InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 5: Phantasm ❯ Making Amends ( Chapter 52 )

~~Chapter 52~~

~Making Amends~

 

Cain sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, trying his damndest to keep from losing his temper in the face of his youngest son's perceived nonchalance. `If he ever took anything seriously, I think I'd die of shock,' he mused.

 

Evan slouched down in the chair across from his father, drumming his thumbs on the wooden armrests in a careful cadence. If Evan heard him at all, he would be amazed. Stifling a sigh, Cain rubbed his forehead and counted to twenty, then on to fifty for good measure.

 

“This is serious, Evan,” he finally said, carefully keeping his tone even.

 

Evan didn't miss a beat as he glanced at his father, cocky grin in place as he slowly blinked and slumped a little lower, stretching out his long legs and crossing his ankles atop the wide antique desk. “You think I wasn't being serious? I was about two seconds from coming.”

 

Cain grimaced. “Spare me the details, you little debaucher,” he growled. “Haven't you ever heard of discretion?”

 

“Sure,” Evan shot back, his grin widening into a self-satisfied smirk. “That's why we were behind the bleachers.”

 

“For the love of—” Cutting himself off, Cain drew a fortifying breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he felt his fleeting sense of calm slipping further and further out of his grasp. “You didn't even stop when the principal caught you,” he pointed out in what he could only hope was a reasonable tone.

 

“Hell, no, I didn't! I was about to shoot my load!” Evan chuckled. “And may I remind you that you never do, either. I can't count the number of times I've seen your ass, Cain.”

 

“Dad,” Cain corrected, “and we're in our own home, so that's not even an issue.”

 

“Relax, will you? You sound like I raped Candy, and I didn't . . . she just wanted a taste of The Heaven—is it my fault that women can't resist me?”

 

Cain sighed. “Be that as it may, Evan, you've gotten yourself kicked out of school for the next week—”

 

“As if I actually learn anything there, anyway.”

 

“—And you're in danger of flunking out completely, from what Mr. Hensley said.”

 

“Hensley's a prick,” Evan grumbled. “I hate school! It's a waste of time and effort, not to mention taxpayers' money . . . might as well send kids to the zoo. If I can't get pussy at school, what's the sense of going?”

 

“Yeah, you're not scoring points with me, son,” Cain pointed out.

 

“Didn't know I was trying, Cain,” Evan growled under his breath.

 

Resisting the desire to smack his son upside the head, he opened his mouth to reiterate just how precarious Evan's situation really was when the curt knock on the door interrupted him. “It's open,” he called out instead.

 

“Saved by the bubby,” Evan intoned as he started to rise.

 

“Sit,” Cain commanded. Evan sighed but did as he was told.

 

Bas stuck his head in the office and frowned. “You wanted to talk to me?”

 

“In a minute,” Cain replied, jerking his head at the other empty chair facing his desk before turning his attention back to Evan once more. “Look. Your mom and I have talked it over, and she's not thrilled about all this, either, but . . .” Standing up, Cain turned around and strode over to the long windows, staring out at the crisp winter morning. The view calmed him, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets before wandering over to the desk once more and pulling two pieces of paper out of the folder lying atop the desk calendar. “We all think you're doing this on purpose—bored, I suppose? Or maybe it's just not cool to do well in school. In any case, Mr. Hensley was genuinely upset when he gave me the results of your examinations and a copy of the answer sheet you submitted.” He flipped back the first sheet and held out the paper for Evan's inspection. “What, may I ask, is this?”

 

Evan's grin widened even more. “It's the logo from my favorite band, RLF!”

 

“RLF?”

 

“Yeah! Raunchy Little Fuckers!”

 

“I should have known,” Cain grumbled, tossing the papers down before whipping around to face the windows once more.

 

Bas coughed. “That's your favorite band? They blow!”

 

“As do you,” Evan shot back calmly.

 

Cain didn't have to see the brothers to know that, judging from the `thump' that Bas had just smacked Evan or that Evan was probably grinning like a fool for it.

 

“You could have passed that test. I know you could have,” Cain finally said.

 

Evan sighed. “I hate school! It's a waste of time! If it weren't for the girls there, I'd—”

 

“Spare me,” Cain and Bas growled.

 

“I don't see why I have to go. There's so much stuff I could be doing instead of being cooped up all day in that hellhole.”

