Chapter Five Part Two
Gaara slammed his fist into the wall again; it had bloodied his knuckles but he didn’t feel the pain. He let out a single, long scream of rage; it echoed and died away as it bounced off the walls. He stood there for a long moment, breathing harshly, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort; his eyes glared out into nothing as he furiously thought of what he was going to do. They took his Naruto away; Naruto was gone. He had to get Naruto back. He was going to kill whoever did this to him. A low, animalistic growl emanated from his slightly parted lips drawn back into a silent snarl; and then he was running, his feet making no sound on the pavement as he moved in the shadows.
He couldn’t go back home. They would undoubtedly be there, searching for him, searching for the evidence of the killer. He remembered the ripped shirt, the bloody rags and clothes he’d been wearing when he was shot by the woman detective; when they searched the apartment they would find evidence beyond a doubt that the killer had lived there. They would find the evidence, but they wouldn’t find him. So they would blame it on Naruto, his Naruto, his sweet little brother who didn’t deserve to die the death of a killer. He continued to run, cloaked in shadows as he made his way through Tokyo; before he really knew it he was standing before a large, inconspicuous building that was labeled ‘5th Precinct E. Tokyo’. His gaze traveled around the building, searching for flaws. As he did he heard a commotion to his side; glancing around, he saw a drunken-looking young man, stumbling with effort, begging for money of a policeman off his shift. The policeman said something sarcastic and cruel to the homeless man and pushed him aside, bent only on going home for a good night’s sleep. It was obvious this way only one of Tokyo’s large population of intravenous drug users; the scars riddled along his bare arms were apparent, even in the dim glow of the streetlight. The young man continued to totter along, toward Gaara’s direction; he grinned suddenly, bloodthirstily, as the junkie spotted him and made his way over, slowly. When he was close enough to see his eyes, the druggie asked, his voice cracked and high-pitched, “Hey, mister, you got any money? I need some money, real bad...” Alcohol diffused from his mouth, wafting up to Gaara’s nose, and he wrinkled it in disgust. He could see a syringe in the kid’s pocket. It was a good thing the darkness hid his face, because if the kid could see it, he would be running as fast as his unsteady legs would take him. Which wouldn’t be far.
“Yes,” Gaara said, checking his surroundings; the policeman was gone. His voice sounded coaxing, full of honey. “I do.” Eagerly the kid stepped forward, expecting a reward, a remuneration for all his hard work, asking countless people with no sympathy for only a little change. Gaara pounced and the kid got what he definitely didn’t expect. Maybe, had he been sober and undrugged, he might’ve put up a much better fight than what he did; as it was Gaara was grateful. The man’s reflexes were dramatically reduced, and he hadn’t even managed to turn around as Gaara’s hands went around his neck and deftly twisted his head with a sharp, pronounced crack. The kid crumpled and Gaara chuckled, a low, throaty laugh that held no humor. Malice dominated his face as he bent to review his handiwork. A noise from the precinct caused him to look up sharply; more policemen, off their shifts, were coming out, talking. Growling, he grabbed the body by the arms and dragged it further into the darkness, behind the building, and stored it beside a large green dumpster most likely belonging to the precinct, grinning at the irony. He positioned himself where he could see the door without him being seen. Soon his efforts were rewarded; the one he wanted walked out of the door and toward the direction of the parking garage. Carefully Gaara trailed the detective who had been with his brother; Sasuke, blissfully unaware of Gaara, got into his car. Gaara studied it as he drove away; a small black car. The license plate would be easy to remember. He watched as the detective drove away, then went in search of a phone booth.
He found one a few blocks away; the phonebook was in surprisingly good condition, thankfully. He flipped to the U’s and found the entry halfway down the page in small black writing: Uchiha Sasuke, Juu Go Koniriwa Av. East Tokyo. He stared at the letters until they burned into the back of his mind, and then he was off, into the shadows as though he’d never been there.
Sasuke came to the precinct every day, whether he was working or not; since he was the leading detective in the homicide case he could speak to Naruto anytime he wished. Slowly Naruto told him more, more of his life and of his brother; but the more Naruto spoke of him, the more Sasuke thought that the evil being Naruto was describing couldn’t be real. A few days after Naruto’s arrest he searched the apartment again; this time he had a warrant. He produced the shirt and numerous other evidence that wasn’t there when he first searched it; another shirt, ripped at the shoulder, soaked in a considerable amount of blood that washing hadn’t been able to get out. Also several rags and the bathroom sink and drain bore evidence of blood, also. But the one single thing that stood out most in Sasuke’s mind as he searched the dark little apartment with its heavy curtains thrust aside to let the natural light flow through, was that there was not a single clue as to another person living here. No pictures. No extra clothes, or shoes, or anything. It was as though - as he had suspected, deep somewhere in his mind that he refused to acknowlegde - this ‘Gaara’ of Naruto’s had never existed.
So, Sasuke thought as he stood alone in the living room, surrounded by yellow police tape and commotions outside, does that mean Naruto made up everything? Made up Gaara, made up his life, made up Gaara molesting him...? His story had been so thorough, so flawless, that Sasuke had a hard time believing that there had never been any Gaara, at any point in time, that it was simply a tale Naruto made up. He scowled thoughtfully as his gaze made another sweep around the room; it was a typical bachelor’s apartment, perhaps with the exception that it was neat and tidy. Sasuke’s own apartment looked as though a hurricane had hit it. He saw no pictures of Naruto or any of his family; but again he was struck at how strangely the room was decorated. Cute little knicknacks battled for dominance next to dark, bloody suggestions; he saw a drawing of a wolf, hackles risen, feeding on a dead dear, its jaws dark with blood, next to a prancing unicorn.
Maybe, he thought, maybe that was it. Maybe that was the proof that someone else was here. But even as he thought it he knew it wasn’t true; even if he believed it, no one else would. If anything.... if anything, it pointed merely to something that had occured to Sasuke before: though it was rare, almost unheard of in Tokyo, or in Japan for all it was worth, perhaps Naruto had schizophrenia. Maybe Naruto had a split personality, and Gaara was his other self, his suppressed self that came out because the timid little teacher couldn’t assert himself in any other way. His fists clenched as his mind ran free. This is what happens, he told himself angrily. This is what happens when you become emotionally involved with a murder suspect. He had a job to do; he had a duty to Sakura he had to fulfill, and he was going to let nothing - not even his feelings for Naruto - get in his way. Briefly, a vision flashed through his mind: Naruto, his blue eyes wide, strapped to an electric chair, the primitive metal helmet placed over his head.... Sasuke slammed his fist onto a coffee table and an officer working nearby dusting for fingerprints glanced at him, his gaze full of indignation and curiosity. Sasuke ignored him and instead tried to control his breathing, to calm himself. He’d been in trouble before, but never like this. And before, Sakura had always been there.
Fighting away sudden tears and a lump in his throat, he left the crime scene - Naruto’s home - and headed home.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed... (Do I say that at every chapter? Hm... oh well, I like my stories being enjoyed, so I will continue to say it at every chapter.)
Enjoy and review, SBP!
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Chapter notes: Enjoy!!!!!! Please review, I love reviews. I feed on reviews. I need them!!! (Obsessive much?) Anyway, I would love reviews. Especially constructive criticism - what am I doing wrong or that you think I can improve on? Thank you and enjoy, SPB