was easy.”
She had ruffled his hair, causing him to let out a bright laugh.
“You’re such a smart kid,” she praised him. “You get that from me.”
“So we can go?”
“Yes, we can. Grab your coat. Do you need help with your shoelaces?”
“Yes…thank you, Mama.”
The sun had been beautiful that day as they walked, his tiny hand held safely in her own. It was a brisk autumn day, one of the last before a cold dark winter. But her child, undeterred by the cold in his worn down, too-small coat, always wore a smile that could outshine the sun above him. And just as the earth never ceased its rotation around the star, she knew that she would love him forever.
There was only sunrise, day, sunset, and night in their prison, without any clocks on the walls or calendar in the kitchen or other such tools for keeping time. A subtle, but no less effective form of their torture. After all, when you were Shido’s captive, there were only two separate times he wanted to be noted –– when he wasn’t there, and when he was.
When he wasn’t there, Misato Akechi and the other two women she lived with would be free to roam the halls of the small house with boarded up windows under the careful watch of security cameras in every nook and cranny. Even in the bathrooms, because Shido was that sort of freak, she supposed. She was long since desensitized to prying eyes and wandering hands, so it made little difference, in the end.
It was more a prison than anything else. They were provided food every so often (non-perishables and military grade rations) as well as a fair amount of accommodations. A treadmill to stay skinny for that man. Perfumes and breath mints, for that man. Makeup and costumes and lingerie, all for that man. It had been so long since Misato was provided with anything resembling comfort that sometimes she’d lock herself in a room and wear nothing at all just for the relief of it, even if she knew that some despicable, faceless man was watching her and likely being paid pretty money to do it.
Sometimes other men besides Shido came. Sometimes they were kinder, sometimes not. It didn’t matter. It all blurred together eventually, just as the days, months, and years had. Every passing moment, that she couldn’t even assign a proper length of time to anymore, she grew more and more certain that her life would remain the way it was until she died.
It had been a while since that man had shown up to call on any of them, but that was nothing unusual. Misato was sure the bastard had plenty to do on a day-to-day basis –– people to extort, money to make, a country to ruin in any way he could. She and the other women existed as nothing but his favorite toys. Over the years, left alone with her thoughts, she’d often scoffed at the idea. Wouldn’t Shido prefer to ruin the life of a new vulnerable young girl every day of the week? Get off of faces that were easier to forget?
Or perhaps keeping them all locked up like cattle for years upon years was just part of the appeal for him. He must have loved the idea of having total control of his “favorites”, relishing coming back again and again, seeing how a single month could break their spirits just a little bit more. It was a terrifying balancing act, to resist the deadly despair her situation bred, while also allowing herself to break just enough that she would not become boring to him.
If she resisted him too much…if she caused trouble…she was sure he’d have her killed. He definitely had the means and made sure they all knew it.
There were once four women who lived in the house that was their prison, though living couldn’t quite be classified as the proper word for their state of being. After all, they were in their own special hell, run by the devil who had ruined all of them once and came back with his silver plate for more and more seconds.
There was Chiwa, a short and lithe woman with a limp, who had been a waitress, but had wanted to be a dancer. After seeing each other for a while, that man had gotten violent with her and broken her leg. The poor young fool made the mistake of trying to sue him, believing in the power of truth, in the power of justice.
Then there was Aya with the long, beautiful hair, who had carried the man’s children on two separate occasions but delivered neither of them, according to his wishes. She was a romantic at heart, and she’d been with him the longest of all of them, always forgiving, always waiting for the right moment. In the first few weeks, she’d done everything she could to try to win his love, even as his captive. Aya didn’t say much of anything anymore.
And lastly, there was Emiko, who’d had a fiery, unbreakable spirit. She’d never shared her backstory, and never had been interested in theirs. Though despite that, she’d always been kind to them, in her own way. Misato remembered her first year locked up, holding Emiko as she shook and cried as she suffered from nicotine withdrawal. She’d wanted to get out more than anything in the world, and in the end, she had.
Without telling any of them of her plan, she’d waited until food was brought for them, then knocked out the man bringing it, slipping past him through the open door, taking his wallet with her. Misato had been in the kitchen at the time, feet away, and was about to follow behind before being held back by Chiwa, whose grip was strong despite her trembling.
“She’s a fool,” Chiwa had said. “Don’t you go and follow her and get yourself killed for nothing. Unlike the rest of us, you’ve got something to live for.”
Like she had predicted, a week later, a newspaper had appeared on the kitchen counter, which in itself was a horrific sight. Shido made sure they were kept isolated from the outside world, not even allowed the luxury of the month or year if he could help it. Misato remembered reading that first of all.
