InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Loneliness ( Chapter 19 )

~~Chapter 19~~

~Loneliness~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“Fourteen twenty-two, please.”

 

Digging into his wallet for a ten and a rather crumpled five, Kurt handed it to the girl and waited for his change.

 

“You're number ninety-seven. Please step down, and wait for us to call your number.”

 

It was a pain in the ass, wasn't it? It was Thanksgiving, for chrissakes! What the hell were all these people doing, out and about, anyway?

 

The restaurant was inordinately busy, considering it was a holiday. For a guy who wasn't particularly fond of crowds, anyway, the added stress was taking a serious toll on him.

 

When he was small, he remembered hearing his mother complain once because all the stores were closed. She'd run out of eggs and needed some for the turkey dressing she was making, and Kurt and his father had driven all over Crosby, trying to find somewhere that was open. In the end, they'd stopped just outside of town at a small farm that normally sold fresh eggs at the summer farmers' market, and Doug had wheedled half a dozen eggs out of the farmer's wife while Kurt sat in the car flipping through the radio stations.

 

It just proved that city folk were a strange breed. It amazed him, how many people would rather eat precooked dinners than make their own. He wasn't nearly as picky, though, which was why he was standing in line at Burger King.

 

Besides, he had to get to the damn facility. No rest for the wicked, he supposed . . .

 

He was still of two minds about it. Even when he'd grabbed his knapsack off the table in the ramshackle apartment, he hadn't been sure that he really was going to go back. He didn't really care about Harlan's threats. Even if he did spout off about Kurt, the other places would change their tunes as soon as the needed demons and realized that no one else could supply them.

 

And if they didn't . . . well, he'd figure that out, too. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that there were things that he could find out from that little demon; things that could help him in his quest to find the ones who had destroyed his family . . .

 

“Number ninety-seven! Ninety-seven!”

 

Kurt stepped up and muttered a terse `thank you' as he took the bag from the girl and turned to go. Maneuvering through the crowd, though, was a study in patience, and it took almost five minutes just to reach the doors. By the time he did, his patience was wearing thin, and he shoved the door open without paying much attention, blinking quickly as his senses lurched violently, as his eyes shot up to meet those of a very tall, very large . . . demon . . .?

 

“Oh, sorry, man,” the demon said, offering him a quick smile despite its slightly haggard appearance, overall.

 

Kurt backed out of the building without taking his eyes off the demon, unsure exactly what to think. It had talked, hadn't it? It had actually apologized despite the fact that Kurt was the one who had bumped into it with the door . . . What the hell was going on . . .?

 

Ducking his head, he turned and quickened his pace as he strode away, opting at the last moment to hop on the bus that was just stopping nearby. He didn't care where it went, did he? He dropped money for the fare into the tray beside the driver and hurriedly dropped into the first vacant seat he could find. Peering out the window, he grimaced. That demon was still standing outside the restaurant with a strange expression on its face, as though it had recognized something about him, and beside it . . . Kurt narrowed his eyes, unsure whether or not he honestly could believe exactly what he saw. `Two . . .?'

 

Clenching his jaw, Kurt shook his head. Way too many things bothered him about that, didn't it? Had he been so preoccupied with simply getting out of the busy restaurant to have noticed the excessive power in that demon's aura? He really hadn't thought it was possible, had he? After sensing the little demon's tremendous power, he had honestly thought that there couldn't possibly be a stronger aura, hadn't he?

 

Damn it, he had been wrong. The one outside the restaurant . . . `Shit . . .'

 

And the other one didn't look much better, in his honest opinion. Even through the distance that separated them, coupled with the barrier presented by the tempered glass windows of the bus, he could feel it, couldn't he? The combined strength of the two of them . . . Hell if it wasn't just a little frightening . . .

 

Even if it hadn't been remarkably strong in aura, though, he still would have noticed it. Damn it, that one had really been huge—tall and wide. Long hair mere shades darker than its golden eyes—startling eyes . . . and the second one—the one he hadn't seen at all when he'd gotten out of the restaurant—it wasn't that much shorter than the first one though it definitely wasn't nearly as broad of build as the first, but it had the same unsettling eyes though it had black hair, and worse was the feeling of easy power that fairly exuded from the damned creature . . .

 

Raking his hand through his hair, Kurt stood up to get off the bus at the next stop. He could see through whatever disguises they donned, couldn't he? So why . . . ? The black haired one had strange blue lines on its cheeks though he hadn't been able to discern anything else at that distance, but the first . . .

