InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Wretched ( Chapter 45 )

~~Chapter 45~~

~Wretched~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin closed the door and leaned against it with a long sigh. If he were completely honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he really hadn't thought that he'd ever see his house again. When he'd opened the door only to come face to face with Cain Zelig, he'd nearly panicked, and he still wasn't sure exactly what had happened. Everything had passed by so quickly that he just couldn't process any of it; not really.

 

There hadn't been any real or rational thoughts when he'd come face to face with the tai-youkai, either; no great epiphany or moment of clarity when he'd thought with any real sense of conviction that this was the moment; the one he'd dreaded for so very long, and yet it had seemed rather anti-climactic. Preoccupied, he supposed, by the absolute confusion in Zelig's expression, Griffin didn't feel anything aside from a curious sense of inevitability, and even that had been somehow blunted. His emotions had been dulled, maybe, or maybe he'd just been too slow to consider the ramifications. He'd figured that once he was found, they would waste no time in killing him. After all, he had been involved with the group responsible for murdering Daniella Cavendish, even if that hadn't really been his intent; even if he hadn't known how it would all turn out in the end. He was there, wasn't he, and he was there with the intention of making Sebastian Cavendish listen to their demands. What had happened on that God-awful night constituted no less than treason, and by rights, he ought to be dead for his part in it.

 

He felt like a complete an utter hypocrite when it came right down to it. Ben Philips said that he'd saved Zelig's life, but he knew better, didn't he? Had he not been so certain that they were right—idiots who bought into the idea that youkai were bigger, faster, stronger, smarter—and while that might have been true enough, when had that ever given anyone the right to persecute another because they were just a little weaker, a little slower? It had been easy to forget that youkai were prone to violence, more convenient to believe that youkai would not harm their own kind, and what kind of stupidity was that, after all? As bloody as human history was in the dusty tomes and the untouched annals of time, the history of the youkai was worse, wasn't it?

 

He'd forgotten that back then, if he'd ever really realized it at all. So given to anger and hatred, he'd have just as soon watched humans die than extend a hand to help them, and when he'd first heard of Sesshoumaru's edict, he had been shocked, stupefied—and yes, disgusted.

 

But he'd spent so long wandering alone, drifting from here to there without a second thought as to where he was ultimately heading. A bare step above apathy, in those days, he had survived on the bitterness of memories and the ugly manifestation of abhorrence that was never very far away.

 

Pushing himself away from the door with a weary sigh and a shake of his head, he couldn't quite credit the idea that he really was home once more. Surrounded by the things that were familiar, he drew a deep breath and pushed his shoes off, steadying himself against the wall in order to brace his stance.

 

Strange how everything looked exactly as he'd left it. Zelig had allowed him the time to put out the fires since he wouldn't be home to tend them, and he'd double checked all the windows and doors to make sure that they were secured.

 

Shuffling through the house and making his way toward the kitchen for a glass of water, he tried to brush aside the pervading sense of emptiness that resounded in the quiet. It was something that he'd grown accustomed to, or so he'd thought. Somehow Isabelle's absence made it that much worse, didn't it? What would she think when she heard the story? He felt like such a liar, telling half-truths that made him out to be some sort of dime store comic book hero when he wasn't.

 

And if the grand inquisition wasn't enough, the ride back to Bangor had been so much worse. Somewhere along the way, Isabelle had apparently told her grandfather that she'd been dating him because Ben had casually mentioned that Isabelle was a `nice girl' from a `good family' no matter what Zelig might say about her father. Griffin had been positive that his cheeks were flaming red, but Ben either didn't notice or didn't want to comment on it. Still, it was enough to have Griffin stumbling out of the late model luxury sedan before Ben came to a complete stop outside his house.

 

He sighed, filling a glass with water before lumbering into the living room and flopping down in his recliner. As hard as he tried to stop thinking about that night so long ago, he couldn't help it, either. He'd been one of the last ones to arrive outside the Cavendish mansion. By the time he'd walked into the yard, some of the group were surrounding Daniella on the porch, and while they'd seemed uneasy, they weren't out of control, and Griffin had figured that was fine, too.

