InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Coping ( Chapter 22 )

~~Chapter 22~~

 

 

 

“Is he sleeping?”

 

Kurt snuggled deeper into the warmth of his sleeping bag, blinking in the murky darkness at the strange shadows cast by the living flames of the campfire.

 

“Yeah, he's sleeping . . . Poor kid . . .”

 

“I worry about him. So young . . . everything he's been through . . . a little boy never should have had to see that sort of thing . . .”

 

Uncle Marcus didn't respond right away. Kurt crawled out of the brightly colored Power Puppy sleeping bag that Aunt Mary had bought especially for their camping trip and over to the flaps that were zipped closed. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason, he just wanted to see the two of them. Maybe it didn't make sense, and he didn't know why. For some reason, though, he . . . he didn't want to be alone . . . “I know you had your differences with your sister . . .”

 

Aunt Mary let out a long sigh as the crackle of the fire broke the stillness of the night as Kurt carefully unzipped the bottom of the opening, just enough to peer out of the tent, to satisfy the part of him that needed to reassure himself through seeing the two of them that he really wasn't alone. “Can we not talk about that?”

 

Uncle Marcus slipped an arm around Aunt Mary and kissed her temple as he pulled her a little closer. “Sorry.”

 

Mary leaned forward, rubbing her face with a weary hand. “The last time I saw her,” she said, her voice dropping to barely more than a whisper, quivering, shaking with emotion that Kurt didn't really understand, “I told her that she was . . . was stupid . . . I told her that . . . that if she stayed with Doug . . .”

 

“Don't do that,” Marcus insisted, sounding harsher than normal—or maybe that was simply Kurt's imagination. “She loved him, right? And she was happy . . . Isn't that all you can ask for someone?”

 

“It is,” she said in a tone that made Kurt wonder if she really meant that at all. “She was . . .”

 

“Besides,” Marcus went on with a little grin, “that kid is pretty cool, don't you think?”

 

She finally smiled, too, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “He is, isn't he?”

 

“I always wanted a boy,” he ventured with a shrug.

 

She sighed and nodded. “Maybe we should cancel our appointment with the clinic? At least for a bit, until he's a little more settled.”

 

He smiled encouragingly, gave her a quick squeeze. “We'll have a baby of our own, you know, but I have to admit, I think Kurt needs our full attention right now.”

 

A strange noise interrupted the moment, an unsettling sound that made Kurt's blood run cold in his veins. The angry growl of an unseen creature, the unsettling brush of something sinister and malignant . . .

 

Uncle Marcus heard it, too, and he glanced around slowly, like he didn't trust what he'd heard. As he rose slowly to his feet, waving a hand at Mary to silence her, Kurt opened his mouth to yell a warning, to scream, to do something, and yet no sound would come.

 

The low growl murmured again; a quiet sound that was not meant to be heard. Marcus reached for a flashlight, shining it into the darkness just outside the range of the rollicking flames. He gasped and jerked back, the beam of light flickering as his hand shook. “Wh-who are you?” he demanded. “What do you want . . .?”

 

The flash of movement, a blur of shadows . . . Kurt smashed his hands over his ears, cringing away at the deafening scream, the shriek that echoed deep within . . .

 

Awaking with a smothered cry, sitting up straight on the thin little cot, Kurt could hear himself gasping, struggling to breathe as a thousand lights seemed to explode in his head. Bending over, clutching his head in his hands, he winced at the chill that streaked down his back—the same cold sweat that soaked the blankets and his clothing.

 

“Houshi-sama?”

 

The softness of that voice cut through the dull, aching fear, and for a moment, he had trouble placing it. Lifting his head, he saw the little demon, dark eyes blinking at him from the recessed shadows of the cage. It looked as though it wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to talk to it. In the end, it just sat there with a candid sort of expression on its face, and he sighed.

 

Why did the anger, the pain, the fear drain out of him so suddenly? And it was gone, wasn't it? Despite of the painful cadence of his own heartbeat . . . despite the overwhelming knowledge that those emotions really didn't help him at all . . . But the emptiness that consumed him was a much more terrible thing—an endless void that neither time nor space could ever truly fill . . .

