InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 5: Phantasm ❯ Ramifications ( Chapter 46 )

~~Chapter 46~~

~Ramifications~

 

Bas woke up with a groan, grimacing at the ache that throbbed behind his eyes. He felt like hell—like complete and utter hell.

 

Sydnie still lay curled against his chest, her cheek pressed to his heart. Smiling a little sadly, he carefully brushed the hair out of her face, running his thumb along the soft angles. She didn't stir, and he allowed the sound of her purring to comfort him.

 

In the end, he'd stood over the Jared Brantley's dead body, wondering why the youkai hadn't disintegrated, as most greater-youkai did when they died. Lesser-youkai tended to leave behind remains unless they were killed in such a fashion that dissipated their bodies, but the greater-youkai . . . InuYasha clapped a hand on Bas' shoulder as he stared at the body; at the blood pooling on the floor. “He died a dishonorable death,” InuYasha said quietly though his tone held no recrimination; no regret. “That's why his body wasn't taken to the other plane. There is no room in the afterlife for anyone who lives a dishonorable life.”

 

“Dishonorable death,” Bas repeated, unable to summon the basest of emotions. No sadness, no satisfaction, no nothing . . . just the emptiness of an act that never should have been forced upon anyone. “So that's it . . .”

 

Ryomaru stepped up on Bas' other side, mirroring the stance and grim visage of his father. Shaking his head, he bent down to examine the fallen general, and when he spoke, his tone was angry, almost belligerent. “To die fighting . . . to practice seppuku . . . to die of natural causes . . . those are honorable ways to die. He chose his death—the coward's way out. Don't take it with you, pup.”

 

“Don't take it . . . with me . . .”

 

Ryomaru stuck the recorder in Bas' hand before grasping his shoulder and propelling him toward the door. “Take your mate home, Bas. We'll take care of this.”

 

Nodding in reply, Bas strode from the room, finding Sydnie exactly where he'd left her: in the foyer, hidden in the shadows. She was huddled on the floor, her hands over her ears, and when she saw him, she slowly pushed herself to her feet. “Sebastian?”

 

He didn't have time to answer as she launched herself against his chest. Unprepared for the sudden assault, he stumbled back a couple of steps, hesitantly bringing his arms up to hug her and grimacing at the blackened blood that stained his hands. “Sydnie, no,” he mumbled, carefully stepping away from her. “Don't . . . please don't . . .”

 

She did as he asked, though her expression bespoke her confusion as she slowly shook her head and let her arms drop. “O-o-okay.”

 

He flinched. “Come on . . . let's go. I need . . . I need to get cleaned up . . .”

 

Sydnie nodded, wrapping her arms over her chest as she followed him out of the house and into the inky black night.

 

She hadn't said anything on the return trip over the rooftops of the city. She hadn't commented as Bas closed the door and strode past her, stopping only long enough to hang his sword over the fireplace before striding away to take a shower: to wash the blood off his hands. He couldn't stand the idea of touching her with his soiled claws, didn't want to see Jared Brantley's blood on his claws, an unsettling contrast against her California-girl skin.

 

What he hadn't expected was for her to slip into the shower with him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she pressed herself against his back. There was nothing passionate in her embrace, nothing untoward in her actions. As though she understood his emotions, she simply sought to offer him a measure of comfort—something that he so desperately needed.

 

Sighing softly, he opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was almost nine in the morning, and as much as he'd love to stay in bed, he needed to call Cain, to tell him that Jared Brantley had confessed.

 

The tiny silver recording device sat on the nightstand beside the clock. It didn't require the old tapes or even a CD, and the unit was compact enough to easily remain hidden though he doubted that his uncle or grandfather would have bothered with such a subtle ploy. It held the confession that he'd missed while he'd escorted Sydnie upstairs to wait. Even now, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what was on the recorder. It was enough that Brantley had confessed, after all.

 

`Don't take it with me . . .?' Bas mused, idly stroking Sydnie's hair as watery light filtered in the window. The light was pale enough that it fell onto the bed in a subtle shade of whiter gray without any real sense of definition from the window pane it shone through. He frowned. How the hell was he supposed to separate himself from what he'd done, no matter how deserving the punishment was? Wouldn't that somehow succeed in making him no better than Jared Brantley and Cal Richardson? To have no regrets, no remorse . . . how could he do that?

