InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 10: Anomaly ❯ Alone ( Chapter 17 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

~~Chapter 17~~
~Alone~ 

~o~

 

The grossly intrusive sound of the infernal alarm clock jarred Mikio right out of a deep sleep and into the regular reaction as his hand shot out, fist slamming down on the device.  The familiar creak and groan and squeal of shattering plastic, followed by the weakened, almost anemic, beep that slowly warped and faded drew a giggle from Madison, who always seemed to find the situation entirely amusing—much more amusing than it ought to have been, first thing in the morning.

Unlike most days, though, Mikio, satisfied that the beast was dead, rolled over and stubbornly refused to open his eyes, which only made Madison giggle more, and he grunted something entirely unintelligible as he concentrated on going right back to sleep again.

Finally, though, she wound down and sighed.  “I wish I could stay in bed,” she murmured, her words, punctuated by a yawn, but she made no move to get up.

“Shh.”

She laughed again.  “All right, sleepyhead,” she said with a sigh.  She lay still for another minute before rolling off of the bed and into the bathroom.

Unfortunately for him, the alarm clock had very effectively ended his fanciful wish to go right back to sleep, and, with a rather uncharacteristically grouchy half-growl, half-groan, he sat up, wincing slightly at the residual headache that he knew from past experience would likely linger on for most of the day as he idly scratched his head and yawned.

“Damn,” he muttered, knowing full-well that he was expected to call Kichiro to fill him in, and knowing full-well that he wasn’t going to do any such thing.  After all, it was no different—not better, not worse—than any other episode thus far in his life.  Normally, he went along with it, if only to keep his darling mother pacified.  Now, though?  He sighed.  There was no point to it.  It wasn’t like his brother could do a damn thing for him, and worrying his parents?  Nope.

‘Madison took it all in stride, don’t you think?’

Scowl darkening at the sound of his youkai-voice, Mikio grunted.  ‘What was she supposed to do?  Freak out and run?  In the middle of the night?’

‘Except that’s exactly what you thought she’d do, which was why you got up, in the first place.’

He winced at the reminder.  When the nausea had gotten to the point that he’d felt as though he might well be sick, he had, in fact, gotten up and gotten out of the bedroom as fast as he could—also the reason he hadn’t headed straight for the master bathroom.

No, he’s rather stupidly thought that he could make it to the bathroom on the main floor, but by the time he’d gotten to the living room, he’d had to sit down since the room was spinning, and he’d very nearly ended up, flat on his face for his efforts.

‘At least there was a trash can close by.’

And that reminder really didn’t deserve a response, as far as Mikio was concerned.  Just how had that looked, after all?  And then . . .

‘Okay, so it was pretty humiliating when she cleaned up after you; I’ll give you that.  Even so, she still didn’t freak out.  If you didn’t notice, she was more concerned about you than she was disgusted at the idea that you puked, you know.’

Somehow, that wasn’t nearly as comforting as he supposed his youkai-voice intended for it to be.  If anything, it made the whole scenario just that much more depressing—and embarrassing—and completely, unerringly, emasculating, too . . .

‘Ah, so that’s why you were determined to go back to sleep.  You know she’s getting ready right now to go to work, and you’re okay with that.  In fact, you want her to go so you don’t have to look at her, knowing that she has seen pretty much the worst about you, and all in one night.’

‘You’ve made your point.  Leave me alone,’ Mikio grouched as he flopped back down once more and rolled over onto his side, facing the far wall and closing his eyes stubbornly.

‘Cute, but no dice, Miki-chan.  You wanted to go to the lawyer’s office and have a talk with him, didn’t you?  And you won’t do it if you stay in bed all day.’

He snorted, but refused to move an inch.

“You know, one of my girls told me about this great Spanish restaurant on the other side of Central Park,” Madison said as she breezed back into the room, complete with the lingering scent of soap and water.  “What do you think?  Feeling adventurous for dinner tonight?  I can call and see if we need a reservation . . .”

He made a face that she didn’t see.  “Uh, I don’t think so,” he muttered, half-hoping that she wouldn’t hear him.

