InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Have You Seen Her? ( Chapter 6 )

~~Chapter 6~~

~Have You Seen Her?~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Bellaniece Zelig Izayoi rubbed her face with one hand as she tapped around on the nightstand to locate her cell phone, as a wide yawn brought tears to her eyes.

 

Blinking rapidly, she shook her head and tried to focus on the glowing green numbers on the clock. Almost midnight, but she'd had to stay at the hospital late the night before since she was watching over an infant who had been born about a month too soon, so she'd crawled into bed awhile ago to catch up on some much-needed sleep. She didn't even bother trying to read the name on the caller ID as she opened the device and put it to her ear. “Hello?”

 

“Uh, Bellaniece . . . hi . . .”

 

Smiling at the familiar sound of her father's voice, Bellaniece laughed softly and pulled the comforter up a little more. “Hi, Daddy! How are you?”

 

“Fine,” he assured her. He sounded a little reluctant, maybe even a little shy.

 

`Typical Daddy,' she thought with a shake of her head. “I'm looking forward to seeing you for Christmas,” she went on.

 

“Me, too,” he said then sighed. “Listen . . . sweetie . . . I'm sorry to call so late, but . . .”

 

Pushing herself up as the smallest hint of a frown furrowed her brow, Bellaniece couldn't help but think that her father's tone just wasn't right. “Daddy . . .? Is something wrong?”

 

She heard him sigh, heard the snick of a lighter. He was smoking—never a good sign, in her opinion. “Daddy?” she prompted again when he didn't answer.

 

“Samantha's, um . . . missing,” he finally said. “We're not sure where she is or why.”

 

Bellaniece's brain slowed to a crawl, her mind refusing to acknowledge the meaning of her father's words. “Wh . . . what?”

 

“Bas sent her out on an assignment, and we . . . we know that she managed to take him down, but . . .” Cain trailed off, as though he didn't have the heart to continue.

 

“But . . . That's not . . . She . . . she . . .”

 

“Bellaniece, is Kichiro there? I tried to call him, but I got sent straight to his voicemail. Why don't you let me talk to him?”

 

Closing her eyes, clutching the comforter tight against her chest, Bellaniece shook her head stubbornly. “N-no . . . I'll tell him. Thank you for calling, Daddy . . .”

 

“Bellaniece, I—”

 

She hung up her phone, waited a second, then dialed Samantha's number. She was forwarded straight to voicemail—the central terminal in Samantha's apartment. It fell through her listless fingers as a strange sense of numbness settled over her. The device hit the floor, dislodging the battery. She heard it bounce under the bed. Slowly, methodically, she got out of bed and reached for her robe before padding out of the room and down the hallway.

 

Kichiro was standing at the back doors, staring out at the glow of the city that hung over the tree-line of InuYasha's Forest. “Why aren't you still sleeping?” he asked quietly. She could hear the smile in his voice though he didn't turn to face her.

 

Bellaniece shook her head, unable to grasp the meaning behind her father's words. “Kichiro . . .” She swallowed hard. `Our baby . . . is . . .? No . . .'

 

Turning his head to look over his shoulder at her, his smile faded slightly, his golden eyes darkening just a shade. “Belle-chan?”

 

“We need to fly to Maine,” she said in an oddly empty monotone. `Daddy said . . . but . . .'

 

“We will,” he replied, his eyebrows drawing together as he continued to stare at her. “I mean, that was the plan, wasn't it?”

 

She shook her head. “No, we can't wait . . .” They couldn't, could they? `Sami . . . my Sami . . .'

 

“What's going on?”

 

“You'll call, won't you? For tickets? Even coach is fine . . .” Turning on her heel, she started back down the hallway. `This can't . . . be happening . . .'

 

She pulled a suitcase out of the closet and moved over to the bureau for clothes. Kichiro strode into the room, grasping her arm firmly but gently to force her to look at him. “Belle, what's going on?”

 

“You turned your cell phone off, Daddy said,” she replied in the same efficient tone of voice. “I've got to pack. Do you think we should bring along our winter coats? Oh, that's a silly question . . . Maine's cold this time of . . . of year . . .”

 

Shaking his head, his expression registering complete confusion, his scowl was darkening every second. She could feel his mounting trepidation, and she tried to smile. “What's going on?” he asked again, his tone growing gentler as his youki spiked.