 

`Maybe it isn't about not having regrets, Bas . . . maybe it's about dealing with them, in knowing that you did what was just despite the ramifications . . . you didn't damn yourself with your actions. You did what was right, what was just, whether you really wanted to or not. You did it so that Sydnie would know what it was like, to sleep easy in the knowledge that no one really can hurt her again. You did it for her; you did it for the two of you . . . You did it to set her free . . .'

 

He was tired—weary . . . the cycle of violence was finally over, wasn't it? The bounty hunters were gone—he had yet to confirm his suspicions about Ryomaru and InuYasha trailing them—and that made him sad, too. It was simple enough to say that he hadn't had a choice. They'd come after Sydnie, and letting them have her never had been an option. Still he wasn't fool enough not to realize that the youkai had probably had families—at least some of them . . . He hadn't simply killed the bounty hunters, had he? No, he'd killed their mates, too, since true mates were inexorably bound, one to the other, and yet he couldn't quite regret his actions, either, could he? Admitting that he did . . . wouldn't that be the same as saying that he wished that he hadn't met Sydnie?

 

`Damn it,' he growled in his head, willing away the questions that were set to drive him mad. Carefully shifting Sydnie aside, he paused long enough to kiss her forehead before scooting off the bed and padding out of the room, grabbing the recorder and his cell phone and grimacing at the blinking red light. He'd switched it off before stretching out with Sydnie, having figured that InuYasha or Ryomaru had probably already contacted Cain. Hitting the button to retrieve his voicemail, his grimace shifted into a low groan as the digital voice intoned that he had no less than ten messages waiting his attention, and as expected, they were all from his father.

 

Deleting the memory without bothering to listen to them, he dialed Cain's number instead. He answered on the first ring, and he sounded like he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. “Bas? Damn it, where the hell have you been?”

 

Wincing, Bas heaved a sigh and trudged down the stairs. “Sleeping, Dad . . . it was late—early—whatever . . . I just woke up . . .”

 

Cain sighed, too, and the relief in his tone was unmistakable. “Your uncle told me that you took care of Brantley. He said you got a full confession, too . . .”

 

“I did,” Bas acknowledged, slipping the recorder into the pocket of his duster before continuing on to the kitchen. “At least, that's what they said.”

 

“You didn't hear it?”

 

Bas craned his neck from side to side, stretching the overwrought muscles that seemed coiled a little too tightly. “Nope . . . Ryomaru and the old man did, though. Sydnie brought them to Brantley's house, and I took her upstairs before—”

 

“Yeah, about that. I could have sworn I told you to wait.”

 

“I couldn't wait, Dad . . . you didn't see her face. You didn't see how . . . how . . . I don't know how to explain it. You just didn't see.”

 

Cain sighed again. “You okay? Ryomaru said you were pretty . . . shaken.”

 

“I'm fine,” Bas lied as he strode into the kitchen and dug a glass out for Sydnie. “We'll get moving tomorrow; I'll bring her home.”

 

“Take your time, son. Stay there a few days . . . a week . . . give her some good memories to hold on to.”

 

Bas smiled a little sadly. “Good memories, huh?”

 

“Sure . . . She deserves some, don't you think?”

 

“Yeah, she does.”

 

Cain exhaled slowly. Bas heard the sound of claws on crystal as his father snubbed out a cigarette. “I can pardon her,” he allowed. “From what your uncle told me, Brantley's confession corroborated her story completely—that he admitted he and Richardson were responsible for her sister's death, after all . . . I'm just thankful that she didn't take matters into her own hands the second time.”

 

Bas grimaced but understood. He'd thought as much, hadn't he? Sydnie had done what she felt she had to do the first time, and though it might not have been the right thing, it was the only recourse she thought she had, given that no one had ever really listened to her. If she'd killed Brantley, though . . . that was entirely different. “So she's free.”

 

“Free, yes, but I still need to talk to her. I need to grant her official pardon; that sort of thing. It can wait. Just . . . show her the city . . . take her to FAO Schwartz or the zoo or both . . .”

 

“The toy store?” Bas asked, lifting an eyebrow as a soft chuckle escaped him.

 

“Don't knock it . . . your mother still loves to go there.”

 

“All right,” he relented. “Good memories . . . I can do that . . .”

 

“Good . . . call me if you need anything, and let me know when you're coming back. I'll send Ben over in a bit. Give him the recorder, will you?”

 

“Sure,” Bas agreed. “Bye, Dad.”

