InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Restless ( Chapter 40 )

~~Chapter 40~~

~Restless~

 

-=0=-

 

 

`Gotta hurry . . .'

 

Grimacing as he stuffed the last box of books into the back of the rental car, Kurt heaved a sigh of relief and closed the trunk and glanced around. So far, so good. He hadn't seen the demon that had been camping out atop the roof on the building beside the run-down office that he'd rented, and that was just as well. Maybe he'd gotten tired or something; who knew? Either way, Kurt figured that it was good enough, all things considered. The last thing he wanted or needed was to be confronted by one of the little demon's family members, especially when he was slowly making progress on the things that he needed to get done in order to get her out of that place.

 

`Admit it, why don't you? The real reason you're dragging your feet . . .'

 

Slipping back inside the building using the service door in the back, he strode back into the building and down the steps into the basement to check things over; to make sure that he hadn't forgotten anything. All the drawers were empty; all the gear that was hung from metal hooks on the wall had been taken down and packed up. Hell, he'd even emptied the trash can with a wince. He'd forgotten, hadn't he? Her things were in there—her clothes . . . the length of her hair that he'd cut off to remove the duct tape gag . . .

 

He was ignoring the question that his conscience had presented with almost perverse resolve.

 

`Ignore it if you want, but you know damn well that the reason you're dragging your feet is because you know that when you let her go, you'll never, ever see her again.'

 

Grimacing as he tried in vain to refute that knowledge, Kurt rifled through the cabinets, checking and double checking to make sure that everything was gone. That wasn't the reason; not really. That . . . that couldn't be the reason . . .

 

That . . . couldn't be it.

 

Shaking his head as he strode up the steps, he stopped long enough to touch the Post-It notes he'd stuck to either side of the doorway, activating the barrier that should keep the demons out of there if they got the notion to search the place. Satisfied that it would work, he pushed the old door closed and headed out of the office again, he paused just inside the door to peer outside. The back door opened into the narrow alley behind the building, and it was hard to see much of anything. Still, he didn't sense the demon's presence, and that was good enough, he figured.

 

Sparing a moment to toss the tied trash bag in and checking the trunk of the car and the rear doors to make sure they were locked, he reached for the driver's side latch when the approach of a powerful aura intruded on his senses.

 

It was the one from the roof, damn it. Kurt could feel his eyes on him and gritted his teeth as he slowly opened the door.

 

Kurt heard him drop to the alley behind him. The demon didn't actually try to mask the sounds he was making; maybe he wanted Kurt to know that he was approaching. Either way, Kurt had to tamp down the unreasonable urge to get into the car and take off.

 

“Hey, buddy. Got a minute?”

 

Kurt closed the door and squared his shoulders, unsure why he felt such an overwhelming reluctance to face the demon. Tugging the leather glove that covered his right hand—a glove that he'd carefully stitched a symbol into: a symbol meant to repress his power so that demons couldn't sense it, Kurt slowly turned to face him.

 

Strands of long, silver hair seemed to float on the air as he met the demon's eyes. He didn't look entirely unfriendly, but he did look exhausted. Dark smudges under his eyes, face pale, drawn, and looking like he could benefit from a good shave, the demon nodded at the building that Kurt had just emptied out. “You from around here?” he asked

 

Kurt shrugged and shook his head. “Not really.”

 

“But you came out of that building.” It wasn't a question.

 

“Sure . . . I was looking at it to see if I wanted to rent it,” he replied.

 

A flicker of emotion passed over the demon's face—irritation, Kurt supposed. “Rent it,” he echoed. “I don't suppose you'd let me take a look around in there? Just for a minute . . .”

 

Kurt shrugged again. “Sorry. I gotta go.”

 

He started to get into the car, but the demon grabbed the door before he could close it. “Wait a minute,” he blurted. “You know how I could get a-hold of the guy who owns this place?”

 

“Uh . . . no . . . I just . . . just had a number,” Kurt muttered.

 

“You wouldn't happen to have it on you, would you?” he pressed.

