InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Achilles ( Chapter 28 )

~~Chapter 28~~

~Achilles~

 

-=0=-

 

 

The strangest sound awoke Samantha, and she blinked and pushed herself up on her elbows as she tried to make sense of it. It took a moment for her to place it, and when she did, she frowned. Had it really been that long since she'd heard a telephone ring? `Maybe . . .' she thought with a marked scowl. That was a little more disturbing than she could credit.

 

“'Lo,” the taijya mumbled, having obviously just woken up, too. Samantha glanced at the clock as her frown deepened. It was almost nine o'clock—much later than he normally stayed . . .

 

“What?” he demanded sharply. He must have been able to wake up faster than she could. “Oh, no . . . No, no, no . . . I'm leaving; that's what I'm doing.”

 

That got her attention quickly enough. Rolling over onto her stomach, she propped her cheeks on her fists and wished that she could hear what the other person was saying. He was too far away for her to do that, unfortunately.

 

“Absolutely not,” he insisted. “Just . . . hold on . . .”

 

Dropping the receiver with a loud clatter, he stalked out of the room without a second glance. Samantha sat up, her ears flicking as she tried in vain to catch any sounds that might be coming from that phone.

 

Ten minutes later, the taijya stomped into the room once more, his expression completely foreboding as he swiped up the receiver once more. “You'd better find a way to get here,” he warned. “I'm leaving as soon as you do.”

 

He listened a few minutes then uttered a terse snort before slamming the receiver down again. Heaving a long, drawn out sigh, he shook his head and draped his hands on his hips. “Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face as he paced the floor. “That just figures . . .”

 

“Um,” Samantha interrupted, unsure if she really ought to say anything at all but unable to help herself, either. “I . . . I need to go to the bathroom,” she pointed out.

 

He started to open his mouth, likely to grumble at her since he'd started leaving her cage open while he was awake so that she could do those things herself, but he snapped it closed when he realized that he'd locked her in last night just before he'd laid down.

 

Letting out a deep breath, he crossed the floor and opened the cage, wiggling his fingers to get her to stick out her legs. She did, and he made quick work of fastening the long-chained shackles around her ankles.

 

She took her time in the bathroom, mostly because she was still getting used to the idea that he really would allow her to go by herself now. He'd muttered under his breath that it was a pain to cater to her, and while she really didn't doubt that in the least, she had to wonder if that really was the only reason for the concession. Then again, she wasn't about to second-guess him on it, either. It was amazing how much of her pride it allowed her, and even without a door, she couldn't help but be pleased by it.

 

She sighed as she took her time washing her hands and face—that was the other nice thing about the bathroom. It didn't have a shower, but it did have a hot water tap, and while the soft soap in the clinical dispenser left a lot to be desired, at least it was soap, and that, in Samantha's mind, was good enough for her. Wetting down a coarse paper towel, she used it to wash her vital parts—something else that greatly improved her mood. Even if she couldn't have a full bath or shower, that was better than nothing, and she wasn't about to complain.

 

After yesterday, she'd been almost afraid that the taijya would confine her to her cage again. She knew that the taijya thought that she was dangerous, after all, and she knew damn well that she had inadvertently made the white-coat bleed. The thing that she found most disturbing, though, was that . . . well, she didn't really feel sorry for it, either.

 

It was frightening, that. She'd reacted solely on instinct when he'd unfastened her wrist. She'd seen it in his eyes: he hadn't given a damn whether or not anyone caught him, didn't care what he was doing. He really would have raped her if given the chance. That he was stupid enough to unfasten one of her hands . . .

 

She'd only meant to slap him; really she had. Her claws had grazed his skin, though, and she'd been horrified enough by that after the fact. Still, she couldn't say that she regretted her actions. Had he honestly thought that she'd just stand there and let him do whatever he wanted to her?

 

`And he thinks I'm a monster,' she thought with a wry smile as she blotted her face dry with a paper towel. How naïve had she been, really? Believing that all humans were good . . . she had thought that not too long ago, and now . . .

