InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Promises ( Chapter 49 )

~~Chapter 49~~

~Promises~

 

-=0=-

 

 

`Why . . . does everything feel so . . . odd . . .?'

 

Staring out the car window as the land sailed past in a blur, Samantha rubbed her forehead with a trembling hand. It made no sense, did it? The taijya had said . . . “Home,” she whispered. The word seemed wholly unfamiliar to her. `Home . . .?' What . . . what, exactly, did that . . . mean . . .?

 

Everything felt strange to her: fuzzy, vague, illogical . . . She'd returned to her hanyou self, hadn't she? But she couldn't feel it . . . Her youkai blood remained strangely silent, as though it were being diluted . . . as though it were being repressed somehow . . .

 

“Little demon?” the taijya said. She winced at the startling loudness of his voice in the otherwise quiet. He wasn't trying to frighten her, and she knew it. She couldn't seem to help herself, though. “You okay?”

 

“Y-yes,” she forced herself to say, even if she wasn't sure that she was telling the truth. Her mind was too confused to comprehend much of anything.

 

He heaved a sigh and tapped on the steering wheel. “Tell me something . . .”

 

A minivan full of children passed them. The ones in the back seat turned around and waved.

 

“What happened to you?” he asked.

 

“Happened to me?” she echoed. She could feel his gaze on her as she fidgeted in the tan microfiber seat. “I-I . . . don't . . . know . . .”

 

He fiddled with the digital map console and sighed. “Why . . . why were you human?” he clarified.

 

One of the children in the minivan stuck his fingers into his mouth, stretching out his lips and crossing his eyes. Samantha nearly smiled. “I'm always human . . . on the night of the new moon . . .”

 

He didn't answer right away, as though he were considering her claim. “Is that . . . so?”

 

She nodded vaguely, running her fingertips over the slowly-healing incision on her right forearm. She was glad to be away from those white-coats; glad that he said that she wouldn't have to go back there . . . Still, she couldn't quite wrap her mind around the rest of what he'd said, could she? What, exactly, did he mean? “Are . . . are you taking me to another researcher?” she asked suddenly, blurting out the question that had been tumbling around the back of her head ever since he'd talked her out of the taxi at the rental car agency on the outskirts of east Chicago. “W-will you watch me there, too?”

 

He glanced at her for a moment then suddenly pulled the car off the road and slammed it into `park'. “Little demon,” he began in a gruffer tone than she was accustomed to, “we're not going anywhere like that,” he said with a sigh and in a much gentler voice. “You . . . You're going home. Don't you understand that?”

 

She shook her head, unable to grasp the intricacies of his words. `It's . . . it's like he's saying . . . n-n-no . . .'

 

With a grimace, he shook his head, gently reaching over to catch her chin with a crooked finger and making her look at him. “Remember? You . . . you told me about your mama and your papa and your sisters . . .? They miss you, right? And you . . . you miss them, don't you?”

 

A vague spark of recognition ignited somewhere deep within her. “M . . . mama . . .” she murmured.

 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, as though he feared that he'd hurt her if he spoke any louder. “You want that, don't you? To go see your mama and your papa?”

 

“Yes,” she whispered, “but . . .”

 

“But?” he prompted when she trailed off.

 

She shook her head, caught his hand to rub against her cheek. “Will you . . . will you come with me?”

 

He blinked and stared at her, quiet sort of pain lending his violet eyes an independent glow, as though her soft plea had hurt him somehow.

 

“Y-you promised,” she reminded him, desperation coursing through her with a vengeance, an ugliness, that she couldn't credit. “You promised you wouldn't leave me . . .”

 

He swallowed hard, his gaze shifting out the windshield of the idling car. “I promised I wouldn't leave you in there,” he muttered. “That's what I promised . . .”

 

Samantha let go of his wrist, her hands falling to her lap as though they were cast of iron. Her temple fell against the doorframe, her eyes glazing over. She couldn't seem to hold on to the basest of conscious thought, and she wondered rather absently if she were losing her mind . . . Why? Why? Why . . .?

