InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Deliberation ( Chapter 15 )

~~Chapter 15~~

~Deliberation~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“So, Kurt . . . what do you think of the four of us going to Disney World this summer?”

 

With an excited yelp, Kurt hopped up and ran over to his father, who was sitting on the sofa with Caroline tucked neatly in the crook of his arm. The girl yawned and whined as the exuberant seven year-old threw himself onto the couch and bounced up and down happily. “Really? Honest?” Kurt insisted.

 

His father chuckled. “Really and honestly,” he agreed. “Shh . . . don't wake up your sister.”

 

“You and me and Mom and Carrie?”

 

“Yes, you and me and Mom and Carrie. What did you think? That we'd leave her home?”

 

He stumbled to his feet and dashed out of the living room. He could hear his mother running water in the kitchen, finishing up the pots and pans from dinner. Tearing into the bright room, he flung himself against his mother's back, hugging her tight around the waist—something he normally wouldn't have done, but it seemed okay this time, all things considered. “Disney World, Mom!” he hollered.

 

She laughed, leaning to the side to grab a clean hand towel to dry herself before she turned far enough to tousle his unruly black hair. “Glad you approve, Kurt. And you were complaining that you didn't have anything good to write in your summer vacation essay . . .”

 

He grinned up at her, and she gave his shoulders a quick squeeze before letting go. “Now you'd better get out of here before I decide to put you to work . . . you know I had to wash dishes at your age . . .”

 

He knew a blatant threat when he heard one, and he ducked out the kitchen again. Loopy darted after him, yapping happily, and while she might not have understood the words `Disney World', she certainly could pick up on Kurt's excitement.

 

“Can we stay there all summer?” Kurt asked as he ran back into the living room and vaulted onto the sofa again.

 

His father laughed. “All summer? Geez . . . that'd be something, wouldn't it?”

 

Kurt shook his head. “But Disney World is huge . . . Billy Rotmore went last year, and he said that they didn't see everything, and they stayed a whole week . . .”

 

“Well, we did figure we could stay for two weeks . . . That'd be okay, wouldn't it?”

 

Kurt scrunched up his face in a thoughtful frown as he considered that. Two weeks was a whole seven days longer than Billy's trip, and Billy had bragged for months afterward about it, too . . . “Two weeks is okay,” Kurt finally allowed.

 

His father laughed as Caroline sat up in his lap, rubbing her eyes with a chubby little fist. “I wan' go, too,” she murmured drowsily.

 

Kurt rolled his eyes. “You don't even know what Disney World is, Carrie,” he pointed out. It was all completely logical in his seven year-old mind.

 

She was undaunted by the censure in Kurt's tone, and she smiled widely at him, her deep dimples digging into her cheeks as she wiggled off her father's lap. “Dis-ney, Dis-ne-e-ey,” she sang as she ran off to the kitchen, her arms bent at the elbows, her hands stretched out as though she were trying to retain her balance.

 

“Babies,” Kurt said in a resigned sort of way that made his father laugh.

 

Jerking awake with a disoriented start, Kurt blinked and glanced around the darkened room. That dream . . . wasn't so bad, and yet the emptiness that it left in its wake was bitter, harsh. Right after he'd gone to live with Aunt Mary and Uncle Marcus, the psychologist that they'd taken him to had prescribed drugs that were meant to help him sleep. He wasn't sure why, but he recalled that the nightmares he'd had after taking those damned blue pills had been more vivid, more frightening than any other he'd had before the pills or after . . . Gross distortions of that day, and then . . .

 

Deliberately slamming the door on those thoughts, Kurt rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, refusing to think about or acknowledge the power that those dreams had once held over him, he clenched his teeth and willed away the black rage that licked at him.

 

Drawing a deep breath, he rubbed his eyes and heaved a sigh. Having fallen asleep while reading through one of the books he'd brought along, he couldn't help the hint of disgust that crept over him after the anger had subsided, either. He hated sleeping, and he loathed sleeping here, of all places, and especially in the presence of . . .

 

Half afraid that he'd managed to wake up the little demon again, he rather reluctantly glanced at the cage in the middle of the room. Luckily, blessedly, it was sleeping, too. Come to think of it, it had been oddly quiet all night—not exactly something that bothered Kurt. Not at all, but . . . but it was a little strange, wasn't it?

