InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Love's Smirking Revenge ❯ Prometheus Bound ( Chapter 14 )

He shifted in the large, oversized leather chair and crossed his legs. The small man sitting across from him provided little to keep his mind occupied. A look of disgust briefly crossed his features as he watched him push a pair of too-large, dark-rimmed glasses onto his nose in a flustered gesture for the tenth time since they'd sat down.

 

 

Impatient for their meeting to adjourn, he let his eyes rove about the small office. The lower half of the walls were oak paneled, the upper half painted a soothing blue-grey. Various over-sized bookshelves crammed with well-thumbed texts were placed sporadically about the room with no apparent rhyme or reason for their arrangement. Beneath his Italian leather loafers was a lush carpet, purposefully neutral. Dotting the walls in tripartite clusters were various academic accolades, framed and mounted as per government regulation.

 

 

He glanced out the large floor-to-ceiling window to his right with a bored expression. It was cloudy outside. It'd been grey all week, but every once in a while a hint of sunlight broke through. This wasn't one of those times. The sky was dismally bleak and promised snow.

 

 

“So what should I call you today?”

 

 

The voice of the small man cut rudely into his thoughts. It was surprising that someone with such an uninspiring stature could hold such confidence in his tone. He ignored the doctor's inquiry and asked himself the same question he pondered every time he came to this place - Why am I here?

 

 

He'd been attending these weekly meetings for over a year now and felt no more or less psychotic than he did when he'd started them. Wishing to keep himself entertained for the next fifty-two minutes though, he played along with the doctor's little game. It was the same damn thing every time they met but once in a while he made it interesting.

 

 

Composed, he uncrossed his legs and stood. With practiced ease he retrieved an ornate silver case from the inside pocket of his blazer, withdrew a cigarette and lit it casually at his lips. He sucked in a deep drag and let it out slowly before stepping towards the window. His disinterested gaze ignored the city humming and bustling twenty-two stories below and fixed on the gloomy skies rolling out for miles ahead of him. He was lord of this domain and the city below was his playground. From where he stood, nothing could touch him. He was a god among men.

 

 

“Prometheus,” he answered after a moment of drawn out silence and took another drag. He didn't need to glance over his shoulder to know that a look of flustered excitement was lighting up the doctor's face.

 

 

“Ah,” the doctor breathed, “the Greek god of fire! An interesting choice.”

 

 

The sound of a pen scratching against paper was overloud in the otherwise muffled room. He pulled in another lungful of nicotine and flicked a small collection of ash off the end of his cigarette. It was ironic, he couldn't help but notice, that this room - designed to exude an atmosphere of calm and relaxation - felt so sterile and suffocating to him. He wondered sometimes if it was the same for all the other crazies that walked through the door.

 

 

He crossed his arms casually in front of his chest and rested his shoulder against the wall. A thin stream of blue smoke curled and writhed around his head like a wreath. The curve of his mouth was sharp and downward, signifying his impatience with the whole thing. If he strained his eyes he could just make out the outline of the mountains in the distance. Only forty-three minutes left to go.

 

 

“Last session you were Iago, why the change?”

 

 

He didn't feel like answering that question. Kagura's news from the previous night occupied his mind, distracting him. As her words rang in his ears It's her. I'm certain of it… a feeling of cool satisfaction spread outwards from his chest. He could hardly contain his excitement. Just the thought of wrapping his hands around that creamy, slender throat was enough to make his blood blaze and send it rushing rampant through his veins like wildfire. He had to be patient though. If the timing wasn't absolutely perfect then the climax wouldn't be nearly as satisfying.

 

 

Turning away from the window he stalked quietly towards the nearest bookshelf with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, the cigarette burning idly between his fingers. He glanced with feigned interest at the hard cover books arranged by height. Without hesitating he slipped one out from the stack and aimlessly flipped through it. It was volume one of The Collected Clinical Works of Alfred Adler: the Neurotic Character.

 

 

How fitting, he mused and skimmed through a couple paragraphs.

 

 

“Neurosis is the natural, logical development of an individual who is comparatively inactive, filled with a personal, egocentric striving for superiority, and is therefore retarded in the development of his social interest, as we find regularly among the more passive pampered styles of life.”

