InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 5: Phantasm ❯ Reticence ( Chapter 43 )

~~Chapter 43~~

~Reticence~

 

Serena stared out the window at the falling dusk that settled over the city with a quiet sort of awe that did little to raise the flagging hope that Jeb would walk through the door.

 

Did it matter? Did anything really matter anymore?

 

Dragging a trembling hand over her gaunt face, Serena heaved a tumultuous sigh and slowly shook her head.

 

She could feel it in her heart, couldn't she? The vast sense of emptiness . . . the terrible void of intuition that spoke clearly, concisely: Jeb wasn't coming home.

 

He'd taken every solitary thing that had ever mattered to Serena; this son of the tai-youkai. `The Zelig's son has cost me everything—everything—and yet he lives, doesn't he? And yet he lives . . .'

 

It was supposed to have been a simple assignment: track the woman who was responsible for Cal Richardson's death and dole out the justice that Zelig had seemed reluctant to enforce. Never had Jeb thought that the unseasoned hunter that the tai-youkai would see fit to send would be Zelig's son—his heir, for the love of God.

 

And maybe that was the biggest joke of them all.

 

Serena's harsh laughter filled the silent room. The grating sound—cynical, jaded—welled up from somewhere deep inside her; spilled over in gales of hysterical noise. Jeb had promised that he would make all of their dreams come true, hadn't he? He'd made that vow so long ago, and he had made good on his word, as well. Of course he had . . .

 

Trained in the ancient ways; the more archaic means of fighting and of assassination, Jeb had taken the tasks that others had shirked. In a day and age when guns and easy kills were simple, he had striven to maintain a certain level of integrity in the organization he'd founded. How often he'd told her that there was no honor to be found in the use of firearms amongst youkai. He'd said it, hadn't he? Still . . .

 

Still, if he'd used a gun instead of his strength, maybe things would have been different now. If he'd let go of his damnable pride—if he'd taught Cody in the beginning that there wasn't a youkai alive who could outrun a bullet . . .

 

Serena had listened in silence. Lost in shadows, always alert, she had heard the things that Jeb hadn't realized that she knew anything about. She knew all of it. She'd made it her mission to know. She was dead, one way or the other. Only time was left, and that was cruel, too.

 

She wanted him to suffer, didn't she? She wanted him to understand just what he had done. This hunter—this son of the Great Dog . . . he'd decimated her family. He'd taken everyone that Serena had ever loved.

 

Turning away from the window, Serena shuffled across the floor; out of the barren living room, through the foyer, the hallway, draped with pristine white sheets—ghosts of a life best left forgotten. It wouldn't have mattered if Jeb came back or not, would it? Even if he had, the Zelig wouldn't have let the slight pass, and why should he? He, like Jeb, would have been avenging his son.

 

Her purse sat on the sheet-covered bed beside a framed photograph of a family. The mother's bright golden hair shone in the sunshine, the feline grace of the man beside her evident even in the still image. A tall young man stood beside the woman, his arms draped around her as well as around the dainty little slip of a girl on his other side. He was smiling, laughing, his hair blowing in his face. Hard to believe that the picture was taken less than a year ago, Serena mused. The young man and his beautiful bride, and they hadn't realized then that everything was poised to change. Not one of them had known, had they? Back then, they'd all believed that the future was bright, shining, full of promise yet to be explored.

 

Serena brushed a single tear away, her hands shaking as she pressed the frame against her chest. Sinking down on the end of the bed, she set the picture aside and checked her purse. The sight of the flat black gun nestled so neatly beside her alligator skin wallet made her flinch, and she carefully dug the weapon out of her purse and checked the ammunition clip.

 

One bullet. It was all she needed. One bullet would bring an end to the pain her life had become. One bullet, and Sebastian Zelig . . .

 

`Let it go, Serena . . . can't you just let it be over?'

 

She winced and carefully stowed the gun into her purse once more. `Let . . . it go?'

