InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Small Things ( Chapter 57 )

~~Chapter 57~~

~Small Things~

 

-=0=-

 

 

`It'd be asking for trouble, wouldn't it?'

 

Scowling at the pay phone through the window in the small gas station where he'd stopped to fill the tank, Kurt tapped his foot as he waited in line to pay for the fuel he'd just finished pumping.

 

Of course it'd be asking for trouble. He could think of a million and one reasons not to do it; everything from inviting trouble to tipping them off about his whereabouts to confirming that she really did detest him, after all . . . Maybe she'd figured out by now that he was no better than the damned white-coats; was worse, actually, all things considered. After all, he was the one who had handed her over to them, wasn't he? He knew well enough that it was only a matter of time before she figured it all out for herself. He simply wasn't sure that he wanted that kind of confirmation . . .

 

Still, despite the host of reasons why he shouldn't do it, there was only one reason that he could think of why he should.

 

He had to know, didn't he? He had to know that she'd made it home safely . . .

 

And that, he supposed, was reason enough to do it, wasn't it?

 

It only took him a couple minutes to pay for his things, and as he walked out of the building, heading toward the solitary pay phone booth, he frowned, his gait slowing but not faltering. The time had come, hadn't it? It was something that needed to be done; something he had to know. It was . . .

 

Smiling a little sadly as he stopped in front of the phone booth, he raised his gaze to the heavens and sighed. He'd shut down four of the five facilities thus far and was on his way to the last one—the one in San Diego, California.

 

It was a bit frightening, really. Those facilities were simple to close down. Only one of them had any viable research to destroy, and he'd restrained the resident white-coats for about a week at each place to give them a taste of what it felt like to be researched while he took his time in systematically demolishing everything inside and seeking to gather information, as well, though none of them seemed to have any knowledge of other facilities in the States. One of the doctors at Claxton mentioned hearing about one place in Prague, but he didn't know anything concrete, and nothing Kurt found gave any evidence of such a place existing.

 

Maybe it was just because he didn't know any of them and hadn't seen how they operated, first hand, but he couldn't help the sense of apathy as he'd dealt with those centers. Still, he did gain a measure of satisfaction in the end—satisfaction in the knowledge that they wouldn't be hurting another innocent little demon, ever again. That was enough. It had to be enough . . .

 

In fact, the only unsettling part of it all was the female researcher he'd found at the last installation. Too bad she'd proven to be just as twisted as any of the men he'd encountered thus far; maybe even worse. What was it about women that they could easily be crueler and more insular-minded than any man could ever hope to be?

 

So he'd dealt with her without prejudice. It was laughable, really. The damn bitch had thought up until the very end that Kurt was just dying to rape her. Fat chance. He wasn't interested in any cold, callus bitches . . . Or maybe that was really the gist of the problem . . .

 

Now he just had one more facility to go . . . and then . . .

 

And then . . . he'd figure out what came next, wouldn't he?

 

Scratching his head, he let out a deep breath and reached for the receiver. He supposed that it was pretty telling, really. The three numbers programmed into the phone . . . He'd memorized them a long while ago . . .

 

So before he could talk himself out of it, he fed a ten-dollar-bill into the phone and dialed one of those numbers.

 

It rang a couple of times before someone answered. “Inutaisho.”

 

Frowning at the man's voice, Kurt clutched the phone tighter. “Uh, hi . . . I'm . . . I'm calling to check on . . . on Samantha.”

 

The man paused. He'd been shuffling papers, but that sound stopped, too. “Come again?”

 

Clearing his throat as a surge of trepidation raced down his spine, Kurt glanced at his watch. “Samantha . . . did she . . . did she make it home all right?”

 

“How do you know her?” he demanded suspiciously—not hostilely, but definitely not friendly, either.

 

Scowling at the resistance he was meeting, Kurt hesitated before replying. “I . . . I just need to know that she's safe. Please,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

 

“Who are you?” he challenged instead.

 

Gritting his teeth, Kurt grimaced. He couldn't answer that, could he? “Please,” he repeated. “Did she get home okay?”

 

“And I told you: you tell me who the hell you are before I'll tell you a damn thing.”

 

With a frustrated growl, Kurt slammed the receiver into the cradle. “Damn it,” he hissed, smacking the side of his head hard against the tempered glass wall. Who was that guy? Had Kurt seen him before? And certainly, Kurt could understand the wariness when it came to the little demon, but still . . . He wasn't asking to talk to her, was he? He only asked if she'd gotten home . . . Even still, he had to admit deep down that he'd have been alarmed if the if he'd just handed out the information that Kurt was after, too. Damned if you do, and damned if you don't, right . . .? Rubbing his eye, he heaved a sigh. That phone call . . . It didn't tell him a damn thing . . .

