InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Negotiation ( Chapter 42 )

~~Chapter 42~~

~Negotiation~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“Hey, Doc, you got a minute?”

 

Kurt narrowed his eyes and hesitated before stifling a sigh and heading into the darkened observation room. He almost smiled when he spotted Dr. Peterson. The bastard's nose finally looked normal again, which was a damn shame, considering. `Shoulda broken his goddamn arm . . . or shoved his fucking pecker down his throat . . .' The doctor refused to meet Kurt's gaze, which really didn't surprise him at all. “What do you want?” he asked without preamble.

 

“Any idea what happened to the new camera we put in Holding Tank One?” Harlan asked casually—too casually.

 

“Nope,” Kurt said without batting an eye.

 

“Security said that it just shorted out the same night we had it installed.”

 

“Then I guess it shorted out,” Kurt replied.

 

Harlan gave him a tight little smile. “Yes, well, that matter aside . . . I wondered if you'd given any more thought to the idea I tossed at you around New Year's.”

 

“Tossed at me,” he repeated. “And what idea was that?”

 

“A male demon,” Warren chimed in, nodding toward the sheet glass wall. On the other side of it, the little demon was running along on a treadmill. Kurt watched her for a moment and almost discerned the hint of a smile though he highly doubted that the others did.

 

“Oh, that idea,” Kurt drawled, frowning and rubbing his chin as he pretended to ponder the idea. “Hell, you haven't finished paying me for that one, have you? Think I'd be dumb enough to bring you another one when you still owe me on that one?”

 

Harlan laughed heartily. “That's our Doc . . . pragmatic till the bitter end.”

 

“You can kiss my pragmatic ass,” Kurt muttered under his voice before clearing his throat to add, “even then, you actually think you can breed them in captivity?”

 

“Why not? Rumor has it that a facility in California did it,” Peterson added grudgingly.

 

Kurt didn't react though he was hard-pressed not to. He hadn't heard that before, no . . . and it didn't set well with him, either. “Rumors are just rumors,” he pointed out. “What do you think? That you can breed them? Tame them? Teach them tricks and show them off to your friends? Don't be fucking stupid. Those things aren't meant to be tamed, and even if you could, why the hell would you want to?”

 

Peterson's gaze narrowed. Kurt knew his type. Brave enough when he was in the majority, wasn't he? It was just when the playing field was leveled that the bastard would show his true colors. The memory of the things that he'd done to the little demon flashed through Kurt's mind, heavily, angrily. There were a number of things that he'd dearly love to do to the demented little shit . . . it was all just a matter of time, wasn't it?

 

“What are you testing her for now?” Kurt asked in an affected bored tone.

 

“Endurance levels,” Harlan said. “She's remarkable, isn't she?”

 

“If that's what you want to call it,” Kurt intoned, his gaze returning to the little demon once more.

 

“She exhibits remarkable regenerative powers, too. I mean, if we cut her hair off in the morning, it's grown back just like that by evening. Claws, hair . . . even fangs . . .”

 

“What?” Kurt demanded sharply.

 

Harlan didn't seem to notice Kurt's inflection. “Oh, we yanked one of her fangs this morning. It's already grown back, you see.”

 

Grinding his teeth together, Kurt had to count to fifty before he trusted himself to unclench his jaw.

 

“Makes you wonder what'd happen if you cut something else off . . . maybe dock her ears or something,” Warren mused, almost more to himself than to anyone else.

 

“No,” Kurt blurted before he could stop himself. At the mention of her ears, he hadn't been able to contain himself. “Don't touch those.”

 

It wasn't until after he'd spoken that he realized that he shouldn't have said it; at least, not that way. All three white-coats turned to gawp at him. “Oh? Does she matter to you?” Peterson asked nastily.

 

Kurt snorted, inflicting far more bravado into his tone than he felt, given the circumstances. “Do you remember the last time you screwed around with her ears? Tested her hearing, you called it? She was vomiting all night, if you'll recall. I, for one, don't feel like dealing with that again.”

 

“Is that the only reason?”

 

“What other reason could there be?” Kurt countered.

 

The white-coats exchanged significant looks. Kurt snorted. “I'm not the one who keeps trying to molest her, am I, Dr. Peterson?” he challenged in a dangerously quiet voice. “If that's all you wanted, then I'm outta here, but I warn you: don't touch her ears. If you do, and she gets sick, I promise you, you won't like what I do to you.”

 

That said, he turned on his heel and stomped out of the observation room. He must have decided that their testing for the day was over, too, because a minute later, he stomped into the room where she was chained to the treadmill, yanking the sensors free and tossing them aside.