 

Kurt snorted and shook his head. “Look, man, the last place I looked at was snapped up by some guy who asked me how to contact the owner. Forget it,” he said, jerking on the door to dislodge the demon's hand.

 

To his relief, though, the demon backed off, and with an inward sigh of relief, Kurt started the car and got out of there.

 

Still, that was damn close—too damn close. He didn't dare risk running into any more of them, not until he'd gotten her out of the facility safely . . .

 

He took his time as he drove back to his apartment. He didn't think that the demon followed him, but he'd rather be safe than sorry. As he stopped at a red light, he glanced at his watch and sighed. If he hurried, he'd have enough time to unpack the car and drop it off before he headed to work.

 

At least it shouldn't take too much longer. He was getting through the surveillance videos a lot faster than he'd thought at first, mostly because he could skip over stuff that didn't have anything to do with the one thing that he wanted to know. The thing was, the more he watched those tapes, the more irritated he grew. Seeing what those damned doctors did to her, and all in the name of science . . . just what the hell was wrong with them . . .? There was a strange and pervasive sense of a `because we can' sort of mentality, and it bothered him, didn't it?

 

And yet he seemed to learn more and more about her every night, too. Comfortable enough to speak of her family quite often, she'd told him stories of her youth, her childhood—stories that had made him wonder if Caroline had lived, how different would the two females actually have been? Would she, like the little demon, have grown up, surrounded by the careful love of a family who obviously cherished her? He liked to think so. Being around the little demon . . . why was it so damned easy? How was it that she could remind him of things that he'd almost forgotten without ever really trying?

 

Blinking when the car behind him blared its horn, Kurt let out a deep breath and pressed the accelerator.

 

Maybe he was going soft. That was the only really good way to rationalize it. The little demon was going to be the death of him; he just knew it. So why didn't that idea really bother him as much as it should?

 

He sighed. There really was no telling, was there? All he knew was that when she left—when he finally sent her on her way . . .

 

He was going to miss her, wasn't he?

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“You having any luck?”

 

Evan heaved a sigh and didn't answer right away. “Nope, not a damn thing.”

 

Cain stuffed his hand into his pockets as he wandered along the beach, as the wind off the ocean whipped his ponytail over his shoulder, into his face. Tightening his hold on the cell phone in his hand, he sighed. “Yeah . . . Ben's still trying to trace every single one of the Ed Smiths that came up in Myrna's name search of the area. He's about halfway through now, but it could take another couple weeks to get anything concrete.”

 

“We don't fucking have two more weeks, Cain.”

 

Ignoring the frustration evident in his son's tone, Cain nodded slowly. “I know, Evan, but we're doing the best we can. Myrna's been running the special crimes office pretty much alone these days, and—”

 

“And you can shove the special crimes right the fuck up your goddamn ass! She's your granddaughter, and—”

 

“And that doesn't mean that I can pick and choose the things that I have to deal with, and you ought to know that, too,” Cain shot back. He had a sneaking suspicion that it didn't matter what he did, it'd never be good enough for his youngest son . . . “Evan . . . I'm just as concerned as you are. We're doing everything we can on this end.”

 

“Yeah . . . maybe that just ain't good enough,” Evan growled.

 

Cain grimaced. How many times had he thought the very same thing? “You just be careful, all right?”

 

“Sure. Whatever.”

 

Letting out a long sigh when the line went dead, Cain snapped the phone closed and dropped it into his pocket. It just didn't sit well, did it? Evan, the one who normally moved through life in a fairly good, if not completely mischievous mood . . . It wasn't the first time that he'd felt as though his entire family were falling apart at the seams.

 

He could understand Evan's frustration well enough, too, since he'd felt that, as well. There were times that he despised his birthright: his role as the North American tai-youkai, and now . . .

 

His heart wanted him to go out, to find his granddaughter, to destroy the ones that would do her ill, but as the tai-youkai, he couldn't do that, could he? What he could do was to sit here and wait and worry . . .

