InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Desperation ( Chapter 85 )

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

'God, what the . . .?  I feel like shit . . .'

Cain rubbed a weary hand over his stubbly cheeks and blinked in an effort to keep his eyes open.  Having long since given up on any real hope of paying attention to what his generals were trying to tell him, he hoped he looked sufficiently attentive, in the very least, even if he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of actually knowing just what they were droning on about . . .

Who would have thought that three weeks could drag by so hellaciously slowly?  In that time, he'd done a lot of thinking; a lot of soul-searching, and the truths he'd discovered weren't exactly the things dreams were made of, but he had accomplished one thing.

He'd finished the sculpture of Isabelle.

He wasn't sure how he'd come up with the idea.  Between trying to drink himself into a self-pitying stupor one night after trying unsuccessfully for well over three hours to reach Gin on the phone and staring at the unfinished statue, somehow the idea had taken root.  'Honor Isabelle . . .?  Maybe . . .'

It had taken nearly every day and almost all night for three weeks to complete the sculpture.  Operating on very little sleep—probably closer to none—and driven by some invisible force, he'd worked tirelessly on the piece, and even he had to admit it was likely one of his more stunning creations.  The last of the plan was to sell the sculpture and then donate all of it plus a matching sum to the University of Maine Performing Arts school in Isabelle's name.  All he had left to do was to speak to Ben about it, since Ben also acted as his business manager, as well.

Why wasn't Gin answering her phone?

Cain sighed, letting his forehead drop into his open palm.  'I'll try again later . . . maybe she's just been really busy . . . too busy for me . . .'

Digging his cigarettes out of his pocket with his free hand and sticking one between his lips before tossing the pack onto the table beside him and fumbling for his lighter, Cain noted absently, just how shaky his hands were as he lit the cigarette and slumped down a little further in his chair.

"Why don't we take a break, gentlemen?" Ben's voice cut through the thoughtful haze engulfing Cain's addled brain.

He sat up straighter as chairs scuffed across the marble floor.  Standing up and milling around, the youkai in attendance didn't seem to notice that Cain, himself, hadn't moved at all.

"Take a walk with me, Zelig."

Glancing up into Ben's concerned face, Cain braced himself for whatever it was the old man had to say.  Telling himself that he was only going so that he could instruct Ben on the sale of the sculpture, Cain hefted himself out of the chair and shuffled toward the glass doors.

"It surprised me, that you'd come back without her."

Cain stuffed one hand in his pocket as he scowled at the burning end of his cigarette.  "Her, who?"

"Don't be flip."

"Sorry."

"When are you leaving?"

"What?"

Ben rolled his eyes.  "Don't play dumb.  I know you as well as anyone—probably better.  You're just as stubborn as your father was—and just as stupid, too.  Anyway, answer the question.  When are you going after the girl?"

Cain wrinkled his nose and took a deep drag off his cigarette.  "She doesn't want me."

"Uh huh."

"No, really.  She won't have me.  I tried to get her to come with me.  She . . ." Cain snorted.  "She used me for my body, and she sent me on my way."

"Oh, for the love of—You really are foolish, aren't you?  I thought you'd learned better than that.  Come on, Zelig.  You look like hell, did you know?"

Shifting his glower to the side, Cain tossed the cigarette butt away and jammed his other hand into his pocket.  "Nice of you to point out."

"Why is that?"

"Why is what?"

Ben shook his head.  "Never mind that.  How are you feeling?"

"You're my head general and business manager, not my doctor, and—"

"And I'm probably one of the few you really call a friend, too.  Humor me, goddamnit.  Answer the fucking question."

Cain sighed, raking his hand over his face.  "Honestly?  I feel like hell."

Ben stopped for a moment and exhaled, cheeks puffing out with the force of it.  "I figured as much."

"I haven't been sleeping well . . . been working on something.  I need you to take care of it."

"And what's that?"

Cain stopped and turned to face the ocean, letting the crisp autumn breeze ruffle his hair as he stared out over the expanse of empty waves.  "I finished it."

"Finished what?"

"That sculpture of Isabelle."

That gave Ben pause, and he narrowed his gaze on Cain.  "Really."

Cain nodded.  "Sell it."

Ben looked a little shocked.  "Sell it?"

"Sell it."

". . . And you're sure?"

Sparing a glance at his lifelong friend, Cain nodded slowly.  "I'm sure."

"That's a big step, isn't it?"

Cain shrugged as his gaze returned to the ocean.  "Maybe.  I just . . . I need to do this.  I have my reasons.  Don't press me for answers."

"If you're positive."

"I am."

Ben smiled sadly.  "Okay."

Silence reigned for several long moments; the only sounds the rustle of the trees, the gentle hushed slap of waves against the sand.  Every one of them whispered her name over and over again: a mantra, a chiding, a haunting recognition.  'Gin . . . Gin . . .' Cain gritted his teeth as he balled his hands into tight fists.

"So you are going back for her."