 

Damned if that one hadn't looked entirely human.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“What's the matter?”

 

Bas shook his head without taking his eyes off the bus that had just merged into traffic. “That was . . . strange . . .” he allowed almost absently.

 

“Strange, how?” Toga asked. Something about Sebastian's demeanor struck him as odd.

 

The bus turned the corner, and Bas sighed though the troubled expression on his face had yet to diminish. “I don't know,” he muttered as he stepped back to allow some people who were waiting behind them to enter the restaurant. “Just a . . . feeling . . .”

 

Tamping down the feeling that he was playing the `why' game with a toddler all over again, Toga shrugged. “What kind of feeling?”

 

Letting out a deep breath, Bas shook his head again. “That guy . . . didn't you feel it?”

 

Toga wasn't entirely sure what Bas was talking about since he'd lagged a little behind as he talked to Sierra on his cell phone, letting her know how much progress they were—or weren't, as the case was—making. “I didn't even see him. Why?”

 

Bas bit his bottom lip thoughtfully as he considered what he was about to say. “I sensed . . . something,” he explained slowly. “Like a . . . a kind of power.”

 

Toga frowned as he digested that. “You mean like a spiritual power?”

 

Bas nodded then grimaced, dragging a hand over his face. The young man desperately needed a good shave, and very likely, a good night's sleep. Unfortunately, Toga knew firsthand that the latter wasn't likely to happen until the found Samantha and brought her home because he was suffering the same thing, too. Letting out a long sigh, Bas stared at Toga for a moment. “Or maybe it was just wishful thinking . . .”

 

“Do you really think that?” Toga asked quietly as the two started down the street again.

 

Bas snorted, the strain of the constant searching starting to show through. “I-I don't know . . . I mean, I don't think so, but . . .”

 

`But maybe he wants to believe it too much,' Toga thought. “Even then . . . did you get a good scent on him?”

 

Bas shook his head, a hint of irritation entering his gaze. “No, damn it. It was too fast, and . . . and there were a lot of scents coming out of that place, and . . . And damn it!” Stopping abruptly, the future North American tai-youkai raked his hands through his hair in a thoroughly frustrated way. “I didn't expect . . .”

 

Toga sighed and clapped his hand on Bas' shoulder. “You're second guessing yourself. Don't do that.”

 

Letting out a deep breath, Bas stared at Toga for a long moment then nodded. “Yeah . . . Maybe . . . maybe I just thought . . . Hell, I don't know what I think anymore.”

 

Toga sighed and nodded, understanding the emotion a little too well. As if the search, itself, weren't bad enough, Bas' unborn child had to weigh heavily on his mind, too. “Maybe you should go on back to Maine, at least for a little while.”

 

Bas uttered a terse laugh and shook his head. “Can't. Sydnie . . . She blames herself, and if I go back, she'll insist on coming out here.”

 

And what could Toga say to that? As Samantha's boss, it wasn't entirely surprising that Sydnie would feel that way, even if no one else blamed her for it. In the end, Toga nodded. “Let's go find the others. Maybe they'll have an idea about that guy you saw.”

 

Bas nodded, too, though he still didn't look entirely convinced. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Or maybe I'm just off my rocker . . .”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

The soft clink of dinnerware echoed in the quiet as Bellaniece lifted her gaze, peering up through her eyelashes at the assemblage of family around the huge Zelig dining table. It was completely wrong, wasn't it? A holiday meal that just didn't feel right; not because of who was there, but because of who was not.

 

Jillian slowly cut a miniscule bit of turkey and stuck it in her mouth, her eyes trained on the sparkling china plate before her. Isabelle sat beside her, pushing her food around more than she was actually eating. Alexandra sat at the opposite end of the table beside Cain, wordlessly sipping a glass of wine while Sierra and Nezumi did their best to eat, too. Gin was sitting at the moment though she kept hopping up to refill glasses or to grab something out of the kitchen that she'd forgotten to set out. Even Sesshoumaru and Kagura remained silent. Sydnie . . . the poor thing wasn't even attempting to eat, and Bellaniece frowned. Sydnie had barely said two words to her since she'd arrived from Japan. She blamed herself for Samantha's disappearance, no matter what anyone said to her . . .