 

Snapping the phone closed, Bas dropped it onto the counter and popped the tab on a can of soda. Draining it in one long gulp as he stared out the window at the snow falling from the slate gray sky, he rubbed the vale in the center of his chest. `Give her good memories, huh? Good memories . . . I could do with some of those, myself.'

 

Tightening his fist, he crushed the can and tossed it toward the empty recycling bin beside the trash can. Letting out a deep breath, he grabbed her glass of milk and headed out of the kitchen once more.

 

`Good memories for Sydnie . . . I . . . I can do that . . .'

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Bas sat back and narrowed his gaze on the oldest and most trusted of his father's generals. Ben Phillips had been apprised of the situation and hadn't wasted any time in showing up at the townhouse just after noon. Peering at Bas from behind the wire-rimmed glasses that were always slipping down his nose, the panther-youkai didn't look much different than he had when Bas had been nothing more than a child. After Cain returned from his training in Japan, Ben was the one who had taken the time to explain the complexities of North America, and the unique problems that the fledgling country presented. Ben had served as interim tai-youkai while Cain was being fostered, and he was probably as close to a father figure that Cain had ever really had.

 

“Dad sent you over here, didn't he?” Bas asked, breaking the silence that had fallen.

 

Ben smiled slightly and shrugged. “Actually, no. He said you'd probably be busy with this girl—Sydnie, right?”

 

“Yes, Sydnie.”

 

“Where is she? I'd love to meet her.”

 

“I think she's taking a bath,” he explained.

 

Ben grinned, his jewel-like eyes sparkling as Bas braced himself for whatever teasing the old youkai was getting ready to throw at him. “Your mate, huh?”

 

Bas nodded. “My mate,” he agreed.

 

Ben chuckled softly, drumming his claws on the arm of the chair, but his smile faded quickly enough, his gaze darkening as he stared at Bas. “The whole thing bothers you, doesn't it?”

 

“Yeah,” he admitted, “it does.”

 

“Taking a life is never a simple thing, Bas. Whether or not you had a choice, it still isn't an easy decision to make, and one that I've never envied your father for having to deal with it.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Ben leaned forward, took a deep drink of water before settling back in the chair again. “You'll be all right, you know, so long as you remember the things your father has taught you.”

 

Bas nodded slowly.

 

A subtle presence filtered over him; the softest scent of a familiar comfort. Ben lifted his chin, peering over Bas' shoulder, his gaze focusing on something further away. He broke into a little grin as he uncrossed his legs and stood. “You must be Sydnie,” he remarked, negotiating around the coffee table to offer his hand in greeting.

 

Bas stood, too, hiding his amusement as Sydnie blinked in surprise and hesitantly shook Ben's hand. “Ben, this is Sydnie Taylor . . . Sydnie, this is Ben Philips—Dad's head general.”

 

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the introduction. Bas chuckled. “I see . . . pleased to meet you,” she managed though she didn't actually sound pleased at all. No, she actually sounded more horrified than anything else, and Bas couldn't really fault her that, given her general distrust of authority figures.

 

“Bas tells me you're to be his mate,” Ben went on.

 

Sydnie's eyes rounded as the barest hint of a blush crept up her cheeks. Bas stifled a groan and wondered just how much trouble he'd be in with his father if he gave in to the desire to kick Ben in the shin . . . “Did he . . .?” she intoned, bright green eyes flashing to meet Bas' gaze.

 

If Ben noticed Sydnie's discomfort, he didn't remark on it. She pulled her hand away and sashayed over to Bas' side. He quirked an eyebrow, finally noticing that she had her purse slung over her shoulder. “Going somewhere, kitty?”

 

“I wanted to go for a walk,” she explained.

 

Bas nodded. “Okay . . . just let me finish up here with Ben, and we can go.”

 

She placed a hand on his chest to stay him. “I mean, I want to go on a walk—by myself.”

 

“Sydnie—”

 

“A short one,” she assured him. “I won't go far; I promise.”

 

He scowled, not entirely comfortable with the idea of letting her go anywhere alone. He didn't think for a moment that she wouldn't come back. She smiled at him, but the smile was tempered by the lingering worry in her gaze. Maybe she just needed some time to think. He couldn't really blame her if she did. She'd been through a hell of a lot in the last few weeks, hadn't she?

 

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he programmed in the number for the land line at the townhouse before snapping the phone closed and holding out to her. “Okay, but take this. Call me if you need me.”

