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Last word	By : Clarounette Category: +S to Z > Viewfinder Views: 1604 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Viewfinder, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Night had come over Tokyo's restless streets. Idle students going to karaokes and cinemas, employees finishing their tiresome working day with colleagues in bars, nightlife's professionals, everybody was walking in streaming lines in front of the city's lit up façades.
Comfortably sitting at the back of his limo, Asami was sipping his Cognac, staring into space. His cell phone rang. He picked it up.
"Asami speaking… No… Absolutely not." He hanged up without bidding goodbye. He was used to making negociations from his car, and had gotten into the habit of saving his words. He always got straight to the point.
Kirishima glanced back at his boss through the rear-view mirror.
My hands tightening around the wheel. Traffic is terrible despite the early hour. I have to keep my head on the task at hand and don't think too much about Akihito's inert body at the back. Seek revenge, as to not cry out of frustration. I pick up the phone.
"Takaba was attacked at the docks. I'm driving him to the hospital. You're to find the son of a bitch who did this to him!"
" Sir?" Kirishima seems confused by my lack of control. Keeping my composure: fail. I hang up before I lose my credibility to my secretary. I trust him to the point of knowing that he would see through the mission I have given him. I run a stoplight. Too bad.
Buildings are passing by like blurs. I'm slaloming between the cars which are starting to crowd the streets. Hospital spotted! Don't panic. Don't panic.
The limousine stopped in front of Club Sion. Passer byes were looking at the luxurious car with tinted windows for a minute, before they were on their way.
Kirishima went off the car and opened the door for Asami. The businessman left the car and walked to his club's font door. The impressive stone façade contrasted with the glass-and-steel towers which were standing on each side of the street. The first floor was completely occupied for club purposes while the second floor offered private rooms. The third and last floor was kept for his spacious office and personal accommodations. There, for instance, he had kept Akihito locked up for three days. Akihito… At this point only the club's windows were lighted. The rest of the building was shrouded in darkness.
The car door was slammed behind him. A young valet took the keys out of Kirishima's hands, and the secretary followed his boss.

Stop in a hurry when arriving in front of the emergency door. Tires are screeching on the tar. Front wheels are encroached on the sideway. I go off fast, never mind the car still running or the door open. I open the rear door and I take Akihito out. The poor boy is like a dead weight in my arms, but he's still breathing. Shallowly. Don't think about that.
"Wounded person here! Get a fucking move on!" I yell at the men in white coats. They're going out of the building rapidly as they had taken in my arrival. A stretcher. I set Akihito on it. The nurses shout orders that I don't understand. They place an oxygen mask on his face. I'm overwhelmed with questions. I follow the medics inside the hospital.
Sion's glass doors opened, and a stunning blonde came out. The two guards greeted her. She took the hem of her elegant black dress in her hand so she could step down the stairs with elegance. Each step she took would let the delicate curves of her legs be seen. At the bottom of the stairs, she looked up to Asami and smiled. She went to him, offering her hand, adorned with crimson nails.
"Asami, what a good surprise!" she said in English.
"Miss Johnson." He said, brushing her pale hand with his lips, bowing respectfully.
"Dad says hello. He enjoyed your last meeting and hopes to make a deal with you shortly."
"I'll contact him soon. Would you please excuse me…" said the man, bowing down quickly before slipping away.

A petite blonde woman comes up to me. A white coat, a badge on her chest indicating her specialization: she's a doctor. I take upon myself to not slap her when she prevents me from following the stretcher in the operating room.
"Excuse-me, I have some questions about that young man. Are you relatives?"
"No, he's…" (SAY IT!) "… a friend." (COWARD!) I answer her questions, but I don't know much. I feel useless.
Asami went through the door nonchalantly, being welcomed by his employees as he strode in. He stopped for a moment by the hostess who was in charge of reception and guiding of clients and guests, to know who was present tonight. Not noticing any remarkable name, he went on to the main room.