 

He said nothing as he put the car in gear and pulled onto the road once more. They drove for a while before he spoke again, and when he did, she jumped. “We should get you some shoes,” he remarked at length, his voice oddly strained, a little too bright. “Have you . . . have you ever ridden a bus before?”

 

“Busses . . . smell funny,” she murmured, her eyes widening as a few sporadic flakes of snow hit the window and melted. “They make me nervous.”

 

“Nervous,” he repeated. “Can you drive, little demon?”

 

She frowned at his question and scooted lower in her seat as a huge semi blew past them. The overly-large vehicle seemed ghastly to her, frightening. The vague recollection of seeing those things before registered somewhere deep down. They . . . they didn't used to intimidate her, did they . . .?

 

“Can you drive?” he repeated.

 

She nodded, rubbing her forehead in a vain effort to alleviate the clingy thickness that she couldn't shake loose.

 

“Tell me more about your family,” he urged quietly. “You said your grandfather lives in Maine . . . Is that where you live, too?”

 

“I live in a cage,” she replied automatically, her gaze fixed on the landscape of buildings that grew steadily larger, encompassing the windshield as they drew nearer and nearer, rising up higher and taller above them, around them, on all sides of them.

 

He didn't respond to that, and maybe that was just as well. They passed a sign that read, `Welcome to Toledo, Ohio' . . .

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

She blinked and turned to look at him. He was staring at the road. “Uh, yes,” she replied, somehow knowing that he wanted to her say that she was. The idea of eating, however, turned her stomach, and she flattened her ears as she swallowed hard. That didn't matter, did it?

 

But . . . but what really did . . .?

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

She wasn't all right; he could tell, damn it. Even if she weren't babbling, he'd have realized it. She couldn't seem to focus on anything; didn't comprehend a thing that he tried to tell her. If he'd told her that she was going home once since they'd left Chicago, then he'd told her fifty times, but she kept forgetting, asking him where they were going, asking him if he'd still come in to watch her at night . . . asking about the cages and the white-coats . . . and every time, he told her that she wasn't going back, that he wasn't taking her to another facility, and every time that she asked, it made him feel just a little worse for the entire situation, didn't it . . .?

 

It hadn't taken him long, however, to figure out that it had to be the medicines he'd given her that were just not wearing off like they should, and he could likely blame her significant blood loss for that. To be completely honest, he'd been surprised that she was able to function as much as she was, given the sheer amount of blood she'd lost before he'd even realized that she was hurt, at all. Those things just exacerbated the situation, didn't they? He should have known that removing her from the contained environment she'd been forced to endure for the last three months was going to be a shock to her. Add to that the confusion brought on by the medicines and the disorientation of her condition, and, well . . .

 

“Where's my picture?” she asked suddenly.

 

Kurt blinked and shot her a quick glance, only to find her twisting a long lock of hair around her finger. “Picture?” he repeated, unsure exactly what she was talking about.

 

“My window,” she reiterated. “You bought it for me so I could see the sky.”

 

It took him a moment to figure out what she was talking about, and when he did, he grimaced. “The postcard? I, uh . . . I forgot it.”

 

“Can we go back and get it?” she asked. She sounded calm enough, but he could feel the sudden rise in her anxiety level.

 

“N-no,” he told her. “If we go back, they'll . . . they'll put you in that cage again. You don't want that, do you?”

 

“I want my picture,” she whispered as she slowly shook her head. “You can hide it on my new cage, can't you? You . . . you can do that, right?”

 

Gritting his teeth together at her candid mention of another cage, he had to count to ten before he trusted himself to answer her. “You aren't going to another place like that,” he reminded her. “You're going home.”

 

“But it's my picture,” she argued, her ears flattening, though whether it was because of her upset or her rising agitation, he couldn't tell. “It's mine!”

 

Letting out a deep breath, Kurt raked his hand over his face and shook his head. “I'll get you another one,” he promised, hoping it'd be enough to appease her before she worked herself up any further. “Is that all right?”

 

She considered that, her expression still mulish, at best. “Okay,” she agreed despite the hint of upset still evident in her tone.