He heard the sound of the closet door, the scrape of hangers being moved around as she picked out her clothes for the day.  “Not a fan of Spanish food?  Okay.  Would you prefer Italian or . . . Wait, there’s a pretty good Japanese place not too far.  Evan always said that it was pretty authentic . . .”

“I . . . I have plans,” he lied.  “Uh, Bas and Gunnar . . .”

“Oh,” she said, and for a moment, the sounds of movement stopped.  “Guys’ night?  Not sure if that sounds like fun or trouble.”  She giggled.  “I’ll start some coffee and bring you a cup after I get dressed.”

Grimacing as he felt the brush of her youki move away when she hurried out of the room and back into the bathroom once more, Mikio sighed.

‘Lying?  Not a great idea, you know, and if you’re going to, then at least pick someone she doesn’t know.  What if she runs into them or something?  How are you going to explain that?’

Ignoring the irritating voice, Mikio finally sat up and busied himself, unplugging the destroyed clock and dumping it into the trash can next to the bed.  It wouldn’t be a lie, he figured, once he called Bas—after Madison left for work, anyway.

His youkai-voice heaved a sigh, but remained silent otherwise.

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

“If she touches him again, I might have to go in there and break her fingers.”

Madison cleared her throat, schooled her features, since she figured that there was a good chance that Valerie might not find her amusement funny at the moment.  The two of them sat in the sound booth at White Wave Sound Station while Evan chilled on a short platform in the recording booth next to Palma Guittierez, a reporter from Classic Guitar magazine who, it seemed, was absolutely fascinated with the rock god.  Not that Valerie tended to be overly jealous, but the reporter did seem to have an alarming inability to keep her hands to herself, and when she wasn’t outright touching Evan, she did keep leaning in as close as she could, trying to give the man a very shameless look down her deeply scooped neckline.

“She’s not wearing a bra,” Madison pointed out, leaning in toward Valerie and lowering her voice.  “Tits aren’t as fabulous as yours, though.”

Valerie snorted indelicately.  “They’re fake,” she stated bluntly.  “Damn hussy.”

“She’s harmless,” Mike Murphy, Evan’s manager, said.  “A dime, a dozen.  She could bare it all, and he wouldn’t give a rat’s ass.”

“That goes without saying,” Valerie grouched, idly rubbing her still-barely-noticeable baby bump.  “I could take her.”

Madison laughed.  “You absolutely could, sweetie,” she said, leaning over to kiss Valerie loudly on the cheek.

Valerie snorted again.  “Or you could.  Just sock her a few times like you did me.”

Madison winced since that wasn’t necessarily her proudest moment.  “I was scared,” she reminded her.  “I really am sorry about that.”

Valerie laughed and kissed Madison back.  “Don’t be.  I earned it.”

Madison still had the grace to blush at the reminder, and she shook her head.  “No, you didn’t.  But I’m glad you two worked it out.”

Valerie’s smile turned a little secretive, but she didn’t take her eyes off the reporter.  “Me, too,” she agreed.  “There she goes, putting her paws on him again.”

Before Madison could reply, Palma reached out, resting her hand in the center of Evan’s chest, and she blinked when Valerie, already in the throes of a very low growl, shot to her feet, her intention quite clear as she shoved the chair out of the way and whipped around on her heel.

Madison reached out to stop her, but Mike was faster, grasping Valerie’s wrist and gently holding her back.  “Now, now, Tiger,” he warned in an entirely placating sort of way.  “Look.  He’s already shaken her off.”

Valerie snorted and looked like she wanted to argue on principle, but she finally rolled her eyes and yanked the chair back before flopping into it with a very unhappy sigh.  Satisfied that he’d made his point, Mike sat back down once more, but not before Madison saw the amused expression on his face—an expression that Valerie missed, which was probably for the best, all things considered.

So, it was with an inward sigh of relief that Madison relaxed just a little when Evan stood up to walk Palma to the door, the interview, obviously over.  She wasn’t surprised to see that Palma was trying to prolong the moment, probably hoping for an offer to rendezvous later, but Evan just smiled tolerantly and held the door open for her.