A jazz band that had flown in from USA, was playing a sweet and sensual piece. Wall-mounted, well-designed lamps gave off a subdued light. Conversations were coming from the central tables and from the alcoves. Waiters moved skilfully between the sofas and window boxes, leaving the clients' orders on the tables. Two huge aquariums decorated the walls in an ethereal way. Everything was quiet and elegant.
Asami nodded to some entertainment and political celebrities who were enjoying themselves in his club. There was, of course, a more discreet entrance to reach his office without being approached, but he usually walked through the main room to keep in touch with his associates-to-be or the soon-to-be victims of his plots. He went to a mahogany door on which a metallic plaque was reading "Private. Staff only". He opened it.
The doctor left several minutes ago already. I pace back and forth in the hallway. My eyes repeatedly return to the swing doors. Beyond them, Akihito, between the grips of life and death.
Families going through the corridor without a halt. A sick child who's throwing up noisily. A crying baby. Little scratches, trivial things. I would give anything to have Akihito trade places with them! I'm scared.
My cell rings. A nurse glares coldly at me, pointing at the wall. I follow her finger: a sign that forbid cell phones. I shrug. Whatever. I'm picking up.
"Sir, we've found the guys who attacked Takaba. What should we do now?" Kirishima's words are reassuring: anything to get my mind off of what's happening behind those doors.
"Did they talk?"
"Yes. It seems they acted against Takaba-san to get revenge against you."
"Kill them." I don't even hang up. I fling my cell against the wall, growling. It explodes, throwing tiny pieces everywhere. The nurse was frightened. She cried. It makes me glad. But I still feel guilty. 'I'm so sorry, Akihito'.
Even though there were only three floors, an elevator had been installed to reach the private accommodations. Asami got off and walked through the hallway to reach his office door.
Behind him, Suoh, who had followed him since his arrival, took place near the lift cage. Asami had so many enemies. He had to be protected almost at all times. Suoh was his most loyal bodyguard, and the most knowledgeable. The businessman was sure nothing could happen to him if Suoh was right beside him. A glance at his impressive musculature, at his tall frame and at his impassive-cold-face was enough to render the most aggressive of people speechless.
Asami opened the heavy door to his office and was welcomed with darkness. He walked blindly between the sparse furniture towards the window, not bothering to turn on a light. Night was his playing field and he wasn't afraid of it. But it had lost some of its power in this modern world: outside, everything was bright with light and noise, even at this late hour. Leaning on the windowsill, Asami looked down at the shops and restaurants that held multicoloured signs, at the cars' headlights which were leaving red and yellow trails while driving through the streets… And the darkness was backing down because of those bright attacks.
I've been waiting in the corridor for a little more than an hour. Kirishima arrived a few minutes ago and reassured me that I didn't have any more to fear from the lowlifes who had attacked Takaba. Sigh. He looks away.
The light above the swinging doors is turned off. I hurry to meet with the surgeon who's going out. Red. A lot of red. Even with the man's green coat, I recognize the colour. A tired look in his eyes. No, it can't be.
"Are you mister Asami?" ask the man. I nod, speechless.
"We did everything we could, but his heart couldn't hold out for any longer. He had lost too much blood. We stopped the resuscitation. I'm sorry."
I can't hear him anymore. A chair. BAM! Against the wall. I howl out of rage.
Kirishima has jumped. Our eyes meet. I don't know what he's reading in mine, but he looks distressed.
I close my eyes. Breathe in… Breathe out… I leave the hospital, Kirishima following me. My car's still here, I don't even look at it. I need to walk.
His forehead against the glass, Asami sighed, then straightened his back. He went to sit at his desk, on the comfortable black-leather armchair. He turned on a little lamp in front of him, the rest of the room still basking in the dark. He thought he saw a silhouette moving in the darkness. He knew it was just a figment of his imagination. A mere ghost. He sighed again. Fighting a losing battle, he plunged his hand into his suit's pocket and took out his pack of cigarettes. He put one between his lips and lit up the end with a golden lighter. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the taste of the tobacco filling his lungs. He closed his eyes for a second.
