InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Darkness ( Chapter 50 )

~~Chapter 50~~

~Darkness~

 

-=0=-

 

 

`She's not . . . going . . .'

 

Kurt scowled out the rear window of the bus as it started to pull onto the highway, staring at the tiny woman standing in front of the dark blue car in the bus station parking lot. She hadn't moved at all, not since he'd walked away from her, pausing just long enough to grab the knapsack from the security guard, who looked entirely irritated that he'd been kept waiting.

 

He grimaced. She . . . she really wasn't in any condition to be driving half way across the United States, was she . . .? And he . . .

 

Reaching out, his fingers hovering just above the emergency stop button, he was ready to push it when she finally moved, turning slowly, trudging around the car to the driver's side.

 

And for some reason, that bothered him even more, didn't it?

 

He sighed. That wasn't true. She was going home, wasn't she? Going back where she belonged . . .

 

She'd never forgive him, would she? Once the entire thing was behind her and she was able to put things into a better sense of perspective . . . once she understood—really understood—that the reason she was there was because he'd caught her and sold her to those bastards; that the reality of it was that he was just as bad as the lot of them . . .

 

And that was how it should be, right? She ought to hate him, to curse him . . . She should because it was no more than he deserved . . . and even after all was said and done, he'd come up with excuses not to get her out of there when he knew he should. She'd be all right as long as he was there to keep those bastards from hurting her too badly . . . wasn't that what he'd thought?

 

And as much as he'd tried to put a nice face on it, he knew damn well that the real reason—the only reason—he'd kept her there was because . . .

 

Because he was frightened, wasn't he? Scared of what would become of him once she was gone . . .

 

That beautiful creature . . . the little demon . . .

 

`Samantha . . .'

 

And why did it surprise him that she'd actually had a name all along? A name . . . a face . . . people who loved and cherished her . . .

 

Staring out the back window as the bus headed away from that place, he sighed. The dark blue sedan had started to move, creeping to the intersection . . . waiting . . . then turning, heading in the direction he'd told her to go in . . . heading home.

 

A sudden surge of worry swelled deep inside him. She would make it home, wouldn't she? As long as she called her father, he'd go wherever she was . . . As long as she was safe, then that was all that mattered . . .

 

He'd stopped believing in everything so long ago, hadn't he? Forgotten how to believe in love or God or even the devil . . . Something about the little demon—Samantha . . . something had changed him, something he wanted to trust . . . Her laughter, her smiles, her unshakable grace . . . And she'd made him understand, hadn't she? With those things, in her own way . . . and now . . .

 

Now she was alone, moving toward the home and the people who missed her . . . She had to get there, had to make it . . . and if there really was a God . . . Closing his eyes, feeling the same sting of tears that had nearly undone him as he'd said goodbye to her . . . If there really was a God up there . . .

 

`Let her be safe; let her make it home . . .'

 

It should have made him feel better, shouldn't it? It should have reassured him that he really was doing the right thing . . . She was going home, where her family would be able to protect her, where men who called themselves doctors and scientists couldn't cut her open to see if she'd heal . . . to those who understood without having to be shown that she was a precious thing—those who had known that from the very beginning . . .

 

`They . . . they'll keep her safe . . .' he told himself as he settled against the back of the seat, as he wondered how much different things might have been . . . It was easy to think of things like that, wasn't it? Easy, he knew, but also entirely pointless. `Add another one to the win column, Kurt . . . You don't know how to do anything but destroy every single thing you touch . . .'

 

Gaze darkening as a hardened expression filtered over his face, Kurt nodded slowly. `Destroy . . .' he thought slowly, deliberately. `That's all I know . . .? Then . . . so be it.'

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Sam wasn't sure how long she'd driven. The roads all looked the same. Fingers cramping, wrapped around the money he'd given her, she couldn't make sense of much, even as the words kept tumbling through her head: “Now you promise me you'll get into that car and drive, okay? Promise me.”