 

Morio shot Meara a rather guilty sort of look, as though he didn't think that he belonged there, either. On the other side of him sat Mikio, fiddling with his twitching left ear as he, too, shifted his gaze around the table. He intercepted Bellaniece's glance and inclined his head just a little, his expression saying the same things that she felt: the entire affair bore more resemblance to some sort of warped play, didn't it, and the silence was more oppressive than anything that she'd ever felt before . . .

 

Had it only been a year ago that she'd sat down with Kichiro in the quiet of their home in the forest to a rather modest but entirely warm dinner where laughter and love had been far more prevalent than the necessity of food? Alexandra and John had flown in for the holiday, and Isabelle had called and spent a few hours just talking and laughing and catching up. Samantha had . . .

 

Of course, she'd called, telling her parents how much she missed them. They'd talked and laughed and reminisced, and in the end, Bellaniece had been so happy . . .

 

Letting out a deep breath, she shook her head and raised her chin. It was all wrong, wasn't it? Completely wrong, this air of impending doom . . . Samantha, with her smiles and her laughter, would never, ever want this. Wherever she was, Bellaniece had to believe that Samantha was smiling now, too, laughing the same as she had when she was a little girl and her father would dance with her all over the living room . . .

 

“You know,” she said in a completely conversational tone, drawing the attention of everyone seated around the table, “I think that I'll go Christmas shopping tomorrow . . . the malls might have some good sales since it'll be the first official shopping day . . .”

 

As if no one else really knew what to say to her, they all exchanged surreptitious glances that Bellaniece supposed that she wasn't supposed to have noticed, so she smiled brightly and pretended not to, intent on playing out her part.

 

“If you want to,” Sierra said quietly, tentatively. “I . . . I think that sounds great . . . Don't you think, Nezumi? Gin . . .?”

 

Nezumi smiled a little weakly, but nodded. “Oh, uh . . . yeah . . . a lot of fun . . .”

 

Gin's smile was bright, hiding her concern a lot better than Bellaniece might have thought possible, though she didn't miss the quick glance that she shot her mate before replying. “Of course, of course . . . That sounds fantastic!”

 

Bellaniece's smile faltered just a little as her eyes flicked over Sydnie and back again. “What about you, Sydnie? Why don't you come, too?”

 

The cat-youkai shot her a nervous sort of glance. “I . . .”

 

“You should . . . have you bought anything for the nursery yet? Daddy's going to paint it, aren't you?”

 

Cain blinked and set his fork down, staring at her for several moments before finally nodding just once. “If you want me to, Sydnie, I'd . . . I'd love to.”

 

She seemed genuinely surprised by the offer, as though she hadn't actually considered that Cain would want to do that, and for some reason, that made Bellaniece sad. “Did you have anything special in mind, Sydnie, or are you going to wait until you find out whether you're having a boy or a girl?”

 

The abrupt scrape of a chair interrupted the stilted and forced conversation. Without a word, Alexandra stood up and walked out of the room. Bellaniece sighed and watched her go before she started to get up, too. Cain motioned for her to sit back down as he stood up, instead.

 

He understood what she was trying to do, of course, and he knew that in her own way, Bellaniece was coping, but he also understood Alexandra's upset because it mirrored his own. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he followed his granddaughter through the living room and out the glass doors.

 

She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze stubborn, defiant as she stared out over the horizon. She looked just like her mother, didn't she? And still . . .

 

“I take it you don't think Christmas shopping is a great idea,” he said softly.

 

She shot him a quelling glance, obviously not appreciating her grandfather's misplaced attempt at humor. “Everyone acts like nothing matters . . . They all just laugh and joke like everything is just fine, and it's not.”

 

“Do you really think that's what they're doing?” Cain asked carefully.

 

She nodded then shook her head and sighed. “I don't know, Grandpa,” she muttered miserably then drew a deep breath, as though she was trying to get a grip on her rampant emotions, and maybe she was. “I know that's not what they're trying to do, but it feels that way, and this dinner . . .”

 

Cain reached out, grasped her arm to turn her around as he drew her against him in a warm hug. Her entire body seemed to resist him just for a moment before she threw her arms around him, clinging to him so tightly that Cain almost grimaced. “It's all right, Lex,” he murmured, kissing her forehead as he wished yet again that he could fix the entire situation. “Let me tell you something. I'm not sure that you know it. See . . . a parent never wants to fall apart in front of their child. They're afraid . . . afraid that it'll frighten them, you see? But the truth of it is that sometimes . . . sometimes children should see that. They should see that a parent has emotions, too. Thing is, even if the parents know that in their heads, that doesn't mean that it's any easier for them to do. Your mother . . . She's coping the only way she can, just like you are.”