 

Yet she couldn't do that, could she? The anger, the bitterness . . . it was all she had left along with the consuming questions; the morbid need to question God and the heavens. A barter with the devil, maybe, and if it only bought her a few more days . . .

 

Maybe it would be enough.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Sydnie drummed her claws on the Formica tabletop and wrinkled her nose as she shifted her baleful glare around the small diner. It was not to be borne, really, the ease with which Bas tended to draw undue attention from anyone of the female persuasion. She'd heard the excited twittering coming from the end of the counter where the waitresses were congregated. A surreptitious glance later, and Sydnie had been gritting her teeth since every one of the five girls over there were staring unabashedly at her puppy. The only consolation, however small, was that Bas never, ever seemed to notice the attention that he garnered. If only she didn't . . .

 

Bas set his knife and fork on the empty plate before him and pushed it away before leaning his forearms on the edge of the table and eyeing Sydnie carefully. “Want to tell me what's on your mind, kitty?”

 

Giving up the pretense of eating, she dropped her fork with a loud clatter and sat back against the padded vinyl bench seat. “Nothing,” she drawled, pinning on a tolerant little smile that felt more like a grimace.

 

His frown darkened. “Nothing, huh?”

 

Sydnie dug in her purse for a cigarette then grimaced. She hated the anti-smoking laws, especially when she was grappling for control over her rising irritation. “What ever happened to manners?” she demanded, narrowing her gaze on Bas. “Isn't it obvious that we're here together? Isn't it obvious that you're quite taken?”

 

Bas blinked in surprise and slumped back in his seat as a slow grin spread over his features. “Jealous, kitty?”

 

She snorted. “Do we have to go over this again, puppy? I own you, and—”

 

“Own me, huh?”

 

“Yes, own you, and since I own you—”

 

“Do I call you `master'?”

 

Sydnie rolled her eyes. “—There are certain things that I shouldn't have to put up with, not the least of which are nasty waitresses who—”

 

“Mistress?”

 

“—Think that they have the right to gawk at you as though you're little more than a bit of meat on a string created for their sordid amusement.”

 

“You're right,” he agreed, his tone indulgent at best. “I'm just here for your sordid amusement, right?”

 

She snorted again, cheeks pinking despite the haughty tilt of her chin. “That's right.”

 

“All right, kitty, if you say so.”

 

“I do,” she insisted. “Anyway, aren't we almost finished yet?”

 

“You barely touched your food.”

 

Sydnie shrugged and uttered a terse little grunt. Bas grinned at her again before digging out his wallet and trying to decide how much of a tip he should leave. Taking advantage of the momentary lapse in his scrutiny, she scooped up the packets of sugar and salt and pepper off the table and into her purse. Bas dropped some bills on the table and stood up, offering Sydnie a hand to help her to her feet.

 

She didn't speak as they left the restaurant and headed for the car. They weren't too far from New York City, and Bas had said that they might as well keep driving. His father, he explained, had a townhouse in Manhattan, and while Sydnie wasn't keen on the idea of staying in another of Cain Zelig's homes, she couldn't seem to think of a single thing to talk Bas out of it, either.

 

`Face it, Sydnie . . . it's not the idea of staying at the Zelig townhouse that has you up in arms. What's bothering you most is what you know is waiting for you there, in New York City . . .'

 

She bit her lip and slipped into the passenger seat of the rental car while Bas strode around to the driver's side. She'd been trying not to think about it too much, hadn't she? She'd tried not to think, not to worry . . . She'd tried not to dwell on the things left to be done.

 

Bas climbed into the car, casting Sydnie a quick little smile.

 

She returned the gesture despite the feeling of absolute foreboding that she couldn't mask completely. He didn't miss her reluctance, and he reached out to brush her hair out of her face. “What are you thinking about, kitty?”

 

Sydnie leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his caress. “I'm fine, puppy,” she lied. “Did you get a spoon for me?”