 

That seemed to do the trick, though. Staring out the window with the fascination of a child, she looked entirely mesmerized yet completely frightened, all at the same time. The combination just didn't set well with him, at all, and he sighed again.

 

`It's not going to work . . .' he thought as they sat in the drive through of a small restaurant near the outskirts of Toledo, Ohio. The abbreviated plan he'd come up with was to drive her out of Chicago and to put her on a bus heading in the right direction, but . . .

 

But he really didn't think that it was going to work, that plan. As it was, he could only hope that her concealment was clinging to her. Since they'd passed a number of cars without anyone giving her strange looks, he was reasonably sure that it was. Unfortunately, he didn't know the first thing about putting one of those on her or he might have done it, himself . . . Still, he'd feel a lot better if he were sure . . .

 

He sighed. It had taken him nearly twenty minutes to coax her out of the car at a department store he'd found in South Bend, Indiana. The goal had been to buy her some shoes. She'd only managed to step into the place when she'd freaked out, ears flattening, eyes wide and terrified, and in the end, he'd had to put her in the car alone to run back inside long enough to buy her a pair of clunky tennis shoes and a thick, downy coat. By the time he'd emerged from the store fifteen minutes later, she'd been ready to freak out. It had taken nearly an hour of driving with the radio off and without speaking before she'd managed to calm herself down enough that she didn't shriek whenever a car passed them.

 

When they'd reached Toledo, he'd found an ATM to withdraw money. His daily limit was two thousand dollars, and he'd gotten out that much. It should be enough, he figured. Enough to get her where she needed to be . . .

 

He paid for the food and handed the bag to her. She didn't say a thing, and the girl in the drive through window didn't act like anything was out of the ordinary, much to his relief. He wasn't entirely sure how her concealment worked, but as long as it did, then he figured that was all right, too. She didn't even try to open the bag, and he sighed. He'd considered traveling further or finding a hotel room for the night—at least long enough for her to regain a semblance of her composure, but . . .

 

But if Harlan and his band of cronies weren't already searching for her—for them—then he couldn't afford to take any longer than necessary, could he? Time was working against him now, and he had to make damn sure that they didn't get to her . . .

 

Checking the auto-nav screen, he keyed in the address of the nearest car rental agency. He doubted that Harlan would be able to trace the car that he'd rented early this morning just before they'd left Chicago, but he'd rather be safe than sorry . . .

 

He left her in the car while he went in to make the switch. She had looked a little panicked, but when he said he'd be right back, she calmed down quickly enough—a good sign, he figured, and as luck would have it, it only took about ten minutes to make the switch. She'd seemed a bit baffled when he'd gotten her out of the white sedan and into a newer model midnight blue Phazar Elektiva, but she didn't complain, either. Handing the keys of the white car to the attendant, he heaved a sigh of relief as he started the Elektiva and nudged them back onto the highway once more. Glancing at the clock, he rubbed his forehead. To be honest, the smell of the food that was still in the bag untouched was more than enough to turn his stomach, but she didn't seem interested in eating, either, which was all just as well, he supposed.

 

Pulling into a gas station, he turned toward her and dug a sandwich out of the bag. “Here,” he said, sticking it into her hands. “Eat this, okay? I'll be right back.”

 

That look of complete panic surfaced on her features once more. “Where—?”

 

“I'm just going to top off the tank and buy a few things,” he assured her. “Won't take me long.”

 

She stared at him for a moment as though she were trying to decide whether or not he was telling the truth, then nodded. Satisfied that she wasn't going to freak out completely, he got out of the car.

 

It didn't take much to top off the gas tank. He hadn't figured that it would, but he'd rather be safe than sorry, all things considered. He peeked in to make sure that she was all right before he headed inside. Nibbling on her sandwich, she seemed calm enough, and while the worry that knotted his stomach didn't abate completely, he was starting to think that maybe she would be all right, too.

 

He grabbed a few bottles of water and juice and a small bag of Hershey's Kisses for her then headed to the cashier, grabbing a post card—not the same, but the picture was outside, and it was a pretty enough view. Hopefully, it'd satisfy her well enough, at least until she understood that she'd never have to go back to a hellhole like that, ever again. “That be all for you?” the older guy asked as Kurt set the items on the counter.