“Thanks for letting me interrupt the session,” she said, sticking her overblown head of borderline-brassy blonde hair into the sound booth.

Mikey nodded and shot her a small smile.  “Not a problem.  Hope you got the answers you wanted.”

Valerie, to her credit, managed to keep her formidable temper—and her mouth—in check.

“Certainly did!  I’m going home right now to write up the interview.  It should be in next month’s issue!  Bye, now!”

That said, Palma closed the door while Valerie watched her exit beside the photographer that had been introduced as Rob.

Without a word, Valerie stood up and headed for the door that separated the sound booth from the studio.

“Don’t give him too much hell,” Mike called out as Valerie reached for the door knob.

“I’m going to air out the studio,” Valerie said without pausing.  “It probably needs fumigated, considering how much perfume she had on.”

Madison wisely help her amusement in check as Valerie closed the door behind her.

“Did I miss anything?” Drake Kingston asked as he shuffled back into the sound booth with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.  The legendary producer had taken a prolonged break when the interview had commenced, and he slipped back into the chair in front of the board.

“Not really,” Mike told him.

Through the glass, Madison watched as Valerie stood, arms crossed over her chest, apparently giving Evan, the grinning idiot, an earful.  With a smirk, she reached over and flipped the switch that enabled the overhead speakers.

“—Nasty, probably has a whole host of diseases, and—”

“Aww, now, baby, you know she’s got nothing on you.”

Valerie rolled her eyes and planted a hand in the middle of Evan’s face when he leaned in for a smoochie.  “Back off, Roka.  You need to go wash off her germs before you come anywhere near me.”

Evan, of course, laughed, as he grabbed Valerie and pulled her close, despite her token resistance.  “All right; all right . . . Let me get some more work done.  Why don’t you and Maddy go get something to eat?”

Valerie snorted.  “Trying to get rid of me, are you?”

“Never,” he quipped.  “But you should go get something better to eat than the crap we’ve got in there.”  He leaned to the side and rolled his index finger toward the ceiling as he peered through the glass.

Madison leaned forward and held down the Talk Back button.  “What?”

“Do me a favor, Maddy.  Take V to get something decent to eat, will you?”

She laughed since he didn’t seem to realize that she’d already heard him.  “I can do that,” she said.

Evan nodded and turned his attention back to Valerie once more, and this time, she let him lean down and kiss her forehead.  “Bring me back something good, will you?”

Valerie heaved a rather melodramatic sigh.  “All right.  Wash that woman’s presence off of you, will you?”

He chuckled and gave her a squeeze.  “Yeah, sure.  Be careful.”

Stepping away from him, Valerie rolled her eyes.  “Sure, Roka.  Behave.”

He winked at her, and she shook her head.

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

He’d lost track of how long he’d been walking.  He didn’t really know where he was, either.

‘It . . . doesn’t really matter, does it . . .?’

His youkai-voice remained strangely silent.  In fact, it had been uncharacteristically quiet since this morning, and Mikio wasn’t sure if he was disturbed or relieved by the impromptu reprieve.

At least, the headache had gone away for the most part somewhere around noon.  It was good since he hadn’t been able to get in to see Bill Winehouse till nearly two, and that was after getting the run-around from the man’s secretary.  As it turned out, Mikio had gone into the office of Winehouse, Mills, and Rainsboro, planted himself in one of the chairs to wait, and had told the same secretary who he was and made it clear that he wouldn’t be leaving until Mr. Winehouse took the time to speak with him.  He’d said it politely, but he’d made no bones about his absolute sincerity.  In the end, the stuffy old attorney had no choice but to allow it.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Mr. Izayoi,” Winehouse said, settling back in his opulent office on the eighty-eighth floor of the Lonaconing building, one of the newest office complexes in the revamped area of Lower Manhattan near Wall Street.  In fact, it was only a few blocks away from MT Financial, and, since Winehouse was the attorney that was retained by the firm, it made sense.  The office space had to cost a pretty penny, as far as rented space, especially in this area of the city.