 

 

The book snapped shut and he discarded it atop the shelf with a flick of his wrist. A bored sigh left his lips as he moved lethargically across the room to stand behind the leather chair he'd been sitting in earlier.

 

 

The doctor looked up at him expectantly, his pen eagerly poised overtop his notebook. Right…he still hadn't answered his question. Feeling his disgust towards the man grow and fester the longer he looked at him, he turned his gaze towards the window. As his thoughts wandered, his hands slipped over the high, round arches of the backrest and caressed the soft leather.

 

 

“I've found her,” he admitted quietly with a sense of satisfaction ringing in his tone.

 

 

“Who have you found?”

 

 

“Pandora.”

 

 

The doctor scribbled a few words down and nodded his head attentively. He felt him glance up but he was no longer paying any attention. His mind was already lost in a dark fantasy of his own making.

 

 

“A deceitful beauty full of lies; the source of all mankind's pain,” he elaborated wistfully, speaking only to himself now.

 

 

The doctor set his pen and paper on the small table at his side and folded his hands in his lap. One leg crossed soundlessly over the other. “Ah,” he observed, “you've been searching for this Pandora for some time.”

 

 

You have no idea.

 

 

“What do you intend to do now that you've found her?”

 

 

It was an interesting question. He turned his back to hide the smile brewing on his lips. He could practically hear her screams, her pleas for mercy. His hand fisted at his side as he remembered what it felt like to break bones. Poor little thing didn't have a clue what she was in for. He would've pitied her if he weren't so damn happy about it.

 

 

“I'm going to punish her for being such a troublesome bitch,” he confessed quietly.

 

 

He was no longer speaking in metaphors, but the doctor didn't seem to notice. Here it was - a genuine glimpse into his madness, a true image of the calculating killer that lurked beneath the surface and the fool hadn't a clue.

 

 

He was going to take great pleasure in making that bitch suffer for everything she'd cost him. She was going to beg for death by the time he was done with her and then, only after he'd thoroughly broken her, would he step in like the archangel himself to deliver the final, merciful blow.

 

 

“I'll destroy her,” he promised aloud, his voice ringing with triumph. Noticing the look of alarm that briefly crossed the doctor's features he tilted his head towards him with a genial smile and added, “-hypothetically of course.”

 

 

“Yes of course,” he conceded but the wary concern didn't leave his eyes. Snatching the pen and paper off the table he jotted down a few more notes and flipped through his previous writings.

 

 

“It seems we've made progress,” he pointed out over the rustle of loose leaf. “Has the medication helped at all? Have you noticed any changes?”

 

 

He nodded absently. His mind was already far away, entertaining a litany of schemes detailing the numerous ways and exactly how hard he would break his intended victim. It'd been a long time since he'd been this excited - about anything really. He hadn't felt like this since before-

 

 

“Good to hear it!” The doctor's voice cut rudely into his thoughts for the second time in under an hour. It was a horrible habit, one of his most annoying.

 

 

“Should I pencil you in for next week?” he asked perfunctorily, and scheduled the appointment in his day timer without waiting for a response. The doctor glanced up just in time to hear the soft click of the door closing.

 

 

In the waiting room he breathed in the scent of freedom and cast a disinterested eye at the collection of patients waiting in the too-small, poorly padded chairs that lined the far wall. Each one had the same sombre expression, the same dead look in their eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at the name plate on the door and smirked. He remembered now why he came here every week. He had so much fun fucking with him.

 

 

Easing his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks, he made his way towards the exit. As he passed by the secretary's desk he winked at the twenty-something, bleached-blonde tramp seated behind it and smirked inwardly at the coy smile she sent him in response.

 

 

Fucking with them…it was so easy sometimes it was frightening.

 

 

 

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She hasn't said anything in a while.

 

 

The errant thought travelled unwelcome into his mind. He tried to push it away, took another swig of beer, glanced towards the windows to distract himself but found his eyes drawn to her. She hadn't moved in a while either. Her body was bent forward until her head almost touched her knees and the waves of her dark hair obscured her features. Considering the fact that she still had broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder it had to be an uncomfortable position.