 

“I-I . . . I don't know,” she whispered as the first crack in the overwhelming sense of numbness started to widen. Dark blue eyes wide, scared, she shook her head as she struggled to understand what she'd been told. “They . . . they don't know where she is . . .”

 

“What?”

 

Grimacing when Kichiro's hand tightened just for a moment before he realized what he was doing and immediately loosened his grip, Belle shook her head again, swallowing hard as a soundless sob rose to choke her. “Bas sent her out, but she . . . she hasn't come back, and . . .” she muttered in a voice that sounded wholly unlike her.

 

Kichiro stared at her for a moment then let go, striding out of the room. He was back a moment later, cell phone in hand. Bellaniece cast him a wild-eyed look moments before he drew her against his chest in a comforting embrace.

 

“Hey, Kichiro,” Bas said, his voice loud in the stifling silence. Kichiro had placed the call on the speaker.

 

Kichiro gave her a reassuring squeeze. Crazily, through the fog that had settled over Bellaniece's every thought, every movement, she wondered fleetingly if he were trying to reassure himself or her. “Bas, where's Cain?”

 

Bas sighed. “He's briefing Larry and Cartham. They're heading to Chicago within the hour.”

 

“What the hell is going on? Where is my daughter?” His grip on the phone was so tight that it groaned under the pressure he was exerting. With a grimace, he dropped it onto the bed before he managed to mangle it.

 

“I . . . I sent her after a youkai who's wanted for the murders of fifteen children in Paris,” he explained. “She got him—we know she did. What we don't know is where she is now.”

 

“How can you not know where she is?” Kichiro demanded from between clenched teeth. “What about your protocol? She's supposed to check in, isn't she?”

 

“She is,” Bas agreed quietly. “They've had some really bad storms in the Chicago area. There was no way to know whether or not coverage was out. We had to wait until we could get confirmation.”

 

“Confirmation?” Kichiro echoed incredulously, stepping away from Bellaniece in favor of prowling the bedroom floor. Bellaniece stood still for a moment then abruptly turned back to the bureau again. “Track her, damn it! How hard can that be?”

 

Bas cleared his throat but didn't reply right away. Kichiro erupted in a low growl. “She probably took a scent tab before she went out. It's standard procedure, and . . . and it's going to make tracking her a lot more difficult.”

 

“Tell me what you know; tell me everything you know!”

 

“That's pretty much it, but . . . but Larry got in this morning . . . and he had one of her shuriken.”

 

Kichiro stopped dead, the color leeching from his skin. “Her shuriken . . .” he whispered, more to himself than to Bas.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“How long has she been out there?”

 

“It's been almost five days since she last communicated with us.”

 

“Five . . .? She's . . . she's been missing for almost five days, and you're just now telling us?”

 

Bellaniece flinched at the rage that nearly crackled in Kichiro's aura as she carefully, methodically, arranged clothes in the suitcase.

 

“We're doing everything we can, Kich,” Bas said in a low, placating tone. “I understand your worry, and—”

 

“The fuck you do!” Kichiro bellowed. “You don't understand a damn thing! You don't have children! Sami isn't one of yours! She's mine! Mine and Belle's . . .” Trailing off, Kichiro ran his hands over his face in a show of complete exasperation. “Look, we're going to get on the next flight out, but if you hear anything—anything—you will call me.”

 

Bas sighed again. It struck Belle, just how weary he sounded. “Absolutely.”

 

Reaching down, Kichiro snapped the device closed to end the call. Staring at it as though he were willing it to ring, he didn't move for several moments.

 

“She's fine,” Belle murmured, a certain amount of clarity entering her gaze. “I can feel it—feel her. She's . . . she's fine . . .”

 

He finally turned to look at her, his gaze darkened by a fear so deep, so wrenching that she could feel it, too. He nodded slowly. “O-of course . . . she is . . .”

 

Bellaniece would never know how she found the strength to smile, but standing there, staring at the misery delineated in every inch of Kichiro's face, she couldn't think of anything but the fierce need to reassure him, even if she wasn't sure if she believed her own words. “She's . . . she's tough. She'll come home.”

 

He reached for her so quickly that his motions were a blur. Dragging her in to a stifling hug, he heaved a sigh. “She will,” he whispered though he didn't sound at all confident. “She . . . she will . . .”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Griffin ran as quickly as he could, ignoring the white-hot burn as his hip protested the movement. Though he'd had the first of the reconstructive surgeries over a month ago, his body was still recovering. Still, now was not the time to hesitate, to count the numbers of aches and pains brought on by the overexertion. Dashing through the crowded parking lot near the medical clinic where Isabelle worked, he ignored the strange looks he was garnering as he slammed the door open and strode inside.

