| Tokyo, Japan | November 3rd, 2022 |
Everyone here knew he was guilty.
The officer who’d been tasked with trying to get information out of him gave up after only half an hour alone in a room with him, walking out to tell everyone that would listen that he must've been the devil. That there was not a shadow of a doubt that he'd done what he'd been accused of, because all he did was sit there in complete silence with a twisted smile on his face.
Clearly, the officer had completely forgotten that the interrogation room wasn’t soundproof. He could hear everything outside of the door. Shouts of protest. Insults. And, when someone was brave enough, the occasional kind word that actually dared to go into his defense.
But Rue knew it was far too late for him.
The memory of being dragged away in handcuffs went through his head like a silent black and white film. The soundless shouting of protests from his family, beseeching the authorities to listen to claims of his innocence. No - the baby of the family couldn't have possibly done it. How absurd, to think that a mere fifteen-year-old was capable of such a thing. Mikato Rue was too weak. He was too intelligent. He'd never dare to get his hands dirty, anyway, because he was the very picture of angelic sophistication. Obviously, they had the wrong guy in custody for such a heinous, inhumane crime that shook the very grounds of Japan.
Yet, here he was; cuffed to a cold metal table while waiting for the inevitable: life in prison. No chance for parole. And perhaps, in an extreme case, the death penalty that the heartbroken family of the victim was so adamant on.
Briefly, Rue imagined himself being led to the Tokyo Detention House. On the inside, past the facade, he felt an intense wave of anxiety that caused him to scratch at the chain of his cuffs. He wouldn't be left alone to imagine his death any longer.
Rue, instead, strained his ears to listen when he heard crying near the door and a familiar voice trying to soothe the distressed.
For a few seconds, someone fiddled with the door handle. Just as Rue began to guess that it was another officer sent to pester him, his father came hobbling into the room with his uncle, who was decked out in his police uniform, holding him up as if the man's legs would give out at any moment.
Rue's smile faltered and he fought the urge to vomit.
"Pull yourself. . ." His uncle Tanaka's whisper was louder than it should've been. He had to force himself to finish his sentence. "Pull yourself together, James, please." As Uncle Tanaka helped James into the chair across from him, Rue began to stare at the wall behind him, unable to conjure the nerve to look the two men in the eyes.
The heavy silence that followed bowed his shoulders.
He could feel the gazes of the other two, burning a hole in his face as if willing him to be the first to speak.
The shame kept him silent. So silent for so long that, finally, his father cracked under the pressure.
Rue refused to give an answer.
He continued to keep his mouth shut, even when his father's breathing began to grow more ragged and heavy as the seconds ticked by, seemingly endless. Rue imagined staying here, chained to this metal table, forever if he had to. The thought oddly amused him as he debated whether or not that was preferable over anything else that could be done to him.
His uncle, who took the chair beside his best-friend, folded his hands on the table. "Rue, we can't help if you aren't willing to cooperate." He tried to reason, his voice sounding surprisingly more grounded and stern than Rue would've assumed it would be. But, he supposed his uncle had seen this more times than Rue cared to calculate in his head at the moment. “All we want is a confession.”
Rue did not speak at first.
Instead, he lifted his gaze from the handcuffs to his uncle.
“I want to speak with my father. . . alone,” he offered his uncle a charming smile. “Would that be possible, Darling?”
Ishi Tanaka looked reluctant. He looked to the side at James, who, quietly, nodded his head after several seconds. Uncle Tanaka stood up, gave Rue a look, and leaned down to whisper something into James’ ear before taking off.
Leaving him alone with his father’s crushing disappointment.
James could hardly even look at him. Rue didn’t blame him. All he wished was that his father not find out like this. But, as he came to discover, he couldn’t get whatever he wanted.
“Did you do it?” his father repeated. This time, he managed to look Rue in the eyes. “Did you. . . kill that poor girl?”
Rue tried to ignore the stabbing guilt he felt in his chest.
However, Sina Bami was not a ‘poor girl’.
“I admit that it was a rather off day for me,” Rue replied jokingly.
Rue’s smile finally dropped. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Yes, I did it. I killed that spoiled brat and it was easy, too. Is that what you want to hear?”
This time, James said nothing.
Rue continued. “What, do you miss her, Dear?” he asked. “The random girl that had Delilah walking home with a black eye?”
“She didn’t deserve to have her throat cut open for it, Rue!” His father slammed his fist onto the table, and for the first time in a long time, Rue was moved by the sight of someone else crying out for mercy. Asking the Lord in Heaven to take away the pain and make this all some sort of nightmare he could eventually escape from.
Slowly, James put his head on the table, covering his hair on his hands as sobs left him. Rue wanted to reach out. He wanted to pull his father into a hug and tell him that everything would be okay.
His father lifted his head, his red rimmed and raw eyes looking at him in a whole new way than a father would his own son.
“They’re talking about the death penalty, Rue,’ he whispered, his voice cracking as he strained. “The . . . the death penalty for my child, I -”
Rue felt his insides turn to stone. He sucked in a breath and looked out of the window, at the world that he was beginning to see differently. Would this truly be it for him?
There was so much that he hadn’t done.
For a moment, an image came into his head. A boy, wearing his typical leather jacket and black nail polish. The boy that’d seen it all.
Never will he see him again. . .
Would he dare to move on after he was gone? Rue could only hope that he waited until his body was cold in the ground.
He turned back to his father, who seemed too inconsolable for Rue to speak. So, he waited. Waited for the man to gather himself enough for Rue to ask him in complete caution: “I need to tell you. . .” Rue trailed off slowly, swallowing anxiously. “Everything.”
James lifted his head. “I’ve already heard enough, Rue,” he said. “You killed her, under orders from the Yakuza, am I right?” the man shifted in his chair and wiped his eyes. “It’s how you paid for Aya’s tuition - and Kaido’s medical bill - and. . . and. . .”
It was a tad bit more complicated than that. Or, maybe it wasn’t. Rue was quite unsure himself of how and why he’d snapped that day.
But he could try to explain.
He may as well go out with a bang.