 

Alexandra nodded slowly, her dark blue eyes so lost, so forlorn that the broke Cain's heart. “I . . . I just want Sami to come home,” she whispered as the brightness of tears filled her eyes. Nostrils quivering as she fought to keep those tears from falling, she couldn't hide the unabashed dread in the depths of her, the choking fear that she simply couldn't deal with. “I want her to, but . . . but I . . .”

 

“Lexi . . .”

 

Shaking her head, she spun away suddenly, lifting her hands to cover her face as a harsh sob slipped out of her. “Mama says that she can feel her, and Bitty says she can, too, but . . . I don't, Grandpa . . . Kami, I don't, so what . . . what does that . . . mean . . .?”

 

Taking the two steps that separated them, Cain pulled her back against him again, holding her close as silent tears racked through her. He didn't know what to say to her, didn't know how to comfort her, and as a single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, he closed them tightly as he wondered just how much more his family could take . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Hold on, damn it,” Evan muttered as he stumbled toward the door of his hotel room, idly scratching his bare stomach. “I'm comin' . . .”

 

Glancing at the clock as he unlocked the door and turned the handle, he made a face. He'd only meant to take a short nap when he'd stretched out a few hours ago. “Shit,” he growled with a heavy dose of self-disgusted as he yanked the door open.

 

“Bas called,” Gunnar said in lieu of a greeting as he brushed past Evan, stepping into the room. “Said that he thinks he ran into a guy that he thinks had some form of spiritual power, but he couldn't get a good lock on his scent.”

 

“Why the fuck not?” Evan growled as he stomped over to snatch a shirt off the rumpled bed.

 

Gunnar shook his head as he leaned against the wall and waited for his cousin to finish his grouching. “Take it easy, Evan. It was crowded, and the guy took off before Bas could really figure anything out.”

 

Dragging his hands over his face, he peered out from between his fingers. “Yeah, well, we could use all the help we can get right now, can't we?”

 

“Anyway, Bas said that he got onto a bus, so we're going to check around the stops to see if we can find any traces of him.”

 

“And you think it'll work?” Evan countered, sparing a moment to cast Gunnar a dubious glance.

 

Gunnar stared at him for a long moment then shook his head. “Not really, but it can't hurt to try. At this point . . .”

 

Evan nodded, understanding well enough, exactly what Gunnar was saying. “At this point, anything's worth a shot.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Samantha bit her lip thoughtfully as she stared at the holy man who seemed to be taking his sweet time reading the newspaper. He'd barely said two words to her since he'd arrived, which wasn't entirely surprising since he really didn't seem to be one to stand upon small talk. Still, she'd rather hoped that he would be in a reasonably good mood since he'd left in such a hurry before.

 

“I don't suppose I could have a drink of water,” she ventured, breaking the silence that encompassed the room.

 

He turned the page of the newspaper but otherwise ignored her.

 

“Just a little one?”

 

Nothing.

 

Making a face, she wrinkled her nose and shifted her position in the cage. Placing her palms flat on the floor between her feet, she stared at the holy man, wondering if he'd had a bad day or something. “Can I ask you something?”

 

That finally got his attention though he still refused to lower the paper. “You can try,” he muttered.

 

Figuring that was about as good as she was going to get, Samantha's ears perked up. “What's a C-Gen?”

 

“It's a machine that doctors use to see inside your body,” he replied.

 

“You mean like a three dimensional x-ray?”

 

“Sort of.”

 

“Oh . . .”

 

Letting out a deep breath as he folded the paper and set it aside, he finally looked at her, his gaze darkened with a suspicious glint. “Why?”

 

She shrugged. “The white-coats said that they're going to stick me in one tomorrow.”

 

“Did they.” Grasping the edge of the desk, he pulled himself out of the chair and strode over to retrieve the empty water bowl that she'd drained moments after he'd shoved it through the opening. “They say why?”

 

She shook her head. “Nope, though I suppose they want to see my innards.”

 

“Well, that's disgusting,” he muttered as he rinsed out the bowl and refilled it with clean water.

 

She giggled. “So this machine . . . they use it to look at your insides?”

 

“No, they use it to look at your bones.”

 

“So why not just use x-rays?”