 

Snorting at his own thoughts, he shook his head. He was glad, really. After all, the last thing he wanted was to be pestered incessantly by the damned creature. Maybe it had finally figured out that he really didn't welcome conversation with the likes of it . . . He could hope, couldn't he?

 

Still, that dream . . . it may not have been as vindictive as some, but it was bad enough, wasn't it? More of a memory than an actual dream, that was. Maybe that was why it was so much easier to deal with after the fact. Memories were controlled things; things that had happened that made logical sense in a logical order. Dreams were wilder, unmanageable . . . inescapable . . .

 

Letting out a deep breath that lifted the fringe of bangs on his forehead, Kurt scratched the back of his neck and glanced at the clock. Two a.m. He picked up the book again but let it thump back onto the desk carelessly. He really didn't feel like re-reading the same texts he'd already read so often that he practically had it all memorized. He felt restless, damn it, and normally when that sort of feeling assailed him, he squelched it by going out to see if he could find any trace of demons nearby. Sometimes he did; sometimes he didn't. He figured that it was all the same, anyway.

 

Demons . . .

 

That thought brought back into focus the strange aura he'd felt a couple days ago on his way in. It was the third overwhelming aura he'd felt of late. One of those had belonged to the little demon, he knew. The other two? Those unsettled him more. He'd worked for years, tracking down those things, hadn't he? And while he knew now that he'd probably happened across an aura like that before, at the time, he'd chalked it up to belonging to more than one of them because he simply hadn't realized that one of those things could possibly contain that much power, but now . . .

 

Now he knew better. Still, it bothered him. Why now? Why so many, and why now?

 

It had been searching.

 

He wasn't entirely sure why he knew that, but he did. It was searching for something.

 

Shaking his head, Kurt pushed himself to his feet, unable to reconcile the unsettling notion that made no sense. Searching? He snorted. He was giving them far too much credit, damn it, and that, more than anything, really ticked him off.

 

Then again, something else had occurred to him, too. Maybe it wasn't that they hadn't been there before. Maybe he'd somehow managed to grow stronger in his ability to sense them. Maybe spending time watching the little demon was aiding him more than he cared to consider, like mental training or something. It was entirely possible, wasn't it?

 

In fact, the longer he considered that, the more probable it seemed to him. Just as he hadn't learned back then to differentiate a collective bunch of their auras from one really strong one, maybe it was all a matter of teaching himself how to do it, instead.

 

It made sense. It wasn't that those things were getting stronger, by any means, but maybe he was . . .

 

Glancing down, his gaze fell on the clipboard lying on the work desk, and he opened it. He hadn't actually checked the chart in a few days. It always seemed to say the same thing: observation. He frowned when he read the agenda from the day before.

 

`Blood testing. Low readings on all counts. Borderline anemic. Insulin levels erratic . . . Skin, blood, urine, and hair samples taken . . . recommend vitamin injections . . .'

 

Low levels . . .

 

Flipping the chart closed, he heaved a disgusted sigh as his gaze lifted involuntarily to the small form huddled in the corner of the cage. He hadn't bothered to try to get it to eat for the last couple days, either, since that only tended to invite unwelcome conversation on his part.

 

He snorted. He honestly didn't give a damn whether it ate or not. As long as he was still collecting payments on it, he could care less . . .

 

Let the damn researchers figure out how to keep it alive. They're the ones who wanted it, weren't they? As far as he was concerned, they could just deal with it, themselves . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Hey, Cartham. Any luck?”

 

Deke Cartham grunted as he prowled around the dilapidated hotel room. “Nothing,” he muttered, unable to keep his irritation in check. “You find out anything about that list?”

 

Cain sighed and spared a moment to light a cigarette. The sound was completely unmistakable. “Nope. InuYasha and Ryomaru said that their lead was worthless. Bas said that the guy he was supposed to check into committed suicide last year, and Evan and Morio's target has been a resident of the Fernlowe Clinic for the past two months. Cocaine, I believe they said.”

 

“And the one in Michigan?”

 

“Gunnar said that he checked into it from the special crimes office and that it's no good. They're heading out tomorrow, though. They're flying back to Chicago . . . Kichiro seems to think that she's still there.”

