InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Delving Into The Mysteries Of The Past ❯ The Present Epic ( Chapter 16 )

Chapter 16: The Present

 

Morgana Maeve

 

I'm ba-ack! And with a new penname no less!

 

Okay, so Kingdom Hearts corrupted my soul for a while, and I couldn't bring myself to tear my personage away from this newly found fandom for me to rape…

 

…I mean, this newly found fandom for me to enjoy. Yep, to enjoy.

 

So, I'm so sorry I didn't do any ficcy thing for Halloween this year! I'll make it up with a Christmas ficcy thing, I promise. But I hope you all had a nice Halloween and got oodles of candy! I didn't. I got rocks. No, I didn't, but I did get my head handed to me on a platter for cosplaying as Riku from Kingdom Hearts 2. Partly because of stupid gender rules (!?), but mostly because I'm supposedly too old to cosplay and trick-or-treat, and I wore a purple wig instead of a silver one. Whatever. (But I still say he has purple hair!)

 

Dedicated to YuniX-2, and I hope that you're still reading this.

 

Disclaimer - I own all OC's, but all InuYasha and all other affiliated characters belong too the wonderful Rumiko Takahashi. (Wow, it's been so long since I've written that!)

 

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I was at a loss. A complete and total loss.

 

It would be so simple, so easy to just flip open the cover and read what I had written, to find out all that was missing from my memory. All I needed to do was flick my wrist, and I would know.

 

And yet, my hands wouldn't move. My fingers stayed splayed across the cover of the book, tensed, veins popping out beneath the skin, fingertips and nails stark white. My hands could not be brought to budge, my wrists refused to unlock, and I remained motionless, save for the jerky twitches in my chest as I panted, loud and harsh in my ears.

 

It was a feeling I couldn't describe. For to open the book would mean to know, and to know would mean to know. To know everything. There would be no hiding from the truth if I opened the book, I would have to face everything. And that scared me. It scared me badly, because if I lost the gap, I would lose a part of myself.

 

And really, who was I? I didn't know. I knew myself as the woman who could not remember her sixteenth and seventeenth year. If I didn't have that, what would be left? It wouldn't be Kagome, the woman who lost her memory anymore. It would simply be Kagome.

 

It was unbearable to be just Kagome, Kagome the ghost. No, I would hide a little longer. I would be Kagome, the woman whose first-born son does not have a father, until the wake was over and the day dead. And the book would hide too, because I had the sneaking suspicion Mitsu would burn that book if it should ever come to his attention it existed.

 

But where to hide it? I was in the car, and time was running out. I was probably already missed at the wake, and if I dawdled any longer, Mitsu would come out and look for me. Or he would send someone else to. I had to be quick.

 

The glove compartment was not big enough to hold the diary, and under the carpets was out of the question since it would create a conspicuous book-shaped bump, and I didn't think Mitsu was stupid enough not to notice it. Briefly, I toyed with the idea of keeping the diary with me, hidden in my waistband, but how was I going to sit? And what if it fell out?

 

Sighing, I rested my head against the headrest of the seat, titling the seat backwards, listening to the rustling and crinkling of the maps stored behind it.

 

Maps…

 

In seconds, with a quickness that surprised even me, I was out the front door and in the back seat, pulling the jumbled mess of maps out of the front seat's pocket. For once, I was grateful that Mitsu never tried to organize them, and that Ana-chan and Sami-chan were endlessly amused with playing with them, pulling them out, and then sticking them back in halfway, bending paper, and ripping covers by accident. It wouldn't be unbelievable to say that I needed something to do, and that reorganizing the maps would be a perfect way to keep me busy for little while. I could stick the diary somewhere in sea of papers and take it out later to examine at my own pace, without the worry of someone missing me or of being caught.

 

Surreptitiously, I looked over each shoulder and behind me, and, feeling like a child sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar, pushed the diary as far down as it could go, rearranging the maps to cover the gap in the middle of them. All in all, I was pleased with the way it looked, and even if Sami-chan or Ana-chan decided to play with them, it was doubtful that either one would dig far enough into the mess to find the diary.

 

If only the wake was as simple to handle. I took a deep breath through my nose to compose myself and stepped out of the car…only to scoot back in moments later, slamming the door behind me. Mitsu and Kikyo were walking out the door, talking to each other. He was nervous, rubbing his palm with his thumb, and constantly looking over his shoulder, as if afraid someone was watching. Kikyo, as was her nature, was cool and collected, her face showing no emotion, Mitsu's apparent unease not unnerving her the slightest. She said something to him, and he bit his lip before replying.

 

Reading lips was not something I could do, and though I had taught my children that eavesdropping was wrong and should never be done, I felt that the rules could be stretched a little here. Quietly, and staying down low, I opened the door a crack, and placed my ear against it, glad the wind was blowing in my general direction, carrying their words to me.

 

“Kikyo, I'm worried,” Mitsu was saying, tugging at his tie. “I know she said something to Iwata, I know she did!”

 

“Iwata is taken care of,” Kiyo replied coldly. “Anything she told him is buried along with him.” What? I listened harder.

 

“But what if he wrote something down?” Mitsu argued. “And what if the police found it?”

 

“He was killed before he had time to do any such thing. I made sure of it.” There was a numbness snaking up its way up my legs and to my heart.

 

“You're sure?”

 

“Absolutely.” Mitsu looked placated for a moment, but then he sprang up again, eyes wide and scared.

 

“What about Kagome herself?” he asked, and the worry was plain in his voice. But it was not worry for me, I could tell. It was worry for himself. “She's remembering too many things; it will only be a matter of time before she remembers all of it. Then where will we be?”