It didn’t impress Mikio.  A couple sculptures, a couple paintings?  Shiny, polished wood and glass . . . His office back in Tokyo put this one to utter shame, if he wanted to compare.  At the moment, however, he had bigger fish to fry.  “If you’ve meant to, then should I assume that you misplaced my phone number?  I mean, I check my voicemail pretty often, so I’m sure I didn’t miss your call.”

The balding, middle aged man flushed at the blatant call-out.  “Oh, you know how time gets away from you . . .”

“I don’t have that luxury when I’m looking into something as volatile as this,” Mikio parried mildly.

He could tell from the man’s body language that he wasn’t too pleased to be forced to speak to Mikio at all, could sense the tension in Winehouse’s body, in his very aura.  “I assure you; I’m working on this around the clock.  If someone’s been skimming off the top, I will prove it, no matter who it is.”

For some reason, Winehouse’s assertion sounded more like a threat than a promise.  “Let me guess: you’re ready to pin all of it on Jamison Gavin, aren’t you?”

Winehouse made a show of pulling a very fake and very dramatic grimace, as though the very idea of it was enough to hurt him.  “It’s how it’s looking, yes.”

“Then dig deeper,” Mikio countered.  “Even with the limited information that I’ve been provided, I can tell that there’s more to it.  It’s your job as an attorney to make sure that the charges you bring forward are the right ones, not the easy ones, even if it goes against the ones who pay your keep—especially if it goes against them.”

He sighed, stopped as the light at the cross walk flashed red, just another nameless body, lost in the crush of the evening crowd.

In the end, he’d gotten Winehouse to agree to get a list of the employees at the firm, as well as their server access numbers.  He’d also seemed reluctantly interested when Mikio had told him what he’d found in his fact findings.  He supposed he could understand that.  After all, it was the company that paid his fees, and, though Mikio had yet to come to any real conclusions, the possibility was there, wasn’t it?  Mikio was convinced, absolutely, that Gavin really hadn’t done anything wrong. All of his hardcopy reports were stamped by the auditing office, meaning that he’d actually printed them in their office after he’d filed them, and that meant that what he had were irrefutable proof that Gavin’s numbers were correct—something he’d only found earlier this morning when he was looking over them.  He’d ended up, calling Gavin and asking him about the stamps, and Gavin had told him that it was standard whenever the auditing office printed out any kind of report.  Mikio had simply assumed that Gavin had printed them out at home or wherever he’d done his accounting reports.  He was glad that he was wrong . . .

Besides, the sooner he could clear Gavin’s name . . .

‘The sooner you can go home . . . Right . . .’

Blinking at the sound of the heretofore dormant youkai-voice, Mikio frowned as he fell in step with the rest of the people who had been waiting for the light to change.  ‘Well, yeah,’ he allowed, fiddling with his twitching left ear.  He supposed that, to humans, it looked like he was simply messing with his hair since they couldn’t see the fuzzy triangles atop his head.  Funny how unobservant they tended to be on a whole . . . ‘I . . . I don’t belong here.  My whole life is in Tokyo.’

‘But Madison’s not.’

‘Madison . . .’

Just the sound of her name, whispered in his head, was enough to make him grind his teeth together as a pang so deep, so profound, erupted in the pit of his stomach.

‘I’ve been thinking.’

Unsure that he really wanted to hear whatever it was the voice wanted to say, Mikio abruptly turned the corner, unconsciously stepping into the darkness of the side street.  In the distance, he heard the sharp and abrasive sound of a barking dog, high and shrill and grating.  ‘If it’s about Madison—’

‘Yeah, it’s about Madison.  Listen, Mikio, she—’

‘She’s just a friend,’ he interrupted.

‘Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?  Just friends?  That friend sleeps in your bed, you know, cuddled up against you, all night long.’

He winced, flipping up his collar against the sudden wind that blew off the water.  He couldn’t see it, but he could smell it.  He’d managed to wander down to the wharfs?  ‘There’s nothing to that, and . . . and even if there . . . could have been, after last night . . .’

‘You’re the only one who is making a big deal about that, you know.  She didn’t seem at all concerned about it this morning.  You’re the one who was freaking out, who couldn’t stand the thought that she’d think—’

‘I know damn well, what she thought—what she had to have thought.’