 

“Isabelle Marin,” he muttered, running into the front desk since he hadn't bothered to stop properly.

 

“Morning, Dr. G . . . Isabelle's with a patient—”

“Where?” he demanded, striding toward the closed door that led back to the examination rooms.

 

The receptionist shot to her feet, running parallel beside him behind the wide counter. “If you'd like to wait in her office, I can—”

 

“Forget it,” he growled, stomping down the hallway despite the girl's protests.

 

It didn't take him long to find her, and for once, he tossed all manners and courtesy by the wayside, slamming open the door and striding into the room. The woman who was in the middle of what looked to be a pelvic examination screamed, and Isabelle glanced up at him only to do a double take. Whatever she had been about to say died on her lips, and she reached over to pull a thin blanket over the embarrassed patient and snapped off the rubber gloves. “Griffin?”

 

“You've got to come with me, now,” he stated in a tone that left absolutely no room for discussion.

 

“Can this wait?” she asked, casting the patient a worried glance. “It'll only take—”

 

“Now, Isabelle, now! You know what that means, right?”

 

He wasn't sure if she reacted to his tone or to the fact that she knew him well enough to know that he wasn't one to blow things out of proportion. It didn't matter. She nodded and mumbled an apology to the patient before following him out of the room.

 

He grabbed her arm when they reached the hallway, hurrying her down the corridor and back the way he'd come. She seemed surprised by the direction in which he was hustling her, but she didn't argue. “I-I'll be back,” she called out to the receptionist as he pulled her toward the clinic doors.

 

“Give me your keys,” he demanded without breaking his stride as they moved down the sidewalk and around the corner to the smaller, exclusive parking lot reserved for the clinic's doctors.

 

“What's going on?” she asked, digging her keys out of the pocket of her lab coat and dropping them into his hand.

 

He let go of her, loping around the bright yellow sports car to unlock the doors. She climbed in just after he did, and when she turned to face him, she couldn't help the worry that marred her brow.

 

Griffin didn't speak until they'd turned out of the parking lot and were heading out of Bangor. “Your cousin called . . .”

 

She shook her head, and he could feel the intensity of her gaze boring into his skull. “Mamoruzen?”

 

He nodded. “Yeah . . . He said . . . Sam's missing.”

 

He almost thought that she hadn't heard what he'd said. He opened his mouth to say it again but was cut off by a harsh bark of incredulous laughter that ended as abruptly as it had begun. “What do you mean, missing?”

 

He grimaced inwardly at the disbelief in her tone. “I mean, she never checked in after she finished her assignment. I mean . . . one of the hunters who was sent there to back her up found one of her throwing stars in what was left of the youkai.”

 

He could feel her gaze on him, probing, disbelieving. He didn't look to confirm it as he willed his own turbulent emotions to calm. “But that . . . that . . . It can't . . . Griffin . . .?”

 

“They haven't heard from her in about five days, give or take—at least, that's the best estimate they've gotten thus far. They're hoping that someone else might've heard . . . uh, she . . . she didn't call you, did she?”

 

“N-no,” she mumbled thoughtfully. “Did they ask Mama or Papa? Sami might've—”

 

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he turned onto the highway and urged the car just a little faster. “Your parents said that they'll be out on the next flight,” he went on. “I . . . I'm sorry, Isabelle.”

 

“Why would you say that?” she demanded sharply. “You sound like she's . . .” Trailing off, she shook her head stubbornly. “No! Absolutely not! Look, I-I-I don't know what happened, but Samantha . . . She's not . . . not dead! Do you hear me, Griffin Marin? Do you?”

 

Keeping his eyes trained on the road, Griffin nodded, unsure whether she believed what she was saying or if it was just something she needed to tell herself. In actuality, he didn't want to think it, either, but given what he'd been told, he wasn't entirely sure that it could be ruled out. “No one knows where she is.”

 

“Then we find her,” Isabelle stated matter-of-factly as she dug out her cell phone. Griffin put a hand on hers to stop her before she could dial it. “I want to call and see what they're saying,” she explained impatiently.

 

“Don't,” he growled in his normal, gruff tone. “Leave the phones open. What if . . . what if Sam tries to call?”