 

Sydnie took the phone and pushed herself onto her toes, leaning on his forearm to kiss his cheek. “I'll be back, puppy,” she said, her eyes brightening as her smile widened.

 

He nodded. “Don't forget your coat.”

 

She rolled her eyes but giggled as she headed for the high archway that led to the foyer. “I'm youkai. I'm tough,” she reminded him.

 

“All the same . . .”

 

Sydnie wiggled her fingers and blew him a kiss before disappearing into the foyer. He heard the sound of the hall closet, followed a minute later by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

 

“Never thought I'd see it,” Ben mused with a soft chuckle.

 

Bas leveled a look at the older youkai and snorted. “Is it that hard to believe that I'd find a mate?” he grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

 

“What? No . . . not at all. I never thought I'd see the day when a dog-youkai chose a cat-youkai to mate. Surely you see the irony . . .?”

 

Bas snorted and sank back down on the sofa. “Yeah, yeah . . . it's not that funny.”

 

“She's a lovely girl,” Ben allowed.

 

“She's twenty . . . hardly a girl,” Bas pointed out.

 

Ben chuckled again. “When you're as old as me, any woman under a hundred seems like a girl . . . for that matter, you're still a pup to me . . .”

 

“Pfft.”

 

Ben sat down again, his smile turning bittersweet as his eyes glazed over just a little. “You remind me of him, you know,” he said quietly. “So much like him, it's a little frightening.”

 

Bas frowned and shook his head. “Him? Who?”

 

Ben's gaze cleared, and he nodded. “Your grandfather—Sebastian . . . the first Sebastian.”

 

Bas was taken aback by the admission. It was the first time he'd heard Ben speak of his grandfather, though Bas knew that Ben had been his grandfather's best friend. Normally given to practicality over reminiscing, the panther-youkai smiled indulgently. “I'm like him?” Bas asked quietly.

 

Ben barked out a terse laugh, the hint of sadness still lingering in the depths of his eyes. “You are. Cain . . . your father . . . has always been more like his mother. Quiet, reserved . . . almost shy . . . You . . .” he sighed and held his hands out. “You've always been more serious, almost to a fault—so much like Sebastian, it's almost uncanny, and you look just like him, too . . . right down to your crests, from what I've been told . . .”

 

Bas grimaced at the reminder but couldn't help the little grin that surfaced. “Really.”

 

Ben chuckled. “Yes, and he, too, hated them with a passion.”

 

Bas did laugh at that. It was nice to know, he supposed, that he wasn't the only one with crests in questionable places. “Thanks . . . I think . . .”

 

Ben nodded, steepling his fingertips together. “He'd have been proud to have a grandson like you.”

 

Bas' smile dissipated, a surge of pride, of humble reverence washing through him. “You think so?”

 

Ben nodded once. “I know so.”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Sydnie frowned as she wandered along the city streets without an actual destination in mind. She'd just needed to be alone.

 

It was a strange feeling, not having to look over her shoulder every few steps to see whether or not anyone was following her: scary, and a little daunting—something she wasn't certain she'd get used to at all . . .

 

They were dead. For so long, she'd wanted it: revenge for Kit; justice for the men who killed her. Cal Richardson and Jared Brantley . . . names she hadn't dared speak aloud; afraid that no one would believe her, and yet . . . and yet the fear that Bas wouldn't believe her had been the worst of all.

 

`But he did, Sydnie . . . of course he did.'

 

`I wasn't lying . . .'

 

`No, you weren't. All he's ever wanted was for you to trust in him. He's worth the risk, isn't he?'

 

Sydnie smiled wanly. An old man standing on the corner of Broadway and West 86th Street selling flowers stuck one under her nose. She blinked in surprise and hesitantly took the delicate blossom. It seemed oddly out of place in the frigid chill on this; the last day of the year. “It's a paperwhite narcissus,” he told her, his face contorting in an oddly pleasant smile.

 

“How much do I owe you?” she asked.

 

“You looked like you could use a friend, girly. It's on the house.”

 

Sydnie nodded and lifted the flower to her nose, closing her eyes for a moment as she breathed in the heady fragrance before continuing along the sidewalk, carried away in the milling crowd.

 

`You'd better get back soon. You promised Bas you wouldn't be gone long.'

 

She glanced around quickly, a sudden warmth siphoning through her. He wasn't there—she couldn't sense his youki—but just the thought of him was enough to bring a secretive little smile to her lips. `Sebastian . . .'