 

He stood still for a long moment, listening without really hearing as the call of birds flying out over the ocean shore across the stretch of road that he'd been traveling sounded in his ears. He didn't have a choice, did he? He had to know, had to know . . . had to know . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“You want anything, baby? A glass of milk or something? Anything?”

 

Sydnie snuggled against Bas' shoulder and shook her head. “I'm fine, puppy; just fine.”

 

He chuckled softly and kissed her forehead. “I don't mind getting stuff for you,” he pointed out.

 

“It's enough that you stayed home today,” she murmured as her eyes drifted closed. “I've missed having you underfoot.”

 

He grimaced. She didn't see it. Having spent days on end for the last four weeks in his father's study with the rest of the men, watching hour after hour of those God-forsaken videos in chronological order, from the day Samantha was taken there until the day she was nearly killed. The dates said it all, as far as Bas was concerned. The last day . . . She'd known that she was going to be human that night, and after months of steady silence as they'd done unspeakable things to her . . . She'd begged that day: begged them not to hurt her . . .

 

After seeing all of that, he'd needed to take today off, hadn't he? Needed to spend some time with Sydnie, just being near his kitty . . .

 

“Have you told anyone yet, puppy?”

 

With a soft chuckle, Bas shook his head. “Figured you'd want to do that, yourself, baby.”

 

She laughed softly and leaned up to bite his chin. “Will he be a big, strong puppy like you?” she teased.

 

Bas made a face but blushed as he touched the mark—his mark—that had changed to be that of the future tai-youkai . . .

 

“Are you sure you don't want anything?” he asked again. She hadn't had anything to eat for breakfast, and he worried about that since she'd never been very big, to start with.

 

Sydnie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I'm fine, puppy—just fine.”

 

“You didn't eat breakfast,” he reminded her.

 

She shot him a calculated grin, arching her eyebrows as she let her fingertips trail down his chest, slipping them beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts and running her hand back and forth. “Well, if you insist . . .”

 

He groaned and shivered then reached down to gently pull her hand up, kissing her knuckles before rubbing her hand against his cheek. “I don't know that it's a good idea to do that,” he hedged.

 

“Are you kidding?” she countered, eyes wide; incredulous. “Of course it's safe! You think I'd suggest it if it weren't . . .?”

 

He made a face and shook his head. “For normal women, maybe . . . but kitty . . . you're really little, you know . . .”

 

She giggled suddenly. “And you're so big.”

 

He groaned, blushing furiously and trying to avoid her gaze, which only served to heighten her amusement, which just figured, didn't it? The trill of his cell phone cut through the tranquility of the moment. Snorting when he glanced at it, he wrapped his arms around her a little tighter.

 

“You're not going to answer it?”

 

Bas snorted again. “It's just Gunsie. I don't want to talk to his ugly mug today . . .”

 

Sydnie laughed and scooted off the bed, snatching Bas' phone off the nightstand as she sashayed out of the room. Bas heaved a longsuffering sigh but didn't complain. “Hi, puppy! I haven't heard from you in awhile . . . Are you avoiding me?” she pouted.

 

Shaking his head as he watched her exit, he rolled over onto his side and considered getting up. `Nope,' he decided as he flopped onto his back. He'd promised that he'd stay in bed all day, damn it, and that was exactly what he aimed to do . . .

 

Tucking his hands behind his neck, he settled back to wait for Sydnie to return. Almost six months pregnant, and she was quite adorable with the distended belly and almost tipsy gait . . . It had taken a little longer than normal for Bas' mark to change, possibly because there wasn't much difference between them, and possibly because , in the chaos surrounding the last few months, they'd rather forgotten to look . . .

 

But they'd discovered the subtle changes about two weeks ago. They simply hadn't gotten around to telling anyone yet because of the data chips.

 

Another phone rang, and Bas sat up with a frown. It took him a moment to locate it, but he finally did. Tucked neatly in Sydnie's nightstand, he could tell from the ringtone that the call was forwarded from her work line. Glancing at the number, he gave a mental shrug. He didn't recognize it, but that didn't mean much in the long run.

 

“Zelig,” he said after connecting the call.

 

“Uh, hi . . . Um, I-I was just . . . just wondering if you could tell me something.”

 

“I can try,” Bas replied slowly, frowning at the man's apparent show of hesitation.