 

He'd come to understand so very long ago that any emotion, be it good or bad, meant that he was still alive—living for a reason; for a purpose, even if that reason was vengeance. So the complete and utter lack of emotion felt like a naked space where nothing could touch him and where he could not touch anything else, either.

 

Yet there was something in the little demon's voice—a sadness, a weariness that he could understand. It was that thought that brought him up off the cot, crossing the floor to kneel down in front of the cage. Without a word, he pushed its hands aside, pulling up the smock so that he could get a look at the incision. Shaking his head slowly, narrowing his eyes as he stared, he wasn't at all surprised to see that the wound had almost disappeared. Not even forty-eight hours since it had been cut wide open, and it was fine again . . .? Even less time than it had taken to heal the gunshot wound through its shoulder . . .

 

“What the hell are you?” he murmured: a rhetorical question in the hazy dark.

 

It—she?—uttered a soft sound—a chuckle? “I've told you,” she replied calmly. “I'm hanyou.”

 

“Half . . . youkai—magical creature . . . a creature that can heal itself . . .” he mused, his tone not friendly but not hostile either. “So you've said before. What's that make your other half?”

 

Its smile turned a little sad; its gaze skittering away as though it were trying to hide something from him. “Does it matter?”

 

Kurt heaved a sigh and shook his head, abruptly pushing himself to his feet once more. What the hell had he been thinking? To get a real, genuine answer out of a beast like that? Not likely . . .

 

“Save your fucking riddles,” he growled as he stomped over to the desk. The rage was back in spades, or so it seemed. Unable to do more than gnash his teeth at the irritation that he'd actually bothered to ask it anything at all, he dragged his hands over his face and heaved a frustrated sigh.

 

“Houshi-sama,” it said again.

 

Kurt tried to ignore it.

 

“I . . . I need to go . . . to the bathroom . . .”

 

And he considered ignoring that quiet statement, too. Unfortunately, the idea of having to clean up after it was far worse than the irritation of having to cater to the damn thing's needs. Still, he was fairly certain that he really was cursed as he pushed himself out of the chair and stomped over to it again. Heaving a sigh as he wondered whether the rest of the money were really worth this kind of frustration, he could only shake his head when the little demon wiggled around and stuck its hands behind its back.

 

`Guess it wasn't lying,' he thought dryly.

 

After making sure that both hands and ankles were bound, he let it out of the cage and, as normal, escorted it to the bathroom where he unfastened one of its hands so that it could take care of itself in there though he did remain in the doorway.

 

“You know,” it quipped in what could only be described as a teasing sort of tone, “I've heard that relationships end the moment that you're comfortable enough to do this sort of thing in front of each other.”

 

Snorting indelicately, Kurt ignored the comment, pressing his lips together in a tight, thin line.

 

“You don't have to come in here with me,” it went on in a conversational tone as it pulled paper off the roll. The metal holder squeaked horribly. Kurt gritted his teeth since that particular sound was akin to nails on a chalkboard to him. “I can't take an energy form, so it's not like I can just fly up the vent or anything.”

 

He was going to ignore that comment, as well, but he stopped and shot it a calculating look. “Some of your kind can do that?” he asked somewhat grudgingly.

 

“Some of them,” it replied. “Full youkai . . . but only really strong ones . . .” It stood up and flushed the toilet then shuffled over to the sink, the chain scraping the floor between its feet.

 

Rolling his eyes—it always took an inordinate amount of time in washing its hands, Kurt knocked on the doorframe and cleared his throat. “Get moving, little demon,” he muttered.

 

It stopped and blinked and stared at him. He could see the smile forming at the corners of its lips. “Little demon?” it repeated. “Is that what you're going to call me now?”

 

“Move,” he growled, jerking his head in the direction of the holding area.

 

It giggled then scooted toward him, turning around and wiggling its hands for him to secure it once more. For some reason, he had a feeling that it simply wasn't taking him nearly as seriously as it should . . . Shaking his head, he snapped the other cuff around its wrist and gave it a light shove toward the cage.

