InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ When Night Falls ( Chapter 8 )

~~Chapter 8~~

~When Night Falls~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“I want to see it.”

 

Dr. Harlan glanced around as though he were trying to find a way to put off Kurt's demand. “See it?”

 

“Yes, damn it, see it. I want to see it. Now.”

 

“I'll take you to see it as soon as we have an agreement.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Kurt wondered briefly if Harlan really understood exactly how daring he was truly being, and not for the first time, he realized once more, exactly how much he actually could despise another human being. That the good doctor held Kurt in about the same level of regard was arbitrary, as far as Kurt was concerned. If the man walked out in front of the noon cross-town bus, he certainly wouldn't lose any sleep over it, and if he didn't need the damn money, he might consider doing the shoving, himself . . .

 

“Do we have a deal?”

 

Gritting his teeth—this entire situation was just getting stupider and stupider, in Kurt's opinion—he narrowed his eyes at the doctor. “You want me to work as your night watch? For money that you already owe me?”

 

Harlan twittered out a chuckle that sounded entirely forced. “Of course not; of course not! We'll pay you what we were paying Dustin.”

 

“And how much were you paying Dustin?”

 

Harlan's broadcast-journalism smile dulled just a notch. “Seven-hundred a week plus medical and limited dental.”

 

Kurt snorted. “Forget it.”

 

Harlan grimaced. “N-nine hundred a week, no benefits.”

 

“I don't need your damn benefits,” Kurt reminded him, “and I make way more than that for one night's work as it is. If that's your best offer—”

 

“Fifteen hundred a week,” Harlan blurted as his skin shifted from blotchy red to a sickly shade of doughy yellow.

 

Kurt didn't respond right away. Frankly, he was surprised that Harlan was willing to offer him that much. “I want to see it,” he stated again.

 

Harlan finally nodded and led the way down the hall to a darkened observation room that looked into a clinical white room devoid of most everything though there were a few monitors spewing out steady streams of papers that pooled on the floor. A couple doctors moved unobtrusively around the sturdy table where the little demon was secured via metal bands. It appeared to be unconscious, but Kurt noted the tape and gauze that covered its shoulder. Dark red blotches marred the stark white of the bandages, and he frowned at the IV that had been pushed off to the side. “It was shot, right? Why aren't you giving it blood?”

 

Harlan sighed and shrugged, as though it were of no consequence. “It got agitated when they tried to hook it up to the IV, and its vital signs evened out well enough that we figured that we'd just monitor it. For now.”

 

“And Dustin?”

 

Harlan forced a weak laugh. “It knocked him out just after he shot it. No permanent damage, but I don't imagine that he'll be willing to mess with that kind again.”

 

“Has it spoken to you yet?”

 

The doctor frowned and slowly shook his head, his expression stating plainly that he thought that maybe Kurt had been smacked upside the head at one point or another. “She doesn't talk,” he said slowly.

 

Kurt snorted indelicately, pinning Harlan with a bored sort of glower. “Those things spend their lives trying to deceive humans. Don't be so quick to pin a sex on it. You only see whatever they want you to see. Don't you get that? And it does talk.”

 

“Are you saying that . . . it . . . has spoken to . . . you?”

 

He didn't have to be brilliant to see the mocking glint in Harlan's eyes. “You've heard other ones speak, haven't you?”

 

Harlan forced a condescending laugh. “I'd hardly call broken sentences and series of growls `speaking,' Doc,” he replied. “Those other ones you've brought in . . . Are you sure that they're not more advanced than that one? All it does is sit around and watch—watches everything—but it doesn't speak. I doubt it knows how.”

 

Kurt didn't reply to that despite the irritation that surged inside him. What kind of game was it playing, anyway? He knew damn well that it did talk—it had talked to him a few times—even when he hadn't wanted it to do any such thing . . .

 

The doctors stepped over to check it, mumbling things to each other. Kurt turned away, satisfied that it was being taken care of. “You'll authorize the first payment now,” he warned.

 

Harlan considered that then nodded. “You'll understand that I'd like you to start as soon as possible.”

 

Kurt nodded. He wasn't overly pleased with the circumstances, and he was even less impressed with the feeling that he was being manipulated. Maybe he could coerce Harlan into paying, but it wouldn't be worth it in the end.

 

Besides, as loathe as he was to admit it, Kurt figured that it wouldn't be a bad idea to do a little observation of his own. After all, it was the most powerful demon he'd captured. He might as well see if he could figure out anything else about it while he collected the money that was due him.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Cain Zelig glared at his eldest son in abject disbelief. “I forbid it,” he stated flatly.