 

 

He ignored the nagging voice inside his head that suggested he should check on her and stood up to stretch his legs. This was the longest he'd ever spent guarding a “problem” and he was beginning to resent her for it. Normally it was an in and out sort of deal but this time everything was different. Kagura almost never made an appearance - that in and of itself was a tell-tale sign that something was up with this girl - but the fact that the Boss was pushing four days without having someone come by to take care of her was just plain out of character.

 

 

Kesuke stretched his arms above his head and let out a groan as the kinks in his shoulders worked themselves out. Shaking off the drowsy feeling that'd had him on the edge of sleep all afternoon, he glanced over at the girl and heaved a sigh. It really was time to check on her. If by some slim chance she died under his watch there'd be hell to pay for sure.

 

 

With a resigned frown he set his half-finished beer atop the mini-fridge and made his way towards her. She didn't make a sound as he approached. From the steady rise and fall of her shoulders he assumed she was either asleep of unconscious. Well she's breathing at least, that was a good sign.

 

 

He hadn't minded when she'd first gone quiet. The girl liked to bitch and when she finally gave it up he'd thanked the gods for the merciful reprieve. As if being cooped up in this cess pit wasn't bad enough! He was starting to wonder if maybe he'd pissed someone off somewhere down the line and they'd holed him up in here with her for punishment.

 

 

She looked pretty vulnerable now though. He tilted her head back with his fingers under her chin and studied her features with a sceptical eye. She looked pretty pale too. He pushed her body gently backwards until she collapsed against the chair. Her head lolled until she faced the ceiling. Not a wince or a grimace or a sharp intake of breath came from her. Not good.

 

 

Kesuke crossed his arms in front of his chest and scowled at the unconscious girl in front of him. He wasn't a doctor, hell he barely knew what pain medication to take when he got a headache, and here she'd decided to go all unconscious on him. Hell, even he knew that she wasn't looking good and that was saying something.

 

 

In a moment of weakness he glanced at the bucket resting on its side a few feet away but quickly pushed the idea out of his mind. He couldn't do that to her again. He knew from experience that it was like having a thousand needles piercing your skin simultaneously and apart from the bitching she hadn't done anything to deserve it.

 

 

Deciding that less drastic measures were probably best he took a step towards her and lightly slapped her face. Nothing. His brow wrinkled in a frown and he tried again - a little harder this time. Still nothing. A flash of panic shot through him. He reached out and grasped her uninjured shoulder, shaking her hard enough to rattle her teeth. That got him a pained sounding groan but not much else. He looked towards the bucket again and swiped his hand over his face. Shit…

 

 

“What the hell do you want?”

 

 

Her voice was hoarse and it cracked when she spoke, her words were slurred and on top of that they were so soft he could barely understand what she'd said, yet her voice was the most beautiful thing he'd heard in a long while. He was careful to set his face into its usual indifferent expression before he looked at her. She was glaring up at him through tangles of hair, looking absolutely livid at the fact that he'd bothered to wake her.

 

 

“Oh…you're up,” he remarked casually and made his way towards the mini fridge to retrieve his beer.

 

 

“Well now I am,” was her scathing reply and he felt a pang of guilt run through him.

 

 

He glanced over his shoulder at her and watched her quietly for a minute or so. It was obvious she was in a lot of pain, he could tell by the way her hands trembled behind her back, but she hadn't brought it up once. All she wanted to know was who'd taken her, why she was there, what organization he worked for - all the questions he couldn't give her answers to.

 

 

His stomach growled loudly as he reached the fridge and he opened the door to retrieve the package of rice balls his wife had made for him. Snatching the beer off the top of the fridge, he closed the door with his elbow and stalked back to his chair, dinner in hand. He'd only just settled himself in his chair and lifted the lid of the bento box when he realized something. The girl hadn't eaten in nearly four days. He glanced up at her feeling sheepish and caught the rabid hunger in her eyes before she stubbornly looked away.