 

“Houshi-sama—”

 

“What's that mean?” he demanded suddenly. For some reason, the term sounded familiar, but he couldn't remember why or where he'd heard it before.

 

Shaking its head, it shrugged offhandedly. “It means . . . monk, basically . . . Are you a monk?” it asked as it crawled into the cage once more.

 

He stopped for a moment, narrowing his eyes. “What?” he demanded, unfastening the shackles around its ankles.

 

It shrugged and held still while he opened the handcuffs. “A monk,” it repeated again. “Or you could be a priest, I guess . . .”

 

A surge of indignant irritation shot through him, and he couldn't help the loud snort that escaped him, either. “No,” he stated flatly.

 

It scooted around in the cage and stared at him in apparent confusion. “But you have spiritual powers,” it said. “You have to be—”

 

“I'm not,” he insisted, cutting it off short. “Hard to be something like that when you know damn well that there is no God.”

 

“Is that what you believe?” it asked quietly.

 

Another rise of anger frothed over deep inside him. Without another word, he stood abruptly and strode away from the cage.

 

A monk? A monk . . .? A fool who dedicated his life to serving some entity that didn't give a damn about anyone or anything? What was that old saying? There was always a reason for everything? No, there wasn't. There really wasn't. There were just gross injustices and lives left destroyed, and all at the whim of some omniscient being? That wasn't it. That couldn't be it. He knew that better than anyone, didn't he?

 

Believing that there really was something out there controlling everything like some macabre puppet show was simply beyond Kurt's ability to reason. Choosing to believe in something like that . . .

 

That'd mean that he'd have to believe that his family was meant to die . . .

 

And that was simply something that Kurt could not—would not—accept.

 

 

 

 

Kagome stepped out of the door that led to the roof of the hotel that they'd unofficially taken over as the center of operations. Situated roughly in the heart of Chicago, it had been the most logical place. Everyone had come in from their day spent scouring the streets of the city, and while everyone was optimistic, she'd felt the pervasive feeling of absolute desperation, too.

 

She'd watched as her son had slipped out of the suite where they'd all gathered to debrief. She'd thought that he was going out to look again, but when she'd followed him, she'd found him up here, instead. “How are you holding up, Kichiro?”

 

Kichiro drew a deep breath and let it out in a long gust. “Been better,” he admitted, leaning on the four foot ledge that ran around the perimeter of the hotel roof.

 

Kagome nodded and sat beside him, casting him an encouraging smile as she leaned forward to rub his clasped hands. “You look exhausted.”

 

“I can't rest till I find her, Mama.”

 

“I know.”

 

Letting his head fall back as he stared at the stars so high above, it struck him that they didn't look all that different from the ones that he saw every night from the half-dark of InuYasha's Forest. Like there, the glow of the city precluded the weak light that shone from the smaller ones, and yet if you looked hard enough, you could see them, couldn't you? “I, uh, keep remembering the day Sami was born . . . Belle-chan said that she wanted a boy because, you know . . . we already had two daughters. She said every man needs a son to carry on his father's name, and I remember thinking . . .” Trailing off as though he needed a moment to gather his scattering thoughts, he shook his head and stared at the horizon, looking for answers that he simply didn't have. “The bows and the dresses and the . . . the dolls and the kisses . . . and the dancing and all of that . . . the things you don't always get from boys . . . I love those things . . .”

 

“We'll find her.”

 

He laughed quietly, a broken sort of sound, as his gaze dropped to his feet, to the darkness below the rooftop's edge. “Do you know how arrogant I am, Mama?”

 

“I'd hardly call you arrogant,” she countered gently.

 

“I thought those scent-tabs would revolutionize hunting. I thought that they'd . . . protect those whom we love.” Shaking his head, he cleared his throat and shrugged. “I never thought that they c-could cost me my little girl. That was my arrogance,” he murmured, dashing a hand over his eyes. “What if I . . . what'll I tell Belle if I can't bring her home . . .?”

 

“Do you think that Samantha would want you to blame yourself?” Kagome asked quietly. “Do you think she'd ever want to see her papa beating himself up like this?”

 

He shrugged and shook his head. “I don't . . . It's not that simple, Mama.”