 

Now she didn't know anymore. No, she didn't think that all humans were bad or even that most of them were, but she was starting to comprehend the truth that humans possessed the innate ability to be just as evil, just as malignant, as any youkai could be. Having been raised around such a loving family, she realized, had sheltered her from a lot of ugly truths about the world, in general, and while she still wanted to believe that humans were, on the whole, good, she had to accept that there were some who weren't so nice, so kind, so benevolent . . .

 

Those white-coats . . . The more she had to deal with them, the more she understood that some humans really did believe that they had the right to inflict their beliefs upon everyone else; that to be different in their eyes was some sort of sin. They honestly saw her as no better than a wild animal—maybe worse, actually. After all, would they treat their pets as horribly as they treated her?

 

“I think you've been in here long enough,” the taijya remarked rather dryly as he appeared in the doorway, leaning on the frame and crossing his arms over his chest as he lifted an eyebrow and shot her a droll stare.

 

“I was washing my face,” she informed him haughtily. “But I'm done now.”

 

“Good,” he replied, pushing himself away from the frame and stepping back. “In your cage.”

 

She made a face but started to move. “Are the white-coats on their way?” she asked, unable to keep the hint of disgust out of her voice.

 

He shook his head. “Nope. They aren't coming in today.”

 

She couldn't help it when she stopped abruptly and shot him what could only be described as a hopeful look. “Really?”

 

He snorted, scratching at the back of his head. “There're about three feet of snow outside with more dropping every minute and drifts up to the top of the doors.”

 

“Snow?” she echoed, her eyes lighting up at the mention of it. “Oh . . .”

 

He nodded toward the cage, and she sighed but started moving again. Closing the door behind her, he retrieved her water dish and refilled it without a word before slipping it back inside the cage.

 

“But you left the cage open last night,” she reminded him in a plaintive voice.

 

The taijya stood up and started to walk away. “Yeah, and now I need to use the bathroom, so I guess you can stay there till I'm done.”

 

Samantha snapped her mouth closed on the complaints that had been forming on her tongue, and she giggled. “Ah . . . sorry . . .”

 

He shook his head and kept walking. Samantha busied herself, folding her blanket and drinking the water he'd given her. Another little laugh escaped her at the prospect of evading the white-coats for the day. It seemed like a holiday, didn't it? An unexpected gift . . .

 

It didn't take him very long, and when he strode out of the bathroom, Samantha was a little surprised to see that his hair was wet. She pressed her lips together. The first time she'd seen him, the back of his hair was really short thought the front was a little long and unruly. Now, though, the back was growing out a little, as though he had forgotten to get it cut or something. She rather liked the effect . . .

 

“You know, I'd love to see the snow again,” she ventured as he pressed the lock release and pulled the door open again.

 

“Snow's a nuisance,” he replied with a shrug. “Damn it, I'm starving . . .”

 

“You're starving?” she countered as she crawled out of the cage. “What are the odds you'll let me have a shower today?”

 

“Well, you do stink,” he allowed rather acerbically.

 

She snorted indelicately, her cheeks pinking as she shot him a baleful glower. “Seriously . . . you don't have a girlfriend, do you?”

 

He stared her for a moment, violet eyes oddly bright, and he shrugged. “Of course I do. Ten of them. They're all mute with gargantuan breasts, and they love me and want to bear my children.”

 

“Oh, very funny. You don't have time . . .” Trailing off, Samantha frowned. `Did he just . . .?'

 

“Of course I don't,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “I'm too busy playing babysitter for a little brat demon.”

 

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times like a fish out of water. “B-brat?” she squeaked.

 

“Yes, brat,” he reiterated. “Now stop being a pest, will you? I'm trying to think.”

 

“I'm a pest, too?”

 

“Yes, a pesky brat . . . or a bratty pest . . . whichever . . . both apply . . .”

 

Scrunching up her face in a marked scowl, she shook her head and watched as he dug into his pocket. He pulled out a nondescript keychain—actually just a simple silver loop with keys dangling from it—a slightly bent subway token, and a bit of grayish lint. He heaved a sigh and shoved everything but the lint back into his pocket as he strode toward the desk and grabbing his coat. It didn't take him long to check those pockets, too, but he frowned when he pulled an unmarked amber pill bottle free. Turning it over in his hand, it took him a moment to figure out what it was, but suddenly, he looked at her, his eyes narrowing then widening as he tossed the bottle lightly and caught it in his palm.