 

“But we've been everywhere,” he pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but . . . Cartham . . . If the person who got a hold of her to start with was able to construct a barrier, then who's to say that he or she didn't do it again around wherever they're holding her now?”

 

Cartham nodded. He'd thought that, too. “I ain't sensed no barriers.”

 

“You wouldn't necessarily, would you? InuYasha said that back when they were searching for Naraku, that he'd erected one that had made his castle virtually undetectable.”

 

“But Naraku was a hanyou,” Cartham pointed out.

 

“Yes, well, the theory's the same. Myrna's running a cross check on every listed residence and business in the greater Chicago area to see if she can't figure out where Sam might be held. Right now, we're figuring that if we can find a location that has an active listing that we can't see . . .”

 

“That might be where they have her, you mean.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Makes sense.”

 

Cain sighed again. “I'll have Myrna fax over what she finds.”

 

“All right,” Cartham muttered.

 

The line went dead, and Cartham clicked off the phone before tossing it onto the bed. What they'd said made sense, didn't it? Even still, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was a little too simple, wasn't it? No, he had a bad feeling about this case, he really did, and while he hadn't breathed even a word of that to Zelig or any of his kin, Cartham couldn't shake the feeling that something menacing was looming just out of view—something that none of them had ever even considered.

 

The problem was figuring out exactly what that could be; what could possibly make him feel that much unease . . . He'd seen some ugly things over the years. Hunters normally did. Call it par for course, he figured. So why did he feel like this—whatever `this' was—had the potential to be far, far worse—far uglier than anything any of them had seen before?

 

No, it didn't matter how you looked at it. Cartham had a feeling that the real problem wasn't so much in finding Samantha alive—she was a damn clever girl, and if anyone could survive the unknown, he figured she could. The real problem, as far as Cartham could tell was in fighting an enemy that couldn't be seen . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Sydnie sat on the window seat, staring out at the falling snow. She could hear herself blink in the quiet. Watching the beach just off to the right, she frowned at the lone figure that wandered close to the water's edge. Even from the distance, there was no mistaking her: Bellaniece—Samantha's mother.

 

`They blame me.'

 

Those three words had been haunting her ever since Samantha's disappearance. It didn't matter if they smiled at her or if they always—always—offered her a cheerful `good morning' or a `sleep well, Sydnie' before she went to bed. She could feel the accusation in their gazes, could feel the sharpness of their condemnations, even if they were all in their own minds. She knew, didn't she . . .?

 

And even as she thought that, she knew that she was wrong, too. Not one of them blamed her—not one.

 

And maybe that made her feel all the worse about it, too.

 

She was the one who had told Cain that Samantha could handle it. She was the one who had stared the men down and laughed, telling them all that, just because Samantha was a female didn't make her any less capable, did it? In her own way, it might even have made her tougher than her male counterparts: tougher because she had to be, because the men would continue to baby her if she didn't prove that she really was.

 

After all, women were far more vicious, far more vindictive than any man could ever be, and Sydnie . . . Well, she knew that from personal experience, didn't she?

 

She'd sensed Samantha's frustration of late, and she knew damn well that it was wholly grounded. Sydnie had been livid when Bas had told her that Cain had sent Larry into Chicago. The implication was clear in her mind: Cain was telling her, whether he believed it or not, that he didn't think that Samantha had what it took to do her job, and yet . . .

 

And yet the life growing inside her belly gave Sydnie pause, too—gave her a new perspective on things that she had once believed were cut and dried. She had never considered a parents' point of view, had never understood fully, what it meant to love someone so much that the very idea that they weren't completely safe was enough to make you want to scream inside . . .

 

And she knew that her understanding of that was growing day by day, along with her child.

 

It scared the hell out of her.

 

Kichiro and Bellaniece . . . Sydnie had always thought that they were amazing parents: encouraging their daughters to be who they wanted to be yet possessing the patience to catch them when they faltered . . . Even if they weren't perfect, they tried, and that meant something, didn't it?

 

To be honest, she'd always thought that the strained expressions that they got on their faces whenever they spoke of their daughter the hunter though only when Samantha wasn't looking, was a little too much. They worried too much or they didn't believe in Samantha.