 

“Oh . . . right . . .” she replied, her voice suddenly quiet, completely unsure. “She's okay; I know it. She . . . she has to be . . .”

 

Griffin nodded but drove in silence. In the couple years since Samantha come to live in the states, the sisters had grown a lot closer, though he'd noticed that there was still a certain distance between them, one that didn't exist between Isabelle and her sister, Alexandra. He supposed that it had a lot to do with the gap in ages between Isabelle and Samantha, and while he knew damn well that Isabelle adored Sam, he also knew that, somewhere in the back of her mind, Isabelle still thought of Sam as that little girl that he'd first met years ago. Maybe it was because she hadn't really been there while the girl was growing up. He supposed that was possible.

 

“Papa gave her the shuriken,” Isabelle ventured just as quietly. Griffin glanced at her only to find her staring out the window. “Mama said he . . .” She lowered her gaze to her hands, still gripping the cell phone, in her lap. “She said he made a huge production out of it: threw this big party and invited everyone in the family—at least, everyone in Japan . . . Then he made this speech about how proud we were of her for completing her training, and he . . . he gave them to her.” She heaved a sigh and shook her head sadly. “And I . . . I was too busy to go. That's what I told Papa. Too busy . . .”

 

“Stop that,” he commanded a little more fiercely than he'd have liked. Reacting to the rising anxiety in her youki, he couldn't help himself, either. “You didn't do anything wrong; you hear? A-and you said, yourself . . . she's fine, right? So . . . don't do that.”

 

She sniffled loudly but nodded. “You're right,” she murmured, forcing a thin smile despite the worry that lingered in the depths of her gaze. “She's strong . . . and she's an Izayoi. Izayois are made of tougher stuff than that.”

 

Still, the last thing he'd ever do was to tell his mate that he wasn't quite as optimistic, no matter what he thought, and, stealing a quick glance at Isabelle, he felt the familiar and uncertain flicker of hope ignite. She'd taught him that hope, that love, that she could work miracles in her own way . . . Maybe her peculiar kind of magic . . . maybe it could work again . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Alexandra Izayoi leaned to the side, staring through the microscope with her right eye as she held the tiny recorder in her left hand, hovering near her mouth. “Day seven . . . The structure of the cell hasn't altered in the least. It seems to be a very hearty strain . . . If I could isolate the part of the code that controls that behavior . . .”

 

The soft knock on the door interrupted her observation, and with a start, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “I seem to recall that a certain lady promised to have dinner with me,” he reminded her.

 

She winced as she glanced at her watch then smiled contritely. “Oh, I'm sorry . . . I guess I just lost track of time.”

 

John chuckled and held up a white deli bag. “That's all right . . . I assumed you'd be here, so I figured that the mountain must go to Mohammed.”

 

“Aww, what a sweet mountain,” she teased, setting the recorder aside and strolling over to peek into the bag he held out to her. “Ooh, my favorite!” she gasped, pulling the fat, batter-dipped fish plank out of the bag with a delighted giggle.

 

John grasped her waist and gently set her atop a high worktable, a good-natured smile lighting his eyes. “And chips . . .”

 

She laughed as he pulled a steaming hot slightly thick wedge of potato out of the bag and held it out to her. “What would I ever do without you?” she teased.

 

“Well, you would probably waste away to nothing since you never remember to feed yourself when you're deep in the throes of your research,” he teased back with a gentle smile.

 

“I'm almost done here,” she offered as her conscience pricked her. She hadn't meant to stand him up . . . “How about a late dessert? My treat?”

 

He chuckled and leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose. “Dessert sounds great, but I'll buy. After all, I was going to take you to Maison d' Moi, and I daresay that would have cost more than Briney's Fish and Chips . . .”

 

She laughed and shook her head, figuring that she wasn't going to win an argument against John or his wallet. “Oh, I almost forgot . . .” He trailed off, opening his light jacket and carefully pulling a single long stemmed white rose from inside. “I don't think it got too rumpled . . .”

 

Alexandra rolled her eyes but lifted the blossom to her nose, closing her eyes as she inhaled deeply. “Dinner was more than enough, you know.”

 

He shrugged. “I saw it as I was passing by—the florist was getting a late night shipment—and—”

 

“And you sweet talked the florist into letting you buy one after hours?”

 

His cheeks pinked just slightly as his smile turned bashful. “Something like that.”