 

“Little demon . . .”

 

“What?”

 

He shook the bottle. “What are these?”

 

Samantha started to tell him that she didn't know then stopped. “Where did you . . .?”

 

He shrugged. “You had them when I caught you.”

 

`The scent tabs . . .'

 

She wasn't entirely sure what she ought to tell him. He must have seen it on her face, her indecision, because he snorted. “Don't lie to me,” he warned.

 

She shifted just a little. Then again, what did it matter if he knew? Those pills weren't really the big problem, anyway, were they? “They're scent-tabs,” she confessed slowly.

 

He didn't look like he understood what she meant. “Meaning what?”

 

“Meaning,” she said with a shrug, “they change the way I smell . . . makes it harder for other youkai to find me.”

 

“And why would you need that?”

 

Samantha stepped away, wandered around a bit restlessly. “I'm a hunter,” she whispered, unsure as to what, exactly, he'd say about that.

 

Shaking his head, he stared at her. She could feel his gaze locked on her. “What does that mean? A hunter?”

 

“It means that I hunt youkai . . . youkai who break the laws—our laws.”

 

“What? Like a cop?”

 

Smiling a little wanly, she nodded. “I guess you could say that.”

 

He snorted, and his voice was thick with sarcasm. “Right.”

 

She sighed, wrapping a long strand of hair around her finger as she paced the floor. “Youkai have their own laws . . . like hiding what we are.”

 

That earned her a significant scowl. “You hunt your own kind for not hiding what they are?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why would you possibly hunt others like you?” he asked, his tone clipped, tight as his irritation spiked.

 

Biting her lip, she considered not telling him more. He didn't seem as though he was interested in hearing it, anyway. Even still, she was what she was, and dancing around it . . . there simply wasn't a point, was there? “Youkai aren't allowed to hurt humans,” she said quietly.

 

“. . . What?”

 

She heard the deadly calm in his voice but didn't stop to think about it. “Ones that hurt a lot of humans are hunted. It's partly so that we aren't discovered, but it's also meant to protect humans since we're stronger . . .”

 

“Is that so?”

 

Blinking at the hostility in his voice, Samantha tilted her head to the side and shot him a quizzical glance. “Yes . . .”

 

He didn't respond right away, but she could feel the sudden change in his mood, the overwhelming anger—hatred—that boiled up inside him. “Shut up. Just shut up. Your kind . . . your kind are nothing but monsters—demons! Your kind only kill; that's all they do, so just shut the hell up, will you? I'm done listening to the likes of you.”

 

Shaking her head as she tried to make sense of the taijya's outburst, she could only watch as he stomped away, snatching up the book that he'd been reading the night before and summarily ignoring her though she had little doubt that he knew exactly what she was doing.

 

Maybe though . . .

 

Biting back a sigh, Samantha crawled into the cage and wrapped her arms around her knees. She'd be better off to keep from drawing too much attention from him for awhile, she figured. He was far too agitated for her liking.

 

With a heavy sigh, she ducked her head. It had been nice, hadn't it? Until she'd made the comments about hunting, that was . . .

 

“Your kind only kills; that's all they do . . .”

 

Grimacing inwardly, she shook her head. His words . . . what was it about those words . . .? His secret was hidden beneath those words, wasn't it? If she understood that, then maybe . . .

 

Her chin snapped up suddenly as her gaze unconsciously sought him out. That was it, wasn't it? It made sense—perfect sense . . . Someone he'd loved . . .

 

Youkai had killed someone he'd loved . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

`You know, you did see her do it.'

 

Ignoring the voice in his head that kept pestering him about his harshness with the little demon earlier, Kurt turned the page of his book and pretended that he couldn't hear her babbling. Besides that, he wasn't entirely certain what he had seen that night; not really. Everything had happened so quickly, and while he had seen her take down the other demon, he couldn't bring himself to believe what she'd said, the day before, either.

