InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 5: Phantasm ❯ In the Dark ( Chapter 11 )

~~Chapter 11~~

~In the Dark~

 

“So you grew up in Maine?”

 

Bas nodded as he glanced into the rearview mirror and turned down the radio. “Yep . . . on the ocean, even.”

 

“Does it look the same as the Pacific?”

 

He shrugged. “Dunno. I can't say I noticed the Pacific when I was in LA . . . I had other things on my mind, you know.”

 

She rolled her eyes at the blatant barb and dug around in the center console between the seats to select a different CD. “All your music is crap,” she stated flatly, wrinkling her nose as she shuffled through the cases.

 

“Picky, aren't you, kitty?” he shot back. “Stop changing the CD every five minutes.”

 

“Live with it, puppy. It keeps my mind off other stuff.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like this infernal deathtrap you've locked me into.”

 

“Relax. I'll have you know, I'm a very safe driver.”

 

“Famous last words, pretty boy.”

 

“Shut up and look at your spoons,” he grumbled.

 

Sydnie heaved a sigh and ejected the CD, carefully slipping it back into the case before opening the cover on the new selection. “When will we reach the Texas state line?”

 

Bas grimaced when the speakers erupted in very loud music and turned it down again before answering. “You'll be sorry if I end up deaf, Sydnie, and it shouldn't take that long to reach the border.”

 

He could feel her gaze penetrating his skull but didn't look to confirm it. “And you . . . you'll buy me another spoon?”

 

He grinned at the hopeful tone in her voice. “Yes, cat, I'll buy you another tacky-assed spoon.”

 

Digging the two plastic-encased spoons from her purse, Sydnie sat back and stared at the trinkets.

 

“You can take those out of the boxes, you know,” he informed her when she fell silent.

 

“I know.”

 

“They sell wooden display racks,” he went on. “Mom's got a few of them.”

 

Sydnie didn't look away from her spoons. “Really?”

 

He kept his eyes on the road but nodded. “Yep. It's got built-in slots to hold the spoons for display.”

 

“I'd have to take them out of the boxes, wouldn't I?”

 

“Well, yeah . . . don't like that idea, huh?”

 

Sydnie shrugged. “But they look so nice in the boxes.”

 

“Then keep them in their boxes, if you'd rather.”

 

She held up her spoons and examined them. “I'm not sure which one I like better . . . Arizona's is nice, with the cactus . . . but New Mexico's is interesting with the Indian . . . What do you think?”

 

Bas spared a glance at the spoons. “They're both nice. I don't really think one is better than the other . . .”

 

She considered that and nodded, slipping the spoons back into her purse with a happy little sigh. “I like them both, too,” she declared.

 

The conversation seemed to die, and Sydnie bit her lip as she peeked out the window. To her surprise, Bas had stopped after a few hours' driving yesterday, citing a headache as the reason for his desire to call a halt to their journey. He'd spent the rest of the day walking around a mall with her, pointing out silly things and buying odd little treats for her to sample. So far she'd figured out that she liked soft pretzels with cheese sauce, large sugar cookies, and vanilla ice cream, but she didn't care at all for saltwater taffy—even though Bas swore that it was `great stuff'.

 

When they'd gotten into the car this morning, Bas had suggested that Sydnie pick out some music, which had effectively kept her from dwelling on the car, itself, and all the news reports she'd seen through store windows of lethal automobile accidents. It seemed as though there were at least five or six during the nightly news. Projected through the ten huge televisions in one store's windows, it seemed much more daunting . . .

 

She knew on some level that he was just trying to distract her from clawing at the door—she figured that he'd probably have to pay the rental company because of it but hadn't really been able to help herself, either. It still made her feel better, just to know that he was attempting to get her mind off of what she considered to be the most upsetting aspect of the trip.

 

The car slowed down, and Bas pulled it over beside the road before shutting off the engine and turning to look at her. “We're here.”

 

She looked around and shook her head since he'd stopped in the middle of nowhere. “Here, where?”

 

Bas rolled his eyes and got out of the car, striding around it to open her door and pull her out by her hands. “Texas. See?”

 

She blinked, following the direction he was pointing in and smiled at the large stone monument that did, indeed, proclaim it to be Texas. “Looks like a tombstone,” she quipped.

 

Bas shook his head but tugged her toward the hulking stone edifice. “Must you always think in terms of death, cat-girl?”

 

“I could climb this,” she announced as she eyed it.

 

“In stilettos?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I've got to get you new shoes,” he grumbled.

 

“These are fine,” she retorted.