 

Bas shook his head and heaved a sigh. “Dad, this isn't actually open to debate. I'm going. I have to.”

 

“What you have to do, Bas, is to take care of your mate,” Cain shot back. “She needs you here!”

 

Raking his hands through his hair in abject frustration, Bas glared at his father and stubbornly stood his ground. “Yeah, that's just it! She was walking out the door with her suitcase this morning! If I didn't agree to go, she was going to! I have to do this!”

 

“Damn it! You're the next tai-youkai,” Cain maintained. “Why don't you start acting like it?”

 

“You think I'm not?”

 

“No, I don't!”

 

Slamming his hand down on the desk so hard that it groaned under the strain, Bas met his father's formidable glower without backing down. “What am I supposed to do? What if it were Mom?”

 

Narrowing his eyes dangerously, Cain shook his head. “I'd damn well stay home with her if she were pregnant!”

 

Drawing a deep breath, Bas pressed his lips together and considered his words. “Dad . . . Sydnie was the one who said that Sam could handle this job. She's the one who backed her up, and she feels like it's her fault that Sam's missing now. You, better than anyone, understand what guilt can do to someone. I'll be damned if I'll let Sydnie suffer that kind of thing.”

 

Cain heaved a sigh. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Bas' words struck home, and as much as he hated the idea of his son taking off while his mate was pregnant, he had to concede that he did understand. “All right,” he finally said then held up a hand to stop his son's departure. “But this is non-negotiable, though. I want her to stay here where we can keep an eye on her. A pregnant woman shouldn't be left alone.”

 

Bas nodded though his scowl didn't diminish. Cain knew, too, that the cat-youkai was very likely going to balk at the idea of staying at the mansion, but Bas understood Cain's reasoning there, too. “Okay,” he agreed, glancing at his watch. “I've got time to go get her.”

 

Cain watched his son go and sighed. He felt as though he were going crazy, plain and simple. In the hours since they'd figured out that Samantha really was missing, he'd had to make more judgment calls—calls that he could only hope would bring her home in the end . . . and the worst of them had been the decision that he, of all people, couldn't go.

 

Actually, it was Ben who had reminded Cain of the problems that his accompanying the search party could present, and though it had ticked him off completely, he really did have to admit that Ben . . . well, he'd been right.

 

“Don't be stupid, Zelig! You cannot go,” Ben said when Cain announced that he was going, too.

 

“What do you mean, I can't?” he snarled, glaring at Ben furiously.

 

“Think about it,” Ben went on, ignoring Cain's outburst completely. “You have no idea where she is or why. If someone managed to find out that she was related to you or to Sesshoumaru . . . You'd be playing right into their hands, wouldn't you?”

 

“She's my granddaughter!”

 

“And you're the tai-youkai, and whether you like it or not, you have to be the tai-youkai first! You know that!”

 

“Forget it, Ben! You can talk all you want, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to listen to you, either,” he growled. “She's my granddaughter,” he repeated in a calmer tone.

 

“No, Daddy . . . Ben's right.”

 

All heads had turned in time to see Bellaniece slip into the study. Worry tightened the skin at the corners of her eyes, but she looked determined as she approached the assembly of men. “Bellaniece . . .”

 

“Ben's right,” she stated once more. “You're the tai-youkai. You can't . . .” Trailing off as she swallowed hard, she shook her head before continuing. “You're needed here.”

 

“Don't worry about it,” InuYasha grumbled. “We'll find her. Besides. You'd just get in the fucking way.”

 

Letting out a deep breath as he brushed away the memory, it was all he could do not to growl in utter frustration. Sometimes he really despised his position as tai-youkai . . . Unable to do anything but sit here and watch as everyone else went out to look for Samantha . . . Well, it was enough to drive him insane.

 

The familiarity of a comforting aura seeped over him, engulfing him like an invisible embrace, and he looked up in time to see his mate slip quietly into the office. She managed a very thin smile that he knew damn well was solely for his benefit, and, after looking around to make sure that she wasn't interrupting, she slipped across the floor and around the desk to hug him for real. “You looked like you could use one of those,” she pointed out, her voice muffled by his shirt.

 

Wrapping his arms around her, he sighed, accepting her offer of comfort. “I'm completely useless,” he mumbled, wishing for the life of him that it wasn't true.

 

“Why do you think that?” she asked. There was nothing condescending or humoring in her tone.

 

No, she sounded genuinely puzzled, and he shook his head. “I can't even go and . . . and look for her. I can't do anything but sit here and be tai-youkai.”