 

Bas chuckled and dug another chintzy silver spoon out of his inner pocket. Sydnie took it, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she turned the plastic case over in her hands, examining the latest addition to her growing collection.

 

Staring at the utensil, she couldn't help the tiny grimace that furrowed her brow as Bas started the car and put it into gear. The sooner they got to New York City—the sooner she took care of the things that she needed to do . . . She bit her cheek. After that, her fate would be sealed, wouldn't it? There'd be no going back; not ever. Bas would understand what she'd been trying to tell him. He had to. There was no other way . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Where is she?”

 

Ryomaru fell into step beside Cain as the tai-youkai strode into the nondescript building. “Where else? In containment.”

 

Cain nodded without breaking his stride. It'd been a long time since he'd been inside this place. Used for inquisitions ever since the altercation that had brought Cal Richardson to his home, Cain had purchased the vacant building to keep the more unsavory elements away from his family. Since his oldest daughter's birth so long ago, Cain had made a point of not allowing captured youkai to be brought to his estate by the ocean, and this place served his purpose well.

 

He'd gotten the call less than an hour ago. Ryomaru and InuYasha had brought in Jeb Christopher's right hand, a hawk-youkai named Myrna. Though they said she seemed cooperative, Cain would be damned if he'd take any sort of chances when Gin and his youngest children were home. In any case, he'd told them to bring her here.

 

InuYasha paced around the windowless room—a larger supply closet with only one door. Cain grunted and nodded in greeting. InuYasha's welcome was much the same. Ryomaru closed the door and leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest, his sword strapped almost carelessly to his lean hips. InuYasha stomped over to the far wall, sinking down as he folded his arms over his chest under the billowing sleeves of his fire rat haori. Cain stopped before the hawk-youkai and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

 

“Tell me what you know,” he demanded without preamble.

 

The woman blinked and licked her lips, nodding slowly as she tucked her feet beneath her chair. “I carry no grudge against you,” she stated quietly, her golden gaze direct, unafraid despite the worried creases at the corners of her eyes. “I'll tell you what you want to know, but I beg you for mercy.”

 

Cain's expression didn't change as he eyed the youkai carefully. “Names,” he finally said. “Give me names, and then we'll talk.”

 

She swallowed hard, her eyes shifting from side to side as she scanned Cain's face for any traces of understanding. “I . . . I'm not sure, but I know where Jeb kept that kind of information.”

 

He narrowed his gaze, careful to keep his expression blanked, impassive. “Do you.”

 

“Yes . . .” Biting her lip for a moment, she sat up a little straighter and cleared her throat. “There's a locked file cabinet in his office—in New York City. It's a bio-lock.”

 

Cain sucked in his cheeks as he pondered the hawk-youkai's claim. “A bio-lock? So in other words, completely useless to us.”

 

She shook her head quickly, nervously flicking out her tongue to lick her lips again. “It was set to accept Jeb's DNA sample or . . . or mine.”

 

“Yours.”

 

“Yes . . . just in case . . . in case something happened to him.”

 

“How big a DNA sample?”

 

“A hair would do, providing you have enough of a root sample to get the DNA match.”

 

Cain thought that over for a moment before nodding slowly. “Are you really so anxious to turn on your organization?”

 

Myrna sighed, her chin dropping as she frowned at Cain's question. “Anxious? No . . . I don't have an organization left. Jeb's dead, and I've seen . . . I've seen more than I ever wanted to see.”

 

He could see it in her eyes: her weariness, the sadness that delved deeper than any physical wound ever could. He understood that, didn't he? After the death of his first wife—a death he'd blamed on himself for far too long—hadn't he felt the same way? Saw too much . . . lived through too much . . . terrible things; things that had the power to haunt one's dreams and turn them into nightmares . . . This woman: this youkai . . . She understood a little too well, just how precarious life really was. The pain of the loss of those she worked with every day; the knowledge that nothing on earth could have saved them once the tremulous hand of fate intervened . . . and maybe she really did want to end it all, and maybe there was some honor in that wish. “And you'll give up a DNA sample so that we can access those files?”