June 2008, she remembered. June 2008. June 2008. It’s June 2008. I’ve been locked up in here for three years.
It had taken her several seconds to even notice the headline written in big, black letters.
“Woman Missing for Three Years Found Dead in River”. Underneath was a picture of Emiko, her body riddled with bullet holes, her skin a sickening bluish color. Shido didn’t have to say a word about it, because he knew that leaving them guessing would be the far crueler thing to do.
Despite everything, Misato had never given up hope of escaping one day, even if she knew it would likely never happen. For those first couple years, she’d simply planned to outlive the man, but as she aged, she knew that path wouldn’t be open forever. Because, of course, they were only kept around because Shido wanted them around. If Misato began to look too unappealing, too used, too…old…who was to say she wouldn’t be taken out back and killed quickly like a chicken who had ceased to lay eggs?
She had been lucky enough to catch the date on Shido’s phone the last time he’d called on her, and that was about a month ago, according to her log of sunrises and sunsets she could see through the small space between the window in her bedroom and the metal plate that covered it. It was late December, nearly 2017. She’d missed Christmas, she figured. And the election. That damn election that Shido just couldn’t stop bragging about even as he struggled to get it up with her. He’d probably won it just like he said he would. That man always got what he wanted, after all.
She wanted to strangle him, make him truly suffer for once in his damned life. And she would throw away everything to hurt him, if she didn’t have something to live for. But…she did have someone to live for, someone on the outside.
Her little boy was eighteen now, she realized. It had been eleven years since she’d seen him last. She was only able to truly picture him as a bright-eyed seven year old, beaming up at her, hugging her legs, or kicking his feet with excitement as they watched his favorite shows together. But he was nearly an adult. He’d lived longer without her than he had with her. She wondered sometimes if he ever thought of her, or if he’d found a better mother to adopt him, one who could buy him all the toys he wanted, who would never drink until collapsing on bad nights or send him away to please clients.
She’d been about his age when she’d given birth to him, all alone in that dingy hospital. She didn’t want him, had never asked for him. She had just wanted…that man…at the time. And if he didn’t want the baby, then neither did she. Even as she cried through her contractions, she was thinking of ridding herself of it. Then, before she knew it, a nurse was passing her a crying bundle of blankets.
“Here he is,” they said. “A very healthy little boy.”
A boy, her heart repeated, filled with a strange warmth. It’s…a little boy. My son.
He cried for her, even as she brought him closer to her chest, as if shielding him as best she could from the cruel world he’d just entered.
“It’s okay…” she’d whispered to him. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”
His eyes opened ever so slightly, revealing deep red-irises –– just like her own. And in that moment, Misato threw away any thought about giving him up for adoption. He was counting on her to protect him, to love him, and she wasn’t going to let him down like she let down everyone else.
No… she remembered thinking. Like they let me down.
To hell with her parents, her former friends, and Shido. She could do it on her own. Somehow…she’d do it.
She didn’t mean to leave him. It wasn’t up to her. She’d been a fool to confront Shido, to hound him to pay child support when she and her child were nearly starving to death as he looked down at the masses with amusement from his throne. For her trouble, she’d been taken and brought to the house to be the only thing Shido ever saw her as. Not a woman, not a mother, not a human being. A plaything.
But she was still alive, because she knew she had to get back to him. Goro…her sweet, smiling child, remained the light she held close to her heart throughout everything. Like sunlight through the crack between the metal and the window, her memories of him gave her hope that she might see him again, one day.
With so few peepholes into the outside world, Misato didn’t even notice flashing lights before there was rough banging on the door.
“Police!” a muffled voice called. “Is anyone inside?”
Chiwa, who had been in the middle of transferring rice from a cooker to a plate, promptly let everything in her hands drop, not even flinching as the plate shattered on top of her foot. Misato looked up, her lips struggling to form words.
A dream, her mind offered her. A trick, it insisted next. But in another second, the large, reinforced door to the house came crashing down, and a man in uniform stepped into the building, his weapon at the ready. Instinctively, Mistao shot her hands in the air, trying to will herself to stop trembling.
“They’re in here,” the policeman said into a radio on his shoulder. “Two of them.”
“Three…” Misato forced out. “There’s three of us.”
The policeman pushed his way in, gun still drawn as he made his way to the back rooms, while Misato stared at the open door and the dark sky behind it. Her freedom was right in front of her, her future within her grasp. Yet she was chained to the kitchen chair, staring ahead and blinking every so often, wondering in the back of her head if that door would shut in the fraction of a second that her eyes were closed.