 

Kagome stared at him for a long moment, her gaze inscrutable in the dim half-light. “Right now, she needs you . . . She needs you to make sure that she has a place to come home to. She needs you to make sure that you don't fall apart. She needs you to be strong so that she can smile, and because you're her father, you'll do these things for her.”

 

Kichiro finally looked at her, his eyes bright though no more tears fell. “I'm scared, Mama,” he whispered.

 

She leaned up and kissed his cheek then hugged him tight, squeezing her eyes closed when she felt him trembling. “I am, too, Kichiro. I am, too.”

 

 

 

 

She hadn't meant to make him angry.

 

Stifling a sigh as she rested her temple against the cold bars of the cage, she wondered why he'd said what he'd said.

 

“I'm not. Hard to be something like that when you know damn well that there is no God.”

 

Did he believe that? How could he believe that? Samantha might not call it God, and she might not even say that she believed that it was a single entity, but . . . but she had to believe in something, didn't she? Maybe she didn't believe in God in the strictest sense of the word, but she believed that there were things out there: things that were still beautiful, still pure. Remembering the vast colors contained in a single raindrop, the myriad of scents that flooded her senses just after a good rain . . . There was beauty to be seen, wasn't there? All one had to do was to look for it . . .

 

She had to believe it or she'd go mad. She knew that—knew that if she stopped believing, she'd die. Somewhere deep down, she believed that one day, she'd see those things again. Belief was the single thing that she had left, wasn't it?

 

And those she loved . . . where were they now? Shivering slightly, she pulled the thin blanket a little closer around herself, she hoped that they were all warm and happy. Maybe her father was playing the piano . . . and if he was, then Mama had to be close by . . . Isabelle and Griffin . . . he'd be recovering from his latest reconstructive surgery, wouldn't he? And Alexandra . . . maybe she'd finally get around to marrying John.

 

Was Sydnie starting to show yet? Samantha smiled wanly. It was hard to imagine the tiny cat-youkai with a big belly, round with baby . . . `Bas had better be good to her,' she thought with a vague shake of her head. Their child would be the first of the next generation . . .

 

Jillian and Gavin, Evan and Madison . . . Kagura and Sesshoumaru . . . Toga and Sierra . . . Coral, Cassidy, Chelsea, and Charity . . . Rinji and Saori . . . Shippou and Rin . . . Gunnar and Morio and Mikio . . . so many faces, so many memories . . . She'd always felt as though she had to run to catch up to them all. Always the youngest; always the baby . . .

 

She didn't want to think of them, out there looking for her. She didn't want to consider the worry, the panic that they'd feel . . . Grandma and Grandpa . . . She couldn't remember a time when InuYasha ever said that he loved her, yet she'd never, ever doubted it; not once in her life. Uncle Ryomaru . . . how often had he guided her training with a proud grin on his face that he hadn't been able to hide. “Not bad for a girl,” he'd said so often, and she'd understood that he'd meant it as the highest of praise.

 

How often had she sat in the studio while her grandpa Cain worked in silence. It wasn't an unfriendly silence, though, and she'd marveled in the wonder of watching his hands as he bent and molded clay into the most intricate creatures, the most delicate beings so beautiful that she couldn't bring herself to call them `women'. How many times had Gin read her stories—children's books that still made her laugh . . . how often had she sat with Kagome, listening to stories that painted a pictures of InuYasha as larger than life?

 

The memories were sweet, but they hurt her, too. The conflicting emotions were vindictive . . .

 

`Sami . . . don't do this to yourself,' her youkai chided gently.

 

Smiling sadly, she swallowed hard, swallowed the tears that welled in her throat. `We'll see them again, right?'

 

`Of course we will.'

 

The voice didn't sound positive, at all.

 

Glancing at the clock, Samantha stifled a sigh. It was almost five in the morning.

 

The mere thought of spending another day alone with the white-coats was a frightening thing. She didn't want to think about it; didn't want to consider what manner of testing they had in mind for today. It seemed to her that they were growing more and more daring with each passing day . . .