 

He was hard pressed to pin down the moment when everything had gone awry. One minute, they were holding an uneasy court with the tai-youkai's mate, and the next . . .

 

The fire that engulfed the barn and yard had spread with unnatural swiftness, and the chaos that broke out amid the screech of the livestock still trapped inside the burning building had lent an unnatural sense of horror to the scene that he was powerless to stop, and it had left Griffin with an altogether familiar feeling that he was completely helpless.

 

He'd heard someone yell out that they needed to find the `boy'—Cavendish's son. At that time he might well have been the only way to ensure that they might be able to escape unscathed. Stupid, that reason, Griffin had thought at the time. Cavendish wouldn't give a quarter, would he, not when he'd been ambushed in the most miserable of ways . . .

 

A piercing scream permeated the chaos as one of the men who had arrived late with Griffin was cut down in his tracks. As quickly as the sound had come, it was silenced as an arc of blood jettisoned into the air, black against the backdrop of rampant surging flames. The youkai's body exploded in a wash of light and dust and wind. Griffin shielded his face with a forearm to escape the brunt of the fierce wind. He lowered his arm in time to see Sebastian Cavendish dash out of the tree line as though the very hounds of hell were on his heels. He spared no quarter as he closed in on the mansion; a solitary goal set in his steely gaze: his mate was in that house, and he knew it—and God help any man who stood in his way.

 

He cut down youkai after youkai—some who stepped forward to stop him; others who were unlucky enough to be in the path between Cavendish and the mansion. One by one they fell as the rage of the tai-youkai reverberated through the forest, and Griffin had been more frightened than he could remember being, ever. The wrath of the tai-youkai was furious and terrible to behold . . .

 

Griffin stumbled forward, his vision wavering, affected by the intensity of the flames. Even now he wasn't certain what he thought he could accomplish. Staring around in something akin to horror, he hadn't understood how everything had spun so entirely out of control. A tremendous crash jerked him around in time to see the roof of the stable cave in, and as he turned away from the destruction, he narrowed his eyes when he saw movement on the edge of the forest . . .

 

He didn't think about it; couldn't remember making a conscious decision to grab the child. No, looking back, all he could remember thinking was that the cub would be dead if he kept moving toward the house. He didn't recall moving, but somehow he'd closed the distance, snatching Zelig off the ground, wrapping his arms around the boy's waist as he whipped around, hunching his shoulders forward in an effort to shield Zelig from garnering any notice from the sparse youkai still rampaging outside the mansion. The terrified cub just kept screaming and growling, calling for his father, for his mother . . .

 

Letting his gaze fall to his right hand, Griffin stretched out his fingers with a grimace at the stiffness that had set in. He'd been pushing himself to complete the translation for Isabelle, spending the bulk of his day on the task since he'd only had to be at the preschool for a couple of hours in the morning. The thickened, puffy scar between his index finger and thumb throbbed terribly. In his struggle to break free, Zelig had taken a chunk out of his hand. The cub had been a fighter, and Griffin had to wonder whether his father had realized that before he'd followed his mate into the afterworld.

 

It felt a bit anticlimactic, he had to admit. He'd spent centuries believing that if he ever came face to face with the tai-youkai, he'd be killed without question for his involvement on that night. Never once had he ever bothered to think that the outcome would be anything less, and he couldn't help the flicker of trepidation as he glanced toward the window. Zelig had a handful of hunters at his disposal at any given time. It'd be nothing for one of them to hunt him down now that they knew where he lived. If they showed up in a day or a month, he supposed that wouldn't be entirely surprising, either . . .

 

Heaving a sigh, he set the glass on the small table beside the chair, smashing the pads of his fingers against his eyes in an attempt to staunch the throbbing pain that was steadily growing more intense.

 

Why was it?

 

Heaving a sigh that shifted into a yawn, he let his hands fall onto the arms of the chair without opening his eyes. Grogginess was fast invading his senses, and he could feel the gentle waves of sleepiness wash over him. Why was it that he felt oddly reassured; more at peace than he had in a very long while?