 

 

He'd known obstinate, hell he could probably write a book on it, but never like this. This girl's picture could practically be in the dictionary right next to the definition. Maybe obstinate wasn't the right word…she was proud too - too proud to ask for something to eat despite the fact that she was literally starving to death. With a sigh of resignation he glanced down at the bento box, his mouth watering at the sight of three perfectly formed rice balls. He wife had a talent for making them. She usually stuffed the centers with a little something extra - some sweet and sour pork or teriyaki chicken - to help hide the fact that it was such a meagre offering. After selecting one for himself he held the box towards her. She didn't so much as turn her head.

 

 

“Look, I suggest you start eating unless you want to die here,” he pointed out, his voice laced with irritation. He was offering her the only meal he had for the next however many days and she had the audacity to snub her nose at it?

 

 

She turned towards him at that. Her eyes were dark and filled with contempt when she caught sight of the box and the rice ball already held in his hand.

 

 

“Is that some kind of joke?” she asked darkly. “How exactly am I supposed to eat it?”

 

 

Oops…

 

 

Shit, he'd completely forgotten that her hands were tied behind her back. Trying to save face, he sighed impatiently, stood and set the bento box on his chair. After tucking his rice ball inside he slipped a switchblade from his pocket and walked towards her.

 

 

For a moment she looked genuinely frightened. Her eyes widened as he approached, as though she was sure he'd slice her open. Instead he crouched behind her and sawed through the ropes binding her hands without comment and went back to his seat. The bento box he held out to her until she gingerly accepted it from him and set it atop her lap.

 

 

He quickly devoured his rice ball in a few ravenous bites and watched curiously as she studied the meal set in front of her. For a long while she did nothing but stare into the box, her hands stuck to the sides as if they'd been glued there. He tried not to look at the lesions on her wrists from where the ropes had rubbed her skin raw.

 

 

She looked up at him and caught his eye unexpectedly. He froze, not sure what to do and then she smiled. It wasn't big but it was genuine - her way of saying thank you. Feeling somewhat better about the whole thing he nodded his head and stood to give her some privacy while she ate.

 

 

Within minutes the conversation between them had drifted off. The eerie silence of their prison was punctuated by the odd horn blast from the ships passing by the pier and nothing else. He combed his fingers through his hair and frowned at how dirty it felt. It was far past time for a shower. If the Boss didn't show today he'd have to ask for a replacement so he could get cleaned up and change his clothes at least.

 

 

He cast a curious glance over his shoulder at the girl and watched her slip a large bite past her lips. Sure, he could leave her to someone else, but what then? Most guys in the gang weren't nearly as soft as he was and beat up or not she was still attractive. Despite the Boss's strict “no touch” policy he doubted few would actually listen. There were only so many things a man could do to pass the time.

 

 

Frowning, he braced his hand against the wall and peered out a tiny hole carved into the caked on filth of the windows. The winter grey seemed impenetrable. He couldn't even determine what time of day it was, whether it was sunrise or sunset - all he knew was that it wasn't night. He could've checked his cell phone if he really needed to know the time, but in these types of situations it was best not to. The hours dragged if you counted them and the waiting could drive a man half crazy.

 

 

The piercing electronic melody of his ring tone pierced the air so unexpectedly he actually jumped. He fished the blasted piece of technology out of his pants pocket and glared down at it, his features softening once he realized who it was. Flipping the phone open he pressed it to his ear and smiled at the sound of his daughter's voice on the other end of the line.

 

 

 

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She'd stopped feeling hunger a while ago. She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, or day even, it was just a gradual realization that dawned on her when she woke up this last time. The gnawing ache that'd resided in the pit of her stomach suddenly wasn't there any longer and she didn't miss it. It was just one less thing to worry about.

 

 

 

I could use a glass of water though, she realized and grimaced at the way her tongue felt like sandpaper inside her mouth.

 

 

 

How long have I been here now? It was impossible to tell really. The dirt caked on the windows only allowed the barest hint of light to peep through, not even enough to tell whether it was day or night. And the man…well he might as well have been dead for all the help he was.

 

 

She glared hard at him as she ate, memorizing the features of his face and the clothes on his back. When she got out of here she wanted to make sure that at least one of these grimy bastards suffered for what she'd been through. She smiled inwardly at the satisfying thought of seeing him locked up behind bars for the rest of his life and then became conscious of the rice ball's solid weight in her palm. She glanced down at it as realization dawned on her and guiltily swallowed her previous bite.