 

That's what she was doing; she was doing exactly what he'd told her to do, right?

 

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

 

She'd promised, and if she kept that promise . . .

 

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

 

. . . Then he'd keep the promise he'd made to her, too . . .

 

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

 

He'd promised that he'd come for her . . .

 

She didn't understand, though, did she? Too much had happened in the last couple days, things that she didn't have a hope of ever comprehending. She vaguely recalled the white-coats discussing her healing abilities, could remember them talking about testing those out a little more thoroughly, but . . .

 

But she couldn't remember anything beyond the need to make them understand that they didn't dare cut her, not when she was about to be human for the night . . .

 

Letting go of the steering wheel with one hand, she rubbed her knuckles over the bandages that the taijya had wrapped around her arms.

 

No, not the taijya . . . `Kurt . . .'

 

It was getting harder to see, wasn't it? Scowling at the landscape that rushed past her, she shook her head. `Why . . .?'

 

`It's dark outside, dollbaby . . .' her conspicuously absent youkai-voice spoke up wearily. `Turn on your headlights . . .'

 

“Oh,” she breathed, switching the low-burning daytime running lamps over to full night headlights. `Why . . . why are you being so quiet?'

 

Her youkai sighed. `Those drugs,' it volunteered, the voice hard to discern, even in the quiet of the car. `They're dulling your senses . . . making it hard for you to hear me . . .'

 

She had to strain to hear the last of that, and she sighed. The night was closing in fast, and even the lights of the car did little to disburse it . . . somewhere along the line, she thought she might have taken a wrong turn, too, and the road she'd ended up on . . . There was no one . . .

 

But the shadows lengthened, stretched, ominous and frightening. The moon was weak and cold and hateful, and with a soft whimper, she swatted away the wash of tears that suddenly blurred her vision. He was the one who took care of her at night, wasn't he? He kept her company, kept her from feeling lonely, kept her from being afraid of the things that she couldn't see that moved just beyond the circle of light . . .

 

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

 

`I am,' she thought suddenly, a determined frown coming to light on her face.

 

Still, she couldn't quite grasp the other thing—the thing that had been nagging at her all day—the sense that there was something that she just hadn't been able to understand, not yet—something that she ought to know, even if it didn't make a damn bit of sense to her . . . something important . . .

 

Rubbing her nose—she couldn't smell a damn thing, but it itched like crazy—she blinked and forced herself to focus on the road ahead of her. Snow was piled in muddy heaps on either side of the road, ugly and dirty and defiled.

 

“Just drive,” she muttered under her breath. “That's what he said . . .”

 

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, she shook her head. It had to be wrong, didn't it? Nearly 1:30, it said, but . . .

 

But where was she? And why couldn't she make sense of anything . . .?

 

Still . . .

 

The hint of panic she'd been fighting all day kept creeping in around her, the nagging truth whispering just outside the range of her hearing, something that she ought to understand, but . . .

 

She blinked as the car sputtered, jerking in time with the coughing. It died and coasted to a stop. Samantha uttered a harsh little sound caught between a sob and a growl as she tried to start the engine, to no avail. “No,” she muttered, slamming the sides of her fists against the steering wheel. He had told her to drive, and she'd promised, hadn't she? She'd promised, and . . .

 

If she broke her promise . . .

 

“No,” she whimpered, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with the key once more. The engine groaned and grunted but didn't fire, and she smashed her hands against her eyes to keep herself from crying. “What am I going to do?”

 

Murmuring the same question over and over again, she couldn't help the tears that coursed down her cheeks, the feeling of complete and utter despair. She didn't know where she belonged, did she? Couldn't figure out what or when or why . . . Only one thing made sense to her: a solitary name . . . the image of a sad little smile that she knew . . . a face that was more precious to her than anything would ever be again . . .

 

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

 

“I promise,” she whispered, her fingertips fluttering loosely at her lips. He'd kissed her, hadn't he? Kissed her one time . . . “I promise,” she said again, her voice a little stronger.