 

She understood now, didn't she? The feeling of protection that he gave her, the peace of knowing that she was completely safe when she was with him . . . How had he done that? How had he managed to ingrain himself so deeply in her life that the thought of being without him scared her senseless? She'd seen for herself, the toll that taking care of Jared Brantley had taken on him. He hadn't complained, had he? He hadn't done a thing but smile at her as he held her tight, as he tilted her chin up and forced a smile entirely for her benefit. In the darkened foyer of Brantley's house, he'd taken the time to kiss her cheek, to tell her that he'd take care of everything; that he'd make it all right for her, and she loved him for that, didn't she? She loved him . . .

 

`Nothing good ever lasts,' the tiniest voice whispered in her mind. That was what she was afraid of, wasn't it? That someone as good as Sebastian Zelig would wake up one morning and realize that she wasn't even close to good enough for him. Then again, didn't he already know that? He knew everything about her: who she was; where she'd come from, and yet he didn't seem to care at all . . . and if she could hope—if she dared—then maybe Bas really could fix things for her; fix everything . . .

 

It was easy for her to understand his reluctance when he'd emerged from his grim task. He'd looked disgusted and somehow sad; and though he'd understood the necessity of what he'd taken upon himself to do, that didn't make the job any easier. She'd watched him hang his sword above the fireplace when they'd reached the inner sanctum of the townhouse. In those moments, he'd seemed so much older than the hunter she'd first encountered back in Los Angeles. It was there in his eyes, wasn't it? So she'd done the only thing she could do: she'd tried to comfort him, to assure him that he really wasn't alone because he'd done that for her so many times . . .

 

He'd done it for her; for her peace of mind, and maybe he'd done it for himself, too. No, the reason he'd done what he'd done was . . .

 

`Because he . . . loves me?'

 

The words frightened her as much as they thrilled her. The idea of being with Bas forever . . .

 

She smiled—a real smile: one full of stuttering hope. She wanted to stay with him, and he wanted to stay with her. The only thing left to frighten her was the small but nagging worry that his family wouldn't approve . . .

 

But for now, it was okay, wasn't it? Maybe she'd just let herself believe that Sebastian Zelig really could fix anything.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Bas rubbed his temple as he stared out the window, trying not to worry about where Sydnie was.

 

She'd been gone a couple of hours.

 

“A short one. . . I won't go far; I promise.”

 

He slowly shook his head. `Damn it, where is she?'

 

`She's fine . . . Stop worrying . . . she'll call if she needs you.'

 

He sighed. She would, wouldn't she?

 

The harsh trill of the doorbell jarred straight through Bas, and he grimaced as he strode over to answer it. “May I help y—?” Cutting himself off as he stared blankly at the woman standing on the cement porch, Bas frowned. He'd never seen her before; he knew that much. Still, there was something familiar about her . . . Yellow hair hanging in limp tendrils around her, surrounding her like a shroud, she stepped back, her eyes dull, listless. Two pinpoints of light—an unnatural brightness . . . her owlish gaze penetrated his skull as she clutched her purse to her chest, her knuckles white, her hands shaking. Her scent was thin, thready, and startlingly familiar. Youkai, certainly, and very recognizable . . . `But . . . why?'

 

`You know why, Bas . . . think about it . . .'

 

Scowling as he tried to place the scent of her, he shook his head. `Do I . . . know her?'

 

He did know her, didn't he? Too familiar, she was. Her scent was too real . . .

 

“Don't tell me what I know, and don't try to lecture me! Just shut up and die!”

 

His eyes widened, and he knew . . . “You're his mate, aren't you?” Bas asked slowly. “Jeb Christopher's mate.”

 

She winced at the name that had fallen so easily from his lips. Recoiling for a moment before she tightened her grip on her purse, she nodded once, eyes darting behind him before shifting to meet his gaze once more. “Serena Christopher, if you please. I'd like a word,” she whispered, her voice as dry as the winter wind.

 

He nodded curtly and stepped back, allowing the woman to pass. Wincing at the diminished youki surrounding her, Bas closed the door and swallowed hard. “This way,” he said, moving past her and into the living room. She stopped in the archway, staring at the sword suspended over the fireplace; staring at the pewter keychain that dangled from Triumvirate's hilt. Bas pretended not to notice as he crossed the floor and poured a generous amount of Cain's best single malt scotch into a crystal scotch glass before turning back to the woman again. “Here,” he told her, slipping the drink into her shaking hand.