 

Going on day two of being stuck in here with that demon . . . It was almost more than he could stomach.

 

Oh, she'd been quiet after his outburst the day before—on her best behavior, or so it would seem. Today, however, was an entirely different story. Kurt rolled his eyes and kept his gaze trained on the book he was pretending to read. If she didn't shut up soon, he was going to snap, he just knew it . . .

 

`It's . . . convenient,' he thought with a decisive snort, his mind slipping back to the little demon's assertion that she had been `hunting' that other one. `Too convenient . . .'

 

It was, wasn't it? Easy for her to say that she was going after a demon that had hurt humans, but really . . . It just wasn't something that he could believe, was it? He'd seen too many things—way too many things—ugly things; horrid things, and her claim . . . It had ticked him off, and why not? Trying to put a benevolent face on those beasts was just a little more than he could tolerate . . .

 

They didn't know, did they? They didn't understand what it was like to have a family, to love them, to think that his entire life would be that comfortable; that secure; and then to have it all jerked away in the blink of an eye . . . It was something that he knew a little too well, didn't he? If those things just understood . . .

 

But they didn't; they couldn't. If they did, he wouldn't be where he was now, would he?

 

And it was something that he had never truly been able to reconcile. His father . . . His father had been able to see demons, too, hadn't he? He'd been able to see them, and he'd hidden it. He probably would have continued to hide it, too, had it not been for Kurt. Kurt couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been able to see them, and Kurt hadn't realized that he wasn't supposed to, and he certainly hadn't understood the idea that he shouldn't let anyone know, either . . .

 

Old Granger had said once that Kurt was the reason that everyone else had died. Those monsters were after him: the boy who could see them. He was a threat, or so he'd been told, and everyone else . . .? They'd just been in the way . . .

 

So by rights, he ought to hate her, shouldn't he? He ought to despise everything about her, and while he could say that he didn't trust her, he couldn't say . . .

 

`Damn it . . .'

 

“A big, fat steak—rare—with a baked potato and chocolate cake for dessert . . .” She slumped against the cage—she was sitting on the floor outside it—and heaved a longsuffering sigh since the odds that she'd get the aforementioned steak were slim and none. “Or Maine lobster, just caught and cooked fresh . . . with melted butter and a twist of lemon, and—”

 

“And you do realize that a lobster is related to a cockroach, right?”

 

The little demon just laughed at him. “Just because they're both arthropods doesn't mean that they're that similar.”

 

He shot her a quick look, grudgingly surprised that she actually knew that word. “All the same, they're a little too closely related for my liking.”

 

She wrinkled her nose and shrugged offhandedly. “Well, I suppose I'd eat one if it tasted like lobster.”

 

“Ugh,” Kurt grunted, shaking his head. “That's disgusting.”

 

“I didn't say I'd really eat one,” she shot back.

 

“Close enough.”

 

“All right, then, if you could have anything to eat, what would you ask for?”

 

Letting out a defeated breath, he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He'd ignored her for the better portion of the morning, at least until she'd started whining about being hungry. After about ten minute of her incessant chatter, he'd told her that she apparently didn't know how to shut up, to which she had simply informed him that she was trying to get her mind off of being hungry . . . by talking about food.

 

“Ever stop to think that maybe—just maybe—talking about food is only making it worse?” he prodded.

 

She shook her head and waved her hands. “Oh, I know; I know! Why don't you just order a pizza?”

 

“And how would it get here? That is, assuming that anyone is actually open, which I doubt. The whole city is shut down.”

 

She made a face and mumbled a little growl of frustration. “But I'm starving . . .!”

 

“You went for days and days without eating, and now you're whining about having to go without for one or two days?” he shot back with an incredulous shake of his head. “You're a little pathetic, aren't you?”

 

“I'm smaller than you,” she pointed out. “That means that I get hungry faster than you do.”

 

Kurt heaved a sigh. “I swear that the next time they tell me that there's going to be a blizzard, I'll make damn sure I call in sick.”

 

It didn't really surprise him when she giggled then groaned as she leaned over, clutching her stomach in an entirely melodramatic way.