 

“Yeah, I put seven bucks on pump two. Uh, could you tell me if there's a bus station around here?”

 

The guy started ringing up the stuff and nodded without dragging his attention off his task. “Yeah,” he replied a little absently. “Just head down the highway about ten miles, and you'll see it.”

 

Kurt thanked him and paid for the stuff then gathered it all up and headed back outside.

 

She was standing outside the car. He grimaced when he realized that she wasn't wearing his coat, but she didn't seem to notice the briskness in the air, either, as she slowly looked around. “You ready to go?” he asked a little uncertainly.

 

She glanced at him, a strange sort of darkness filtering into her deep blue eyes as her ears twitched nervously at the sounds of passing traffic. “But I don't have to get in there,” she said slowly, nodding toward the car. “Right?”

 

Her question surprised him. “Well, uh . . . n-no,” he replied. “Not if you don't want to, but . . .”

 

His answer seemed to quell her suspicions, though, and she nodded vaguely as she opened the door. “But I don't have to,” she repeated. This concept seemed to please her, and Kurt let out a deep breath as he strode around to the driver's side and got into the car.

 

“Did you eat your sandwich?” he asked as he started the car and pulled out of the gas station.

 

She nodded, rubbing her arms. “Yes,” she replied. “I threw the wrapper away.”

 

She sounded a little more like herself, didn't she? The knowledge offered him a measure of relief though he didn't delude himself into thinking that she wasn't still a little disoriented. He could see it in her eyes, couldn't he? A subtle hint of suspicion . . .

 

“Here,” he said, handing her the post card he'd just bought.

 

She stared at it for a moment then smiled a little vaguely. “It's different than the first one,” she ventured at length. “Like I'm moving or something . . .” That thought amused her, and she giggled. Kurt didn't know what to say, and in the end, he opted not to say anything at all, concentrating instead on the road before them.

 

The bus station wasn't hard to find. Kurt glanced at her and heaved a sigh, trying to decide whether or not she understood where they were, at all. “You . . . stay here,” he told her. “I'll be right back, okay?”

 

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide, almost expressionless. Finally she nodded, though, and so did Kurt as he got out of the car and headed inside the small office building.

 

“What can I do for you?” the woman behind the desk asked when Kurt stepped inside.

 

“Do you have any busses going to Chicago?”

 

She nodded as she sipped from a rather stained coffee mug. “Yep, in fact, we got one leaving at two p.m. Next one won't be through till Wednesday, though.”

 

Glancing at his watch, he made a face. It was almost one-thirty now . . . which meant . . . “Do you have a seat on the two o'clock?”

 

“Yep,” she said with a smile. “Just one adult? Discounts?”

 

Digging his bank card out of his wallet, he shook his head. “No discounts, and just one.”

 

“Okay, then that'll be seventy-nine fifty-four . . . Your name?”

 

Glancing out the window, he saw that she was still in the car. “Uh, Drevin,” he supplied. “Kurt Drevin.”

 

“Okay, Mr. Drevin. Do you have luggage?”

 

“No, just a knapsack that I'll keep with me.”

 

The woman nodded as she keyed the information into the computer. “Okay, the bus will be here in few minutes, but since you don't have any luggage, it shouldn't take long to get you through security. Do you have any concealed weapons?”

 

“N . . . no,” he replied.

 

“All right,” she agreed, taking his card and running the number for payment then handed it back. “They'll want to have a look at your knapsack, but it shouldn't be too big a deal. Fair enough?”

 

He nodded and put the card away. “Thanks.”

 

She handed him a plastic token and a receipt. “Give the token to the driver when you board the bus,” she told him, “and have a good trip.”

 

He stepped outside and scowled at the surroundings. He'd tried to explain to her earlier that he would only be going so far with her, but . . . but she hadn't understood that, had she? She . . . she hadn't . . .

 

She looked entirely relieved when he opened the car door and got back inside. “What is this place?” she asked slowly as she narrowed her eyes at the area.

 

“Little demon . . .” he began, unsure what he could possibly say to make her understand. “It's time for you to go home,” he told her. “Do you understand?”

