InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ To Save a Life ( Chapter 47 )

~~Chapter 47~~

~To Save a Life~

 

-=0=-

 

 

`Where . . . am I . . .?'

 

Everything was white, so white . . . white and soft and airy . . .

 

A sound that she couldn't identify . . . a beautiful, shining place . . .

 

She looked down and giggled: a whispery white dress with a flaring skirt that billowed out around her when she spun around on her toes . . . airy, formless sleeves that just barely kissed her arms . . .

 

The brightness slowly seemed to fade just a little, just a touch. Grass poked gently at the soles of her feet, tickling her toes. The sound of water rose in her ears; the call of distant birds . . .

 

`It's . . . my picture . . .'

 

The tree bowed in the gentle breeze that touched her face . . . The sun—the glorious sun—warm and bright and shining . . . So peaceful . . . so quiet . . . so . . . perfect . . .

 

A million flowers—every flower she'd ever seen in her lifetime or more . . . the brilliance of laughter that bubbled up from somewhere deep down inside . . . A thought, a word, a dream . . . The gentlest wash of emotion that carried her forward; that made her want to dance . . .

 

So many thoughts flitted though her mind, half-formed ideas that faded before they could solidify, wisps of thoughts that were as fleeting as a season or even a moment in time . . . beautiful things . . . wonderful things . . . Gentle whispers and silent sighs, all ensconced together in a menagerie of fluid, in a breath of a promise . . .

 

“. . . Mommy will love you forever, Samantha . . .”

 

“. . . My dollbaby . . .”

 

“. . . Miss you, Sami . . .”

 

“. . . Love you . . .”

 

“. . . If you eat all those cookies, you'll ruin your dinner . . .”

 

“ . . . Get that sword up! You want I should take a chunk out of you . . .?”

 

“. . . Take time to see beautiful things, Samantha . . .”

 

“. . . Look so much like Kichiro . . .”

 

“. . . You'll be a damn fine hunter, Sam . . .”

 

“. . . Snap the trigger; don't pull it . . .”

 

“. . . Sure, she's my baby sister . . . Looks just like me, don't she . . .?”

 

“. . . Cain tells me you're looking for a job . . .”

 

“. . . Not half-bad, Sam . . .”

 

“. . . So you're the one who caught Isabelle's bouquet . . .”

 

“. . . Better hunter than I ever was . . .”

 

A myriad of voices, the flash of every face that she knew and loved . . . They were smiling, wishing her well, making her giggle . . . The ones she cherished. Rising up on her tiptoes, she threw her arms out, spun around and around and around. Laughing so hard that she fell back, she landed in the cushion of the warm grass. There was nothing more she could possibly want; nothing else that could make her any happier than she was in that instant.

 

The world faded around her, and she was floating again; floating high overhead. Looking down, she gasped softly. Everyone was there in that field, weren't they? Waving at her as she floated away. Her mother blew her a kiss. Her father laughed and lifted his hand. Isabelle and Alexandra hugged each other and smiled and yelled something that she couldn't make out . . . Everyone she loved . . .

 

And she floated through clouds; felt the moisture of them condense on her body like a fine mist. A whisper spoke to her, but she couldn't discern it; a voice so quiet that she had to strain to hear . . .

 

“Little . . .”

 

She gasped softly, looking around for the source of the whisper. She knew that voice, didn't she? Knew it; knew it; knew it . . .

 

She stopped moving, finding herself sitting in a chair made of clouds; layers of white upon white.

 

A long corridor opened before her, beckoning her forward. In the distance, she could hear the softest laughter, a dull sound that was neither female nor male but was an amalgamation of a thousand voices . . .

 

Standing slowly, she cocked her head to the side, her silvery hair falling over her shoulder as she waited and listened. Something about the laughter compelled her, pulled on an invisible part of her—a part of her that wanted to belong there. Breaking into a half-run, she felt the laughter well up inside her. It was a beautiful place, wasn't it? A beautiful place . . . waiting for her . . .

 

Reaching the end of the corridor, she reached for the white porcelain knob. If she opened that door, she'd see it, wouldn't she? The place of dreams . . . of ethereal dreams . . .

 

“Little demon . . .”

 

She stopped, her hand poised just over the knob, close enough to touch it, and she wanted to, didn't she? Why did she hesitate? What was it about that voice that seemed entirely familiar to her . . .?