 

He sighed. “Could you . . .? Err, that is, did Samantha . . . She's okay, right?”

 

Bas' frown dissipated as he considered that question. Though he really didn't have any grounds to think so, he couldn't help but wonder . . . “Uh, is this . . . Kurt?”

 

The man didn't answer right away, as though Bas had taken him by surprise. “Y-yeah,” he replied. “Yeah.”

 

“Sami's talked about you a little,” Bas said. “She said you got her out of there.”

 

“Is that what she said.” It wasn't a question.

 

Bas smiled. “Yeah. Thank you.”

 

“Oh, uh . . . don't thank me,” he insisted, sounding completely uncomfortable with Bas' quiet praise. “But she's . . . she's all right?”

 

“Yeah, just fine. Do you want to talk to her?”

 

“I-is she there?”

 

“No, but I can give you her cell phone number, if you want.”

 

“Wha—? No . . . no,” he said. “As long as she's all right.”

 

Bas' frown returned. “Yeah, but—”

 

“Thanks.” He cleared his throat, heaved a relieved sigh. “Thanks.”

 

“Wai—Ah . . .” Bas stammered. Letting out a deep breath when the man hung up, he scowled at the phone for a long moment.

 

“What's the matter, puppy?” Sydnie asked as she wandered back into the room.

 

“Uh, nothing,” he replied, forcing a smile as she crawled back onto the bed.

 

“Hmm, well, my other puppy would rather talk to you than me,” she pouted, holding out his phone.

 

Bas took it and spared a moment to kiss Sydnie on the forehead before he got to his feet. “I'll go get some milk for you, okay?” he offered.

 

She nodded as he started out of the room.

 

“Didn't I tell you that I was taking the day off?” he grouched, foregoing any pleasantries since he was sure that Sydnie had already showered Gunnar with more than his fair share of those.

 

“I got a phone call, Bas,” Gunnar replied in similar fashion.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. Some guy at a pay phone in California, asking about Sam.”

 

Tugging the refrigerator open, Bas grabbed a gallon of milk. “So that's where he is . . .” he muttered.

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, he just called here, too.”

 

“What'd you tell him?”

 

He poured a tall glass and put the milk away. “I told him that she's fine.”

 

“What?” Gunnar growled.

 

Bas rolled his eyes. “It was that guy—the one she says is her mate—Kurt.”

 

“And how do you know that?”

 

“Because, you moron,” Bas said as he picked up the glass and headed toward the bedroom again, “I asked him.”

 

Gunnar snorted. “And you think I didn't?”

 

“Knowing you? You demanded his name, he wouldn't give it, and you got all obnoxious, right?”

 

“Keh! All right then, Bas, how did you get him to tell you, then?”

 

“I asked if that was his name.”

 

Gunnar didn't reply for a minute, and Bas had the distinct feeling that he was glowering at the phone. “. . . You just asked him.”

 

Bas sighed, handing the milk to Sydnie. “Yes, I just asked him.”

 

Gunnar heaved a sigh. “Did you tell him anything else?”

 

“No, I didn't,” Bas shot back. “That's all he wanted to know, and then he hung up.”

 

“Damn it,” Gunnar grumbled. “If he's her mate . . .”

 

Bas nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed with his cousin's unspoken statement.

 

“And she's not breaking down, either,” Gunnar mused.

 

Bas grimaced. He'd thought that, as well.

 

“Maybe Uncle's right.”

 

Bas sighed. Kichiro had mentioned the possibility that Samantha might have been too confused to accurately make a judgment when it came to this guy—her savior. They'd been discussing the idea that Samantha did seem well enough. She'd even gained a few pounds back though she still had a way to go, and while she might not be gaining her weight back as quickly as she might, no one seemed to be overly concerned about it. Then again, Kichiro had also said that maybe they hadn't actually resolved anything, ergo, there was no real rejection. As for Samantha? Well, she maintained that he said he'd come for her—was absolutely positive of it, actually—so Bas had to wonder if that weren't the ultimate reason that she was still all right . . . “I don't know,” Bas said slowly. “They might need to work this out, themselves.”

 

“Ri-i-ight,” Gunnar remarked sarcastically. “Easy for them to do that when the damned bastard won't show his face around here.”

 

“Leave it alone, Gunsie. You don't even believe in mates, remember?”

 

Gunnar snorted. “Just because I don't want a mate for myself doesn't mean that I know nothing about it.”

 

Bas sighed and shook his head. “I'll go over later and tell Dad that he called.”