 

Cain turned around again and pinned Evan with a calculating stare. “You want out of there?” he finally asked.

 

Evan looked a little surprised, but he masked it quickly enough, reassuming his casual pose in the chair as he scratched his bare chest since he'd shed the garment about the moment Cain had escorted him to the car after the visit with the guidance counselor. “What's the catch?”

 

“The catch,” Cain repeated, satisfied that Evan was finally listening as he sat back down again, “is that you'll have to stop screwing around. You want out? Fine. You'll play it my way, then.”

 

Evan thought that over and shrugged. “Okay, let's hear your spiel.”

 

“Your guidance counselor told me that the state offers a test every summer. If you pass it, you will be allowed to graduate from school. Then you'll spend a year or two at the University of Maine, at least until you would have normally graduated from high school. If you want to transfer after that, fine, but one way or another, you're going to finish school.”

 

“College? I don't fucking need college.” He sat up a little straighter, his cocky grin widening even more. “I'm gonna be a rock star!”

 

“And if that doesn't work out, Evan? What then?” Cain countered.

 

“It'll work out.”

 

Cain sighed. “Humor me. If it doesn't, what'll you do?”

 

“Way to be supportive, Cain,” Evan grumbled.

 

“I'm being supportive, Evan. I'm also being realistic. Sometimes things don't work out, even if you have more talent than anyone else. You've got to have something else to back you up—or do you really want your mother worrying that you're lying dead in an alley somewhere?”

 

“Mom knows better.”

 

“Get your BA in whatever makes you happy so long as you get one so your mother can sleep at night without having to worry about you. You do that, and then I'll help you. If you want to be a musician, that's fine. I'll pull whatever strings you want me to pull so long as you get your education first.”

 

Evan blinked, obviously surprised at his father's offer. “You don't care if I study music?”

 

Cain shook his head. “No, Evan, I don't care if you study music. I don't care if you study the mating rituals of the great horned owl so long as it is something you want to do—and so long as you don't make your mother worry about you living on the streets or in some box under some bridge with a guy named Larry . . .”

 

Evan winced. “Now that was a little low, don't you think?”

 

Cain cocked an eyebrow. “Did it work?”

 

Evan heaved a sigh. “Yeah, yeah . . .”

 

“Then no, not low at all.”

 

“Way to go, Dad,” Bas mumbled.

 

Evan kicked his brother. “Oops. Daddy's boy's got some big shoes to fill there, huh, bubby?”

 

Bas stretched his arms out and offered an exaggerated yawn, smacking his brother upside the head in the process. “Oops . . . Mama's boy's got a fucking big head, huh, Evvie?”

 

Cain rolled his eyes. “If you flunk the test, you'll finish school the old fashioned way, Evan. The choice is yours. Now get out of here, and don't you dare tell your mother why you got suspended this time.”

 

Evan shot Cain a saucy grin and hefted himself out of his chair, pausing long enough to snap a salute at his father before ambling out of the study.

 

Bas watched his brother go before shooting Cain a dubious glance. “If you think Mom doesn't know that Evan'll sleep with anything that has a—”

 

“Good God, I think I need to keep you away from your brother,” Cain groaned. “It doesn't matter what Gin knows or doesn't know. In her heart, she believes that Evan is a good boy, and I think I'll let her think it awhile longer.”

 

“Evan got a tattoo?” Bas mused with a shake of his head and a thoroughly disgusted scowl. “What'd Mom think of that?”

 

Cain snorted. “Pfft! What do you think she thought? It says, `Mama's Prized Pup', for God's sake.”

 

Bas grimaced, shaking his head in dismay, which was much the same reaction that Cain had when he'd first clapped his eyes on the tattoo. “You wanted to see me?” Bas finally asked.

 

Cain nodded. “Yes . . . I need to talk to Sydnie.”

 

Bas sighed. “You do.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Dad . . .”

 

“I have some information for her, and I trust you'd rather have her pardon out of the way before the wedding?” he asked pointedly since the wedding in question was only days away.

 

“Right,” Bas agreed slowly. “Sure . . . Would it be okay if I sat in on it? She . . . she's not going to like it.”

 

“Talking to me, you mean?”

 

Bas nodded. “Yeah.”

 

“Okay,” Cain agreed. “Go get her. Ben'll be here this afternoon, and Gin said that Toga, Sierra, and Nezumi will be arriving sometime this evening, so . . .”