 

She nodded. “I will.”

 

Cain shifted his gaze to meet Ryomaru's. Still lounging against the door, the hanyou nodded, and Cain stepped back. “I trust you and your father can take care of this? I want the names of those who hired the hit on Sydnie.”

 

Ryomaru nodded again. “Need a collection kit,” he grumbled.

 

“I'll have one sent over,” Cain assured him. “I'll call in one of my hunters to watch her. You'll make sure that there's not another hit issued for Sydnie?”

 

“Not a problem,” Ryomaru said. “Ain't Bas in New York City, though?”

 

Cain sighed and rubbed his eye. “He's heading that way, yes. Said he should be there by nightfall.”

 

“We'll take care of it.”

 

Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Cain's eyes locked with InuYasha's. The hanyou didn't blink as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, nodding curtly at the tai-youkai. Cain nodded back, allowing that the two could take care of the nasty business of finding and stopping the threat to Sydnie. Ryomaru, after all, was Sesshoumaru Inutaisho's most feared youkai-hunter in Japan, and despite Cain's personal feelings toward InuYasha, he had to admit that the hanyou—his father-in-law—was a force to be reckoned with.

 

Ryomaru stepped away from the door, and Cain slipped out of the room as he dug his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the eleventh number on his speed-dial. The first nine were reserved for family with Gin's number programmed in first. The tenth number was that of his most trusted general, Ben, who had served as interim tai-youkai while Cain was being trained before he'd reached his majority. The eleventh number was the first—the oldest—of his hunters. Deke Cartham answered on the second ring.

 

“Zelig?”

 

In the background, Cain could discern the sounds of Kelly Cartham's laughter as she talked with their only child, Madison. He grimaced. “Hey, Cartham. I have a job for you.”

 

“Hold on.”

 

Cain kept walking as he waited for Cartham to duck out of the room. He heard the soft click of a door closing and figured that Cartham had closeted himself away in his gun room. “All right.”

 

“Gin's father and Ryomaru brought in the last surviving member of the Onyx . . . I need you to come down here and keep an eye on her while we find out whether or not the information she provided is accurate.”

 

“All right.”

 

Cain paused, his hand on the glass door that led onto the sidewalk. “They need a DNA kit, too.”

 

“DNA? The tester or the preserving kit?”

 

“Preserving kit. She says that the files are stored in under bio-lock.”

 

Cartham grunted. “Makes sense. Dunno if I have preserving kit left, but I can get one.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No-kill?”

 

“No-kill . . . I've not decided what I'll do with her yet.”

 

“Understood. HQ?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Cartham sighed, and Cain could hear the snick of a zipper. Cartham was packing up his gear. “Give me an hour.”

 

Clicking off his cell phone, Cain stepped onto the street, scanning the area more from force of habit than because he sensed any real danger.

 

He didn't doubt that the hawk-youkai's claims were grounded; not at all. No, the vexing question was what he should do with her. She was one of the higher-up members of the Onyx, after all, and as such, she'd been directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of countless youkai. Depending on her level of involvement, granting her a pardon might prove to be a little trickier than it would in Sydnie's case. Sydnie . . . what she'd done, she'd done because the system had somehow failed her, and when she had no one else she could turn to—no one who believed her, and providing she didn't do anything stupid, Cain could pardon her for killing Cal Richardson . . . Thing was, he couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same damn thing if he had to endure what she had, but the hawk-youkai . . .

 

He sighed as he slipped behind the steering wheel of the late-model Ford Bronco—Bas' vehicle. It hadn't been driven in awhile and needed to be, which was why Cain had taken it.