 

Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned to look back the way she'd come. A man stood there in the opening of the hallway? Silhouetted in the brightest light, his face lost in shadows . . .

 

She knew him, didn't she? Though she couldn't see his face and didn't know his name, she knew him . . . As she stood still, staring at him, he leaned his shoulder against the wall, lifted a hand toward her, his palm outstretched, waiting for her to take it. “Would you stay a little longer?” he asked, his tone gentle, soothing.

 

She didn't reply as she took a hesitant step. The laughter in the room beyond the door grew louder, but suddenly, it simply wasn't as bright as it had seemed mere moments before.

 

As she drew closer to him, she blinked. She knew his face. Violet eyes reflecting the light that pooled in them when he smiled at her, lips turned up with the barest hint of a smile. He, too, was clad in white, his coal black hair a startling contrast. He was still holding out his hand, for her—just for her. “You can't leave me just yet, little demon,” he said quietly.

 

She reached out to take his hand, closer and closer. A sudden fissure of light sparked to life behind him, and he laughed.

 

Closer their hands came, fingertips nearly touching. `Just a little more,' she thought with a giggle. `Just a little nearer because I belong with . . . him . . . forever . . . and if I touch him . . .'

 

“I'll be lost if you leave me, little demon . . .”

 

She caught her breath, hesitated as she met his steady gaze, mesmerized by the way his hair was lifted and fingered by the invisible hands of the gentlest breeze—the same breeze that brought his scent to her nose, allowing her an instantaneous and comforting reassurance of everything in the world. “Because . . . you . . . love me . . .? Or maybe you will one day?”

 

He chuckled at her breathy tone, lifting his other hand, reaching out to stroke her cheek—fingers so close that she could feel the warmth of him radiating from him to her—a beautiful thing. “Because I love you,” he agreed. “Because you're everything in the world that I never knew existed . . .”

 

An airy laugh—one without a sound that could be heard deep within the heart—and she reached out to take his hand, to let him lead her back . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Bellaniece awoke with a start, her heart hammering hard against her ribcage. Smashing a hand over her mouth to staunch the scream that welled up inside her, she closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a few ragged breaths.

 

`It was just a dream; just a dream . . .' she told herself—chanted to herself like a mantra.

 

“Belle-chan?”

 

Swallowing hard at the sound of that voice—both welcome and painful at the same time, Bellaniece cleared her throat. “I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to wake you . . .”

 

Kichiro sat up and rubbed his face. “You didn't,” he admitted. “I couldn't sleep. What's the matter?”

 

Casting him a fearful glance, she slowly shook her head. “S-Sami . . . she's in trouble . . .”

 

Instant alarm registered on his features, and he quickly leaned over to turn on the lamp beside the bed. “What do you mean? How?”

 

She shook her head as a sob welled up inside her, unable to put words to the terrifying emotion, unable to make sense of the nightmare that hadn't seemed like a nightmare, at all. “She was all white and glowing,” Bellaniece finally said, gripping handfuls of the comforter to keep herself from screaming. “She . . . she . . .”

 

“And that's bad,” Kichiro said slowly.

 

Bellaniece choked back a sob. “No, but . . . everyone was there this time . . . in the meadow by the stream . . . Everyone was . . . was laughing and speaking in whispers that I couldn't hear, and . . . and I kept thinking that it was all right; that she'd . . . she'd be happy . . . happier . . .”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly. “Princess?”

 

Shaking her head again, she hunched forward, propping her elbows on her knees; smashing her fists against her burning, aching eyes. “I . . . I kept . . . kept thinking it was okay . . . okay to . . . let her go . . .”

 

“To let her go,” he repeated in a whisper. He understood, didn't he? What she was afraid to say; what she had felt in her heart—in her soul—in those precious few moments . . .

 

“It wasn't a dream, Kichiro,” she whispered, turning her head, imploring him with her eyes to gainsay her. “Samantha . . . she . . . she . . . she was saying . . . goodbye . . .”

 

He licked his lips, his brows drawing together in a marked scowl, his black hair glistening in the warm light of the lamp beside the bed. Eyes dark, fathomless . . . a pain so intense, so deep that it killed her a little inside to see it, as he slowly shook his head. “It was . . .” Trailing off, he cleared his throat, glancing at her for a moment then looking away too fast. “It was a dream,” he told her, but his voice sounded hollow in her ears. “Just a dream . . . She'll be fine. You'll see. We'll . . . we'll bring her home, and . . . and you'll see . . .”