 

“Gotcha,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. Cain watched him go. He stopped on the threshold and scowled back at his father. “I wish you'd change your mind,” he mumbled. “Sydnie . . . she understands. She'll be okay if you are at the wedding.”

 

Cain forced a wan smile and shook his head. “It's all right, Bas. It's her wedding. She should have good memories of it, don't you think?”

 

“Yeah, well, it's my wedding, too,” he grumbled.

 

“It's all right,” he said once more. “Besides . . . been awhile since I've spent any real time by myself.”

 

“Dad . . .”

 

“Go get your mate, Bas.”

 

Bas didn't look happy, but he nodded and disappeared into the hallway.

 

Cain sighed, his smile fading as his son exited the room.

 

`That was a lie, wasn't it?'

 

`Better a white lie than to let Bas feel bad over it.'

 

`But it really wasn't your fault. You like guilt way too much, Zelig.'

 

`No,' he argued, pulling the file out of the top desk drawer. He'd stayed up well into the night preparing the documents in the folder. Pitiful, wasn't it? Over twenty years of life condensed down in less than ten pages, all in black and white.

 

Sparing a moment to scowl at Evan's failed test once more, Cain heaved a sigh and rubbed his jaw. The rows of circles were darkened to replicate the insignia of that band he'd been talking about. Slowly, the corners of his lips turned up in a grin that he couldn't hide. Evan might be infuriating, and Cain didn't profess to understand his son, but he couldn't say that the young man ever failed to make him laugh. Cain was just cautious about letting Evan see that since it usually fell on his shoulders to set Evan straight when he stepped over the line.

 

Thing was, Evan seemed to enjoy pushing that line a little too much. Cain had pulled Evan's fat out of the fire a few too many times for his own liking, and the hell of it was, Evan would nod and smile, and then he'd go right back and do whatever it was again. The best case-in-point was Evan's interesting friendship with Madison Cartham. Though he'd never mentioned as much to Evan, Cain knew that the two were having sex, and he'd known it for a long time. He'd almost said something to Evan about it before, but knowing his son, he'd do worse things, just to spite his father. It was Cain's considered opinion that if Evan lived through the beating that he'd doubtlessly get at the hands of Madison's father, Deke Cartham—one of Cain's top three hunters—for the discretion, then his son would probably end up taking Madison as his mate eventually, whether by accident or design . . .

 

He should have known, shouldn't he? Evan had been tested early on. The boy was something of a prodigy with a photographic memory and an IQ that was almost off the scale. After spending a month disrupting kindergarten, he'd tested out and had been bumped up to first grade, which was why, at the age of nearly sixteen, Evan was a junior in high school who was in danger of flunking all because he thought it was `boring'—when he bothered to attend school, that was . . .

 

He sighed again, patting his pockets for his cigarettes. The pack he retrieved felt empty, and he couldn't help but smile at the note he found wrapped around the single cigarette inside.

 

`Smoking is bad for you, Zelig-sensei . . . and I fully intend to get more babies out of you before you succumb to cancer.

 

Your,

Baby Girl.'

 

He chuckled but rolled his eyes, dropping the empty pack and the last cigarette into the trash can. Gin knew well enough that youkai didn't get cancer . . .

 

The door opened again, and Bas pulled Sydnie into the study. She looked about as freaked out as it was possible for her to look, Cain supposed. Bas put his hands on her shoulders, and she jumped, glancing back at him and backing up toward the door as he tried to give her a reassuring smile.

 

Cain cleared his throat. “Sydnie . . . thanks for meeting with me. I have a few things for you. Would you sit down, please?”

 

She didn't look like she wanted to comply. Casting Bas another worried glance, she let him tug her toward the seats and perched nervously on the edge of one while Bas sat back in the other. Cain opened his mouth to speak but stopped when she launched herself out of her chair and onto Bas' lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and curling herself up against him as though she were trying to crawl under his skin. Bas slipped his arms around her and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Cain didn't hear the exchange, but Sydnie seemed to relax just a touch as Bas shot his father an apologetic glance over her head.

 

Cain sighed. “You're a hard girl to get information on, Sydnie,” he remarked with a tentative little smile.

 

Sydnie shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Oh?”