 

“Well, that is a pretty important job, isn't it?”

 

He snorted but didn't bother to answer since it was debatable—at least in his mind. “Is it?”

 

“Papa said that I should tell you not to worry.”

 

Cain rolled his eyes since he highly doubted that InuYasha Izayoi said anything of the sort. “Oh, did he?”

 

She smiled wanly. “Maybe not in those exact words . . .”

 

“Yeah, I didn't figure.”

 

“I'm sure that this is all a huge misunderstanding. She'll come . . . come walking through that door any minute, and . . . and she won't understand what the fuss is all about.”

 

Cain almost smiled at Gin's optimistic words. He might have done it if she didn't sound like she couldn't even believe herself. “If she walked through that door right now, I'd let her say whatever the hell she wanted,” he admitted quietly.

 

Gin sighed and gave him a squeeze before leaning back to stare up at him. “You look like you could use some coffee, Zelig-sensei . . . How about I go make you some?”

 

He flinched inwardly, knowing damn well that her show of bravado was strictly for his benefit, and he tugged her back into his arms, against his heart, and closed his eyes. “How about you just stay here, like this . . .? Better than coffee, at any rate.”

 

“Have you talked to Bellaniece yet?”

 

“Uh, no . . . haven't had a moment to stop and think until now.”

 

“She's in her room. She said she was tired right after Kichiro and Sebastian left, but I . . . I doubt she's actually sleeping.”

 

Cain nodded slowly, and this time, he didn't draw Gin back when she stepped away. “Definitely coffee,” she stated briskly. “I just finished a nice cake to go with it, too.”

 

He watched her go as the frown on his face deepened. He'd been the one who had taught her how to smile and fib when she didn't want anyone to know the truth. He'd taught her how to do that so long ago, and while he knew that she had the best of intentions always, he had to wonder how much of a toll it was taking her on her now.

 

Still, there'd be time enough to talk to her later, to remind her that it was all right if she wanted to cry, but right now . . .

 

Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, he strode out of the study and headed for the stairs.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“How was your flight, my lady?”

 

Bellaniece didn't turn away from the window as she stared at the long driveway for any sign of movement. “It was fine,” she murmured. “Not much turbulence, and . . . and it was quiet.”

 

She felt her father's youki draw near, felt it envelop her moments before his arms followed suit. Leaning back against him with a heavy, tired sigh, she indulged the warmth and safety that she felt for several seconds, drawing on his strength to bolster her own. “Where is she, Daddy?” she whispered though it didn't sound much like a question in her own ears.

 

“They'll find her,” he assured her, giving her a tight squeeze as he buried his nose in her hair.

 

“Why does she want to be a hunter? I've never understood that . . .”

 

Cain sighed softly, his breath stirring her hair. “She wants to protect people . . .”

 

Bellaniece nodded vaguely, her gaze fixed out the window. “And who will protect her from people?”

 

She felt him stiffen, his body recoiling from her softly uttered question though there wasn't a trace of it evident in his tone. “We . . . we will.”

 

She laughed sadly: a sound devoid of humor but full of a quiet sense of irony. “She would have called if she could . . . Even when she was younger and still in school, if she were even a few minutes late, she always called . . .”

 

“They'll find her,” Cain stated once more, his voice a little stronger, full of quiet conviction. “They'll find her, and they'll bring her home.”

 

“Of course,” she replied, turning away from the window and smiling up at her father. She wasn't sure if the pained expression on his face was because he didn't believe the show of emotion or if it was because she was entirely too convincing with her lie. “She's all right,” Bellaniece went on, carefully straightening Cain's rumpled shirt, smoothing the fabric with light brushes of her palms. “I can feel her. She's out there, but . . . but I can feel her.”

 

Cain nodded and tried to smile. It fumbled and faltered and failed, but she had to give him credit for trying. `Daddy has always tried to smile for me, because that's what he does . . .'

 

“I need to get downstairs and call Ben. He and Myrna were checking into anything that could be a possible lead,” Cain said apologetically.

 

Bellaniece nodded and quickly leaned up to kiss his cheek. “It's not your fault, you know,” she said.

 

He blinked a few times and turned his face away. “I know,” he muttered. “I'll be in the study if you need me.”

 

She watched him go with a frown, knowing and hating that he would dare blame himself over Samantha's disappearance. It was no one's fault, was it? It couldn't be.

 

Because, if she were honest, Bellaniece would have to believe that if it really were someone's fault then the precarious tightrope she was navigating with her own emotions . . .

 

It would break, wouldn't it . . .?