 

Bellaniece nodded slowly, desperate to cling to what he was saying, desperate to believe that the man who had given her the fairy tales and the reassurance that things could be right . . . She wanted to believe him this time, too . . . Wanted to believe it because the alternative was just too painful for her to bear.

 

“Come here,” he said, his voice gentle, coaxing.

 

She stared at him for a long moment then slowly let him pull her close. Nestled under the blankets beside the warmth of him, she shivered. “I remember when she tried to help us decorate the Christmas tree . . . do you remember that, Belle-chan?” he murmured as he kissed her forehead and rubbed her back.

 

Bellaniece nodded. “She was so small . . . You always put her on your shoulders so she could put those bells she loved up higher . . .”

 

He chuckled, but it sounded entirely sad to her ears. “And she'd sing Christmas carols with me . . .”

 

She nodded slowly, cuddled closer against his side, wishing that the warmth that surrounded her could reach her heart. A thousand memories of a little girl with silvery hair whose eyes shone so brightly whenever she smiled . . . a single tear stung Bellaniece's eye, traced a path over the bridge of her nose . . . That bright and joyful little girl . . .

 

And Bellaniece couldn't help but wonder as that bittersweet flood of memory washed over her . . . Samantha, that beautiful little creature . . . Could it really be that she was never meant to linger . . .?

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Running a hand over his face, Kurt forced his eyes open and let out a deep breath as he shifted his weight, slumping back against the wall with a weary sigh.

 

The little demon's color was a little better, he thought, though to be honest, he was having distinct difficulty in focusing on anything. It took all his efforts just to keep himself from falling asleep, didn't it?

 

`She . . . she looks like she's sleeping . . .' he thought absently, reaching out with his right hand to touch her cheek with his fingertips. He frowned. She didn't look quite right, did she? Her silver hair . . . her ears . . .

 

He missed those.

 

Why had she done that? Why had she turned human? After he'd gotten her back to his apartment, he'd been unsure as to what he was supposed to do for her. Her heartbeat was growing weaker, her breathing shallower and even more labored, and the ashen color of her skin had frightened him, the bluish gray tint that had touched her lips, reminding him all too vividly of those he had lost so long ago . . .

 

Their faces had taken on a strange, grayish tone—smooth and cold and lifeless. He didn't know how to save a demon; not really, but he did know how to save a human, so he'd done the only thing he could think of: he stitched her up and started a blood transfusion. He was type O-negative; he could give blood to anyone, and while he wasn't entirely sure that it'd work on her, he had to try, didn't he? So he'd given her a shot of Herstenfurol, a prescription pain reliever that should help with her pain should she wake up but wouldn't induce blood thinning before he'd dug out the blood transfusion kit he had stashed in his closet.

 

He . . . he had to try . . .

 

“Little . . . demon,” he murmured, a little smile quirking the corners of his lips as he continued to stare at her. He needed to check her vitals; he really did, but . . .

 

Damn it, he was tired—exhausted, actually. So very, very weary . . .

 

Reaching for the glass of sugar water that he'd mixed up just before he started the transfusion, he closed his eyes to center himself when he missed for the third time. His vision was a little off . . . and he was already feeling light-headed. He needed to stop the transfer, but he couldn't; not yet. Too worried that he hadn't done enough for her, he sipped the water and shifted his gaze to the darkened window.

 

`After four in the morning,' he thought idly. She'd be all right, wouldn't she? She had to be—had to be . . . `Damn those bastards for doing this to her . . .'

 

And damn him, too.

 

It didn't matter what face he put on it, the bottom line was that he should've gotten her out of there sooner—much sooner, and while he'd told himself that it was because he wanted to make sure that those assholes hadn't implanted a tracker chip in her, that had only been a part of the reason—the true reason—hadn't it?

 

The idea of letting her go, of never seeing her again . . .

 

Pushing himself up, he gritted his teeth and made as quick of work as he possibly could in unhooking the transfusion apparatus. Her color was much better now, and if she were still in her demon form, he doubted that she'd have been that bad off, to begin with. He frowned as he checked her pulse. Stronger than it was but still a little erratic and weak . . . He only hoped that the transfusion had been enough, but if he gave her much more . . .