 

“Yes. See, I couldn't find any information on a `Sydnie Taylor' . . . Nothing.”

 

She stiffened, indignant color filtering into her cheeks. “I wasn't lying,” she maintained haughtily.

 

“I didn't think you were,” Cain explained. “But it did occur to me that maybe Sydnie wasn't really your name.”

 

She shook her head. “Of course it is! I think I'd know my own name, don't you?”

 

“Calm down and listen, baby,” Bas said in a tone that Cain had never heard before. Gruff yet gentle, he seemed to soothe her with the simple sound of his voice.

 

Cain smiled. “Anyway, I gave up the search for your name and concentrated instead on cases where the family fit with what you told Bas about them, but that came up blank, too. My head general, Ben suggested that I run a more thorough search for your sister, instead, so I did. Did you know her real name was Katherine? Kathy, I guess, and then she shortened it to `Kit'.”

 

“Katherine . . .” Sydnie repeated, scowling at the name she didn't recognize at all.

 

“Anyway, that came up empty, too. Ben was reading over some old reports, though, and something caught his attention: a report of a family believed to have been killed in the earthquake that hit the outskirts of Los Angeles nearly nineteen years ago—you would have been two. It was assumed that you were all home when your house was destroyed, but there were never any bodies found, which is not uncommon in youkai situations.” Cain grimaced. “We thought everyone had died, including your sister and you.”

 

“Wh . . . no . . . there was no . . . an earthquake?” she mumbled.

 

Cain sighed. “The family's name was Tucker, and they were cat-youkai with two daughters: Katherine, age thirteen—nearly fourteen at the time, and the baby, a girl named Cynthia—Cindy—age two.”

 

Sydnie frowned and shook her head, unable to understand just what Cain was saying.

 

“From what we can tell, your sister was scared. Maybe she thought that the two of you would be separated in foster care; I don't know. In the chaos after the earthquake, she took you and ran, changing your names, I suppose, to keep from being found.”

 

Sydnie shook her head, her face clouding over with confusion, with pain. “She wouldn't have . . . she . . . couldn't have . . . You're lying!” she blurted suddenly, the confusion warring with anger that swiftly overpowered the weaker emotion. “Why are you lying? Kit wouldn't have—”

 

Cain winced and dug into the file. “Your parents were school teachers. They'd just gotten home. Apparently your sister always picked you up from the sitter a few blocks away. She took you to get ice cream—that's what the sitter told Ben. That's why you weren't at the house when the earthquake hit.”

 

“Ice cream.” Sydnie flinched, shooting Bas a pathetic glance. “She loved ice cream . . .”

 

“I'll bet she did, baby,” he murmured.

 

Suddenly, she shook her head, her face contorting in a mask of stubbornness once more. “No, this can't be right. Kit said . . . our parents left us. They left us.”

 

Cain held out his hands in a defeated sort of gesture. “Maybe that's how she saw it, Sydnie. Maybe it was simpler for her to say that than it was for her to deal with the idea that they had died. I suppose there's some truth in that, but I assure you, they didn't leave you by choice.”

 

Sydnie bit her lip, glancing quickly at Bas once more as she struggled to understand what Cain was trying to tell her. “How can you be sure?” she asked quietly. “How do you know?”

 

“The school where your mom worked was closed down soon after the earthquake. It was old, I guess, and needed to be rebuilt. Your father's effects were also lost somewhere along the way. The old babysitter, though . . . she had a picture of you. She gave it to Ben.” Cain pulled a fading old photo from the folder and glanced at it. The parents looked young but happy, and the two girls—one nearly a teenager with a smile on her pretty face and a brightness in her eyes that bespoke a happy childhood, and the other little more than a baby held securely in her mother's arms. With a sigh, he held it out to Sydnie. She leaned forward but didn't touch the photograph as she uttered a soft cry. “This is how we know we found the right family, Sydnie.”

 

Bas cleared his throat, and Cain glanced up to see his son jerk his head toward the desk. Cain nodded, laying the photo down and pushing it toward Sydnie. She leaned forward a little further, craning her neck to look at the image before reaching out and snatching it up, retreating to the safety of Bas' arms while cradling the photo against her chest protectively.

 

Staring at Cain a few moments, as though she were trying to decide if he was going to snatch the picture away from her, she didn't relax until he sat back, steeping his fingertips together before him. Still wary, she slowly lowered the picture and blinked as she stared at the happy family. “I . . . I look like my . . . mother,” she whispered.