Silence was heavy in this room. The street's noise couldn't penetrate through the thick glass of the window. The darkness and silence surronding him gave him the distinct feeling of being trapped in a mausoleum. Ironically enough, it almost felt like the truth. He had lost so much that night…
He crushed his cigarette in an ashtray and called his secretary through the intercom on his desk.
"Kirishima, I'm waiting for your report."
"Yes sir, I'm coming right away."
As soon as he had cut the line, someone knocked on the door. His secretary, a man you'd come to respect because of his stature and his serious look behind his glasses, came in with files under his arm. The man wasn't surprised by the darkness surrounding the room. He walked to the desk.
"Should I make a report about this week's results, sir?"
"No, just a quick statement, then leave the files on my desk."
"Yes sir."
Kirishima went quickly through the files to recollect and choose information to tell his boss.
"It seems we have a spectacular development in current drug sales. This month's profits increased about 15% in relation to last month's. The reasons for this sudden success are still…"
"Thank you, Kirishima, you may leave" Asami interrupted abruptly. Surprised by the businessman's tone, the secretary walked out silently.
Asami knew why that field was so successful. After Akihito's attack, his aggressors had been slaughtered. A lot of people in the underworld saw this as the disposal of possible competitors and little sellers had decided to flee away from the city. Buyers had been forced to turn to him. But all these thoughts made him remember the circumstances of his lover's death and threw him more and more into a painful gloom. He lit up another cigarette.
After walking for hours, he had gone back home, taken a shower and changed into a different suit before heading back to his club. He had to absorb himself in his work as to forget what happened. Of course it didn't work. Sitting behind his desk, paperwork strewn out in front of him, he couldn't stop seeing Akihito's bloody body laying down on the dock, or his extremely livid face when he had put him down on the stretcher.
He had been afraid of being officially mixed up in the young photographer's death and of being accountable to the police – who was waiting for him to make a mistake to lock him up. So he got rid of everything that would prove his involvement. Even the medics had been bribed or threatened to make them forget that he had been in the emergency room. He would have given anything to be able to forget the same way…
Kirishima was informing him every day of the investigation's progress, and he knew that Akihito's corpse was kept so they could make an autopsy after his death in the hospital. But the young man's family soon asked for the remains so that they could lay him to rest with dignity. So, not a week after he carried his dying lover in his arms, Asami would see him again, in as tragic circumstances as this time.
He arrived in front of the little house of the Takaba. Build in the outskirts, it took advantage of the quiet and restful atmosphere. The dashing white façade was effectively hiding the grief inside. If he hadn't known what was waiting for him in it, he would have been glad to enter a house so peaceful and well held. But in that case, he was afraid to cross the threshold. Though he couldn't back down. He knocked on the door.
A small woman with light hair and hazel eyes opened. He bowed.
"Mrs Takaba, I suppose."
"You suppose right. To whom have I the pleasure of speaking?"
"I'm a friend of your son. I came to… tell him goodbye."
Akihito's mother looked at him for a moment. She never had seen a man like him in his son's circle of friends. His dark suit seemed expensive, and she couldn't deny his natural elegance and his aura of charisma. It wasn't possible that that man could have been a real acquaintance of a boisterous child as her own. Yet she could read his sincerity and the deep sadness in his eyes. She moved aside to let that unknown man in her home.
Asami nervously walked by Akihito's mother. While he was taking off his shoes in the entryway, he took a look at her. He realized who the young man had inherited his impish look from. Mrs Takaba was about fifty but she looked at least ten years younger. Her lips were pinched and her eyes red, but one could tell she must be beautiful when she smiles, as her son had been. He felt a pang thinking about his deceased lover.