 

The cell phone rang. Cain pulled it out of his pocket and scowled at the number. It wasn't one he recognized, not that it mattered. He didn't have a choice about whether or not he answered the call, did he? “Zelig,” he said.

 

“Hello. I'm calling about the missing girl?”

 

“Samantha, yes.”

 

The woman on the other end of the line sighed. “I thought I saw her the other night: long silvery hair and blue eyes, right?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he said as he stopped short, as his heart slammed against his ribcage hard. “Where?”

 

“At the restaurant where we ate the other night . . . She was with a very tall man—dog-youkai, I think . . .”

 

The bitter wash of disappointment washed over him, and Cain made a face. “Wait . . . New York City, right?”

 

“Oh, yes,” the woman replied. “Not her?”

 

Patting his pocket for a cigarette and realizing a moment too late that he'd left them on his desk, he sighed. “Uh, no . . . that sounds like my daughter. She and her husband live there.”

 

“I'm sorry,” she blurted. “I didn't mean to waste your time . . .”

 

“No, it's . . . it's okay. Thanks for looking out for her.”

 

“She's the same age as my little girl,” the woman went on. “I pray you find her soon.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Pressing the phone against his chest to close it, Cain heaved a sigh and shook his head. The bitterness that always followed a moment like that, when all hope was so suddenly dashed, was hard to swallow. Trying to convince himself to be positive was growing increasingly difficult every day . . .

 

“Hmm, mind if you had some company, Zelig-sensei?”

 

Cain turned and tried to smile as Gin pulled her coat tighter around her body and wandered toward him. “You should be inside where it's warm, baby girl,” he replied.

 

“I'm hanyou. I'm tough,” she assured him. Her smile faded slightly as she caught sight of the cell phone clutched tightly in his hand. “One of these leads . . .” she trailed off.

 

“. . . Will pan out; I know,” he finished for her with a nod. “That's what I keep telling myself.”

 

“Even a rock can crack,” she murmured as she slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.

 

Smoothing her hair as he stared out over the ocean, he considered her words with a frown. She was talking about him, and he knew it, but . . . but it applied to her, too, didn't it? Up before dawn, dropping into bed well after everyone else in the mansion, day after day after day . . . She busied herself by taking care of everyone, and while he understood why, he couldn't help the slight pang of guilt that he'd somehow been neglecting her of late, too. “The rock won't crack as long as there's sand to cradle it,” he told her.

 

She uttered a soft laugh and buried her face against his chest. “Samantha . . . she . . . she will come home, won't she?”

 

Frown deepening at Gin's worried tone, at the quiet sense of desperation behind her words, Cain sighed. “She will,” he heard himself say, and if he didn't know his own heart, his own worries, better, he might even have believed himself. It wasn't that he didn't believe—no, never that . . . What worried him most was the idea that the hope that sustained him—sustained her—was becoming harder and harder to summon.

 

She sighed and stood still for a moment before leaning back to gaze up at him, her eyes wide and clear, sparkling in the late afternoon watery sunshine. “Did I tell you? I saw a falling star last night . . . and I made a wish. I don't know if it'll help, but . . .”

 

“It'll help,” he whispered. “Wishes on falling stars always come true.”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kurt sat down and kicked his feet up on the desk as he shook out the newspaper, fully aware of the deep blue eyes that were trained intently on him.

 

The little demon cleared her throat to gain his attention. He rattled the paper again.

 

“So . . .”

 

“Hmm?”

 

She sighed quietly. “Uh . . . nothing . . .”

 

He turned the page to scan the headlines.

 

He could hear her moving around: pacing, as it were. She was striding around the perimeter of the room like she did whenever he read the newspaper, but he could still feel her gaze on him.

 

She wasn't going to last much longer, was she? She had to break soon, he figured. After all, she'd mentioned that she was hungry awhile ago, and she hadn't had a thing to eat since . . .

 

“You really didn't bring me anything at all?” she asked in a strangely timid tone.

