Data & Dust

Click! Hiss!

Sato snapped open the lid of his metal lighter, the small flame flickering like a lone ember in the gloom of the interrogation room. He cupped his hand around the flame, shielding it from the faint draft of the air conditioner, and guided it to the tip of his cigarette. The tip flared as he took a deep drag, the paper crackling softly.

He snapped the lighter shut, cutting off the flame. He exhaled, a thick cloud of smoke curling into the room, dissolving into the shadows that clung to the walls. He puffed again as his eyes scanned Ethan, waiting.

“I haven’t slept in days. Every creak, every damn sound outside my window — it’s like a gunshot in the dark. I sit up, heart pounding, eyes wide, thinking this is it, thinking it’s her… or something worse. Shadows flicker across the walls, and I swear I see movement where there shouldn’t be any. I can’t help it; I grab my phone — again — and there it is, that same message, staring back at me: ‘I’ll be back soon.’”

“Soon. What the hell does that even mean anymore? Soon came and went, and all it left behind was this silence — this empty, gnawing silence that feels like it's swallowing me whole. I check our chat like an idiot, my fingers shaking as I refresh it over and over, hoping for some sign, some word. Nothing. Nothing but that last message, like a ghost haunting my screen.”

“And just when I’m about to lose it, when I’m standing there at the door, ready to get in the car and start knocking on every door in this godforsaken city — she walks in. Just like that. No warning. Like nothing happened. Like she didn’t vanish for days.”

“She walks into the kitchen, the light barely touching her face, and I freeze. I don’t know if I want to cry or scream or run. My chest tightens with this weird mix of relief and dread. She’s back, but… something’s off. I can feel it, like a knot tightening in my gut.”

“I open my mouth, and the words come out before I can stop them. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ I try to sound angry, but even I can hear the panic in my voice. I sound weak. Desperate.”

“And what does she do? She just shrugs. Slips out of her coat like it’s a regular night. ‘I had some things to take care of. It’s no big deal.’ She even smiles, that same damn smile she always does, but this time… this time it feels fake. Like she’s wearing it, not feeling it.”

“I stare at her. God, I want answers. I want her to look at me and explain everything. But there’s nothing there. Her face is calm, too calm, like she hasn’t just disappeared, like she hasn’t been gone for days. And I know I should push her, demand to know where she’s been, who she’s been with, but… I can’t. Something in her voice, the way she stands there, it tells me not to. Like I’d regret it if I did.”

“‘I tried calling,’ I say, my voice barely holding together. I don’t even know why I’m saying it. She knows. She knows I’ve been going crazy. ‘I thought —’ But I can’t even finish. My throat tightens up, the words stuck like they’re strangling me.”

“‘I know,” she whispers, stepping closer, her hand on my arm. It should feel comforting, but it doesn’t. Her touch is warm, but there’s a coldness underneath it that makes my skin crawl. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.’”

“But she did. She did worry me. And even then, even knowing that, I swallow the questions, the fear, the anger. I just nod, like a fool. Like her being here now is enough.”

“When she’s close, it’s like the storm in my head quiets down, but it’s fragile. I can feel it — something’s wrong. Something’s hiding behind her eyes, and she’s not telling me. But I don’t push. I don’t ask. Because I want her. I want the version of her I’ve built up in my head, the one I thought I knew, and I’m too scared to tear it all down.”

“So I pull her close, wrap my arms around her, bury my face in her hair, and I just hope… I hope that holding her will make it all go away. That the warmth of her body will drown out the unease clawing at my insides.”

“But as I stand there, feeling her against me, there’s this hollow pit in my stomach, and I can’t shake it. It’s like a void, and the more I try to ignore it, the bigger it gets. And I know — God, I know — this isn’t right. Something’s wrong. But I’m too afraid to ask what. Too afraid of what the answer might be.”

Ethan’s fingers tapped restlessly against the table, his leg bouncing under the chair as if he couldn’t sit still. The room felt too small, too cold, the hum of the air conditioner drilling into his skull. He swallowed hard, his hands trembling. He balled them into fists, trying to steady himself, but the shaking wouldn’t stop. Sato's gaze was piercing, searching for something — answers, truths, maybe even lies — but Ethan had nothing more to give.

As Sato lit another cigarette, Ethan shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make his bruised ribs scream in protest. He winced, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Do we have to keep talking?” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Feels like… I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Do you remember your abduction?” Sato asked, his voice calm but sharp, like he was testing the waters for cracks in Ethan's memory.

Ethan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I remember a late-night party. My editor dragged me out for drinks, said I needed to 'loosen up' after all the deadlines. We hit this club… I don’t even remember the name.” He paused, brow furrowing. “Everything after that is a blur.”

Sato leaned back, his gaze sharp, but all Ethan could hear was the faint hum of the lights, pressing into his temples like a vice.

“The next thing I remember…” Ethan’s voice faltered as he shifted, the ache in his bruises flaring up. He gritted his teeth, forcing the words out, his breath shallow. “I was strapped to a chair… Yakuza goons…” He swallowed, but the memory seemed to choke him. “They were beating me. I thought…” His voice cracked, his chest tightening with the memory. “I thought I was dead.”