 

Drawing a deep breath, he slumped back against the wall once more. `She . . . she knew, didn't she?' he suddenly thought, his frown deepening as he stared at her. She knew that she was going to be human, which meant that it wasn't an uncommon thing. That was why she'd begged them not to do it . . . That's why she'd been so afraid . . .

 

She wouldn't be able to heal herself like she normally did, would she? Because humans didn't heal like that, and she knew that, too . . .

 

“Half youkai . . . half . . . monster,” he mumbled as he ran the side of his index finger along the curled edge of her hand. “Monster,” he repeated. “Monster . . .”

 

The monsters—the true monsters—he'd given her to them without a second thought, would have walked away from her without a backward glance . . .

 

“I'm the monster,” he said quietly, his eyes, hot, dry, burning. “I'm sorry, little demon . . . so sorry . . .”

 

Heaving a sigh, he crawled off the bed, running his hands through his hair as he stumbled a few steps. As much as he wanted to sleep, he couldn't. There were too many things that he needed to do, too many things that he had to make sure of . . . too many arrangements . . .

 

He'd considered taking her straight to her family for an insular second. He'd changed his mind quickly enough. Taking her to them in her condition . . . He couldn't die; not yet. There'd be time enough to own up to his mistakes later, after he kept a few promises . . .

 

Stumbling over to the closet, Kurt pushed it open and grabbed a second knapsack off the shelf. He shoved the surveillance footage into the bag along with a change of clothes and what was left of the scent-tabs. Emptying the other knapsack on the table, he frowned. Her things . . .

 

He'd gotten them out of the office when he'd cleaned it out: her gun, her shuriken, her jacket, her boots . . . her cell phone . . . Those things went into the knapsack. He'd get some money out of the bank in the morning; enough to get her wherever it was that she called home . . . Maine . . .

 

Rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, he grimaced at the clammy feel of his own skin. He felt like hell . . .

 

Turning away from the table, he had to stop and hang onto the edge when a rather sharp bout of vertigo hit him hard. He'd given her too much of his blood, hadn't he? Closing his eyes for a moment while the room stopped spinning, he blinked slowly. His gaze focusing on the tiny form lying on his bed, he stared at her for a long minute. Her coloring did look a little better though that wasn't nearly enough to satisfy his concern. She whimpered and grimaced though she didn't wake up. Kurt glanced at his watch and bit his lip. He'd administered the Herstenfurol over four hours ago, but he'd cut her dosage a bit shy because of the weakness in her vital signs. If those were stronger, he could give her another small dosage . . .

 

It seemed to take forever for him to cross the floor, to sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. Checking her pulse, he was pleased to note that it was stronger, not quite so erratic, and her skin was warmer to his touch. Her eyes were still dilated, but her blood pressure was better—a lot better.

 

He unwrapped her arms as gently as he could to change the bandages. The lacerations were still seeping blood, but they did look like they were starting to clot. She'd scared the living hell out of him, hadn't she, and he knew damn well that he wouldn't relax until she woke up, until she looked at him—until she smiled at him . . .

 

After carefully wrapping her arms in fresh bandages, he forced himself to focus as he drew a dose of the pain medication. `Let her . . . sleep through this . . .' he thought as he clamped the syringe in his teeth and reached for a packet of alcohol swabs. `When she wakes up . . . maybe she'll believe this was all just a really, really bad dream . . .'

 

He administered the shot along with a mild dose of Arzophen, the same drug that he'd used when he'd first captured her to put her to sleep.

 

Staring at her for long moments, he smiled wanly, touching her hair—stark black against the dinginess of this place, and he knew, didn't he? In a world that had abandoned him so very long ago, he'd found her; just her. Because of her, he'd do what he had to do, wouldn't he? Because she deserved that much from him—because she deserved everything from him.

 

Because . . .

 

“Because you're everything in the world that I never knew existed . . .” he murmured. A sudden warmth seemed to seep over him, a feeling that came from deep within. Beautiful . . . noble . . . frightening . . . and that feeling came from her, didn't it?

 

Then he crawled stretched out beside her, hesitantly, slowly drawing her into his arms. `Just . . . need to . . . rest . . . just a minute . . .'

 

He didn't feel his eyes slip closed moments later as he buried his nose in her hair, as he held her close against his heart.

 

 

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

A/N:

Please bear with me, folks. We just lost my mother-in-law today: the sweetest woman ever.

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Final Thought from Samantha:

The taijya …

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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~