 

She seemed surprised by his gesture but drank the liquor down, grimacing slightly at the burn—she obviously wasn't used to alcohol. Bas took the glass back and refilled it. She drank that, too, then set the glass on the heavy trunk behind the sofa. “You killed my family,” she said, more matter-of-factly than anything, her voice cracking, shattering. “Did you know that? Do you care?”

 

Bas couldn't meet the woman's gaze. She was angry, bitter, and he couldn't blame her. She'd lost it all, hadn't she, and while he knew that hunting wasn't a personal thing, he couldn't brush off the pain in her voice, either. “I did, and I do,” he allowed quietly.

 

She sucked in a sharp breath. Bas stuffed his hands into his pockets, staring at the floor. He heard her opening her purse but didn't look up. He could smell the woman's pain—raw, fresh, blinding—moments before he heard the distinct `snick-snick' of a gun being cocked to fire. “Why?” she hissed, her voice trembling. Bas grimaced as the smell of tears filled his nose. “Tell me why!”

 

“I'm a hunter,” he replied softly, “same as they were . . . I'm sorry.”

 

“Sorry? Don't tell me you're sorry! I don't want your pity! I want your life!”

 

Slowly Bas lifted his chin, watched as her resolve wavered with her unsteady hands. He didn't doubt that she knew how to fire the gun, but practicing on targets was a far cry from taking another life. There was little doubt in his mind that she meant to use the weapon. “If my death would bring them back, I'd let you kill me,” he said. “Your son . . . did he have a mate?”

 

“Don't you ask me questions about my son!” she growled as the gun wavered just a little bit more. “You have no right to wonder about him! You killed him! You killed him, and you killed Beth, and you killed their child, too!”

 

Bas nodded. “His mate was pregnant.”

 

“She was pregnant,” the woman spit out. “Damn you, Sebastian Zelig! You should not be allowed to live!”

 

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I couldn't let them kill Sydnie.”

 

“You couldn't let them . . . Of course you couldn't, and I couldn't stop Jeb. I wanted him to kill you; don't you see? You've taken my entire family—everyone I've ever loved! You took them all . . . you took them all!”

 

Bas grimaced, forcing his gaze away from the gun. “It wasn't their place to mete out justice. It wasn't their job.”

 

“And most of those that they hunted were scum . . . lowlifes who would have ended up dead, anyway. They . . . they helped you . . . your father . . . They did what needed to be done.”

 

“Do you really believe that? Do you really think that killing for money is right or decent?” He sighed. “There couldn't be any winners in any of it . . . and I'm sorry for that.”

 

The gun wavered precariously. He could smell the rise of the woman's tears. They hadn't spilled over before, but Bas had been acutely aware of them. They pooled in her eyes but didn't fall. She steadied her grip on the weapon and leveled it straight at Bas' chest. “I want to kill you,” she whispered, the lack of conviction in her voice entirely at odds with the steadiness in her hands. Steadier than she had been, Serena's resolve seemed to have strengthened. Nostrils quivering, lip trembling, she cradled the butt of the grip in her left hand, her right index finger poised to fire. “I want revenge.”

 

“I'd want revenge, too, if someone killed those whom I loved,” Bas admitted. Unable to summon a token show of resistance, he let his hands drop to his sides as the images of the hunters passed through his head. How many of them had families of their own? How many of them had he destroyed? He hadn't had a choice, had he? Protecting Sydnie . . . it was what he was sent to do. He'd done that and then some. She would have her pardon, one way or the other, and, he was certain, she'd have the unerring protection of the tai-youkai for the rest of her life. Standing before the mother, the wife of two of the youkai he'd killed . . . It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. The quiet voice in his head that reminded him that he'd tried to walk away from her son did little to alleviate the overwhelming sense of guilt that he'd never fully been able to shed.

 

“Why can't you yell at me? Why can't you tell me that they deserved what you did to them? Be a bastard, can't you? Why won't you give me that much?” Serena gritted out.

 

Bas shook his head but offered no explanations, simply waiting for her next move. He might be able to move fast enough to retrieve his sword, but to what avail? Serena . . . her anger . . . he understood. She, like Sydnie, had watched from the deepest recesses as everyone she loved was taken from her. Did it matter if Bas was working under the direction of the tai-youkai? No, he supposed it didn't. The end result was the same, and maybe he really wasn't any better than Cal Richardson or Jared Brantley. If Serena Christopher wanted his life, then maybe he owed her that, too.