 

“You do that,” Gunnar retorted.

 

Hanging up the phone, Bas tossed it onto the bureau as he raked his hands through his hair.

 

“I heard that,” Sydnie remarked.

 

“Did you?”

 

She nodded. “Samantha says that he is her mate, absolutely,” she pointed out.

 

“I know,” Bas said.

 

Rolling onto her side, Sydnie curled up and patted the bed beside her. “She said he had some things to take care of.”

 

“But she's been home over a month and a half.”

 

She shrugged, as though it were of no real consequence. “Maybe it's just taking him awhile to do whatever he needs to do.”

 

He nodded but didn't look entirely convinced.

 

“Anyway, puppy, why don't you come over here and lay down with me so I can take a nap?”

 

He chuckled despite his abysmal thoughts. “We just woke up an hour ago,” he pointed out, glancing at the clock. Nine thirty in the morning, and Sydnie wanted a nap?

 

“Having a baby is hard work, puppy,” she informed him with a wide yawn. “Just call it a catnap; how's that?”

 

Bas chuckled and shuffled toward the bed. He'd head over to see Cain after Sydnie went to sleep . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“What . . . do you want . . . from . . . me . . .?”

 

“Tell me where she is, Doc . . . Tell me where you hid the demon!”

 

He struggled to open his eyes but couldn't. The right one was darkened, ringed with purple and midnight blue, and he groaned quietly as blood trickled from his fattened lip. “I . . . I don't know . . .” he rasped out.

 

Shaking his head slowly, as though he were deeply distressed over something, he clucked his tongue. “Now this just makes me sad, Doc . . . I mean, I really hate to have to do this to you . . .”

 

The taijya grunted as the white-coats jabbed pain probes into his body, but he shrieked when the savage jolts of electricity was shot through him.

 

“Does it hurt, Doc?” Peterson sneered as he leaned in, his face hovering inches from the taijya's. “Give her back . . . unless you like suffering. Give her back.”

 

Kurt shook his head slowly. “I . . . I don't,” he gasped as sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening his hair, his absolute pain excruciating. “You . . . won't have . . . her . . .”

 

Peterson's face contorted in an ugly mask of absolute rage—the façade of a madman . . . Jerking the chain of the monster within . . . a darkness that grew and spread like a malignance . . . Tossing his head back, his eyes rolling up into his skull, cranking on the control that regulated the electrical current as a guttural roar flowed from him in a fount of filth . . .

 

The taijya's scream echoed through her head, and with a sharp gasp, she sat upright, her heart hammering against her ribcage in a painful cadence. Clutching at her chest, stifling a rising sob as she bit down on her lip, she whimpered quietly.

 

“They're hurting him,” she whispered, a complete panic rising fast. Because of her . . .

 

Stumbling out of the bed, she stubbornly refused to cry as she yanked on whatever clothes were nearest. A bulky pink sweater, a pair of faded jeans . . . pausing only long enough to rifle through the drawers for the daggers she'd been using to practice with . . .

 

The faint scars on her arms seemed to throb in time to her heartbeat, and she tossed her cell phone and purse into the knapsack that Kurt had given her. Out the door, down the hallway, she sprinted for the stairs. The consuming sense of urgency was ugly, harsh. She had to get to him; had to save him . . . `Taijya . . .'

 

She'd almost reached the door when her father grabbed her arms. “Sami, what are you doing? Where are you going?” he demanded.

 

“They're hurting him!” she blurted, struggling to fight back the cloying tears.

 

“Who? Who's hurting someone?”

 

“Kurt!” she yelled, tugging against her father's hold. “Papa, they're hurting him! I have to go back to Chicago! I have to save him!”

 

“How do you know this?” Kichiro asked. “Sami, how do you know?”

 

Choking out a bitter sob, she shook her head and pulled away. “I saw it! Let me go!” she yelled, writhing, jerking, fighting against Kichiro's grasp. “You don't understand! They're going to hurt him! They're going to kill him because of me! They had him strapped to a table, and—”

 

Bas strode out of the office, having obviously overheard the ruckus, shaking his head as he gently touched her arm. “No, Sami, he's . . . he's fine . . . and he's not in Chicago.”

 

“I have to go! Let me go, Papa!” she screeched, clawing frenetically at her father's hands, raking his flesh under her sharp claws. The smell of his blood loosened an even wilder need to be freed, and she whimpered, struggling against Kichiro's hold in earnest.

 

“Sam, he called,” Bas repeated, louder this time. “He called, and he asked if you made it home all right . . . Okay?”