 

He didn't have the strength to dwell on it, and maybe that was all right, too . . .

 

He was asleep within minutes, comforted by the safety of familiar surroundings.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Gin slipped into the studio and closed the door without a sound. Spotting Cain standing across the room staring out the window, she frowned at the confusion coloring his youki.

 

“Gin . . .”

 

Glancing up from the heavy iron roasting pan she was pulling out of the oven, Gin shot the general a bright grin. “Oh, Ben! Did you decide to stay for dinner?”

 

“Ah, I'll have to take a rain check,” he said with a rather lopsided half-smile.

 

“Okay,” she allowed with a disappointed sigh. “Do you know where Cain is? Normally he's in here trying to sneak a bite by now . . .”

 

“Zelig's down by the water,” Ben replied. “He's got a lot on his mind at the moment.”

 

“Hmm.” Dropping the oven mitts she'd used to grab the roasting pan, she cocked her head to the side and pinned Ben with a thoughtful expression. “Does it have something to do with the man in the study?”

 

He smiled at her quiet question but seemed a little surprised that she'd figured out that much. “Yes,” Ben agreed slowly, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a careless shrug. “I think . . . I think he needs to be alone for a little while, but I'm sure he'll want to talk to you. He's had a bit of a shock.”

 

“Maybe you should stay,” she said reasonably. “You're his best friend, after all.”

 

Ben shook his head and smiled rather wryly. “No,” he intoned, rubbing his forehead in a tired sort of way. “I think—no, I know . . . You'll be able to help him much better than I could ever hope to.”

 

She didn't look like she believed him entirely, but she nodded instead, barely noticing when Ben stepped over to her to offer her a chaste hug. He slipped out of the kitchen as quietly as he had come, and Gin had finished getting dinner in silent contemplation.

 

It hadn't been entirely surprising, either, when Cain hadn't come to dinner. She was putting away the leftovers when she'd seen Cain shuffle onto the porch—she'd barely eaten anything, herself, and Sebastian had left just after Ben, citing that he had reservations for a special Valentine's dinner at one of the nicer establishments in the area.

 

Waiting until nearly midnight, she'd tried to be patient; to let Cain come to her. When she started to realize that he wasn't going to, she took her time checking all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked before turning out the lights and heading upstairs.

 

He wasn't in their bedroom, though—not entirely surprising. That left the studio . . .

 

Padding across the cool floor, Gin rubbed her arms through the thick fleece robe she'd grabbed after changing into a nightgown. He didn't turn to acknowledge her, but when she slipped her arms around his waist, he patted her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Mama always said that if you keep things bottled up, you'll go mad,” she murmured, closing her eyes and resting her cheek against Cain's broad back.

 

He sighed—more of an expulsion of breath than a show of exasperation. “Your mother's a smart woman.”

 

“Of course she is,” Gin agreed lightly. “Ben said that you'd had a pretty rough day.”

 

“Did he?”

 

“Mhmm . . . want to talk to me about it?”

 

Turning enough to slip his arms around her waist, Cain tried to smile. It was half-hearted at best and completely unconvincing, but he tried, and for that, Gin leaned up and kissed his cheek. “How is it that you're always able to make me feel better?” he mused, more to himself than to her.

 

“That's what a mate does, isn't it?”

 

He uttered a wry chuckle. “Yeah, but you've always been a hell of a lot better at it than I've ever been.”

 

“That's not true,” she chided gently. “You just don't realize when you say or do things that make me feel special, but you do all the time.”

 

Rubbing her arms, he grimaced and slowly shook his head. “Come on, baby girl. You've got to be cold.”

 

“Well, maybe a little,” she allowed then shot him an impish grin. “I'm all right, though, I swear.”

 

Sparing a moment to lean away, making a show of eyeing her bare feet, Cain clucked his tongue and swept her up into his arms before striding toward the staircase that led to the loft above the studio. “You'd be warmer if you'd remember to wear socks,” he pointed out.

 

She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her temple fall against his shoulder. “But I never wear socks to bed,” she pointed out.