 

She shook her head slowly, as though she were trying to understand but couldn't. “But . . . you're coming with me, aren't you? Who . . . who will visit me at night . . .?”

 

“I . . .” snapping his mouth closed, Kurt shook his head. “You won't need me to do that,” he told her, forcing a smile that he just didn't feel. “Remember? You said . . . your family . . .? The . . . the baby you wanted to see? Remember all those things you told me about? Now you need to go see them.”

 

“You promised,” she whispered. “You . . . you said you wouldn't leave me . . .”

 

Closing his eyes for a moment, he couldn't meet her gaze as he reached for the two identical knapsacks. Shoving most of the money he'd gotten out of the ATM earlier into the bag with her clothes, he shook his head as he shoved them both into the back seat. “I bought you some stuff to drink . . . juice and water . . . and a bag of chocolate,” he said, his voice catching, harsh. `Don't look at her; don't look at her,' a voice in the back of his mind chanted. If he looked at her . . . “My bus will be here soon, so you have to listen to me. When I get on that bus, I want you to get back in this car and drive. See this highway?” he said, pointing to the stretch of road they'd been traveling on. “You get back on that road, and you go that way.”

 

“But . . .”

 

He swallowed hard, keying in the directions that would at least get her to Maine—that's where her grandfather was, right? That's where she belonged . . . “No, listen,” he said, cutting off her protests. “As soon as you're on the road, you need to call your father. Your . . . your papa? Tell him . . . tell him you're coming home, okay? Can you do that?”

 

A fleeting spark of recognition flickered to life behind her eyes, and she nodded slowly, very slowly. “P-papa . . .”

 

He nodded, wondering for the thousandth time if what he was trying to do would be okay. She looked so lost, so confused, but . . . but in his heart, he knew. He'd kept her away for far too long, kept her to himself because . . . because he would be the lost one without her . . . and maybe it really was the only thing he could do, to send her home, back to the people who loved her . . . back to the people who missed her. “You need to go tell him happy birthday, remember?” he said quietly.

 

She shook her head, grabbed his hand, her absolute desperation ripping him wide open in places that she'd never see. “You . . . you can come with me,” she blurted. “You . . .”

 

“I can't,” he interrupted quietly, despising himself for the tears that rose in her eyes. “I . . . I need to go back. Do you understand? I need to go back—to make sure that those men . . . that no one can ever hurt another little demon again . . . okay?”

 

The bus pulled in, and Kurt winced as a violent surge of absolute panic seemed to grip her, reaching out to him as certainly as it would if it were a palpable thing. “Please,” she whispered again.

 

Kurt didn't look at her. If he looked at her, he'd give in, wouldn't he? If he looked at her . . . “Here,” he said, the flatness of his voice completely at odds with the warring sense of misery, but whether it was hers or his own, he didn't know—never would know. She deserved so much more than a cold cage in an empty room where humans put her on display, laughing and jeering and testing her in ways that no one should ever have had to endure. She deserved . . .

 

She blinked as he stuck the rest of his money into her hand. With a grimace, he closed her hand around the money and shook his head. “I put my number into your cell phone, okay? The cell is in your bag. As soon as the bus leaves, I want you to call your papa . . . and as soon as you get home, and you're safe . . . c-call me . . . let me know.”

 

“You . . . you're not taking me to another cage,” she said.

 

Her words were flat, as though she finally understood what he'd been trying to tell her all day. He had to swallow a few times to force down the thickened lump that choked him. “No one will ever put you in a cage again, little demon,” he promised.

 

She sat there, immobile, as though she really didn't comprehend what he had instructed her to do, and with a last attempt at a smile, he made himself open the car door and reached back for his bag. “I gotta go.”

 

He didn't dare look back at the car, did he? Forcing himself to walk away from her as a million regrets raced through his head, he quickened his pace. The clock that hung over the entrance to the station read five minute till, and the security officer looked a little irritated as Kurt handed him his bag.