 

Bas stood back as Sydnie leapt onto the top of the slate marker and sat down. “Be careful, Sydnie.”

 

She rolled over onto her stomach, feet kicked up in the air as she leaned forward to peer down at Bas. “Do I make you nervous?”

 

He grinned and shrugged, shielding his eyes from the mid-day sun. “Not at all.”

 

A breeze stirred his hair, whipping it back from his face, and he turned his head to the side to scan the area. She frowned. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed that he didn't seem to wear a concealment. The other time she'd noticed was a couple days ago, when she'd walked into the bathroom while he was showering.

 

`If he wasn't wearing a concealment, then where were his crests?'

 

Her youkai sighed. `That's not really something that should concern you, don't you think?'

 

`Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, it is an interesting question, right? Because I saw quite a bit of him then, and I didn't see any signs of youkai crests . . .'

 

`Ah, Sydnie . . . you shouldn't—'

 

“Bas . . . tell me something?”

 

“Hmm?” he replied, still staring at the area, as though he were looking for something.

 

“You don't wear a concealment, do you?”

 

He shot her a suspicious glance. “No . . .”

 

She shrugged as she sat up and scooted forward to drop off the monument. “So where are your crests?”

 

She wasn't sure what sort of reply she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the violent surge of color that stained his cheeks crimson. He cleared his throat, shifted from one foot to the other, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked everywhere but at her. “I . . . uh . . . It's not . . . I-I-I don't have any,” he blurted.

 

“You don't have any?” she repeated.

 

He shook his head. “Nope. None.”

 

“But you're youkai.”

 

“Actually, I'm hanyou.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You're not. I think I could tell if you were youkai or hanyou.”

 

He shrugged. “My mother's hanyou, and my father's youkai, so I'm hanyou . . . technically speaking.”

 

She shook her head. “You're almost full youkai then, and youkai have crests, so where are yours?”

 

“Let's go, Sydnie,” he grumbled, grabbing her wrist and hurrying her back toward the car.

 

“Do you have crests?” she pressed.

 

“No.”

 

“Can I see them?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are they intimidating?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Drop it.”

 

“Bas?”

 

“What?”

 

“. . . I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

 

She really hadn't thought it would be possible for his face to redden any more than it already was. She was wrong. “Get in the car and shut up, Sydnie, or I swear I'll gag you, too.”

 

She laughed at him but did as he instructed. `Oh, now that's interesting,' she mused as he stomped around the car and slipped into the driver seat. `Really, really interesting . . .'

 

`I don't know, Sydnie . . . maybe you ought to leave it alone.'

 

`Maybe,' Sydnie agreed noncommittally. `May bees don't fly in November . . .'

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

The basement was a bereft, lonely place, undoubtedly intended to shroud the inky shadows of the youkai sitting in the corner of the empty space.

 

Jeb Christopher strode into the chamber slowly, deliberately, heels resounding like gunfire in the cavernous void. Well below the earth's surface, there'd been rumor that the basement had been used to store illegal goods in days long past. Smuggling was a simple thing for youkai. Supplying whatever demand might come of the latest embargos and sanctions was an art form, and in this place, Jeb could still smell the lingering stench of liquor from the long-past days of prohibition, of guns and artillery used to supply small suburban gang wars, of all manner of illegal substances . . . The place had seen just about everything at one time or another. Now it stood empty; the silent witness, the sentient dark.

 

Dragging the long fingers of his right hand through light brown, shoulder length hair, Jeb flicked his left wrist, knuckles cracking in dangerous warning. He'd heard tale of these youkai: Darius Trent, Mort Corvelle, Roddy Durvin . . . He made it his business to know as much about potential clients as he knew about the jobs they offered. Most of the ones who retained Jeb's services were rich—disgustingly so. He'd discovered over time that it didn't take much to convince that kind to seek out the ultimate vengeance, and these three . . . they weren't really any different. Overseeing jobs as simple as bringing back the fiancé of a spoiled debutante to the nastier but always interesting tasks that involved a more hands-on approach, so long as the money was paid—half down, and the other half when the job was done—then Jeb left his conscience at the door, figuring that whatever blood was ultimately spilled, would be on the hands of the one who had done the hiring.

 

Jeb smiled coldly. These youkai thought that they were so smart . . . He already knew what they wanted. What he wanted to know was how much they were willing to pay.

 

“Mr. Christopher, we're glad you could agree to meet us here.”

 

Jeb stopped, casually rubbing his neck as he narrowed his gaze to make out the nondescript forms. “You can dispense with the pleasantries. I just want to hear your pitch.”