 

Kurt blinked and lowered the paper. That really wasn't fair at all, was it? Ears drooping rather pathetically, shoulders slumped, she looked entirely discomfited, and that just figured, didn't it? “Now, that's low,” he countered in a mumble. “Besides that, you didn't ask me for food, did you?”

 

Her ears perked right up at that, which just figured. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that she knew that he'd cave in if he saw that . . . “Did you bring me something?” she demanded as a grin broke over her features.

 

Kurt heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Guess I walked right into that,” he grumbled. “Okay, little demon. If you can tell me by smell what I brought, you can have it.”

 

She giggled and rubbed her hands together as she skittered over to the desk and leaned across it to sniff at the knapsack. Her laughter slowly faded, though, as a confounded expression replaced her gloating amusement. “I can't smell anything,” she finally said. “That really is mean!”

 

“Relax. I did bring you dinner,” he said as he dug into the bag for the two plastic, air-tight containers that he'd wrapped in about five layers of plastic wrap as well as a plastic zipper bag for good measure. Her dinner was in the red one; his was in the blue one, and when she reached for it, he pulled them back. “You can't smell it? Really?”

 

She shot him a pouting half-glower that wasn't nearly as intimidating as it should have been. “You wrapped it better than a Christmas present,” she grumbled.

 

The disgruntled expression, coupled with the absolute chagrin in her tone made him chuckle. He couldn't help it. Something about her . . .

 

She blinked, her eyes widening as she stared at him without a word. Mouth rounding in a little `o', she slowly lifted her fingers to hover at her lips.

 

“Wh-what?” he asked with a shake of his head.

 

“You laughed,” she whispered, as though she were afraid that her own voice could ruin the moment. “I liked that.”

 

Letting his gaze drop away, he cleared his throat and sat up, his feet falling onto the floor as a foreign sense of heat filtered into his face. “Here,” he muttered, pushing the red container toward her.

 

“You should do that more often . . . laugh, I mean,” she replied as she pulled the plastic bag open and cut through the plastic with her claws. A second later, she gasped as the aroma of her dinner filled the air—all the smell that had been trapped under the layers of plastic released. “Oh . . .” she breathed. He peeked up at her in time to see the expression of absolute bliss on her face, the complete wonder inspired by the mere scent of her meal. “You brought me . . .”

 

“You going to eat it or are you just going to sniff it all night?” he asked mildly.

 

“I'm afraid to open it,” she confessed. “You aren't trying to trick me, are you?”

 

He stared at her for a minute then shook his head and snorted. “No, but it was a little expensive, so if I have to just throw it away, I might be a little irritated.”

 

She yanked the container toward herself, protecting it with her arms, lest he try to take it back, ears flattening, fangs flashing as a low rumble—a growl?—escaped her. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you threatening me?”

 

She shook her head and finally pried open one corner of the container with a giggle of delight. “Lobster!” she gasped as she yanked the lid off and set it aside. “Oh, I can't believe you brought me lobster!”

 

“It just looks . . . ugh,” he muttered as he sat back and watched as she picked up the crustacean and turned it over.

 

“It's a female,” she announced happily.

 

Narrowing his eyes, Kurt couldn't quite make out whether she was being serious or not. “What?”

 

The little demon grinned, flashing her dimple at him once more. “It's a female. See these? They're called swimmerets, and on females, they're all soft. On males, these ones are hard,” she said, flicking the two little appendages closest to the lobster's main body.

 

“Well, that was information I don't know that I needed,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

 

She giggled as she twisted the legs off and made an elaborate production of getting to the meat in the legs.

 

“Ugh,” he muttered when a particularly loud crack announced that she'd succeeded in removing the first of the creature's claws. “You know, that's about the same sound that a cockroach makes when you step on it,” he pointed out indelicately.

 

“Best cockroach I've ever had,” she shot back.

 

He curled a lip and stared at his untouched dinner with disdain. “That's just gross,” he pointed out.

 

She shrugged as she cracked the tip of the claw with her bare hands. He grimaced. “You brought it up,” she replied pleasantly.

 

“Hmm, and I'm a little sorry that I did.”