 

It was better this way, wasn't it? Sending her home was the right thing to do, and even if . . . even if . . . He winced inwardly. No, it was better, wasn't it? Better not to think about those things that just didn't matter, not in the end. After everything he'd taken from her in the blink of an eye, it was the very least he could do . . . and if she never understood just how much it cost him to let her go, then that was for the best, too . . .

 

“Taijya!”

 

He spun around at the sound of that raw cry. Standing in front of the car with the wind whipping her hair into her face, into her eyes, and a pain that he just couldn't stand tingeing her aura, she'd called out to him as all of her fear, all of her sadness converged on him—the waif-like creature with the eyes so blue with the scent of tears so thick in his nostrils that he couldn't discern if it were truth or just a demon's illusion . . .

 

And without a second thought, he turned and started to walk back to her, unsure what it was that he wanted to do, to say, but knowing deep inside that if he didn't touch her just one last time . . . “Little demon,” he whispered as she ran to him, throwing herself at him, her momentum making him step back to steady them both.

 

“I can't; I can't!” she sobbed, burying her face against his chest. “Please . . . I can't . . .”

 

“You've got to,” he forced himself to say. “Do this . . . for me . . .”

 

That seemed to reach her; his simple request. Sniffling, she leaned away far enough to stare up at him. “Will you come for me?” she asked, her eyes pleading with him, begging him for something to cling to—for whatever hope he could give her.

 

“I . . .”

 

She shook her head, her body shivering, and he realized a moment too late that she didn't have her coat. “Please,” she whispered, and it was that whisper . . . that one broken murmur, that broke him, too.

 

“I . . . promise,” he lied.

 

And yet it seemed to do the trick. With a nod, she seemed to draw reassurance from that.

 

“Now you promise me you'll get into that car and drive, okay? Promise me.”

 

She choked back a sob and nodded, seeming to understand that he really wasn't going to go with her, and whether that was a blessing or a curse, Kurt didn't know. “I . . . okay.”

 

It was enough. It had to be. “Promise me you'll call your papa, too, as soon as you start driving, you'll call him.”

 

She nodded again. “I promise . . .”

 

“Good,” he murmured, “I have to go now.”

 

He glanced down at her and sighed, realizing a moment too late that looking at her was the biggest mistake of his life. The misery in her was a bitter thing to see. Nostrils quivering as tears streaked down her ashen cheeks, and she looked so lost, so very alone, as though her soul was being split in two, and he . . . he understood that just a little too well, too, didn't he? The existence he'd led for entirely too long . . . and she . . .

 

The tears that spiked on her eyelashes, the feel of her body against his . . . as if everything that he'd ever thought or believed had led him here, to this moment, in this parking lot that reeked of oil and stagnant smells ingrained into every ounce of the pavement below their feet, and she . . .

 

`Youkai . . . magical being . . .'

 

Without a second thought, he leaned down, brushed his lips over hers in a kiss meant to tell her everything that he'd never be able to say—a million things, a single thing . . . but she clung to him, holding onto his shirt as though her very life depended upon it, upon this . . .

 

And even the understanding that he was probably doing more damage in that one instant than any of the white-coats had ever inflicted upon her . . . because he . . .

 

“Buddy! You coming?”

 

The intrusion of the security officer's voice cut him deep, and he stepped back, letting go of her, and knowing that this one image of her, of her pain and her misery . . . It would linger in his memory long after everything else faded . . . long after her own laughter and her own memories of the entire thing paled, his memories would remain . . . the beautiful thing that was never meant to have touched the likes of him . . .

 

“Go, little demon,” he whispered but knew that she would hear him. “Go home.”

 

He stared at her for another moment then turned to stride away. Her voice stopped him one last time.

 

“Sam!” she yelled. He stopped, slowly pivoted, staring at her in confusion. She shook her head, a final sense of absolute desperation delineating every single thing about her—an image that would haunt him for the rest of his life . . . “M-my name,” she murmured. “My name is Samantha.”

 

The moisture that clouded his vision was foreign to him; something that he'd forgotten that he could do a long time ago, and as a single tear coursed down his cheek, he tried to smile for her—just for her. “Kurt,” he rasped out. “I'm Kurt . . .”

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought from Kurt:

…Samantha …

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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~