 

The youkai on the left cleared his throat. The youkai on the right shifted uncomfortably. The one in the middle chuckled. “We want justice.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“Cal Richardson's killer . . . we want her dead.”

 

Jeb nodded slowly, digging a clove cigarette out of his pocket and taking his time as he struck a match. In the dim light, he could make out the faces. He'd already known who they were. “Isn't that the job of the tai-youkai?”

 

“It isn't a secret that Zelig felt threatened by Cal Richardson. We simply don't think that the tai-youkai is compelled to see the bitch brought to justice,” Darius Trent commented casually.

 

“There's not much information available on her. It'll make it damn difficult, and difficulty will cost you.”

 

Trent grunted. “We realize that.”

 

“Good, because I happen to know that the tai-youkai already has her in custody, so to speak.”

 

“One of Zelig's hunters has her, yes. There never was an official hunt issued, though.”

 

“Zelig's hunters aren't pussies. One of my men tangled with Cartham last year.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Jeb shrugged. “Good thing I never really liked that guy . . . Cartham scattered him on the seven breezes . . . or so I heard.”

 

“We're prepared to pay accordingly.”

 

“Are you now?”

 

“There isn't a price high enough to ensure peace of mind,” Trent replied.

 

Jeb barked out a terse laugh. “Enough of your sanctimonious bullshit. I'm not a priest, and I don't give a shit.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Two million down and six more when the job's done,” Jeb said.

 

The men were silent for a moment. “Eight million?” Trent asked, unable to mask the incredulity in his tone.

 

“Take it or leave it.”

 

“Here,” the youkai on the left— Mort Corvelle —said, tossing an envelope down at Jeb's feet. “There's two and a half . . . and we'll pay another four when the job's done.”

 

“So much for no price being too high to ensure your peace of mind,” Jeb tossed back acerbically.

 

“It's far more than you normally make, isn't it?” Trent parried.

 

“Careful. I'm not the one who wants someone dead.” Jeb kicked the envelope back, ignoring the belligerent question. “Try again,” he replied, inflicting a measure of boredom into his tone. “I don't bend over.”

 

Corvelle picked it up and hesitantly stepped forward to hand it over. Jeb took it, digging a flashlight out of his pocket, and glanced into the envelope before returning his gaze to the youkai assembled before him. “I'll count this later. You understand that if you've shorted me by so much as a dollar, I keep the cash, and you're shit out of luck.”

 

“We'll call you—” Roddy Durvin began.

 

“I'll call you,” Jeb cut in. “And you'd better have the rest of the money when I do.” He turned on his heel and started away, flipping off the flashlight and stowing it away in his pocket once more. He stopped abruptly and whirled around. “Oh . . . I forgot to tell you . . . should there be any unforeseen complications, the price is subject to change.”

 

He strode across the floor once more, heading for the exit as his cell phone vibrated against his hip. Waiting until he was out of earshot in the blackened stairwell of the three story climb, he pulled the device out of his pocket and clicked the button to connect the call. “Talk to me.”

 

“Hey, Jeb, it's Myrna. I got some interesting intel.”

 

Jeb grinned as the velvety smooth sound of his second-in-command's voice. “Let's hear it.”

 

“Target located, and, uh . . . she is not in the company of any of Zelig's normal hunters. In fact, my sources tell me that this one . . . he's young.”

 

“Young, huh? That is interesting . . .”

 

“Any orders?”

 

“Not yet,” he replied, pushing open the heavy steel door and stepping into the dim light of the early evening. Taking the concrete steps up to ground level, he slipped out of the alley and blended into the milling crowd heading for their treks home on the packed New York City subways. “Tell Cody I want him on standby.”

 

“Cody?”

 

Jeb tucked the envelope into the inner breast pocket of his leather jacket. “Yes. He's ready. He should be able to take care of this job alone.”

 

Myrna hesitated before she answered. In the end, she sighed but didn't question his decision. “Consider it done.”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“—Room 215 . . . yes, the room is very nice . . .”

 

Bas cracked one eye open and scowled slightly as his vision adjusted to the hazy light of the dusky room. Illuminated by a weak shaft of fabricated light from the streetlamps three stories below, he couldn't see Sydnie's face very well, and she was obviously keeping her voice down in hopes that she wouldn't wake him. `What's she doing? She hates using the phone . . .' he thought, shaking his head as he tried to figure out what she was up to.

 

Sydnie turned away, wrapping the coiled phone cord around her finger. “Um, it's a little cold up here, and I was wondering if you could bring me a spare blanket?”