‘No, you don’t.  You think you do because that’s what you assume others would think, but you should know by now that the only one—the only one—who has ever made a big deal about your own perceived weaknesses is you—not Bas nor Gunnar nor Morio, not Bitty nor any of the others, and, for your information, Madison hasn’t, either.  She takes it all in stride, which is a far sight better than what you’re doing.  Running off instead of going home?  Making up stories about having plans when you never did . . . It’s borderline pathetic, if you ask me.’

‘Good thing I didn’t ask you,’ he shot back, his gait, increasing, as though he were trying to get away from his own youkai-voice.  ‘And maybe they didn’t say anything, but they all knew.  They all knew, and then, they’d all just sit down, act like it was their ideas, and I know damn well that it wasn’t.  All my life, they’ve all treated me differently.  Everyone—especially Mama and Papa, and—’

‘Is that what this is all about?  Your parents?’

He sighed.  In truth, he really didn’t know why he was so agitated.  Well, aside from humiliating himself in front of Madison, of all people, anyway.  As for making things up, he had to allow that his youkai had a point.  He had called Bas earlier, but he’d said that he was already planning to take Sydnie on a long-overdue date, so he’d considered, calling Gunnar, but for some reason, he just couldn’t deal with the idea of hanging out with that cousin, either . . .

‘Then what are you going to do?’

Mikio frowned and shook his head.  In the end, there really was only one choice, and it was the same one he’d known from the very beginning.  ‘I . . . I just need to clear Gavin-san . . . Then, I can just . . . just go home.’

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

“You know, I’m kind of glad that Roka stayed at the studio,” Valerie remarked between bites of the roasted rosemary chicken breast.  It was almost laughable, how many questions she’d asked about the food before she’d committed to ordering, including, but not limited to, the freshness of the vegetables, whether they were cooked with real butter or a butter-like substance—that was her phrase.  Given that Valerie was notorious for being very picky about what she ate, her pregnancy had made her even more so, in Madison’s estimation.  The waiter in the very nice Italian bistro and pub had humored her well enough, and Madison made a mental note to leave the beleaguered young man a fat tip for it.  “So, tell me, how’s it going with Mikio?”

Rolling her eyes since she was pretty surprised that Valerie had managed to refrain from asking that particular question long ago, Madison gave a little shrug, despite the smile that quirked her lips.  “Not bad,” she allowed, hoping that she sounded more nonchalant than she suspected she did.  “I mean, not really much different than it was last week, if that’s what you want to know.”

Valerie wrinkled her nose and set the small cup of low-cal dressing to the side before digging into her salad.  “and just what’s taking you so long?  You’re a confident woman—a go-getter, if you don’t mind the term.”

“I might be,” she agreed, “but he’s not.  He’s shy and sweet and . . . Anyway, I don’t want to come on too strong, you know?”

Valerie blinked, setting her fork down for a moment, staring across the table at her friend as a slight, secretive smile touched her lips.  “You don’t sound at all like you,” she pointed out, but her amusement didn’t wane.

She winced.  “I . . . I don’t think anything’s ever mattered to me so much before,” she admitted.  Then, she sighed.  “Does that sound dumb?”

Valerie laughed softly.  “No, it doesn’t.  Besides, he’s definitely a cutie.”

For some reason, Valerie’s agreement bothered her, even if she wasn’t sure, why that was.  She brushed aside the misplaced sense of irritation and reached for her glass of wine, instead.

“Oh, did he find out how long it’ll take for them to reset your alarm?” Valerie asked, oblivious to Madison’s strange thoughts.

“Next week,” Madison said, hating the sound of those words.

“Okay,” Valerie allowed slowly, reaching for her fork once more.  “Then, we’ll just have to think of something else, right?”

“Something else?” Madison echoed, only paying half attention.

Valerie nodded.  “Yes, another way to keep you there at the townhouse—I mean, you don’t want to go home, do you?”

Sighing as she set the glass down and gave a little shrug, she bit her lip.  “Well, no, but don’t you think it’s going to start looking a little . . . suspicious?”