 

“Did you get a lobster for you, too?”

 

Casting her a look that told her plainly that she ought to have known better, he finally reached for his wrapped container. “Nope. Steak.”

 

“I'd rather have this,” she assured him.

 

It took him longer to get into his dinner than it had taken her to do the same, but he didn't miss her interested glance as he pulled the lid off the blue container and set it aside. Then she went back to picking at her lobster. She did it with a delicate precision that surprised him though he wasn't entirely sure why. Sparing a moment to dip each bite into the plastic cup of clarified butter, she giggled happily and moaned in an entirely unsettling way.

 

Forcing his eyes away as she raised her hand to catch a drip of butter that was running down the side of her hand, he poked at the wilted salad with a plastic fork. Was she trying to get to him? Between the moaning and the licking, he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, and while common sense told him that she wasn't trying to do any such thing, common sense didn't exactly rate high on his list of priorities at the moment, either.

 

`Maybe she is a succubus . . .'

 

Snorting at his own capricious thoughts, Kurt jabbed the fork into the meat then sighed when it broke off.

 

The little demon blinked and stared at him curiously. “Do you want mine?”

 

“I told you, I don't eat lobster,” he grumbled, tossing the broken end of the fork into the nearby trashcan.

 

She giggled and held out the plastic fork he'd put in her container. “No, I meant this,” she said.

 

Heaving a sigh, he grudgingly reached for the utensil and muttered, “Thank you.”

 

“I'm the one who should be thanking you,” she corrected casually. “I mean, it's enough that you come in every night and stay with me, but you . . . you remember things I tell you, like when I told you I wanted to see the sky again . . . or the toothbrush and floss . . .”

 

He didn't answer right off as he slowly cut into the steak. Of course he'd brought her the floss and toothbrush, especially after seeing her horrendous display with her hair the one day . . . but . . . “Don't thank me,” he said, unable to keep the absolute disgust out of his voice—disgust at himself for having brought a creature like her to this place . . .

 

“I have to,” she replied. “If it weren't for you—”

 

Standing up abruptly, sending the chair screeching back, he strode away from the desk. Unable to sit and endure her quiet appreciation . . . `Damn it, what the hell is wrong with her? Why doesn't she . . . she hate me?'

 

She ought to, shouldn't she? He was the one who had captured her with hate in his heart and malice in his eyes. He'd taken her away from every single thing that she cared about without a moment's hesitation . . . All of the things that he'd seen on the tapes—the things that he had yet to see . . . And he . . .

 

“Someone dear to me . . . my brother-in-law . . . he lost his family, too, but . . . but humans were the ones who killed them. They fooled his family into thinking that they wanted help, and they . . .” trailing off, she shook her head, as though the mere thought of what had happened was just too much for her to think about. “My sister told me once that he had lived with hate and regret for so long that it had become a sort of prison without bars but there, and every day he woke up, he hated himself for being the one to survive, and I . . .” She heaved a sigh, shook her head as she slowly, hesitantly, met his gaze. “I don't want you to be trapped anymore . . . trapped like Griffin.”

 

He slowly turned to look at her, and when his eyes met hers, she smiled just a little—a sad smile; a compassionate smile . . . a smile that reminded him of . . .

 

“Your, uh, lobster's getting cold,” he muttered, clearing his throat, unable to make sense of the hotness, the stabbing ache behind his eyes.

 

“Only if you're going to eat with me,” she insisted.

 

Letting out a deep breath, Kurt considered that for a moment then walked over to the desk once more, and as he ate, he couldn't help but think about what she said.

 

It was an ugly thing, wasn't it? The hatred . . . the inescapable feeling that everything he thought he knew wasn't right, at all . . . The little demon . . . Why was she able to touch him so deeply without touching him at all? What was it about her that spoke to him in the quietest of whispers in places so dark, so deep?

 

And why was it that he knew deep down that once she walked away from him . . .

 

He wouldn't have anything left at all.

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~= ~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

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Final Thought from Samantha:

Lobster!

==========

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~