 

He hunkered down and pushed the bowl back into the cage. “Radiation,” he replied with a shake of his head.

 

“And the C-Gen doesn't use that?”

 

Rolling his eyes, he gave her a look that stated quite plainly that he thought she was a little on the dingy side. Samantha ignored that. True enough, her parents and her sisters were doctors, but that didn't mean that Samantha had ever really paid attention to their boring medical talk, and while she'd heard the term `C-Gen' before, she didn't rightfully know what it was or how it worked. “No, it doesn't.”

 

“So what's the difference?”

 

He sighed and shook his head as she peered over the rim of the bowl at him, and for a minute, she didn't think that he was going to answer her. “C-Gens use sound waves to create three dimensional images of the bones. They're also far more accurate.”

 

`Sound . . . waves . . .?'

 

Scowling at his description, she lowered the bowl and pressed her lips together in a thin line. “Sound . . . waves . . .”

 

“Yes, sound waves,” he repeated as he stood up again. “You stink.”

 

She blinked, her mind still stuck on the idea of the sound waves he'd mentioned. “Like those tests?” she asked, unable to keep the hint of absolute dread out of her voice.

 

“You really stink,” he stated once more. “Ugh . . .”

 

His statement sank in slowly, and she couldn't help the quite livid flush that crept up her cheeks at his callous appraisal. “I don't smell a thing,” she lied. Okay, it wasn't a complete lie, after all. True enough, she'd caught whiffs of herself at different times, but she hadn't thought it was that bad. Then again, if it was bad enough that she could smell it, then it stood to reason that others could smell it much easier . . .

 

Not that it was her fault, damn it. She certainly hadn't volunteered to be locked in a cage for days and days on end without the ability to bathe herself. Still, knowing that she wasn't to blame for her deplorable state wasn't really working for her. “I wouldn't if I had a proper bath,” she grumbled under her breath as her ears flattened against her head.

 

“You're downright offensive,” the holy man went on.

 

She snorted, slipping her arms around her ankles and ducking down a little lower. “You don't have a girlfriend, do you?”

 

“What?” he barked rather sharply, looking less and less amused by the second, not that he actually had looked amused at all . . .

 

“Nothing,” she replied in a completely innocent tone.

 

He snorted loudly as he grabbed the handcuffs off the table nearby. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” he instructed.

 

“Why?” she countered dubiously.

 

“Because your stench offends me.”

 

Snapping her mouth closed as even more blood infiltrated her skin, she did as he had instructed since there didn't seem to be any real way around it.

 

“Now your feet.”

 

Heaving a sigh of protest, she scooted around once more. To her surprise, though, the cuffs that he clamped around her ankles were connected by a much longer chain than the one she was normally forced to endure. “So what am I doing?” she finally asked as the embarrassment of his harsh assessment slowly wore off.

 

He shot her a `don't-be-stupid' sort of look. “You're going to get cleaned up so you don't offend me anymore—at least, not that way.”

 

No doubt about it, the man was hell on a girl's ego, wasn't he? Casting him a sorely injured sort of look as she wiggled her way out of the cage, she braced herself against the wire wall and pushed herself to her feet.

 

“Nothing stupid,” he warned, narrowing his eyes to emphasize his point. She blinked at him almost mulishly but remained silent when he slipped the collar around her neck and fastened it closed with a slight yank.

 

She said nothing as he hooked her to the restraints nearby. In fact, her brain was in a quandary. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to get cleaned up. On the other? Well, she was really not looking forward to being blasted by that damned power hose, never mind the embarrassment of being naked all over again.

 

Then again, the naked part wasn't nearly as disconcerting to her as the stupid hose was. Maybe she'd spent entirely too much time here in that state, even if she hadn't been that way in front of the holy man, or maybe she'd just come to accept that she really couldn't do much about it. With the white-coats, she simply refused to give herself away. With the holy man? She stifled a sigh. He just wasn't going to give her a choice in the matter, she figured.

 

In any case, the idea of being clean—at least, cleaner than she was, was a far sight better than the residual embarrassment—all in all, a decent trade-off. The only thing that would help would be a nice bar of soap, but she figured that'd be pushing her luck, anyway.

 

He slipped his foot between hers and kicked them apart, and she noticed not for the first time that he wasn't cruel when he handled her. No, she'd consider his movements to be more clinical than anything, and that was fine with her. After spending days on the table, she'd come to understand that the white-coats might say that they despised her, and they really might, but they liked her body well enough, the bastards.