 

“What do you make of that, Dr. Warren?” Harlan asked at length without taking his gaze off the hunter and the demon.

 

Warren shrugged and cleared his throat. “I, uh . . . I don't know, exactly . . . seems a little suspicious, doesn't it?”

 

“I wouldn't put breaking the cameras on purpose past him,” Peterson added thoughtfully.

 

Harlan nodded slowly. Doc didn't say anything to the demon, but he didn't have to. Her face said it all, didn't it? Such wide eyes, staring at him with almost a childlike sense of awe. She didn't fight him, either. In fact, she seemed more than willing to comply with his orders . . .

 

“He did seem oddly reluctant to find another one, didn't he?” Warren added speculatively.

 

“He did, didn't he?” Harlan mused.

 

“What a damned hypocrite . . . attacking me for doing something that he's probably doing every night,” Peterson grumbled. “Bastard . . .”

 

Harlan grunted. He didn't particularly see the desire to have sex with a demon, but he didn't judge the others if that's what they had a mind to do. In fact, he rather hoped that they did, in all honesty. It'd be interesting to find out the results of that sort of testing, even if it weren't something that could be reported in the official records . . .

 

“Maybe we should be less obvious the next time we install cameras, then,” Harlan mused as he rubbed his ruddy cheeks. “Let's see what really goes on in there at night . . .”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Did you check into the reported sighting in Calumet City?” Gunnar asked as he strode into the hotel room where his father had retired for a quick shower and shave.

 

Toga dropped his cell phone onto the untouched bed, draping his hands on his lean hips and the towel he wore to cover himself. “Not yet,” he replied with a shake of his head and a sigh. “Damn it . . .”

 

Gunnar frowned. “What's the matter?”

 

Digging clothes out of the suitcase and tossing them toward the bed, Toga uttered a low, terse growl of frustration before slamming it closed and dropping the towel on the floor. “Akira called,” he explained as he snatched up a clean pair of boxer shorts and tugged them on. “Apparently a group of snake-youkai is causing trouble since they've found out that both your grandfather and I are here. A string of human disappearances in and around Hokkaido—fifteen humans that have been linked to the youkai; more that are unconfirmed but suspicious . . . They figure that since we're not there and since we've dragged Japan's top hunter out of the country, too, that they're safe to do what they will.”

 

“What'll you do?” Gunnar asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Toga heaved a sigh as he fastened his jeans and grabbed a plain black cotton shirt. “What can I do?” he challenged. “Damn it.”

 

“Have you talked to Grandfather?”

 

Toga shook his head and buttoned the shirt from about the center of his chest down before striding past Gunnar toward the door. “I'm going to, right now.”

 

Gunnar followed him into the living room of the suite and toward the study. “Father.”

 

Kichiro stood up as Toga and Gunnar strode into the room. Sesshoumaru glanced at them before setting his ink pen aside and giving them his full attention. “Yes.”

 

Toga cast Kichiro a quick glance, obviously not wanting to let him think for even a moment that the current problems in Japan had anything at all to do with him. “Akira called,” he admitted with a sigh. “There's been some trouble with a group of snake-youkai around Hokkaido.”

 

Sesshoumaru nodded though he didn't look at all surprised. “The disappearances,” he said.

 

Toga nodded. “Yes.”

 

Sesshoumaru considered it for a moment then stood, slowly walking around the desk and clapping Kichiro on the shoulder. “I shall deal with them,” he said. “You . . . and your mate . . . are needed here.”

 

“Thank you,” Toga said. Sesshoumaru nodded and strode out of the room.

 

Kichiro sighed. “If you need to go home, Toga . . .”

 

“No,” Toga said when Kichiro trailed off. “Samantha is important to all of us. You'd do the same if it were one of mine.”

 

Kichiro looked like he wanted to say something, but he slowly nodded, then he turned and walked out of the room, too.

 

Gunnar let out a deep breath and shook his head. “I can't stand this feeling that we're completely useless,” he finally gritted out.

 

Toga nodded, understanding his son's frustration since it mirrored his own. “Aunt Gome and Uncle Yasha aren't having any luck, either, so far,” he admitted. “I know there's still a large portion of the city that they haven't searched yet, but it feels so . . .”

 

Gunnar rubbed his eyes. “We are supposed to be the elite,” he muttered. “It feels like we're running around in circles in the dark.” Wandering over to the window, he stared out over the city as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and slowly shook his head. “Someone out there knows something, and that son of a bitch is laughing at us.”