 

She'd already had her makeshift shower, too, having used almost an entire bag of the soap dispenser refills. He'd read his book while she'd fussed with the hose. In the end, though, she'd stubbornly refused to ask for assistance—until she began shaking like a damn leaf since she didn't have the common sense to dry off with something before struggling into the clean smock he'd tossed in her face. So he'd gotten her another one along with a pack of paper towels so that she could dry her hair a little. Funny thing, though. He'd offered to cut it off for her since it'd grow back, anyway. She wasn't impressed with his offer in the least.

 

“Seared tuna . . . or a huge bowl of ramen . . .” she muttered.

 

Kurt rolled his eyes. As if he weren't hungry enough, as it was, her incessant chatter was only serving to make him hungrier, damn it. “Talking about it isn't really going to make you any less hungry, little demon,” he pointed out reasonably.

 

She made a face as she crawled into the cage to retrieve her blanket. “Are you sure you don't have any money?”

 

“You saw me check my pockets. Twice,” he reminded her as he checked them for a third time. The only money he had on him was a twenty dollar bill, and that just wasn't any help at all, given the circumstances.

 

“Why don't you carry more change?” she demanded since she knew as well as he did that there were vending machines just down the hallway.

 

“I would have had change if I didn't have to buy a cheeseburger for you on my way in here,” he muttered.

 

“A chee-eeseburger . . .” she sighed happily.

 

Letting out a deep breath, Kurt shook his head and stomped back over to the desk once more.

 

“Roast beef . . . or a pulled pork sandwich . . .”

 

“I'm ignoring you now,” he rattled in a monotone.

 

She was quiet for all of thirty seconds. “Can I ask you something?” she finally ventured.

 

“If I say no, will that stop you?”

 

“Hmm . . . how come you can see us? I mean, I know you've got ho—spiritual powers, but it's still unusual, don't you think?”

 

“I don't know,” he muttered tersely as he dug a pad of Post-It notes followed by a small glass bottle of ink from his knapsack.

 

“Is anyone else in your family like you? Able to see us, I mean?” she went on.

 

Kurt shot to his feet, sending the chair careening backward with an obnoxious scrape as he stalked toward the doorway. The barrier was still activated—it always was whenever she was out, and even if he had a mind to force her into the cage, he was in too much of a hurry to do it. He needed to get away from her before he lost his temper.

 

He just didn't like to talk about his family, and even if she didn't know that, she really didn't have a right to ask him things like that, did she? It wasn't like he was there to visit, anyway. He was there to do a job so that he could collect his money.

 

Even still . . .

 

He hated when anyone asked questions about his family; it didn't matter who it was. That it was her, however, was even more than he could tolerate, and yet . . . Rubbing his hands over his face in an infinitely weary way, he grimaced. Common sense told him that she wasn't really trying to tick him off. Too bad he had very little room in his brain to listen to common sense.

 

The anger deep down just kept growing—spiraling up and outward like a thick, dense fog. Scowling at the damned snack machines, he didn't think about what he was doing too deeply. Reaching out, he smashed his hand over the lock and released a surge of energy. The machine shuddered and groaned as the lock gave way, and he blinked as the door popped open with a soft hiss.

 

Well, it certainly wasn't high-class cuisine, by any means, but it was food . . .

 

Grabbing an armload of different snacks, he strode back down the hallway toward the containment area once more. Strangely, his irritation had been released with the surge of energy, hadn't it? He was still a little irked, but at least he didn't feel like he was going to explode anymore. Then again, the idea of eating something was a welcome enough distraction, he supposed . . .

 

And he wasn't entirely surprised to find the little demon huddling in her cage—her normal tendency when she perceived that she'd managed to piss him off. She remained silent but he didn't miss the way her ears twitched as he crossed the room with the pilfered bounty and dropped it onto the desk.

 

“I . . . I thought you didn't have any money,” she finally ventured in a timid sort of way.

 

Kurt shrugged indifferently as he ripped open a bag of plain potato chips. “I didn't,” he replied simply enough.

 

She digested that for a moment before she sat up a little straighter. “Then how did you get those?” she demanded.