 

How had she ever been so very wrong?

 

It wasn't that they didn't believe in the daughter they'd raised. It was simply that it didn't matter in the end. Samantha had been their daughter from the moment she'd entered their lives, just as her unborn child was a part of her and Sebastian, and even sight unseen, she knew she loved him or her; knew that there was nothing she wouldn't do to protect the life that she nurtured. That was what Bellaniece and Kichiro were feeling now, wasn't it? The pain of a parent who didn't know where the hell their beloved child was . . .

 

And they ought to blame her, oughtn't they? They ought to yell at her and curse her and tell her that it was all her fault. Guilt was a painful emotion. She'd recognized it in the beginning, the first time she'd met Cain Zelig's gaze. She'd thought that he deserved to feel guilty, as ugly as that was to admit now. He ought to suffer as much as she had—that's what she'd thought at the time. The tai-youkai who had failed her . . . she'd wanted him to understand exactly how much pain she'd endured.

 

But now . . . now she wished that she had understood at the time. The guilt was worse than anything else, wasn't it? Pain gave way to anger, and anger was simple to deal with. Guilt was something else, entirely, and the more people sought to show someone that they weren't to blame, the worse that guilt became, didn't it . . .?

 

A soft knock on the door drew her out of her reverie though she didn't look away from the figure wandering the shore.

 

“Hey, Sydnie . . . I was hoping you weren't lying down . . .” Sydnie didn't answer though she heard Jillian Jamison cross the floor. “How are you doing? I brought you some milk . . . I know, I'm hardly Bassie, but . . . Well, he called a little while ago, and he asked me to give this to you . . .”

 

Sydnie took the tall, frothy glass with a trembling hand. “Thank you,” she murmured and shook her head sadly.

 

“He says that he'll be home in a couple days since Gavvie, John, and Griffin were going to head to Chicago, too.”

 

Not even the idea of her mate's return was enough to draw a smile from her. On the beach far below, Bellaniece had stopped atop a large formation of rocks that sheltered the small cove from the wind. Standing still, facing into the wind, her absolute melancholy had the power to reach Sydnie where she sat, warm and secure in the safety of the mansion.

 

Bellaniece was waiting, wasn't she? Waiting and looking for the daughter that she wanted to come home . . .

 

“Are you feeling all right? Mama said that I shouldn't fuss over you so much, but someone has to, right? Having a baby is hard work. That's what Gavin's mother said, anyway. Of course, she also said that Gavvie was a really big baby, so that might have had something to do with it, too . . .”

 

“I'm a real bitch, aren't I?”

 

Jillian blinked in surprise. “What? No! Why would you say that?”

 

Uttering a humorless laugh, she nodded at the window then shrugged. “Her baby's missing, and mine's right here . . . and all Sebastian can think about is who will give me a glass of milk . . .”

 

“That's not true,” Jillian chided gently. “Bassie loves you. That hardly makes you a bitch.”

 

“And what would you say if I told you that it's my fault that Samantha's . . . missing . . .?” she countered, her voice as raw as her emotions, unable—unwilling—to meet Jillian's compassionate gaze.

 

“It's no more your fault than it's Daddy's or Bassie's or Gunnar's . . . or Kichiro's or Belle's . . . or anyone's. The only one to blame is the . . . the bastard that took her . . . It's not good for you or the baby to get this upset, Sydnie . . .”

 

Sydnie shook her head stubbornly and set the untouched glass of milk aside. “It is, you know,” she whispered, her words cracking and breaking as emotion rode up thick in her throat. “I told them to stop babying her. I told them that she could—”

 

“And you were right! We all knew you were right! Daddy thinks so, and so does everyone else! Sydnie . . .”

 

“I know,” Sydnie relented with a sigh, a half-hearted attempt at a faltering smile. “I know; I know. It's not my fault.” Drawing a deep breath, she let her head fall back, staring up at the ceiling, looking for answers that were nowhere to be found. “I just want her to come home.”

 

Jillian nodded and smoothed Sydnie's hair back off her face. “I do, too,” she murmured as she squeezed Sydnie's icy cold hand. “I do, too . . .”

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought from Sydnie:

…Milk …

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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~