 

 

Nothing said he was obligated to untie her hands or share his dinner with her. Nothing said he had to be civil towards her or allow her to sleep without the fear of being raped. She glanced down at what was left of the rice ball in her hand and felt her insides wither. Sure he was yakuza and sure he'd helped hold her hostage, but when it came right down to it she really could've done a lot worse. Well…she thought regarded him sceptically, nothing said she had to like him either. Tolerate him yes, like him no. Decent guy or not, he was still yakuza and he'd kill her if given the order.

 

 

 

Meal finished, she set the bento box on the floor and took to working the knots holding the rope around her wrists loose. Every so often she glanced up to study her mysterious guard while he talked on his cell phone. His back was to her and his voice low, but with nothing else around to absorb the sound his words were deflected off the tin walls and right back at her. She could hear them as clearly as if she was standing directly in front of him.

 

 

“Did you have a good day at school?”

 

 

The high pitched voice on the other end of the line told her he was talking to a child. She blinked as the knowledge sunk in and looked away. He has a kid? A bout of excited words and giggles floated through the dank air towards her and she flopped against the backrest of her chair. Well…that certainly changed things. She hadn't considered he was anything more than a yakuza lackey but now he had a kid?

 

 

And a young one too…she reasoned judging by the tone of voice. Probably a deadbeat father.

 

 

“Mama wants to know when I'll be home? Tell her soon….I know I promised sweetie, but Daddy's at work. I'll be home as soon as I can.”

 

 

Curious now, she tuned her ear to his conversation. She wanted to know everything she could about this man. Who knew when knowledge like that would come in handy? It might just be my ticket out of here… she thought with a determined nod of her head.

 

 

“Love you too. Be good for your mom…Bye sweetie.”

 

 

The click of the cell phone snapping shut resounded through the cavernous space around them. She glanced away and tried to make the far wall seem interesting but it was painfully obvious she'd been listening. He cast a disconcerted look in her direction and flopped into his chair with a grunt. The metal hinges squeaked in protest under his weight but didn't break.

 

 

Deciding it was better to talk than sit in awkward silence Kagome turned her gaze towards him. He was staring at her plainly, as if he'd been expecting her to do just that.

 

 

“How old is your daughter?” she asked point blank. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked sceptical. After thinking it over for a few seconds he relaxed back into the chair and stuck one foot out in front of him.

 

 

“She'll be six next month.”

 

 

She nodded and tucked that little detail away. So she'd been right after all - not only did he have a family, but a young one too.

 

 

“What's her name?”

 

 

He didn't hesitate this time. “Yuriko.”

 

 

He didn't know why he was answering her questions. He wasn't a rookie - he knew the rules and had had no problem abiding by them. Everyone knew that you were supposed to avoid talking to hostages. Once they became more than a job, once they developed that human element and you became emotionally attached, well that's when things got sticky. It was a lot harder to put a bullet in the head of someone you thought was a half decent guy then when you thought of them as just another hit.

 

 

Despite knowing better he found himself relaxing into a somewhat easy, if halting, conversation with the girl. He had to admit - he was curious about her too. And even if he wasn't, sheer boredom alone would've convinced him to speak.

 

 

“That's a really beautiful name,” she remarked.

 

 

The way she looked at him when she said it expressed her thoughts loud and clear. I can't believe someone like you thought of a name that beautiful. Well, she wasn't entirely wrong, his wife had picked it out, but it didn't make it any easier to accept the look coming from her. It'd taken a lifetime for him to come to terms with who and what he was and he didn't need to be reminded by her of just how lucky he was to be living the live he had.

 

 

Meeting Masari and been a completely random stroke of luck and fate. She was still in college then, working towards a degree in accounting. He was a high school drop out working in his uncle's bicycle repair shop. He'd been outside enjoying a smoke the day she'd literally walked into his life.

 

 

He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her as she passed by on the sidewalk. One glance was enough to tell anyone who cared to look that she wasn't from that part of town. Her clothes were relatively new and fashionable, her hair was cut into a stylish bob and highlighted, and when she moved it was with a kind of grace and elegance that just didn't exist in his district.