 

“I know,” he rejoined. “That's why you get cold so easily.”

 

“Hmm,” she murmured when he set her on the end of the bed. Stuffing his hands deep in his pockets, he didn't move to join her. Gin sighed. “You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?”

 

Something about the way he dragged his hand over his face made her feel just that much worse. He looked mentally exhausted, didn't he? The strong man that she knew so well . . . maybe there were things that even a man like Cain Zelig just couldn't deal with alone . . . “Isabelle tell you about her boyfriend?”

 

Gin blinked in surprise at the strange course of the conversation but shook her head. “Uh, no . . . she's seeing someone?”

 

“Apparently,” Cain allowed. “Bear-youkai. He teaches at the university. Ancient linguistics.”

 

“Okay,” Gin remarked, unsure where Cain was going with it, but allowing him to say whatever was on his mind.

 

Patting his pockets, he dug a rumpled pack of cigarettes out and shook it. Biting her lip to keep from chastising him for what she considered his one and only nasty habit, she opted to remain silent on the matter just this once. Whatever was bothering him was bad, she could tell. He wasn't a thoughtless person; quite the opposite, in fact. That he was digging out a cigarette spoke volumes, in her opinion. “She said . . . well, it wasn't so much what she said, but the way she said it, and . . .” Trailing off, Cain shook his head, pausing in his tale long enough to light the cigarette. “Anyway, that's where I went earlier.”

 

“Mm,” she intoned. “So you wanted to talk to him; to make sure that he knew not to ignore his youkai voice.”

 

“Sort of,” he allowed, letting out a steady stream of smoke. “Thing was, when I saw him, I . . . I knew him. I just . . . I couldn't place him.”

 

“He's the one you brought back here.”

 

He nodded slowly, taking another deep drag off the cigarette. Gin winced inwardly. His hands were shaking horribly. “Yeah.”

 

She sat up a little straighter. She wanted to go to him; to wrap her arms around him. Something in his aura stopped her. As though he needed to get the words out, his youki drew in tight around him, shrouding him, even from her. “Did you figure out how you knew him?” she asked gently, as though she were afraid that he'd break if she spoke louder.

 

Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his eyes to meet hers with a sadness—no, more like a sense of complete bewilderment—written in the depths of his gaze. “Y . . . yeah. Well, Ben . . . reminded me . . .”

 

“Cain, if you're not ready to talk about this . . .”

 

Stubbornly he shook his head. “No, I'm fine . . . it's . . . fine . . .”

 

“If you're sure,” she told him.

 

Raking his fingers through his bangs, he let out a deep breath and nodded. “He, uh . . . he saved my . . . my life . . .”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah. It was . . . the night my . . . my mother was killed . . .”

 

She flinched at the rawness of his voice; at the confusion in his eyes as he struggled to make sense of something that he'd never, ever understood. Suddenly he laughed—a hollow, sad sort of sound. Licking his lips, clearing his throat, he tried to put his thoughts into words, and all she could do was listen. “I can remember bits and pieces. I don't know if the things I think I remember are in the right order or not . . .” He shook his head, his lips curling back in a sneer that should have been an attempt at a smile. “Hell, I don't even know if what I think I remember is a memory or just something that seems like one.”

 

“You were young then, right? Just a pup, really,” she ventured, wrapping her arms around her shins and offering him a timid, if not completely compassionate, smile.

 

“I was about . . . four, I guess . . . I remember . . . fire. Everything was burning. Everywhere I looked . . . everywhere I tried to run, but these . . . these arms grabbed me; held me back, and I . . . I fought him. I just . . .” Swallowing hard, he pinched the bridge of his nose, dumping potpourri out of a small crystal dish onto the dresser and snuffing the cigarette butt out in it. “I just wanted to find my parents, I suppose . . .”

 

“Of course you did.”

 

“He told me to run back into the forest; to hide, I guess . . .”

 

“Isabelle's bear . . .”

 

Cain nodded slowly, a weak little smile surfacing on his lips—and this one closer resembled the man that she knew so very well. “Yeah.”