Cain started out of his musings, casting Ben a sidelong glance before looking away once more.  "Maybe."

Ben sighed as he stuck his hands in his pockets, staring out over the water in much the same fashion as Cain.  "Can I give you one more thing to think about?  Will you listen to me on this?"

An ironic smile surfaced on his features as Cain shook his head.  "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

"Then by all means . . ."

Ben nodded.  "You look like hell, you feel like shit, and you blame all that on lack of sleep and overworking, right?  Believe it if you want to; if it helps you sleep at night, but . . . If I were you, I'd be worried.  Gin Izayoi is such a tiny thing.  Do you think she's feeling okay?"

"Sure, she is," he replied tightly, unable to meet Ben's gaze.  Whether he believed it or just wanted to do so, he couldn't even entertain the idea that she wasn't just fine.

"I'm not saying she is or isn't.  Be careful, Zelig.  The angry hanyou is already a formidable force.  I can only imagine how fiercely he'd protect one of his own, especially a cherished daughter."

". . . I could take him," Cain maintained stubbornly.

Ben rolled his eyes and sighed.  "Maybe you could if you were one hundred percent.  I dare say you're not, and even then, the wrath of a father is a powerful thing.  You know something about that, don't you?"

Shifting uneasily, Cain shook his head as Ben clapped his shoulder before quietly moving away.  'She's safe, isn't she?  Gin's fine—just fine.  She . . . She has to be . . .'


Scowling down at the millions of lights that illuminated the city below, Kichiro gripped the balcony railing and sighed.

'Why can't I shake this feeling?'

Unable to sleep, he'd carefully slipped out of bed only to find himself out here in the middle of the night as the edge of the early October wind bit into his skin.

He'd tried to reach Gin on her cell phone but wasn't surprised that he got her voicemail.  Acquiring and keeping a signal was trying at best in the more remote areas of Japan.  Surely she was safe.

So why did he feel as though something was wrong?

Grimacing as his grip tightened on the railing, he snorted.  He'd even gone so far as to try to reach Bellaniece's father.  'Rotten old bastard probably snuck away with her . . . defiling my sister all over Japan?  Ugh . . . what an unsavory thought . . .'

"Kichiro?  Is everything okay?"

Turning at the sound of Bellaniece's sleepy voice, he couldn't help but smile at the tousled hair, the dreamy look that still clung to her features.  Holding out his hand to her, he beckoned her to him, pulling her before him and wrapping his arms over her silk-clad body.  "Did I wake you?"

"Hmm, yes.  I missed my Kichiro-blanket," she assured him, leaning back against him and cuddling against his chest.  "So why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"

"Why would something be bothering me?"

Leaning away to stare at him, she shook her head and sighed.  "Because you're awake in the middle of the night and I wasn't . . . because normally you wake me up to make love."

"It's nothing," he argued, kissing her forehead.  "Just thinking; that's all . . ."

Bellaniece wrinkled her nose and kissed Kichiro's chin.  "You wouldn't be trying to lie to me, would you, my mate?"

"Nope."

"Because if you were, I think I'd know."

"Good thing I'm not then."

Bellaniece sighed.  "So why do you have your cell phone out here?"

"Just thought I'd call and check up on Gin."

"Did you get a hold of her?"

"Nope."

She frowned for a moment then shook her head.  "Maybe that's a good sign?  I could try to call Daddy . . ."

"Already did.  Didn't get an answer there, either."

Bellaniece shrugged.  "Definitely a good sign, then.  Maybe we'll go home and find out that the two of them are finally mates."

Kichiro snorted.  "Don't hold your breath, princess."

She giggled softly then tilted her head to the side as she turned around to face him.  "That's not it, is it?  What's really on your mind?"

Forcing a smile, Kichiro lifted his eyebrows and slowly shook his head.  "It's nothing; I promise."

"And you're sure?"

"Would I lie to you?"

Her smile turned a little sad.  "I think you would," she confessed.  "If you thought that the truth would hurt me, I really think you would."

"You think too much, Belle-chan.  Come on," he said, taking her hands and pulling her back inside.  "You're getting cold out there."

"We could go back early, if something's bothering you," she offered.

Kichiro shook his head.  "We've only got a couple days left," he remarked as he sat on the edge of the bed.  "I'm sure that everything's fine.  Gin went on a field trip to visit ancient shrines.  Probably just out of range and can't get a decent signal."

Bellaniece didn't look entirely convinced.  Her eyes kept darting to the cell phone in his hand, and he snorted as he set his phone on the dresser across the room.  "Don't worry, wench.  You can try to call your father in the morning."

She finally grinned as he dropped onto the bed beside her, hands tucked under his neck as he let his gaze travel up and down her body.  "It's been so nice here . . . and I adore Nezumi," she commented.

Kichiro rolled his eyes but smiled, too.  "Nezumi's great.  It's my baka brother that I wonder about . . ."

Bellaniece laughed, shaking her head as she kissed his cheek.  "Yes, but you love him, and he loves you."