He put his shoes near the dozen others which were already displayed on the entry's floor. With a wave of her hand and a nod, Mrs Takaba showed him the way to the living-room. From the entryway he could already hear the muffled sounds of tears and sobs. He entered the narrow corridor, noticing the bouquets of flowers that were shrinking it even. There was a lot, and almost all of them were exquisite. They were proof of everybody's attachment to Akihito.
He went in the living-room. It was a relatively spacious room getting plenty of light from the large picture window on his right. At the back, an altar had been installed where family and friends had put a couple of candles and a box of incense sticks. The sheet covering the low piece of furniture used as an altar was immaculate and rimmed with lace. A sole white rose in a soliflore stood with the ritual objects. On his left, against the wall, Akihito was laying…
Asami gave an imperceptible start when he realized that the Takaba had chosen to show their deceased's body in his coffin, the occidental way. He was irresistibly drawn to Akihito. Fighting against his impulse, he decided to follow Mrs Takaba who introduced her husband to him. Asami plunged his hand in his vest and took out an envelope, then he bowed respectfully while offering it. Akihito's father was noticeably older than his wife. His greying hair and the deep lines of his wrinkles showed this. He too was marked by the grief. He bowed in turn and accepted the envelope.
"Thank you for coming, he said. I'm sure he would have liked to know you were thinking about him."
It was just a polite phrase, since the Takaba ignored the relationship he had with their son, but it deeply touched Asami. After all, during their last conversation – or what would be the closest to a conversation for them – Akihito had confessed his feelings. Of course he would have liked to know Asami was thinking about him. He even would have wished to hear it from him that night, but he didn't say anything. And look where he was now.
Akihito's father turned the envelope over in his hand and his face's colour changed when he read the written figures. He looked desperately at Asami, speechless.
"Your son was worth it and more" he answered the silent question.
With these words, Mr Takaba took the businessman's hands in his own and squeezed hard while a tear ran down his cheek. Asami modestly left the grieving Takaba and went to the white glossy coffin. It seemed Akihito's family chose that colour to show the deceased's purity. Asami had to admit that, despite the torments he had to endure, Akihito had been able to keep a bit of his innocence along with a pure heart.
In front of the wooden box, two young men were kneeling, one of them crying on the other's shoulder. Asami recognized Akihito's friends, the ones he had involuntarily helped getting free when Fei Long took them as hostages. Asami stayed behind until they left then took their place.
Draped in pearly satin and dressed in white, Akihito was peacefully laying. If Asami hadn't known how he died, he could have thought it happened while sleeping since his smile seemed so natural. But he knew the truth. Once again he was overwhelmed with anger. The aggressors' slaughtering hadn't been enough to ease his grief, and now he didn't have that outlet anymore. He kept looking at the young man's still face, as if expecting to see him wake up anytime. But the more time pass, the more he understood it wasn't possible: the body in front of him was nothing more than an empty shell and Akihito, hopefully, had already left for a better world. Though he couldn't stop from touching him one last time, brushing against his cheek. Then he turned around and left the Takaba's home.
Asami stretched his hand to the little digital camera on his desk. He had offered it to Akihito at the time of their holidays in the islands, after they had flown from Hong Kong. Only one picture had been taken with it, and Akihito admitted it was one of Asami himself.
That was when he gave the camera to the young man who thanked him with a huge smile that he had realized how important the photographer was for him. Soon after their return in Japan, Akihito had given it back to him, thanking him again but saying that he now wanted to go back to his normal life: he would use his analogue cameras again and get back to work. The poor boy almost succeeded…
He didn't regret what they had together. But Asami decided at this moment to never let anyone else come in his life like Akihito did. He didn't believe in forever or love stronger than Death. He was sure his feelings would come to pass in due time. But he refused to be responsible for an innocent's death ever again. Now he would live with his remorse.
Asami stood up, walked around his desk and looked one last time through the window before leaving the room, thinking about Akihito's last words on Earth, which had been for him: "Asami?"
The End
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