 

She raised her arm, extended her hand, and he stepped toward the bed at last though the sadness in the shadows of his eyes hadn't receded. Sinking down beside her, he drew her into his arms and sighed. “I'd like to meet him,” she said softly, snuggling as close as she could, willing him to understand that he didn't have to bear the burden of his memories alone.

 

He kissed her forehead and heaved a sigh as she tangled her fingers into the length of his ponytail. “I'm sure you will,” he replied almost absently. “Hell . . . I forgot to give you your Valentine's present.”

 

“That's all right,” she assured him.

 

“I . . . I love you, baby girl,” he whispered.

 

“I love you, too, Zelig-sensei.”

 

“I think . . . I think they would have liked you.”

 

“Oh? I think I would have liked them, too.”

 

“Yeah?” he asked, kissing her forehead again.

 

Gin smiled. “Yeah.”

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle pulled the belt of her robe tighter and stepped over Froofie as she hurried toward the door. With a marked frown, she checked her watch as she reached for the knob. It was nearly midnight.

 

“Ben,” she said, eyes widening in surprise as she pulled the door open and stepped back. “Is everything all right?”

 

A friendly if not somewhat reserved smile surfaced on his face. “Yes, everything's fine,” he assured her quickly. “I apologize for dropping in on you so late, but I wanted to talk to you. May I come in?”

 

“Oh, sure,” she said, moving aside to let him pass. He stepped over the threshold, stopping long enough to scratch Froofie behind the ears. “So what brings you by?”

 

An enigmatic little expression flitted over his features; one that she couldn't quite discern before he managed to hide it behind a polite little smile. He waited until she closed the door before he spoke. “I was called in earlier to talk with someone . . . someone I gather you know fairly well.”

 

Strange sense of foreboding prickled her spine, and Isabelle tugged on the belt of her robe once more before stepping past the youkai general. “Oh?”

 

“So I've heard,” he replied amicably. “Your grandfather tells me that you're . . . spending time with Griffin Marin.”

 

“Griffin?” she echoed, whipping around to face Ben. His expression was inscrutable. Unconsciously gripping the lapels of her robe in a tightly clenched fist, Isabelle shook her head. “What about him?” she asked, struggling for a nonchalance that she just didn't feel and failing miserably.

 

He must have interpreted her tone correctly, because his hands shot up as though he was trying to placate her. “It's nothing bad, I assure you,” he hurried to say. “Has he mentioned to you that he has met Zelig before?”

 

Shaking her head, she sank down on the sofa, her knees buckling beneath her. “N-no,” she murmured as she reached for the cake that Cain had sent home with her earlier. “Why?”

 

Ben chuckled softly, gesturing at a chair. “May I?”

 

“Oh, of course.”

 

He sat and scratched his forehead idly, as though he were trying to figure out where to start. “I didn't think that he would,” he admitted. “I guess I can't blame him. He's probably believed that he would be held accountable if he was ever found out.”

 

“Ben?” she questioned, shaking her head, wishing that she understood the youkai's strange commentary.

 

“Ah, I apologize. I'm not making much sense, am I?”

 

“Held accountable for what?” she demanded, all pretense of nonchalance falling by the wayside as she cut off a bite of cake and stuck it into her mouth.

 

“Zelig gave you . . . cake?” he asked in mild surprise.

 

She nodded and swallowed. “I was a little out of sorts when I drove out there earlier,” she admitted. “Are you trying to change the subject?”

 

“Ah, no,” Ben assured her with a smile. “That just surprised me, was all. Your grandfather doesn't part easily with his cake.”

 

“No, he doesn't,” she agreed then wrinkled her nose. “Guess that means I must have seemed pretty pathetic, huh?”

 

“I doubt it,” he replied. “That aside . . . To put it quite simply, Griffin Marin saved your grandfather's life a long time ago.”

 

Coughing as she choked on a few cake crumbs that she'd managed to inhale, Isabelle set the plate aside and reached for the glass of wine as Ben shot to his feet and strode over to her, gently thumping her on the back. “I'm . . . all right,” she wheezed, her voice echoing in the glass as she tried to swallow some of the liquid.