 

Reaching behind the seat, she grabbed the knapsack that he'd left for her and with a smothered little cry. Gathering her courage, she forced herself to open the car door and slowly got out.

 

The wind hit her hard, and she gasped, stumbling away from the car as the door chimed weakly. The night seemed to close in around her, and she rubbed her eyes. Senses still dull and hindered, she couldn't make sense of her surroundings.

 

Everything seemed to converge on her, the wind blowing her, nudging her forward along the dark and desolate stretch of road. Wrapping her arms tightly around the knapsack, she trudged on. A sudden screech off to the left made her jump as she whirled around, her gaze wild, frightened. `It was . . . an animal,' she told herself furiously. Nothing that could get her; nothing that could harm her . . .

 

`Cold . . . so cold . . .' she thought. There were no stars in the sky, only a lonely sliver of a desolate moon . . .

 

It was hateful, wasn't it? Stare at it long enough to feel your heart swell with hope, only to realize that the same moment only served to make the shadows that much darker, that much denser, that much more terrifying . . .

 

Everywhere she looked, she could feel them, couldn't she? Eyes and ears and breathing—sounds that were as foreign to her as they might have one day been familiar. Her fear was a viable thing, rising above the quieter sense of herself, looming larger and larger over her. The cry of an owl, the understated hum of the very trees of the forest that surrounded the lonely stretch of road. The headlights paled in the distance, the false sense of security that she'd known within the man-made box of a car long past.

 

Stumbling over some ice on the road, she almost fell but caught herself. A low rumble cut through the night, and she gasped as a car pulled up beside her. She made herself keep walking as the passenger side window was lowered, kept her eyes carefully averted despite the terrible pounding of her heart. The horrible throb of the loudest music caused a sharp and stabbing pain just behind her ears. She shied away from the bright lights, the sounds. The boys in the car muttered unintelligible things punctuated by raucous laughter. “Hey, honey! Need a ride?” one of them called out, leaning his torso out of the window.

 

She shook her head furiously, held the bag a little closer, scrunched up her shoulders a little further into the recesses of the coat that the taijya had bought for her. One of the boys handed the one in the window a flashlight, and she gasped and blinked when he shone the light into her eyes. “What the . . .? Dude! Check out those ears!”

 

Her ears flattened, and she stumbled back, reaching up with one hand to touch the ears that he shouldn't have been able to see. Did he have holy powers like the taijya? Was he able to see through her concealment? No . . . she didn't sense any spiritual powers—none, at all. The boy muttered something to his friend and started to open the passenger side door. “Come here, honey! We won't hurt you!”

 

The boy—his laughter—the very sound of it . . . she'd heard laughter like that before, hadn't she? Heard it and loathed it and . . .

 

With a strangled cry, she whirled around and ran, dashing into piles of snow, diving headlong into the darkened cover of the trees. She could hear the boys yelling at one another behind her but ignored them, ducking her head to avoid low hanging branches as she ran and ran and ran . . .

 

She didn't know how long she ran, didn't know how far. The air she gasped in burned her lungs, and with a smothered sob, she tripped over a gnarled old root sticking out of the ground. Her arms protested the impact, and she squeezed her eyes closed as she willed the sharp, stabbing pain away. It hurt so badly that she wanted to cry, and a moment later, she could feel the heat of her blood seeping into the gauze bandages that the taijya had wrapped around her arms this morning . . .

 

A sound off to the left made her gasp, her eyes flashing open wide. Those boys were chasing her, weren't they? They wanted to capture her, to hurt her, to take her back to the white-coats . . .

 

Unleashing an outraged shriek, she vaulted off the ground, her claws slicing through the air as an arc of blood splattered high, ghastly, greasy in the inky night. The smallish squeak of an unseen creature resounded in her ears then went silent, and it took Samantha a moment to realize exactly what she'd done.

 

It was a . . . a raccoon, wasn't it? She'd attacked a raccoon . . .