 

“We'll keep doing what we're doing,” Toga replied with a sigh. “Keep looking; keep investigating. It's all we can do.”

 

“Is it enough?” Gunnar challenged quietly. “Is it really enough?”

 

Toga let his gaze drop for a moment, wishing that he had a better answer, a clever rebuttal. “It has to be enough, Mamoruzen. It's all we've got.”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

He was walking through Disney World, weaving through the milling crowds, spaces, bodies with the scent of blood hanging thick in the air, the stench of the putrid sheets of disintegrating flesh, as he eyed the sea of demons.

 

Demons everywhere—everywhere. Some of them were big, some were small, some were grotesque facsimiles of humans . . . They all stared at him with complete malice . . .

 

The red sky overhead seemed to burn his skin as he walked, moving deeper through the paths and thoroughfares, though the ins and outs as the music twisted and converged, swirling into something far uglier, far more tainted.

 

“The little demon . . . where is she? Where is she? What have you done to her? What have you done? Monster . . . bastard . . . monster . . .”

 

Bearing their dripping fangs; hissing at him from the oily darkness of the furthest shadows; claws reaching out to grab him; the accusing stares of a million glowing eyes . . .

 

“Kurt . . .”

 

The melodic voice, the familiarity of the name that drew him further, deeper, faster. She was looking for him, wasn't she? She was trying to find him because . . .

 

“It's okay, Kurt, it's okay,” the voice echoed in his mind. “It's okay . . .”

 

Gasping loudly as the voice came from beside him, he looked down and blinked as he stared into the wide eyes of his sister. Hair matted with her own blood, her head in the right place despite the jagged, angry incision that traversed her throat, her doll dangling limply at her side as she hurried along beside him. “C-Carrie . . .”

 

She hoppity-skipped beside him then past him without looking back. She wanted him to follow, didn't she? She wanted him to, but . . . but he didn't want to, did he? Didn't want to see the things that he new were waiting there, didn't want to hear the condemnations . . .

 

His family . . .

 

“Daddy said that you weren't supposed to tell, Kurt . . . Daddy said that you were supposed to live . . .”

 

The heat grew more oppressive, more stifling.

 

“Daddy said that you were supposed to live . . . live . . . live . . .!”

 

“Carrie? Carrie . . . I am alive . . .”

 

She stopped for a moment, her little feet, dancing as she spun around in a circle, her bloody dress a ghastly thing. “No, no, no . . . alive but not living . . . Alive but dead inside . . .”

 

He reached out to grab her. She darted away before he could, slipping through his fingers like the wind . . . “She's waiting, Kurt . . . don't you want to see her? Hurry . . . hurry . . . Let's go see her together . . .”

 

Eyes flashing open, Kurt let out a ragged breath and rubbed his face. The dream . . . that dream . . . He didn't know what it meant . . . She was trying to show him something, wasn't she? She wanted to show him something that Kurt didn't really want to see . . .

 

Leaning forward to shut off the monitor where he had been watching the day's testing, he stood up slowly, walked over to the cot where the little demon lay sleeping. Even in the prefabricated light of the fluorescent bulbs burning in the security sockets high overhead, he was struck once more by the richness of her aura: something so warm, so inviting, and so very, very sad.

 

How he'd ever actually believed that she could hurt anyone was beyond him. He'd made a split-second judgment based on things that he thought he knew, and he'd been wrong; so very wrong. Because of that, he would have left her here; walked away without ever looking back. If it hadn't been for Harlan's refusal to pay him . . . and he'd never have known, would he? He'd never have been forced to confront those things, to gain the understanding that he was just coming to terms with now.

 

He almost had it, didn't he? The plan . . .

 

The plan was so simple that it was almost stupid, and yet he knew that it should work. All he needed was a few more days—maybe two weeks—to finish making sure that they hadn't put a tracker in her; to make sure that everything was going to unfold the way he'd planned it out.

 

Then he would do what he should have done from the start: to let her go, to watch her walk away, to send her home to the people who loved her; who were waiting for her. The rest of it would have to be done once she was safely gone; to make sure that they didn't have a damn thing that could ever help them in locating her ever again and to eradicate every last bit of evidence that they had that she'd ever been there, in the first place.