 

Ben nodded though he was slow to move away. “Are you sure?”

 

She nodded emphatically, draining the wine glass and setting it aside with a heavy thump as she cleared her throat and wiped her tearing eyes. “Yes,” she assured him. “You just . . . surprised me.”

 

He sat on the sofa beside her and stared at her for a long minute. “He's a good man,” Ben said slowly, quietly.

 

“But,” she prompted when he trailed off.

 

“But,” Ben allowed with a shake of his head. Holding his hands out in a reaching sort of gesture, he seemed to be struggling to find a good way to say whatever he had on his mind. He sighed and shook his head, drawing a raised eyebrow-ed look from Isabelle. In all the years that she'd known Ben, she couldn't remember hearing him sigh very often. It didn't bode well, did it? “He didn't seem to want to reconcile himself to the idea that he wasn't responsible for your great-grandmother's death, either.”

 

She frowned, unable to grasp exactly what Ben was talking about. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

 

Ben narrowed his eyes, regarding her in a steady sort of way that made her feel like a little girl caught trying to sneak into the cookie jar. “You didn't know . . .” He trailed off and shook his head. “Of course you didn't know. The night Zelig's mother was killed, your bear saved his life. He caught your grandfather and forced him to run back into the forest to hide. If he hadn't—” Cutting himself off abruptly, he offered Isabelle an apologetic sort of grin and shrugged as if to discount what he had been about to say. “Maybe you can help him,” he finally said with a conspiratorial wink.

 

“You're assuming that he wants my help,” she said in a tiny voice.

 

“He doesn't?”

 

She grimaced. It was one thing to admit it to herself; it was something entirely different to admit it out loud. “I don't know. Sometimes I think he does, and others . . .” Heaving a sigh, she shook her head. “I just don't know.”

 

“I have faith in you,” Ben said, his resolve lending his eyes a brilliant glow. “Can I give you a bit of advice?”

 

“Sure,” Isabelle said. “Can't hurt, can it?”

 

Ben chuckled and leaned over to squeeze her hand. “Don't give up. The older we are, the more stubborn we can be.”

 

“Is that what you call it?” she asked, breaking into a wan smile despite her bleak thoughts.

 

“Certainly. What else is there?”

 

Isabelle snorted and let out a deep breath that lifted her bangs off her forehead. “Oh, let's see . . . irrational . . . ridiculous . . . asinine . . .”

 

Ben chuckled again as he got to his feet. “If anyone can get through to him, I think you can.”

 

“You have a lot of faith in me, Ben,” she murmured.

 

He shrugged offhandedly. “I saw your grandmother work miracles with Zelig, and I see a lot of her in you.”

 

“Thank you,” she replied quietly.

 

Ben nodded and headed toward the door. She stared at it long after he'd let himself out.

 

Griffin had saved Cain's life? She frowned. If that were the case, why hadn't Griffin told her, himself? Of course, if what Ben had said was true, then she supposed she could understand his reticence. After all, if he had been involved in the uprising, then it was entirely possible that he feared repercussions. Still . . . he'd saved Cain's life. If Ben said it, then it had to be true. Griffin could have told her. He should have told her . . .

 

`Told you what?' her youkai spoke up. `That he was there the night your great-grandmother was murdered?'

 

Wincing at the callousness of her youkai's voice, Isabelle shook her head. `No, it wasn't like that, exactly . . . Ben said that Griffin saved Grandpa's life . . .'

 

`You know, even if it seems that way to you, maybe it doesn't to Griffin. If he blames himself for anything . . . well, you remember the stories of your grandfather? Your mother told you, didn't she? Up until he married Gin, he was set to die to be with his first wife, true mate or not. What it all comes down to isn't what you see or believe; it's what he does.'

 

`What . . . he believes . . .? What Griffin believes . . .'

 

Unfortunately, that was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Exactly what did Griffin honestly believe . . .?

 

 

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

A/N:

== == == == == == == == == ==

Final Thought fromIsabelle:

What Griffin believes …

==========

Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Avouchment): I do not claim any rights to InuYashaor 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~