 

A sudden and vicious emotion rattled through her; a melancholy so great that it threatened to consume her. Her brain was dangerously close to shutting down, and she scooped up handfuls of snow, scrubbing her hands in a frantic sort of way as the smell of the creature's blood hit her hard, made her stomach churn.

 

Picking up the knapsack she'd dropped when she fell, tumbling forward without really realizing that she was moving at all, she wandered aimlessly through the trees, through the forest, cringing away from the headlights of the occasional car that passed by on the road not far away. Her head hurt, throbbing with a pain that brought a darkness that ringed her vision, her body ached . . .

 

“Don't stop,” she whispered as she stepped out of the forest and stopped. Standing at the top of a rather steep slope, she blinked at the artificial lights of the small convenience store. Outside the store was a giant cow—white with black spots, and without another thought, she stumbled forward, wading through the calf-deep snow, nearly tumbling down the hill as she stared intently at that cow . . .

 

“S . . . Sydnie,” she murmured, her eyes darting to and fro in the darkened parking lot. The store was closed, the windows dark and cold, but the cow . . .

 

With a little sob, she sank down in the shadows, her back resting against the thick concrete slab that stood a good three feet high. The cow stood atop that, staring across the street at the little gas station. She could hear people talking from a distance but couldn't make out their words. Hugging the knapsack close to her chest, she could feel her ears flatten as an encompassing sense of sheer hopelessness washed over her.

 

Reaching up to touch her ears, she grimaced. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice that sounded like her youkai blood but so quiet that she had to strain to hear it told her that she needed to secure her concealment; that it had slipped, and that's why those boys had seen her ears . . . No spiritual powers at all . . . and it was okay, wasn't it? She'd be okay . . .

 

`Why?' she thought absently as she hid her face against the rough bag. `Why did he leave me . . .? Why . . .?'

 

It was too much, too much . . . bone weary, mentally drained . . . unable to make sense of anything . . . `The taijya . . . Kurt . . .'

 

And yet that name . . .

 

Sitting up a little straighter, Samantha sniffled and wiped her eyes with her cold-numbed fingertips. “Kurt . . . said . . .” she murmured.

 

The sound of laughter filtered through her head. It wasn't there, and it didn't come from anyone, but she knew it.

 

“Kichiro . . . if you don't put her down and stop that, she'll get sick . . .” The laughter . . .

 

“Nah, princess. She likes it! Don'cha, dollbaby . . .?”

 

Laughter, laughter . . . Her head was spinning, a giddy shriek—giggles . . .

 

“Again, Papa!” A child's voice . . .

 

More laughter, friendly laughter—laughter that she knew . . .

 

“Okay, okay . . .”

 

“Go, little demon . . . Go home.”

 

“He said . . .” she whispered, her eyes widening as she held tight to the knapsack. “He said . . . go home . . .”

 

Using her shoulder to push herself to her feet, she crouched behind the pedestal and slowly looked around. She didn't know how she would get there, did she? She didn't know . . .

 

But the wind was growing colder as a few token flakes of snow started to fall. She couldn't get home, but she'd promised him . . .

 

“What do I do, taijya?” she whispered into the night.

 

There was no voice to answer her, no sound except the malignant sounds of the hateful night.

 

Sniffling quietly, she bit her lip, her ears flattening as another wave of hopelessness coursed over her. She didn't . . . couldn't . . . remember . . . `Home . . .?'

 

“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 . . .? You need to go tell him happy birthday, remember?”

 

Samantha's eyes widened, and she gasped into the quiet. “Call . . . Papa . . .” she murmured. “Papa's birthday . . .”

 

She watched as a girl stopped outside the gas station. There was a pay phone, and the girl picked up the receiver and dialed it, but hung up a minute later.

 

“Call Papa,” she whispered again. “That's what . . . what the taijya—what Kurt said . . .”

 

And somehow, the very thought of him was enough to make her move . . .

 

 

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

Final Thought from Samantha:

…home …

==========

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~