“They might be his men,” Chiwa whispered. “We can’t leave with them.”
After a moment, Aya entered the kitchen, her face sickly pale. A few more officers came in through the front, some of them going right for the cameras in the corners of the rooms and looking them over, scribbling down notes.
“Alright, ladies,” the first cop to walk in said. “We’re getting you all out of here.”
Chiwa was shaking her head, trembling where she stood. Aya was completely silent. Misato was almost sure she could make out Emiko’s ghost, dancing in the dark behind the red and blue lights.
“Hey, let’s get a move on!” another cop snapped at them. Misato frowned, feeling the cop’s eyes on her body, wrapped up in a tight black dress. It was a familiar feeling, one she hardly even registered, but she crossed her arms over her chest regardless, holding her head high. She wasn’t cattle, or a toy, or a victim. She was Misato Akechi, and it was up to her to be brave for all of them, as Emiko once was.
Taking a shaky step forward, she drew a little closer to the door. Then, she picked up her other foot and inched closer, banishing her fear to the best of her ability. Before long, she was in the doorframe, ready to cross over into her own life once again. She took a deep breath, and stepped onto the dirt in front of her with her slippers, not giving a damn if they got muddy. They weren’t hers, after all. They were Shido’s. It was a delightful thought, to get them dirty.
Misato spun around slowly, looking at the outside world that had been hidden away from her for so long. A full moon was hanging overhead, its silver light illuminating the surrounding foliage and chirping bugs hopping about and lazily swarming. The house they’d been in was in the middle of nowhere, though a well-mained driveway to the side was evidence of the many comings and goings of Shido and any friend or business partner he deemed worthy enough to enjoy private pleasures from his prim prisoners.
As dizzying as all the nature was, her gawking was disrupted by the policeman outside ushering her out of the way, one particularly rude one practically shoving her over toward the open back of a van.
Even as they sat her down and covered her with a blanket, giving her a manufactured space to recover from her shock in the midst of the chaos and flashing lights, she heard them chatter about how brave they all were being. How lucky they were to be found. How astonishing it was that they’d survived for so long. But Misato didn’t feel like she’d truly made it out still intact. Somewhere, along the way, she had lost herself.
Getting out was always a loose dream, the sort of vague motivator that could be her comfort during long nights, but it was never an actual possibility she’d considered. Not for many years, anyway. But now that she was out, she had to make a plan. What would she do with her newfound freedom? How would she live?
Misato found that she wanted to give her mother a hug more than almost anything in the world. She began to weep over her own realization that she craved that so badly when she knew it wasn’t something she could have. Her mother and father had cut her out of their lives as soon as she’d fallen pregnant. She wouldn’t even know how to contact them anymore, nor did the logical part of her brain want to.
So then she’d just…find Goro. Wherever he was, whatever he’d become in her absence. She would find him and hold him again. Even if he’d moved past her, even if he had his own new parents, his own life…they would still be a family, wouldn’t they?
She shivered as the wind picked up, her loose hair waving with it. As she brushed the strands out of her eyes, she saw a serious-looking woman approaching her. She was wearing a dark, well-fitted pantsuit and a stern, but not unkind expression. With a blanket wrapped around her, hair a mess and shoes caked in mud, Misato was sure she was a sorry sight, yet the woman didn’t gawk at her appearance. On the contrary, she regarded Misato with a small smile.
“Mind if I sit?” she asked.
Misato didn’t respond, but scooted a little to the side, making room for the woman to hoist herself up into the back of the open van. She took out a notepad, her eyes sharp. So, she was a part of the force, probably intent on getting answers out of her. Misato was willing to give some, provided she was given some in return.
“Wh-why are you all here?” Misato asked first.
“We wanted to confirm some testimony,” the woman said. “And now, we’re going to get you all out of here.”
“So you’re with this…rescue team?”
“I’m not police,” the woman said, her tone indicating it was something she said with a bit of pride. “I’m a prosecutor, but it won’t be long before I quit and do something more fulfilling. But…I have a special interest in this case. I’ll be seeing it through for as long as I can.”
A prosecutor who had come along on a rescue mission was peculiar, but Misato found that she trusted the woman in front of her in a way she didn’t think she was capable of anymore.
“Shido did this to all of you, right?” the woman said. “Masayoshi Shido?”
Misato grimaced and resisted the urge to spit on the ground.
“That’s right,” she said. “The damn bastard.”
“Ah, where are my manners?” the woman said. “I’m Sae Niijima. I’m here to get you the help you need, and, if I can manage it, get testimony that will implicate many of Shido’s associates in several crimes.”