 

“He—Cody—was married less than a year ago,” Serena finally said. Her voice was paper-thin, and the barrel of the gun quivered once more. “He was twenty-five.”

 

Bas grimaced inwardly. `Same age as me . . . damn it . . .'

 

“He'd dated Beth in college, you know? Such a pretty girl . . . a pretty girl . . .”

 

“And they were going to have a baby?” Bas forced himself to ask.

 

“Yes, yes, yes . . . yes . . . a baby . . . my grandchild. Beth wanted a son, but Cody . . .” Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat. “Cody just wanted a healthy baby,” she rasped out. “`As long as he or she is healthy,' he'd said . . .”

 

“I'm sorry,” Bas muttered, hating how lame the words sounded to his own ears.

 

Serena cleared her throat. “Jeb was so excited. He rushed out and bought things for the baby. We'd talked about having another, but . . . well, we just never did.”

 

“I'm . . . sorry . . .”

 

Choking out a harsh laugh, Serena slowly shook her head. “Of course you are. You should be.”

 

Bas nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets once more.

 

“You killed Jeb, and you killed my son . . . I gave birth to him! My son . . . my Cody . . . you took him away from me, but . . .” She winced, her expression breaking just for a moment before she got herself under control once more, but the tears slipped over, streaking down her sallow cheeks in silvery trails of moisture. “Your mother . . . she loves you, doesn't she? She loves you like I loved my Cody . . .”

 

The gun trembled for another moment. Serena's resolve wavered between her desire to make him pay for his deeds and the realization that Bas' mother, too, would hurt as she did. She choked out a small sob, her hands dropping as she released the hammer on the gun and covered her face with her left hand.

 

“Damn you,” she whispered. “Damn you!”

 

Bas blinked quickly, trying to restrain the moisture that misted his gaze. “I've damned myself, too,” he admitted.

 

Serena sniffled loudly, fumbling with her purse. Dropping the gun into the bag, she fished around for something else. Bas waited, watched as she pulled a small silver frame, staring at the picture with a sad sort of smile—a smile as full of sorrow as it was full of love. The expression was enough to rip the last of Bas' soul to shreds as a single tear slipped down his cheek and he ducked his head.

 

“You . . . you want to see them?” she asked quietly.

 

Bas cleared his throat and nodded just once. She hesitated but stepped toward him, extending the frame almost grudgingly.

 

Bas took it reluctantly, stared at the frozen image of the family she'd lost. The son—Cody—with his arms around both his mother and his bride, and they were all smiling. Jeb stood on Serena's other side, his smile bright. Bas swallowed hard. “Can I . . . May I . . . keep this?”

 

Serena seemed surprised by Bas' question. He opened his mouth to take it back. It had been more of an impulse than anything else. He didn't even understand why he felt compelled to keep the picture. Serena's voice was thick with emotion when she spoke. “You'll remember them? Always remember them?”

 

Bas jerked his head in agreement. “I will,” he promised her.

 

Serena nodded, dashing her hand over her eyes. “Then they won't really die.”

 

Bas lifted his chin, watched in silence as Serena turned to go. Her shoes whispered softly on the thick carpet, and she stopped in the doorway to cast him one last, long look. “I only have one bullet,” she told him. “I convinced myself that it was meant for you, but . . .” She swallowed hard and smiled. Her eyes were brighter though not by much, and Bas had to wonder if she had managed to find a measure of peace with something that couldn't be reckoned. “But maybe it never was.”

 

He watched her go then. She slipped out of the townhouse and disappeared amongst the people passing by on the street. Glancing down at the picture frame in his hands, he scowled and asked himself just how could it be that the little slip of a woman could muster more dignity, more grace than a man who had lived his life in the direct service of the tai-youkai? There wasn't a doubt in Bas' mind that no matter how she chose to finish her time, Serena would die with honor while Jared Brantley had hidden his true nature, unwilling or unable to assume the full measure of responsibility for what he'd done.

 

He stared at the smiling family in the picture and swallowed hard. `I won't forget, Serena . . . and for what it's worth, I'm sorry . . .'

 

 

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A/N:

Seppuku: often called hara-kiri. Ritualistic suicide practiced by samurais and originating in feudal Japan, developed as an integral part of the code of bushido and the discipline of the samurai warrior class.

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Reviewers

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MMorg

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Final Thought fromBas:

To die an honorable death …

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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~