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Sam flinched and uttered a low moan as the intrusion of consciousness invaded her senses. Her shoulder ached with a vengeance, and it took a few minutes for her foggy mind to recall the reason. She felt the cold grate under her, and she knew without opening her eyes that her attempt at escape had failed.

 

She'd been shot, hadn't she . . .?

 

Even worse, as the memories floated back to her, she remembered that she'd been so angry—angrier than she'd ever been before—that she'd actually attacked the guard. As if something in her brain had snapped, she could recall the absolute rage that had engulfed her when the man had dared to put his gun against her head. She'd seen in his eyes, hadn't she? He wanted to pull that trigger, and yet the anger had obliterated all sense of who she was and what she believed. To protect humans . . .

 

She'd kicked him off as he fired the gun. She could remember the searing pain as the bullet had ripped through her shoulder, and curiously, it had only served to deepen her resolve, and while she ought to have just got up and ran, she'd actually wanted . . .

 

Trailing off as a mortification so deep and consuming overwhelmed her, she covered her face with her hands, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. She was everything she professed to protect others from—a terrible creature who gave in to their hatred and animosity. How many times in her life had she heard those kinds of actions condemned on the lips and tongues of those whom she loved? And yet she'd almost . . .

 

Sitting astride the guard, she'd had her hands clasped around his neck, choking off his oxygen supply, her brain lusting for the scent of his blood. Pressing her claws into his flesh as the coppery tinge of his blood filled her nostrils . . . the perverse pleasure that coursed through her—the desire to kill him stronger than any insular emotion she'd ever felt before . . .

 

She'd felt the small pricks, secondary to the puffs of air as the tranquilizer rifles shot their venom into her, but whether it was her anger that steadied her or the intrinsic thought that she'd rather be dead than trapped there like a wild animal, she wasn't sure. It was something else she hadn't understood—the sudden desire to die . . .

 

They'd shot her again and again with those silly little darts, over and over again. She must have passed out finally—blessedly . . . and she couldn't remember anything else.

 

What would her family say if they found out what she'd done? Harming humans . . . that was wrong—always wrong. Weaker than youkai, weaker than hanyous, it was her job to protect them, wasn't it? If they found out, they'd be disgusted by her and by what she'd done, and worse, they'd be disappointed in her . . .

 

She didn't deserve to be a hunter—the one thing she'd always wanted, and now . . . Even if she managed to escape from this place, what right did she have to profess to be a hunter? Allowing herself to be consumed by that hatred—that anger . . . How could she possibly say that she wanted to protect humans when she'd had so little regard for one of those lives . . .?

 

So lost in her own miserable thoughts, trying to refute the truth in her mind as she struggled against a melancholy so overwhelming that she felt as though she were drowning in a pitch-black ocean, she didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

 

The definite scuff of metal against metal got her attention, though, and, peering up between splayed fingers, she watched as the ruined layer of ofuda was stripped away. The blank expression on the holy man's face swam in and out of focus. Samantha gasped—she hadn't meant to, but she really hadn't thought she'd ever see him again, either. For the first time in days, a strange sense of hope swelled in her though she didn't dare stop to consider why that might be. She knew that he didn't like her. She understood that well enough. Still, he really hadn't been unkind to her, either, and that . . . well that had to mean something.

 

He shot a cursory glance at her before spreading a layer of thick, opaque plastic over the cage. Then he placed another layer of sutras under a second layer of plastic. He'd apparently figured out that the ofuda had been ruined in the course of spraying out the cage. Then he secured the plastic with a layer of duct tape that he wrapped around the cage a few times for good measure.

 

Gasping softly when he knelt down and reached into the cage, she stared in mute fascination as his long, slender fingers caught the edge of the makeshift bandage on her shoulder and lifted it. When she glanced at his face again, he was scowling: not at her, exactly, but at the rent flesh of her shoulder, as though he was assessing the damage for himself.

 

It seemed to her that he spent an inordinately long time, scowling at her before he dropped the dressing once more and withdrew his hand. He said nothing as he braced his fingertips against the floor and pushed himself to his feet. He said nothing as he strode over to the utility sink to wash his hands. He said nothing as he moved off to raise the security panels around the cage. He said nothing as he shut off the overhead lights, and he said nothing as he walked over to the barren desk in the corner, bathed in the stingy circle of a lit desk lamp. Shaking open the newspaper, he began to read as a strange thought occurred to Samantha.

 

He didn't speak, no, and yet . . .

 

. . . And yet, for the first time in days, she didn't feel entirely alone.

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought from Samantha:

I'm … not alone …?

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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~