 

Bas squeezed her gently and nodded. “So you do, kitty.”

 

She nodded, nostrils trembling as she tried not to cry. “She's so pretty . . .”

 

“Yeah,” Bas replied, clearing his throat but unable to swallow the ragged quality behind his voice.

 

“What were their names?” she asked in an almost conversational tone.

 

Cain didn't have to look at the papers for the answer to her question. “Bailey and Olivia . . . Bailey and Olivia Tucker.”

 

“Bailey and Olivia,” she repeated quietly. “I never knew . . .”

 

Bas grimaced and hugged her tighter.

 

Cain waited several seconds before speaking again. “They're buried in a quiet little cemetery owned by a local parish church. I have a picture of that, too, if you want to see it. Your sister has a grave stone there, too, but she was buried in a public cemetery just outside Los Angeles.” He sighed. What he didn't tell her was that there was also one for her there, too. As soon as he'd confirmed that the baby was her, though, he'd told Ben to see that it was removed. There were some things that she didn't need to see, after all, and her own grave was one of them . . . “If you want, we can have them brought here to be closer. You don't have to decide right away, but . . . well, it's something to think about.”

 

“When is my birthday?” she asked suddenly.

 

Cain frowned but looked at the documentation. “August 28, 2036.”

 

“So I am twenty . . .”

 

Bas chuckled. “I guess you are.”

 

She didn't respond as she stared at the photograph with a childlike sense of awe in her expression.

 

Sighing, he braced himself to move on to the less pleasant parts of the meeting. “Sydnie, there's something else.”

 

“Hmm?” she replied absently, unable to take her eyes off the picture, and Cain had to wonder if she heard him at all.

 

“It's about your pardon.”

 

That got her attention quickly enough. Sitting up straight, she swallowed hard and shook her head. “I thought you said that I could be.”

 

Cain nodded. “Yes, but . . . you have to swear to me that you will never, ever take it upon yourself to mete out justice.”

 

She blinked and nodded. “I won't . . .”

 

Cain sighed, pulling out the paper that had the official decree. It was easier years ago, before they started keeping better records. Just a formality and a lot of paperwork . . . He wrinkled his nose. “I understand why you felt you had to do what you did, and I acknowledge that I should have helped you more. I should have found you and took care of you, and I'm . . . I'm sorry that I didn't. However . . . If you were to do something like this again, I couldn't just ignore it. If you did . . . I don't always get to choose what is easier or nicer for me. Just because you're with Bas . . .” Cain trailed off, hating the thoughts that he had to put into words; hating that he had to make her understand the seriousness of the situation. “You're the mate of the next North American tai-youkai—my heir, but before that, he is my son. I trust you with his life. Do you understand?”

 

“I understand,” she whispered.

 

“Good.” Cain stood up and came around the desk, handing the folder to Bas. “I'll leave you two alone now. That's all I wanted to see you about.” He started for the door then stopped. “I hope your wedding is as beautiful as ours was, Sydnie.”

 

Striding out into the hallway, he heaved a sigh of relief and strode down the hallway toward the back doors that led onto the patio. He needed some space, some distance to square things in his mind once more. Talking to Sydnie had been one of the most difficult things he'd done in quite some time. Maybe someday she'd understand.

 

Her voice stopped him as he reached for the handle. Soft but clear, her voice was, and he could feel her youki closing in though he didn't turn to face her.

 

“I was wondering,” she began haltingly, “you should be at the wedding, shouldn't you? Sebastian . . . he wants you there . . . and I . . . I do, too.”

 

“You . . . do?”

 

She sighed. “You're his father. I'd . . . I'd want my father to be there.”

 

Cain slowly turned to face her, his smile hesitant but genuine. “I'd be honored to attend your wedding, Sydnie.”

 

She didn't smile, but he could see the hesitation diminishing in her gaze. Finally she nodded before hurrying back down the hallway and rounding the corner into his study.

 

Cain's smile brightened as he opened the door and stepped outside, positive and heartily relieved that his son had done well in choosing a mate.

 

 

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OROsan0677 ------- inuyashaloverr ------ serendith ------ RisikaFox ------ Deceptress

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Final Thought fromSydnie:

Cindy … Tucker …?

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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~