 

She looked so tiny, didn't she? Lost in the copious folds of his sweatshirt and sweatpants that he'd brought in again since he let her take another bath last night, she seemed even more diminutive than usual. Kneeling beside her, his hand reaching out to touch her—to feel her hair, he winced and pulled away as a vengeful sense of self-loathing shot through him. He didn't have a right to, did he? He'd done too much to her, had cost her so much time, and her family . . .? He'd seen for himself, hadn't he? Because of his prejudice, he'd caused them all so much pain—a lifetime of pain . . .

 

And he knew damn well that it wouldn't matter in the end. She'd never be able to forgive him, would she? Of course she wouldn't, and she shouldn't. Would she ever be able to walk down a street again without looking over her shoulder? Without peering into the darkest corners without the fear that someone was there, lurking just beyond the range and scope of her vision?

 

`If I'd met her in another time or place or life . . .'

 

That was the hell of it, wasn't it? If he hadn't known her or what she was before he'd figured out who she was . . . If things had been different, he really would have . . .

 

`And what's the point of thinking about it?' he suddenly thought as he pushed himself to his feet, as his anger spiraled higher and higher. `Some things can't be fixed, right? Some things just don't go away . . .'

 

Swallowing hard as he tried not to think about the things that he couldn't change, he glanced at the clock and sighed. He could let her sleep for another twenty minutes or so before he had to get her up and make her change before Harlan and his lackawits showed up for the day.

 

Rubbing his neck as he headed for the doorway, he dug into his pocket for change.

 

Those damn bastards. Dock her ears just to see if they'd regenerate? Kurt's eyes darkened as he dropped the money into the machine and pressed the button. If they did it, he'd dock something off them to see if it grew back . . .

 

Snorting loudly as he grabbed the cup of coffee and headed back down the hallway once more, Kurt wasn't surprised to see the little demon sitting up and rubbing her eyes as she yawned. “Morning,” she greeted in a sleepy tone.

 

“Mm,” he intoned as he sipped the hot drink. “You'd better go get changed,” he warned, his voice echoing in the waxed paper cup.

 

She wrinkled her nose and looked entirely discomfited by the idea, but pushed back the blankets and got to her feet and shuffled off toward the bathroom.

 

Kurt set the cup down on the desk and double checked to make sure that he'd shut off the monitors. At least the assholes hadn't done too much to her the day before. In fact, she enjoyed it, he knew, considering that they'd let her run pretty much all day—at least, they had after they'd yanked out that fang of hers. She had sworn that it hadn't hurt; not really. He hadn't believed her but knew damn well that he wasn't actually going to get her to admit to it, even if it had.

 

By the time she shuffled out of the bathroom in her smock again, he'd finished the coffee and tossed away the cup. Without a word, he strode past her as she stashed the sweats under the blankets on the cot since the white-coats never actually looked at them.

 

He was in the middle of washing his hands when he heard the voice outside the door, and he couldn't help the hissed curse that slipped from him as he shut off the taps and shook his hands, foregoing the paper towels as he hurried out of the bathroom. The little demon was inside her cage—she must have heard or sensed the intruder's approach, but the door was still hanging wide open.

 

“You're early,” Kurt muttered as he narrowed his gaze on Harlan.

 

Harlan stared at the demon for another minute before slowly shifting his eyes to Kurt. “She's not secured,” he pointed out, his mouth twisting in a contrived smile.

 

“She's secured enough,” Kurt growled as he strode over and closed the door.

 

“You leave her out at night?”

 

“Don't be stupid,” Kurt retorted. “Are you really going to question my judgment?”

 

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Harlan assured him as that nasty little grin of his widened. “Not in a million years, Doc.”

 

“I'm sure,” Kurt replied just as tightly.

 

Harlan looked him over as though he were trying to size Kurt up. “Well, I'm here now, so you can go. See you later, of course.”

 

Kurt didn't dare glance at her as he strode over to the desk to collect his things. Cursing his laxness when it came to getting her back into her cage on time, he grabbed his knapsack and coat. “Don't forget what we talked about yesterday,” Kurt reminded Harlan as he headed for the door.

 

Harlan laughed, the ass. “Of course; of course,” he replied.

 

Not at all sure that Harlan would listen, Kurt very nearly decided to stay. Glancing at his watch he shook his head. Harlan had come in early, hadn't he? Just what was that fat old fuck up to, anyway?

 

In the end, the only reason that Kurt kept moving was because he wanted to get through the video; to make sure that she didn't have a tracking device embedded in her so that he could get her out sooner than later. He'd figure out why Harlan had come in early when he came back for the night . . . As for the others? Well, if they made good on their threat . . .

 

He'd see them in hell.

 

 

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

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Final Thought from Harlan:

…more cameras …

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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~