He glanced at the detective again, his voice tinged with relief. “Honestly, I didn’t think anyone was coming. I figured I was done for.”

Ethan leaned back, his hand trembling as he ran it through his hair. The sound of metal scraping metal suddenly echoed in his ears, and for a moment, he was back in that chair, strapped down, the cold bite of restraints digging into his wrists. The memory of fists raining down on him made his heart pound, and his vision blurred. He blinked, forcing himself back to the present, Sato’s voice pulling him out of the flashback.

“I don’t remember much after that,” Ethan muttered, his voice tight. “Just… pain. And then, you cops came. It was over.”

Sato crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. “You were being watched, Ethan. My team had you under surveillance, but only at your residence. Foot units were assigned to tail you, but in the chaos of a crowded place…” The detective paused, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “They missed you,” he said, his voice steady but edged with something harder, sharper. He rarely allowed emotion to bleed into his tone, but this time, it slipped through before he could rein it back.

Ethan nodded slowly, his eyes lowering to the table. He had suspected as much. “You couldn't have known,” he murmured. “That place was packed. I probably wouldn’t have noticed anything myself.”

Sato's jaw tightened. “It’s still a failure on my part, on my men’s part. We should’ve been more vigilant.” Sato’s voice was even, but the lines around his eyes deepened as if the admission weighed heavier than his words let on.

Ethan shook his head slowly, wincing as a sharp pain flared in his side. “You saved me,” he said, his voice strained, barely more than a whisper. “Got me… out alive. That’s… more than I expected. I didn’t think… anyone was watching my back.” He paused to catch his breath, swallowing hard before continuing. “Even if… you missed a step.”

Sato took a drag from his cigarette, but his exhale was slower this time, as though he was buying himself a moment to gather his thoughts. The smoke curled upward, lingering in the air between them, refusing to dissipate as quickly as it should. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, the tension evident in the small, almost imperceptible motions.

“I didn’t think anyone was watching my back at all. The fact that you were, even if you missed a step, that’s more than I could’ve asked for.”

Sato studied him for a long moment, the apology still evident in his eyes, but he didn’t push it further. Instead, he leaned back and reached for his lighter again, the flame flickering as he lit another cigarette. “We’ll find out how they got to you,” he said quietly, his voice steady now, all business. “We’re not done yet.”

Ethan nodded, grimacing as his stiff neck protested the movement. His shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion, bruises aching with every breath. The shadows of that night still clung to him, and even though a part of him wanted to collapse, he forced himself to sit up straighter. Sato wasn’t done — and neither was he.

Sato’s eyes flicked up from the table, studying Ethan with that same unyielding intensity. “Have you spoken to the press about any of this?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of warning beneath the calm.

Ethan leaned forward, shaking his head with force. “No. I haven’t talked to anyone — especially not the media. Do you think I’d drag myself through that circus?” His voice cracked, barely containing his frustration.

Sato nodded, leaning back. “Good. That’s for the better. If any reporter got wind of what you’ve stumbled into, they'd tear you apart.” He tapped the ash from his cigarette. “Hell, what you have access to… it's a goldmine for any journalist.”

“What do you mean, ‘what I have access to’?”

“If the press knew even a fraction of what you know...” Sato paused, the cigarette between his fingers burning low. “We’re talking names, places, things that could topple more than just the Yakuza. It’s the kind of information people kill to keep quiet.”

Ethan frowned, his stomach tightening.

Sato glanced away for a second, then met Ethan’s gaze again, his expression hardening. “Aside from finding Anna, our next move is to figure out where this access comes from. Whether you realize it or not, you’re involved in something bigger than just the Yakuza. My technical team is still combing through your house right now. We’ll know more soon.”

Ethan barely registered the words. His chest felt tight, the walls of the police station suddenly closing in. He forced himself to breathe, but each inhale felt like a battle. “How could it take time? Didn’t they understand? I’m not safe. They’ll come for me again.”

His heartbeat roared in his ears. The edges of his vision blurred. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words were stuck, his throat dry and aching. “Right,” he muttered finally, his voice barely audible.

He swallowed hard, the walls of the room feeling even more suffocating. “So what do I do now? Just wait?”

“For now, you’re safe here, within the station. My men are on high alert. Nothing’s going to happen to you while you’re under our roof,” Sato assured Ethan.

Ethan exhaled slowly, the weight of the past few days pressing down on him. “You know… if it’s all the same, I’d rather check into a hospital. At least I’ll have a soft bed while I worry about Yakuza hitmen at night.”

Sato didn’t even glance up, his fingers deftly flicking the lighter shut after lighting another cigarette. “You’ll live,” he said, his voice flat as the cigarette smoke swirled between his lips.

Ethan’s voice wavered, the usual sarcastic edge gone, replaced by something more fragile. “How do I know they’re not watching? That they can’t just… get to me here too?”

Just as Sato is about to respond, his phone rings. He answers, and his face hardens. He gives Ethan a cold look, saying only, “We need to talk about something.” Then he exits the room, leaving Ethan to stew in his anxiety.