Only his associates? Misato wondered. Is Shido that untouchable? Or…are all these policemen working on his orders? Will we be killed if we speak up? Have I already signed my own death warrant, just by leaving the house?
“Hey, are you with me?” Niijima said, reaching out a careful hand to steady her. “You’re safe now. Shido can’t hurt you anymore.”
“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Misato whispered. “That…that devil. He has eyes everywhere.”
“Masayoshi Shido is in custody,” Niijima said calmly. “He confessed to an array of crimes, including multiple counts of murder. He won’t be a free man until his ashes are sent into the wind. I’m certain of that.”
Misato swallowed, trying to process Niijima’s words. Shido being locked away was too good to be true. It was just unthinkable, and yet…
“He’s really locked up?” Misato asked.
“That’s right,” Niijima said. “I understand if you aren’t in the right state of mind to talk at this very moment, but anything you can tell me might help me ensure the same fate for his associates.”
Misato steadied herself. Perhaps this was what she had really wanted. A chance to rip all the people who had ever hurt her apart. A chance for justice. She hated Shido with every ounce of her being, as well as every other man who had laid their hands on her. Justice…true justice that she was able to guide with her own hand…wouldn’t that taste so sweet?
She sighed a little as the thoughts faded from the front of her mind. She wanted justice served, but she wanted to live as well. She wanted to hear her own laugh again. She wanted to see the ocean. They could all go to hell, she would rest better knowing that, but no matter what happened to them, her pain wouldn’t fade. It couldn’t give her a decade of her life back or fix her small family that had been ripped apart. But, Sae Niijima seemed like a fiery, determined young woman, much like she herself had been before being taken. Maybe, just maybe, she could help Misato put herself back together. She worked closely enough with investigators to help Misato find what she needed.
“No…” Misato said. “I…I can talk.”
“Could you tell me your name?” Niijima asked.
“Misato Akechi,” she said.
“Akechi…” Niijima repeated. The pen in her hand faltered a little, but with a small shake of her head, she found her composure once more.
“Do you remember when you first came here…A-Akechi-san?”
It was bound to be the first of many, many questions, and for as much as she believed Niijima could help her, there were things far more important than her own well-being.
“Please…” Misato said. “I need to find my son. I…I don’t know…it’s been so long, I don’t know where he’d be…”
“I’ll make sure you get the help you need to reach out to your loved ones,” Niijima said patiently. Misato felt her eyebrows pinch together, an old storm once again rising up inside her chest. Her loved ones…what a joke. He was all she had, and…
She hadn’t been there to protect him from the world like she’d vowed to.
“I need to find him,” Misato repeated, choking down rising tears. “There’s no point in me being rescued if I can’t––”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the woman said, her tone less rehearsed as it had been before and more genuinely compassionate. “Tell me your son’s name and I’ll make sure all the best people look into the matter for you.”
“G-Goro,” Misato said, saying the name out loud for the first time in years. “Goro Akechi.”
Niijama’s pencil halted, her eyes growing wide. Misato startled a little in turn. Was that possibly…recognition?
Just your imagination. You’ve been cooped up too long, Misato. You’re nearly forty now.
Did she know Goro? Somehow? Had he…been in the news?
In a police report?
Could Shido have…
No. Don’t think about that.
“Goro…Akechi…” Niijima repeated, her shock even more apparent. “Your son is Goro Akechi?” Niijima’s eyes were on her, searching her features. “That’s…oh god…”
“He’s…eighteen now,” Misato said, voice shaking once again. “I…don’t know what he looks like. The last time I saw him, he was a little boy. B-But, I––”
“...I know him,” Niijima said, her voice soft, but no less intense. “He’s…”
Niijima swallowed, looking a little ill.
“Please…” Misato said, losing all sense of dignity and reaching out for Niijima’s hands, clutching them tightly as desperate tears ran freely down her cheeks. “You know him? Then…You have to tell me where he is! I’m begging you, Niijima-san!”
“I…Akechi-san…maybe we should talk about this another time––”
“No,” Misato snapped. “We’re talking about this now! Please, just tell me where my son is!”
Niijima’s shoulders collapsed as she reclaimed her hands from Misato, bringing one up to banish away one not-quite-yet-formed tear. Then, she looked right at Misato, meeting her eyes with an intensity fit for the grim reaper.
“I’m so sorry…” she said. “But Goro Akechi…has been missing since the first week of December. He’s…assumed dead. I…I’m so sorry…”
Misato couldn’t hear much of anything after that. But from the way her throat ached hours later at the station, she must have been screaming for hours.