 

She blinked, her frantic gaze finally focusing on Bas' face, scanning his features for any trace of a lie.

 

Bas licked his lips and leveled a solemn look at her. “He called, Sami,” he repeated calmly, evenly. “He called about an hour ago.”

 

She couldn't have heard him right; couldn't have . . . it sounded like he'd said . . . but . . . “He . . . he called . . .?”

 

Bas nodded and let out a deep breath as Kichiro gently took her bag. “He just wanted to know that you made it home safely.”

 

“I . . . I have to talk to him . . .”

 

Letting out a deep breath, Bas shot Kichiro a look that Samantha didn't miss. “He called from a pay phone, dollbaby, and he didn't leave a number,” her father said quietly.

 

“W . . . where . . .?” she asked. “Where?”

 

“The area code was California,” Bas said.

 

“California,” she repeated thoughtfully, almost absently. “Okay, then I have to go to California . . .”

 

“Hold on,” Kichiro said, loosening his hold but not letting go. “I don't think he'd want you to,” he went on in a soothing, calm tone. “He called here, right? Wanted to make sure you got home safely . . . I think he wants you to stay here . . . to . . . to wait for him.”

 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the hint of doubt in Kichiro's tone, and she shook her head. “He promised,” she gritted out stubbornly. “He promised he'd come for me.”

 

Kichiro sighed. “Then you need to wait for him,” he went on. “You can do that, right? You can wait for him.”

 

“I . . . y-yes,” she allowed at last, her shoulders drooping as she plopped down hard on the steps behind her. Shoving aside the disappointment that she hadn't gotten to speak to him, she drew a deep breath, finally heard the voice of her youkai blood and the words that it had been telling her all along.

 

`He's fine, Samantha—just fine . . . That was a dream, you know? A nightmare . . .'

 

“It was so real,” she murmured, shaking her head as she dashed away the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes with her hand. “So real . . .”

 

Kichiro managed a wan smile as he sank down beside her. Reaching over to smooth her hair back off her face, he let out a deep breath. “You . . . you said he promised he'd come for you, right?”

 

She nodded vaguely. “Yes . . .”

 

“Then you'd better just wait for him, don't you think?”

 

She managed a little smile as her emotions slowly quieted. “You'll like him, Papa,” she told him. “You'll really like him.”

 

He chuckled and kissed her forehead then stood up and reached down to help her to her feet, too. “Of course I will, Sami. He sent you back to us, right?”

 

She gasped suddenly, eyes flaring wide at the sight, the scent of blood that trickled down Kichiro's hands where she'd dug her claws into him. “Oh, Papa,” she whined, ears flattening as more tears came.

 

“What? Those? Those are just scratches,” he assured her. “It's all right, Sami. You'll need to try harder if you want to hurt me.”

 

“I'm sorry, Papa,” she whimpered, covering her face with her hands.

 

“Don't apologize, dollbaby,” he insisted, pulling her close, kissing the top of her head. “See? They've already stopped bleeding, anyway.”

 

She shook her head, unwilling to allow him to let her off the hook quite so easily. “But—”

 

He smiled and shook his head, too. “Tell me about this Kurt of yours,” he encouraged.

 

She blinked. It was the first time that he'd sounded even remotely interested in listening to her, at least about Kurt. “He brought me the sky,” she whispered.

 

“The sky, eh?”

 

“Yes . . . and lobster. He said that they were like giant red cockroaches.”

 

Kichiro snorted. “Sounds tasty.”

 

She laughed and nodded, her mood brightening like the clouds clearing after a summer storm.

 

“Why don't you go get some breakfast? Gin's kept some cinnamon rolls warm for you, I think . . .”

 

She leaned up to kiss his cheek then pushed herself to her feet and hurried off toward the kitchen.

 

She didn't see the worried frown slip over his features as he watched her go.

 

 

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

A/N:

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Reviewers

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MMorg

malitiadixie ------ AtamaHitoride ------ DonthatemecuzImbeautiful ------- iloveanimecartoons ------ Firedemon86 ------ Jester08 ------ monkeyseemonkeynodo ------ Dark Inu Fan ------ OROsan0677 ------ darkangel05 ------ oblivion-bringr (It's not her phone, it was stated to be a work phone in the beginning of the story, so no, she likely doesn't know the number to call it.)

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Forum

Mangaluva ------ malitiadixie ------ sueroxmysox ------ OROsan0677 ------ Firedemon86 ------ Zero ------ cutechick18 ------ angie27

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Final Thought from Kichiro:

He called …?

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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~