 

 

His world stalled along with the breath in his lungs when she'd passed by him. She didn't even know he was there. That was of course until some young punk ran by and snagged the purse off her shoulder before rudely shoving her into the side of a nearby building. He hadn't even hesitated. He'd run after the kid full tilt, tackled him a few blocks away and beat the shit out of him. Then he'd collected her purse, emptied the punk's wallet to collect the `asshole tax' and made his way back to her.

 

 

She was standing outside the entrance to his store with her arms wrapped around her body and her shoulder pressed into the rough brick wall. He'd offered her the purse with a hesitant smile and she'd taken it from him with shaky hands. Then she'd asked him his name, asked if she could take him out for a coffee sometime to thank him and he couldn't believe he'd heard her correctly.

 

 

Experience had taught him that girls like her didn't associate with guys like him. They were untouchable and he and the rest were just dirty pariahs, destined to always look up at what they couldn't have. He'd given her his business card though, and true to her word she'd called him up a few days later to invite him for coffee. Two years later they were married and two years after that Yuriko had been born. He still wondered sometimes if it'd all been a dream. How did someone like him get off that lucky anyway? He kept telling himself there'd be hell to pay for it eventually but for now he'd milk it for all it was worth. Fate could catch up with him later.

 

 

“Does it bother your wife you're in the yakuza?”

 

 

He shrugged. “I'm sure it does but the bills've gotta get paid somehow. It's not like I wanted to be in the yakuza ya know, but a man's gotta eat and be able to put food on the table. Working at my uncle's bike shop just wasn't gonna cut it once Yuriko came and without my high school diploma it wasn't like I was gonna get a decent payin' job anywhere else.”

 

 

He whistled sharply and slapped his hand down against his thigh. “Well there you got it, my whole life story.”

 

 

He glanced towards the window, irritated with himself for telling her as much as he had. He was never this talkative, not even at home, but just the same it felt good to justify it to someone. He really wasn't a bad person…but why the hell did it matter so much to him what she thought? Why did he feel the need to prove he was a decent human being? One yakuza was probably just as dirty and deadly as another as far as she was concerned.

 

 

The girl's next soft spoken remark drew his attention back to her.

 

 

“Aren't you afraid I'm going to run away?”

 

 

He considered it a moment, evaluated her with a narrowed eye, and then shook his head. “Naw. I bet you couldn't even stand upright without fainting. You haven't eaten in four days. I'm surprised you're still conscious and talking to be honest.”

 

 

Kagome pondered that one. Four days huh? It was looking less and less likely that she was going to be rescued or that Inuyasha was going to come for her. Even though she told herself not to let it bother her, the other yakuza lackey's crass comments had been haunting her thoughts off and on.

 

 

What if they really did kill Inuyasha? she wondered with a troubled frown. She still had no idea why she'd been dragged into this mess, but if it really was about her then the last thing she'd want was for him to be hurt or killed because of it. Even if she made it out of this alive, knowing that he'd…the guilt alone would destroy her.

 

 

“So Princess…what's your name anyway?”

 

 

Kagome regarded him thoughtfully, debating whether she should tell him or not. His expression was still cautious but more open now that they'd talked. She nibbled on her bottom lip and massaged the cool tips of her fingers. It'd been nearly an hour and they were still cold to the touch from where the ropes had cut off her circulation. She glanced down and encircled her wrist with her fingers, resting their cool touch against her fiery, raw skin.

 

 

“Kagome. Kagome Higurashi.”

 

 

She looked up at him expectantly and he nodded once. “Kesuke. Kesuke Yaguro. Nice to meet ya.”

 

 

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Author's Note: Less than a month between updates this time! Huzzah! Sorry it took a little while - I got stuck marking a hundred undergrad history exams :P

 

Well hopefully you like this newest addition. You get another meeting with our yet to be named villain and a glance into his mind. There's a reason I included references to Greek mythology…I'll leave it to you to do the detective work to figure it out :) You also get a bit more background on our other pseudo bad guy Kesuke. I don't know about you guys but I kinda like him :)

 

Okay I'm just rambling now, but please leave a review! Your reviews are fuel for my fingers so type type away!

 

- Langus