 

Gritting her teeth as the unwelcome memory of their assessments whispered in the back of her mind, she paid no attention as the holy man snapped the reinforced chains to the shackles around her ankles.

 

After a moment of deliberation, he let out a deep breath and strode over to her, stepping behind her to unfasten one of the cuffs, and she understood. He might be willing to make sure she got cleaned up, but there was no way in hell he wanted to touch her. Whatever his reason was, she didn't care as a welcome surge of relief shot through her. Then again, she was pretty secure, wasn't she? The chains around her ankles, she knew, contained ofuda, as did the collar around her neck. She really wouldn't be going anywhere, even if she wanted to. The holy man was entirely too careful for that, wasn't he?

 

“Take that thing off,” he commanded as he headed for the hose.

 

Biting her lip—she'd never been told to take her clothes off, herself, and it was a bit more daunting than she'd have thought possible—she did as she was told, yanking open the snaps that held the garment on her shoulders. She drew a deep breath and let it fall. It caught on her ankles as she automatically moved to cover her breasts with her freed hands.

 

He strode back into view, staring at the hose nozzle as he moved in front of her. Standing about five feet away with the hose pointed at the floor in front of her, he pulled the lever that started the water flow, adjusting his grip until there was a steady stream but nothing even close to full power before he lifted his arm, pointing the spray at her.

 

Samantha blinked—she really had expected him to turn the hose on her, full force, and it took her brain a moment to comprehend that he had no intention of doing that. Still, there was something oddly sweet about the way he scowled at the wall. Head turned just enough that he wasn't looking directly at her, he said nothing as he held the hose in place though she didn't doubt for a second that he could see her well enough out of the corner of his eye.

 

But it felt good, didn't it? Despite the frigid water, the steady stream felt good. Using her hands in lieu of a washcloth, she managed to get herself reasonably clean, and as the weeks of accumulated filth rinsed away, and as she did, her sprits lifted, too. There was just something comforting about the idea of being clean, wasn't there? It was a feeling that she'd sorely missed.

 

He still said nothing as he slowly started to walk around her, and she scrubbed at her head as best as she could. There wasn't much she could do about washing her hair, but she tried, and that was good enough. She still felt much cleaner than she had in what seemed like forever, and by the time he turned off the hose, Samantha was smiling just a little despite the little tremors that she couldn't hide. The air inside the room was chilly—she couldn't remember it ever being truly warm or even close to comfortable for her—but in her sopping wet state, it was that much worse, and still she refused to complain.

 

The holy man strode over to a metal cabinet and grabbed another of those damned patient smocks. He still didn't look directly at her as he tossed it in her direction. She stared at it, unsure how she was going to manage to put it on since it had to go over her feet or her head, and both of those were still shackled.

 

He unsnapped the chain in her collar and stepped away. Samantha struggled into the smock—it was hard to put clothes on when one was soaking wet, wasn't it?

 

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered about the second she'd managed to tug the smock into place. The water left in her hair had already soaked her back, and the front was clinging uncomfortably, but she was clean, and that was enough, she figured as she gritted her teeth to keep them from rattling and stuck her hands behind her back.

 

He secured her wrists before unhooking the chains on either side of her ankles that held her in place. “Get in the cage,” he ordered.

 

She didn't say a word as she did as he'd ordered. He closed and locked the door before he reached in, waving his hand impatiently for the shackles. She stuck out her feet, the chain between them rattling since she wasn't quite able to control her shaking. He unfastened those then dropped them beside himself before uttering a grunt to indicate that she was to turn around if she wanted her hands unbound.

 

She complied quickly, and no sooner were her hands free than she wrapped them around her raised knees in a vain effort to warm herself up.

He put the restraints away and strode back toward the desk.

 

Samantha let her temple fall against her raised knees and smiled to herself. She'd warm up a little when she was dry, and while she'd have preferred to be dry before she'd gotten dressed, she couldn't rightfully complain about that, either. Drawing a deep breath, she hugged herself a little tighter, realizing in a vague sort of way that she could smell something entirely familiar—entirely comforting.

 

As she started to drift to sleep, a gentle realization dawned on her. That smell that comforted her . . . it was her own scent—a scent that was a gentle mix of her mother and her father . . . and maybe the two of them weren't really as far away as she'd thought . . .

 

 

 

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Final Thought from Samantha:

Clean …

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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~