 

`Cold . . .?' Bas shrugged inwardly. Then again, with as skinny was the feline was, it really wouldn't surprise him if she really were cold. She could have asked him. He'd have gotten her another blanket . . .

 

“Thank you,” she continued. “Oh, but please don't knock . . . the man I'm traveling with is sleeping, and I'd rather not wake him.”

 

She hung up the phone, taking care not to make any noise. Bas watched her slip over to the door. She turned the deadbolt lock slowly and cracked it open. He edged his hand closer to his black leather duster, slung casually over the back of the chair beside him. Ready to take off after her if she decided to attempt an escape, he spared a moment to glance at his sword. He discarded the idea of reaching for it. Even if he could get it without drawing Sydnie's notice, there really wasn't a chance in hell that he'd actually use it on her. Grimacing since his back hurt from nights on end spent sleeping in chairs, he noticed that she didn't have either her purse or her shoes, and at that realization, he relaxed just a little.

 

She kept leaning into the hallway without actually leaving the room.

 

`She wouldn't get cold,' he thought with a slight snarl, `if she'd wear more than just those stupid miniskirts and tank tops . . .'

 

`. . . Bas?'

 

`What?'

 

`. . . I don't think the blanket is for her.'

 

`Not for her? Then for whom . . .?'

 

He nearly sat upright as slow understanding dawned on him. The vague memories of nights past, of waking up in the morning only to find himself covered in blankets that he never remembered getting for himself . . . `Sydnie . . .'

 

“Thank you,” Sydnie said, her voice low, soft. She closed the door, turning the deadbolt just as quietly as she had unlocked it. Bas closed his eyes as she turned around and padded toward him. She let the blanket fall open and carefully tucked it in around him, and moments later, he felt the warmth of her knuckles brush against his cheek so softly that it might have been no more than a whisper of a breeze if he hadn't known the truth.

 

He sat frozen, unable to move as she breathed out a sigh and shuffled back to the bed. When he finally dared to open his eyes a crack, she was curled up in a little lump, her face buried in the cradle of her folded arms. A tiny smile twitched the corners of his lips, and Bas swiveled the rocker-recliner so that he could watch over her while she slept.

 

She fell asleep quickly enough. The night grew thicker in the hotel room. Her hair glowed in the wan light filtering through the windows. It reminded him of a candle flame: the golden glow of her natural highlights; the darkest auburn below . . . Spilling over her shoulder, hiding her face, he could only see the black fringe of lashes that lay so softly against her cheek.

 

She whimpered suddenly, the sound stark, shocking. Bas sat up, dropped the blanket as he strode to the bed and knelt beside it. “It's okay . . .” he whispered, smoothing the hair back out of her face. “Sydnie . . .”

 

Smoothing the lines that furrowed her brow, he scowled, wishing he understood the phantasms that only she could see. “Don't . . . leave me . . .” she moaned.

 

Bas grimaced at the raw emotion behind the quietly uttered words. Sydnie scooted a little closer to him, turning her cheek, pressing into his palm, as though she needed the contact, and maybe she did. Just how long had she been alone? She'd said she'd been alone since she was a small child, but how could that be? She'd have been too young to make it on her own, hadn't she? Three years old . . . what could a three year-old possibly do to take care of themselves? He sighed. Somehow he knew that it had been far, far too long . . .

 

Slowly she relaxed again. The nightmare's grip loosened, and she slept peacefully once more. He pulled the blankets over her and sat back. The silence in the room was comforting. Sydnie moaned softly. Bas could hear his youkai voice talking, but he paid it no mind. So intent on watching her sleep, nothing else really mattered to him. The mystery of her spoke to him, unsettled him. He wanted to help her. He wanted to understand the things that frightened her in the darkness of her dreams.

 

She infuriated him, confused him, left his sanity in tatters to scatter on the breeze. He'd never known anyone like her before, and he knew in his heart that he'd never find another woman quite like her again, either. Sydnie was mysterious and magical, and Bas couldn't help the slight smile that started somewhere deep down inside him as he stared at her.

 

Seven days.

 

He'd known her for seven days, and those seven days . . . they felt like a lifetime.

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~ *~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

A/N:

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Reviewers

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MMorg

Rawben —— razorbladesinner —— futekioosha —— OROsan0677 —— iluvsesshoumaru —— inuyashaloverr —— JasonC —— animeloca —— inuyasha-lover

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Final Thought fromBas:

What's she dreaming …?

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Phantasm): 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~