 

He didn't miss the hint of censure in her tone, either. “I have my ways,” he muttered around a mouthful of chips.

 

Her gaze turned even more accusing; he could feel it boring into the back of his head. “You broke into the vending machine, didn't you?” she finally asked.

 

He turned around slowly, regarding her with undisguised amusement as he reached back and grabbed a bag of corn chips. “Want one?” he countered.

 

Her cheeks blossomed in indignant color as her gaze brightened and she sat back. “W—I—No! And you shouldn't be eating that, either! I can't believe that you'd do something like—You realize, don't you, that breaking and entering is a felony!”

 

He shrugged and dropped the bag of corn chips on the desk again. “Suit yourself, little demon, but don't come crying to me that you're hungry when I offered . . .”

 

She snorted indelicately and crossed her arms over her chest. “Keh!” she scoffed. “I don't want your ill-gotten gains . . . Is . . . is that chocolate?”

 

Kurt didn't pause as he ripped open a Hershey's bar and bit into it. “Uh-huh,” he garbled. “Too bad you're a dog.”

 

She opened her mouth then snapped it closed as another surge of color washed into her cheeks. Uttering a terse little growl, she dug into the bowl behind her, scooping up a handful of the dog food that had been sitting in there with her for at least three days. One by one, she chucked them at him, and while the flying kibble didn't faze him, the absolute irritation on her features was a little difficult to ignore.

 

“You sure you don't want some?” he asked, grabbing and waving the corn chips at her once more.

 

Her immediate answer was a barrage of kibbles.

 

He ripped open the bag and pulled one out, whipping it at her in retaliation. She caught it in her mouth and chewed it thoroughly before heaving defeated sigh and crawling out of the cage, her blanket wrapped around her and looking entirely like Yoda from Star Wars . . .

 

“Thought you didn't want them,” he couldn't help goading as she stomped over to him and swiped the bag out of his hand.

 

“I'm eating under duress,” she informed him as she stuffed a few chips into her mouth. “You're a very bad man, taijya . . . You know, someone makes their living off of those machines, and you're probably costing him!”

 

He blinked and stared at her as he dropped an empty bag into the trash can and reached for another. “You'd think that I'd feel bad, wouldn't you?” he ventured at length. “And yet . . . I don't.”

 

She heaved a sigh and shook her head but continued to eat the corn chips. “I am starting to wonder whether or not you really have a soul,” she informed him.

 

He rolled his eyes. “Weren't you the one who kept barking and barking because you were hungry?”

 

She shot him what should have been a quelling glance but just wasn't. “I was not barking,” she retorted haughtily.

 

“Oh? So what do you call it, then?”

 

She reached for a chocolate bar. He was faster. “It's bad for dogs,” he pointed out as he tucked the candy bar into his pocket.

 

“But I'm not a dog!” she protested. “And even if I was, you don't need it either . . . it'll go straight to your love handles, you know.”

 

“My . . . what . . .?” he growled, unable to staunch the indignant color that infiltrated his features. “I don't have—”

 

She shot him a droll look and poked his side. He jerked away, pinning her with a fierce glower that just made her smile widen. “Knock that off!”

 

She clucked her tongue, giving him the distinct impression that she was, in fact, humoring him. “Well, it isn't like you have a full-on beer-gut,” she pointed out in an entirely placating sort of way—the kind of tone that one used when dealing with a sulking child.

 

Kurt snorted very loudly and stomped over to grab the hose. Since she was out of the cage, he might as well wash it out. Turning it on with a vicious twist, Kurt snorted again. The little demon giggled, damn her.

 

`I don't have love handles,' he thought with a very loud grunt as he aimed the power hose at the cage.

 

 

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A/N:

Yoda and Star Wars belong to George Lucas.

Because I needed to cheer me up today, I think I'll give y'all another chapter. Enjoy!

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Malitiadixie ------ Rawben ------ Firedemon86 ------ asgard ------ OROsan0677 ------- Jester08 ------ Sovereignty ------ PikaMoon ------ Sesshomaru4Kagura4ever

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Final Thought from Kurt:

I don't have those … Tch!

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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~