 

The trouble with pardoning the hawk-youkai was that money was her motivating factor. There wasn't a sense of righteous vengeance, of a system that failed to deliver. The Onyx was, after all, a clandestine organization of well-trained assassins who killed because it filled their pockets. Letting her off the hook was something that Cain wasn't sure he could do. Vigilante justice was still exactly that, and despite the knowledge that many of the Onyx's victims were likely renegade youkai who would have eventually come to light in the eyes of the tai-youkai's office, it certainly didn't exonerate their collective actions; not by a long shot.

 

Maybe Gunnar had some information; something to fill in the rest of the cracks to help Cain figure out just what to do with Myrna Loy . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Bas stood at the window, staring out into the night as he tried to make sense of Sydnie's strange behavior that had steadily gotten worse since they had stopped for lunch at the small diner. Anxious, skittish, she'd nearly jumped out of her skin when he'd touched her shoulder in the car. Her eyes had been wild, frightened, and that had worried him even more than the slight mewling, the trembling he could sense as she had dozed in the passenger seat of the car. `The nightmare,' he'd come to realize; the one he'd thought she didn't have anymore . . . it had managed to haunt her just one last time, and Bas had pulled over so that he could wake her.

 

She'd blinked a few times before fumbling with the seat belt and ferreting her way onto his lap. Her heart was beating so hard that he'd winced as he stroked her hair, as he'd murmured nonsense in an effort to calm her, to soothe her. She'd clung to him, her breath strangled and harsh while he tried not to feel completely helpless in the face of her consuming fear. When she'd calmed down enough to ask him to stop for the night, he'd agreed without hesitation despite their being less than an hour away from New York City. Unable to do more than nod, he'd ignored the tiny voice whispering in his head that something was just not right with her, opting instead to shift her to the side far enough that he could drive without interference. She'd huddled against his shoulder, burying her face against his chest, and he'd stopped at the first hotel he could find . . .

 

Bas sighed and shot Sydnie a surreptitious glance. She was rubbing her forearms as though she were cold, her gaze darting around almost nervously, as she paced the floor, her eyes darting to every darkened corner of the room and finally coming to rest on the closet.

 

He frowned. She hadn't tried to retreat to the closet since she'd told him the tale of her past. Something really was bothering her, but every time he asked her, she forced a smile and shook her head. `As if I can't see right through that,' he thought with an inward snort. Still, he couldn't bring himself to demand for more information. The terrified look on her face was enough to silence his tongue before he could even think to ask.

 

Pushing himself away from the window, Bas shuffled over to her and held out his hand. “Come on, baby . . . you look tired.”

 

She stared at his hand for a moment then nodded, and he winced as her icy fingers touched his palm. Turning off the bedside lamp, Bas stretched out on the bed and pulled Sydnie close. She crawled onto his chest, settling herself with her cheek against his heart. Bas rubbed her back, stroked her hair, wished that he could comprehend the demons that were chasing her now.

 

`You know, Bas, I wonder . . .'

 

Listening to the slight tremor in her breathing, Bas winced but remained silent.

 

`The second one . . . the other youkai . . . do you suppose . . .?'

 

Bas grimaced, eyes scanning the yellowed ceiling, watching as the headlights of passing cars chased one another across the expanse of the room. He'd already wondered that.

 

“Sydnie?”

 

“Tired, Sebastian,” she murmured, cuddling closer, squeezing her eyes closed tight.

 

He kissed her forehead. “He's close, isn't he? The second one . . .”

 

She didn't answer, gripping the blanket he'd draped over her so tightly that her arm shook.

 

Bas tried again. “You can't go after him, baby . . . you can't.”

 

“G'night, puppy,” she mumbled, ignoring his line of questioning.

 

Bas didn't press her further. He'd ask her again in the morning. He didn't have a choice, damn it, because if she did go after the second youkai; if she succeeded in killing him, too . . .

 

It was something Bas didn't even want to consider.

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromBas:

…Dominatrix…?

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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~