 

“It will be dealt with when the time comes,” Kikyo answered, bored, picking at a perfectly manicured nail. “Besides, it's not like she can do much about it. The Demonic Revolution is over. He has no standing.”

 

“But it is his son.”

 

“That may be, but where has he been all this time? Have you heard from him?”

 

Mitsu look a little ruffled as he answered, “No.”

 

Kikyo continued. “Then you have nothing to worry about.” Mitsu looked as if he were about to argue more, but Kikyo held up her hand, and even if you didn't know her that well, you understood to stop talking. That was Kikyo's power. She commanded respect. “Do not worry, Mitsu, but keep me informed. I would like to know how much more Kagome can remember before she breaks.” And then she leaned up and kissed him.

 

He kissed her back, the same way he used to kiss me.

 

The Earth shattered. Rearranged itself. Came back together. But it left me somewhere out in space, floating alone with no oxygen to breathe, suffocating slowly, each excruciating second ticking down to the last one.

 

Mitsu went back inside, Kikyo entered a car and drove away, and I was still floating, dimly aware that Kikyo had bought a new car, a Mercedes, in my daze. What a silly thing to notice, really.

 

Blackness crept around the corners of my eyes, and it was then that I realized I wasn't breathing. Like a swimmer drowning, my body convulsed, and I wrenched my stiff jaws open, gasping for breath, each one more painful than the next, and tears began to gather behind my eyes.

 

No, I would not cry, I would not cry. I was not going to be the victim. I would get to the bottom of this. I would understand. I would not be pushed around by my sister, and I would not be left in the dark anymore. Tonight, I was going to read that damned diary, and as soon as I figured out what the hell was going on, be that tonight or tonight a year from now, I would find out who Horeshio's father was.

 

I might be Kagome, the woman with a broken past, but I was done being Kagome, the victim. Any doubts that had lingered about reading the diary had died along with her. Full of conviction, I sat up and looked over to the funeral parlor, scanning the entrance for Mitsu, and nearly fell down again in shock.

 

For there, in the window, was Kikyo, looking at the spot where she and Mitsu had just stood in disgust, eyes narrowed. I blinked, and she was gone, and in her place, was a woman, slightly angled to the window, her face almost that of Kikyo's. They had the same pallor and same face shape, and in the gloom of the lighting, I had mistaken her for my sister. I sighed in relief and placed a hand over my heart, pressing hard to will it to stop beating so heavily.

 

The rest of the wake I went through in a daze. I said hello to people I didn't recognize, nodded at compliments said about Great-Aunt Kaede, smiled painfully at grieving relatives, allowed Mitsu to hold my shoulders, lit my candle and said my prayers, avoiding looking at the body in the casket. People returned my smile, walking on tenterhooks around me, carefully choosing their words, lest I break out in a hysterical fit. Mitsu grinned at me and hugged me, Sami-chan and Ana-chan fidgeted in youthful unrest, and Horeshio stared up at me through dark eyes with amber flecks, keenly aware that something was not right, yet smart enough not to mention anything. But I noticed that he was very cool to Mitsu, staying by my side, talking to him only when absolutely necessary.

 

The drive home was silent, Ana-chan and Sami-chan tired, Horeshio unfeeling. No one mentioned Shinju. My heart was racing as we pulled into the driveway, my hands clenched in my lap, balling my skirt up.

 

“I'm bringing the maps upstairs,” I said, pulling them carefully from their grave in the seat. Mitsu raised his eyebrows.

 

“Why?” he asked. “It's not like we actually use them.”

 

“They're messy,” I said, nodding to the jumble in my hands. “And the need to be organized. It'll make the car seem a little neater, don't you think?” He shrugged and muttered something about women and cleaning, but let the subject drop. He asked if I wanted help, but I declined, saying that he needed to work tomorrow and that he needed his sleep. I would call in sick tomorrow. They would understand.

 

“Are you sure you don't want to come to bed,” he asked one final time, heading for the bedroom. I shook my head, keeping my eyes rooted to the television, knowing that if I turned around and looked at him, the words I had buried in my throat would come free, and that would ruin everything. There was a pause, and I was sure he was waiting for me to turn around, but when I didn't, I heard the door close. Finally.

 

But there was one more distraction that kept me from my diary that night, and one that kept me from sleeping for weeks. I had the remote in my hand, ready to turn off the little television in the kitchen and get to work on `organizing the maps' when a news report flashed on screen.

 

“This just in,” the reporter said, using that horrible cliché and faked sympathetic voice that let everyone know trouble was at hand. “Police have just discovered a car while dragging the bottom of the Akane Ren. The body of the victim was found inside, apparently still strapped in. Officials are not making any statements at the moment, but they do believe that foul play was the cause of this death, as the driver side of the car was dented, consistent with a heavy impact. Police have identified the body as this woman, and if you have any information, please call the number on your screen. The autopsy report will become available at an undisclosed time.” The picture and number stayed on the screen, and I collapsed into a chair, hand over mouth, barely repressing the scream that was building in my chest.

 

Shinju smiled happily back at me through the screen.

 

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Akane Ren - Red Water. It's a fake river I made up.

 

I missed the birthday for this fic, and I am so sorry for that! Happy belated birthday, `Delving…!'

 

I have no excuse to not updating except that Kingdom Hearts 2 stole my soul, but since my television is broken, all I have left is fanfiction, so hopefully updates will be a little less infrequent.

 

Ah, yes, all of you, go to your nearest bookstore and buy the novel, The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. I command you all to read it. Do it now.

 

And while you're at it, read and review!