Straightjacket~Deathshipping

Chapter ELEVEN

By Wednesday, no one cared where Ryou was; I assumed he was labelled as having quit. But there was an unease in my mind. Thursday afternoon, listening to Around the World in Eighty Days. It was 3.30, with no British therapist.

I hadn't told Dr Stone about our kiss, about how I'd enjoyed holding him or that maybe I sort of loved him.

My assistant wasn't waiting around on me, since usually I was with Ryou now. Without him there, though, I recalled the conversation with Suit Guy from a few days ago. They'd just presumed I was crazy, as had every therapist before Dr Bakura.

Even if they didn't trust me, though, I knew more about why he'd be missing than whatever resume or file they had on him would tell. They didn't know he lived fifteen minutes from a train station or that Yami Bakura was chasing after him.

I remembered bits and pieces of little pleasantries he'd babble about; the name of the train he took every day, the name of his neighbour's dog, the big three-storey blue house two streets down.

In fact, I could probably find his house if I got out of here. What was stopping me, though? My image? The food here? Not a damn thing. Besides that, Ryou was my responsibility now, given that he was my therapist and I really liked him.

Should Yami Bakura have harmed him, I decided, squirming my left arm, which came out easier than usual. I glanced up to the security camera, narrowing my eyes. Without my assistant's help, I couldn't get out unnoticed.

But Blah-Blah Takatski was on break and probably valued his job too much to help me. I grit my teeth, knowing this was going down one way or the other, with only one chance to get out of my cell.

♪♪♪

At four o' clock, I was standing right up close to the door, one arm free and tucked into the straightjacket. Footsteps—the assistant was approaching. I heard a mechanical ping of the system verifying his security badge.

Then he opened the door, sliding in. I jammed my foot in the empty space, before the door could close, whipping out my arm to deliver a sharp punch, uppercutting his jaw.

The camera recorded it all and soon alarms would be going off. I shed the heavy straightjacket, snatched at the kid's badge and was out the door as quickly as possible.

Then there were the alarms. Shouts, running footsteps. I bolted down two sets of stairs, cursing almost five months of limited activity. Once a week getting two hours outside wasn't enough.

I slid into a storage closet, catching my breath and looking for the janitor's orange vest, which fit over my chest better than I'd hoped. It was zipped, with loose change rattling in the pocket.

The closet was inhabited for three hours, till dinner. That was when I slid into the evening, moving quietly toward the train station. On my way, I thought, trying to send that to Ryou. Hang on.