Valerie considered that, but shook her head.  “It’s only going to look suspicious if you were to screw up the new keypad.”

Madison wasn’t entirely sure that she bought into that, but she laughed.

“Or you could just grab him and tell him, flat out, that you aren’t going home, so he can just deal with it.”

She’d said that in such an obnoxiously tongue-in-cheek kind of way that Madison shook her head, despite the smile on her face.

“Hey, ladies.  Nice to see you both.  Where’s that little shit of a brother of mine?”

Glancing up at Bas Zelig, who stopped beside the table and was entirely dressed to the nines in a very expensive and obviously tailored Sheendown dark gray, brushed silk suit, which was something that wasn’t seen often, given that Bas tended to be a much more laid-back person normally, Madison blinked and shook her head, her smile dimming, just a little as a sense of confusion set in.  She could tell, even without asking, that Mikio wasn’t here.  If he were, she’d have known right away.

“Evan’s still at the studio,” Valerie said.  “Are you here with Sydnie?”

Bas pointed, and Valerie and Madison both waved at the cat-youkai across the restaurant.  Sydnie smiled and waved back.  “Yeah, date night.”  He shrugged.  “I suggested pizza and a movie, but she’d already made reservations, so, you know . . .”  He chuckled, straightening his tie almost absently.

“Where are the kids?” Valerie asked.

Bas shrugged.  “Hanging out with Gunnar, if you can imagine.”

“With . . .?  Really?”

He chuckled.  “Well, he had already offered to train Bay, and Olivia just loves him—we’re still not sure, why, but yeah.  I think he said something about taking them for pizza later—and he owed me, so there’s that.”

Valerie still looked entirely bemused by the idea of Gunnar Inutaisho, babysitting Bailey and Olivia, and Madison might well have agreed, if she weren’t wondering, just what Mikio was doing, after all—and why he’d said he was hanging out with Bas and Gunnar if he wasn’t . . .

“Anyway, I just wanted to say hi, and don’t worry about your dinners.  I already told your waiter to add them to my bill.”

“Oh, thank you,” Valerie said.  “Of course, I really don’t mind . . . Maybe you should let me pay for yours.  I have no issues at all in spending your brother’s money.”

Bas chuckled, but waved a hand in dismissal.

“Thank you, Bas.  Tell Sydnie thanks, too . . . and speaking of Sydnie, you’d better get back over there before she decides to sharpen her claws on you for making her wait,” Madison remarked with a giggle since Sydnie’s temper was well-documented.

Bas grinned.  “Yep, you ladies have a good night.”

They watched as the big man moved away, and Madison’s smile dimmed.  “I . . . I have plans . . . Uh, Bas and Gunnar . . .”

‘Don’t read too much into it, Mads.’

Madison frowned.  Valerie was talking, but she really didn’t hear a thing.  Too busy, trying to figure out why Mikio said that he had plans with Bas and Gunnar when he obviously didn’t, she didn’t even try.

Her youkai-voice sighed.  ‘Does it matter?  Maybe Bas had to back out at the last moment or something.  Unless you go over there and ask him, then you don’t know.  Anyway, it’s not really worth the worry.’

True enough, she supposed.  Besides, it was nice, having spent the evening with Valerie, even if she would have rather hung out with Mikio, instead.

“Madison?  Are you all right?”

Forcing a smile when she met Valerie’s concerned gaze, Madison shrugged.  “Fine, fine,” she said, reaching for her wine glass again.  “Just sidetracked for a minute.  Sorry about that.”

Valerie stared at her for another long moment, but finally, she nodded, and whether she believed Madison’s reassurances or if she simply figured that Madison didn’t want to talk about it, she let it go, and Madison figured that was good enough.

 

 

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A/N:

STORY STILL ON HIATUS.

This chapter is dedicated to Sarah and Maribel.  Thank you for brightening by day!!

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Reviewers

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Okmeamithinknow ——— minthegreen ——— Cutechick18 ———

Sovereignty3 ——— Elizabeth aguilar ——— TheWonderfulShoe

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Final Thought from Madison:

Hmm …
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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Anomaly):  I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga.  Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al.  I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize. 

~Sue~