 

And yet it wasn't really as bad as it could have been, was it? The nights weren't so bad, aside from the cold. Gaze slipping to the side, she stared at the would-be holy man. If she said she was sorry, would he believe her?

 

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly, breaking the stony silence.

 

He didn't look up from his book, but then, she really hadn't figured that he would.

 

“If you're not a monk, are you a taijya?”

 

He blinked and glanced at her, his gaze suspicious. “And what's that?” he asked tightly.

 

She sat up a little, pleased that he was at least speaking to her again, even if his tone wasn't exactly friendly. She figured it'd do. “Well, technically speaking, it means youkai exterminator . . . of course, you haven't exterminated me, but it's kind of the same in theory . . .”

 

“You know, it doesn't matter what term you use to describe yourself. You're still a demon, plain and simple.”

 

“And you're still a taijya,” she quipped.

 

“So what language is that?” he countered.

 

Samantha blinked since she hadn't actually expected him to ask that question. “Language?” she repeated.

 

The expression he shot her stated very plainly that he knew damn well that she was trying to avoid the question. “Yes, little demon: language.”

 

“What language do you think it is?”

 

He was not amused by her evasive responses, but Samantha wasn't entirely certain how much she really should tell him. After all, even though she might well think that he wasn't going to hurt her, she wasn't at all certain what he'd do with the information that he could get from her, if he had a mind to. No, she was much better off to keep her answers as general as she possibly could.

 

“How come you can see us?” she asked, hoping that he wouldn't notice her blatant attempt to change the subject.

 

He shrugged and turned his attention back to the book once more. “I don't know,” he admitted absently. “Always have . . .”

 

“But humans can't see through our concealments,” she continued thoughtfully. “You shouldn't be able to, either.”

 

“Well, I don't consider it to be a good thing,” he assured her. “Your kind is nothing but monsters.”

 

She smiled wanly, letting her chin fall onto her raised knees. “That sounds about right,” she murmured, wondering not for the first time if she ought to hate the part of her that branded her the same as the white-coats: the human part of her that was frightened and weak that cowered in the dark beneath her hanyou façade.

 

If she were full human, would she feel compelled to help the white-coats? She'd like to say that she never would, but how true was that? They didn't believe that she was even remotely close to being like them because they didn't want to believe it. But if she were like them . . .

 

“Oh, you agree that you're a monster,” he scoffed. “Right . . . Sure . . .”

 

“There are some who are bad,” she reasoned. “Aren't there humans who do bad things?”

 

“Bad things? Is that what you call it? You destroy every single thing that you come across, and you say that it's just a `bad thing'?”

 

“Some youkai hate humans,” she admitted. “I don't know why, but . . . Causing harm to humans is viewed as the gravest of offenses to us.”

 

“Is that so?” he said, his tone as clipped and measured as it was cold. “Hurting humans is an offense? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

 

“It's the truth,” she replied simply.

 

“I've seen what you demons are capable of. I've seen it. Don't try to tell me that you aren't like that or that you don't think it's right or that you think it's an offense.”

 

“I wish you didn't think that.”

 

He snorted, jamming the book into his knapsack. “Of course you don't. This discussion is over.”

 

Letting out a deep breath, she winced inwardly but remained silent. She might not understand a lot about him, but she did know one thing: whatever had happened to him in his past, it was safe to assume that some youkai had caused it. If that were the case, then she could appreciate his irritation.

 

The question was, exactly what had happened to him before . . .?

 

 

 

 

Jester08 ------ asgard ------ firedemon86 ------ OROsan0677 ------ Rawben ------ malitiadixie ------ PikaMoon ------ kittycatkitten ------ Sovereignty ------ Sesshomaru4Kagura4ever ------ Usagiseren05 ------ Dark Inu Fan ------ Starr Stealer ------ Chase65 ------ iloveanimecartoons

itshannah ------ tragic-hellion ------ firedemon86 ------ BlkbltVette ------ Proforce ------ OROsan0677 ------ ai_Artista ------ Zero ------ MouF ------ cutechick18 ------ psycho_chick32 ------ sueroxmysox

Final Thought from Kurt:

Offense, huh …

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.