 

She laughed as her cell phone rang. Staring at her greasy fingers, Alexandra made a face and stuck out her chest at John since the she'd dropped the device into her breast pocket earlier. “Would you mind . . .?”

 

Eyebrows rising in an affectation of mock surprise, he uttered a soft, warm chuckle. “Why, Lexi . . . is that a come-on?” he teased.

 

She rolled her eyes but grinned. “My hands are all messy,” she complained, “and you bought the messy dinner, so the least you can do is answer my phone.”

 

He chuckled, reaching out with his index and middle finger to snag the phone from her pocket. “Hello?” He winked at her as she hopped down to wash her hands in the utility sink. “No, it's John . . . Lexi's washing her hands. How are you . . .? Oh? Anything I can help you with?”

 

Wrinkling her nose—no one had bothered to get out more paper towels to fill the dispenser, Alexandra knelt down to rummage through the supplies under the sink.

 

“What . . .? My God . . . When?”

 

She slowly stood, frowning at the strange tone in John's voice. The man she knew was utterly unflappable, wasn't he? So why did he sound so . . . so . . . worried . . .?

 

“Yeah, don't worry . . . Listen, you're breaking up . . . I'll tell her.”

 

He let the phone drop away from his ear by degrees, his expression inscrutable as his gaze sought out hers, and when their eyes met, he grimaced slightly then quickly looked away. “J-John?”

 

He squeezed his eyes closed at the sound of her voice, quietly closing the phone on the heel of his hand before he cleared his throat and shook his head. “That was . . . that was Isabelle,” he said, his voice hushed, reluctant. He still refused to look at her. “Samantha . . . She's missing.”

 

She stared at him for a moment before striding over to him and pulling her phone out of his hands. After dialing the phone, she paced the floor, gritting her teeth as she waited for an answer. In the background, she could hear John talking on his phone, making reservations on the next international flight to whatever United States destination he could get.

 

“Lexi?” Isabelle answered on the second ring.

 

“What's going on?” she demanded, ignoring standard pleasantries. “John said that you told him that Sam's missing?”

 

Isabelle sighed. Alexandra didn't miss the slight tremor in the sound. “They sent her out on a hunt, and she hasn't checked in . . . and they found one of her shuriken . . .”

 

“Well . . .” Gripping her forehead, she stopped her pacing when John's strong embrace wrapped around her. “I-I don't understand . . . She wouldn't have left one of those behind . . .”

 

“I know. Anyway, that's about all I know. Mama and Papa are on their way.”

 

“Me, too,” she blurted. “I'll be right there.”

 

“Okay,” Isabelle agreed. “Be careful.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Snapping the phone closed, Alexandra leaned against John for a moment, allowing herself to draw on his quiet strength before pulling away and turning to face him.

 

“I already made the reservations,” he told her calmly. “The flight leaves in twenty minutes, but I talked to them and explained things, so they'll get us through security fast. If we hurry, we can make it.”

 

Shaking her head, she turned her troubled gaze on him. She'd give anything to have him go with her, but she wasn't entirely sure she could or should ask that of him . . . “But you . . . what about your business?”

 

He shot her a dark look that could easily have passed as his version of the `don't-be-stupid' expression, if it were possible for John to have one of those. “Business is business, Lexi, but you're far more important to me than it is.”

 

Nodding slowly, letting her eyes drop away from him, she blinked rapidly to dispel the sheen of moisture that his words had stirred in her. The sudden and shocking image of Samantha's smiling face shot through her head, and she bit back a sob with a vicious tenacity.

 

“Come on . . . Maybe she'll turn up before we ever get there.”

 

She nodded once again, but she didn't dare open her mouth. John's words had been optimistic, but his tone had not.

 

Slipping an arm around her protectively, he led her out of the lab and down the hallway toward the elevator then past it to the door of the stairwell. John was saying something—reassuring her, she supposed. It was white noise to her, her mind replaying the only words that meant anything to her at the moment, over and over again until she thought she might scream.

 

“. . . and they found one of her shuriken . . .”

 

“. . . and they found one of her shuriken . . .”

 

“. . . and they found one of her shuriken . . .”

 

“. . . and they found one of her shuriken . . .”

 

Biting the inside of her cheek as John led her by the hand down the flights of stairs, Alexandra shook her head and hastened her step.

 

`Oh, Sami . . . where are you . . .?'

 

 

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

A/N:

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Final Thought from Kichiro:

Five days …?

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