"Oh, now that's just wrong," he grouched as he twisted a lock of Bellaniece's hair around his finger.

"Thank you."

"For what?" he asked between kisses.

"For giving me a family—even one as dysfunctional as yours."

Kichiro snorted and rolled, pinning Bellaniece against the mattress.  "We'll see if you're still thanking me in twenty years or so," he challenged, nibbling at her bottom lip as she sighed and shivered.

"I'm sure I will.  Ryomaru's even growing on me . . . a little."

"He takes some getting used to."

"Now that cousin of yours, on the other hand . . ."

"I'd be more worried if you didn't scare the crap out of Toga," he countered.

Bellaniece laughed as she slipped her arms around Kichiro's neck and closed her eyes.  "Even then . . . I suppose I should thank you properly, don't you think?"

"You already have," he told her.  "Then again, if you insist . . ."


Rubbing her forehead as she squeezed her eyes closed only to force them open wide, Gin tried to focus on the paper in her lap.  She was almost done with it.  Just this one last thing . . .

'So . . . tired . . .'

She just wanted to sleep.  Eyes puffy and red, her body aching from hours of crying, and she swallowed hard, choking down the growing lump that formed in her throat every time she tightened her grip on the pen in her hand.

Maybe she was concentrating just a little too hard.

Eyes skittering to the side, she stared at the ashtray, overflowing with the fragile ashes of cigarettes left burning.  The stale smoke still lingered in the air, and with a trembling hand, Gin reached for the pack on the nightstand, winced as she slipped the cigarette between her lips, and then groped for the pack of matches.

It took three tries to light the cigarette.  Coughing as she set it in the ashtray, breaking up the skeletal remains of the last one, she stared at the rising smoke with a sad sort of smile turning the corners of her lips despite the tears that stood in her eyes.

The pungent odor reminded her of him: of Cain.

Shoving the notepad off her lap, Gin pulled on the collar of the oversized shirt, closing her eyes as she held it to her nose, as she inhaled the scent that just barely lingered in the fabric.

Six days after he left, Gin had answered the door only to come face to face with her new neighbors—a young woman and her newlywed husband.  The girl had apologized but wondered if Gin knew the former tenant.  He'd left a shirt behind, she'd said, and Gin had offered to send it to him.

She'd meant to.  She really had.  She'd folded it, and packed it, and had addressed the package.  In the end, she'd carried it to the post office, and had even stood in line.  When she'd reached the front of the queue, she'd almost handed it over.  For some reason, she hadn't been able to.  Snatching it away from the window clerk, she clutched the package to her chest and had run from the post office.  Almost expecting someone to jump out at her, to insist that she give up the package, she'd held it cradled against her, wrapping as much of her body around it as she could until she'd gotten back inside the sanctity of her apartment.  That was the last time she'd ventured outside.

'He . . . won't miss this shirt,' she thought wanly as she rubbed the collar against her cheek.  'Cain won't miss it . . . will he?'

'Eat something, doll,' her youkai prodded.  'Then you can finish the letter.'

'Eat something?'

Nodding as she gathered her strength, Gin shoved the covers aside and swung her legs off the side of the bed.  The trek to the kitchen was long, tiring.  Leaning against the wall, using her hands on the smooth surface to propel herself forward, she finally reached her destination and dug a handful of rice crackers out of the bag on the counter.  Staring around the dingy kitchen, she shook her head, ears flattening.  'I should . . . clean . . .' she thought vaguely, chewing crackers, feeling her strength failing.  Grabbing another handful, she forced herself to return to bed.

By the time she finished the crackers and choked down a few sips of tepid water, she could barely keep her eyes open as she groped for the notebook and pen once more.

'I could take a nap before I finish this . . .'

'. . . No, doll, you can't . . .'

'Just for an hour or so . . .?'

'Finish the letter, dollface.  Finish the letter.'

Whimpering softly as she forced her eyes open, she shook her head a couple times to clear the fog from her vision.

The scratch of the pen against the paper was the only sound in the room.  Her handwriting was erratic, sprawling.  It took all of her concentration to keep the pen moving.  She wasn't sure how long she wrote.  By the time she let the pen fall from her fingers, she was finished.  Pulling the paper loose, folding it neatly into quarters, she stuffed it into the waiting envelope, licking the flap to seal it closed.  She wrote the name onto the envelope and carefully leaned it against the lamp.

'He'll find it there, won't he?'

'Yes he will.'

'. . . Good . . .'

'Go to sleep, doll.  You can rest now.  We can rest.'

Gin smiled wanly, head dropping back against the headboard.  Too exhausted to scoot down in the bed, she closed her eyes as a tear trailed down her cheek.  'Yes . . . Rest . . .'

Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard the trill of her cell phone.  She didn't move.  'D'you think he misses us?  Even just a little bit?'

'Cain?  Of course he does.'

'He . . . won't be . . . sad . . .'

'. . . No, Gin . . . He . . . He won't . . .'