InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Quieting ( Chapter 63 )

~~Chapter 63~~

~Quieting~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Samantha paced the floor inside the room she'd been sent to as the unsettling sense of unrest grew larger and larger in her head. It wasn't fair, was it? She'd been waiting for so long already, hadn't she? Waiting patiently—as patiently as she could—for him to come for her, and now that he had . . .

 

But she'd been out on a walk by herself—at least, that's what she'd wanted, even though she'd known that she was being watched—trying to ignore the eyes of those who loved her too much to let her out of their sight, even for a moment. It was something that she had gotten used to, even if it was starting to irritate her. Did they honestly think that someone could sneak onto her grandfather's estate and spirit her away without their knowledge? Of course they did, and while she could appreciate their worry, their concern, it was starting to grate on her nerves, too—enough so that she had taken to locking her doors at night; not because she was worried about someone sneaking in from the outside, no, but to keep them all from coming in fifty times before she finally managed to tell them all that she was fine; just fine.

 

And it wasn't just Samantha who was made to suffer from it, either. As though by some strange and unwritten rule, it seemed that all the women were ultimately suffering, too. Gone were the days when a simple trip to the grocery store could be accomplished by one or two of the women. No, a bevy of male escorts had to be summoned, as well—completely unsettling if, like Nezumi or Kagome, the women were human and therefore needed things that men didn't really need to know about. Oh, no, just last night Nezumi ended up in a shouting match with Ryomaru over that very thing . . . Nezumi had won . . . sort of. He'd gone to the store with her but allowed her to go inside alone, as long as she stayed on her cell phone the entire time, from the moment she walked into the store until the second she walked back out. Come to think of it, though, Uncle Ryomaru was up quite early this morning, looking extremely tired and in what seemed to be a rather bad mood, so Samantha had figured without anyone verifying it that he'd ended up sleeping somewhere else last night . . .

 

And worse was the knowledge that they knew about . . . everything, didn't they? Those horrible things that she hadn't ever wanted them to find out, and they somehow knew . . . Knew every degradation, every humiliation she'd suffered . . . Knew it all . . . “How did everyone find out?” she asked, breaking the silence that had fallen in the room.

 

Bellaniece sighed, and for a moment, Samantha wondered if she was going to tell her anything at all. “There were . . . surveillance videos,” she confessed at length. “That bag you brought home . . . they were in that.”

 

“Surveillance videos,” Samantha repeated almost tonelessly. “So . . . so everyone knows . . .”

 

“Not everyone,” Bellaniece murmured. Samantha could sense the reticence in her replies.

 

She sighed. What was there that she could possibly say to that, anyway? That they knew—that they all knew . . . Why did it feel like the entire thing were happening all over again . . .? And this time, Kurt . . .

 

“Baby, come here and sit down,” Bellaniece encouraged gently.

 

Shaking her head stubbornly, she scowled at the door since she knew damn well one of her male relatives was guarding on the outside, just as she could vaguely make out the form of someone's body propped against the glass doors that led to her balcony through the thin, filmy curtains that hung over them. “Why are they doing this, Mama?” she demanded angrily. “He's my mate!”

 

Stifling a sigh at the nervous expression on her mother's face, she kept pacing. Somehow, she had a feeling that Bellaniece was going to side with the rest of them in this, and that was more than enough to irritate her all over again . . . “Sami, I know that you think he's your mate, but you have to be sure, you know . . . taking a mate is very serious . . .”

 

“I am sure,” she replied, unable to mask the deep-rooted hurt in her tone as she tried not to look at her mother. “I'm not stupid.”

 

Bellaniece sighed and rubbed her forehead as she set the magazine she'd been leafing through aside. “I don't think you're stupid, Samantha,” she pointed out gently. “I'm sure that you absolutely believe that he's your mate, but, sweetie . . .”

 

“You think it's like Papa said,” she whispered, shaking her head as she tried to refute the bitterness that surged deep inside. Her father had mentioned to her that she might only be thinking that Kurt was her mate because he had rescued her—because he had somehow become her hero. It had made her angrier than she could credit, too, and now that her mother was agreeing . . . “You all think that I look at him and believe that he can walk on water because he rescued me, right? Because of that? You think that I don't see his faults? Because I think he's perfect, right? Because he's my hero or savior or whatever?”

 

“I didn't say that,” she said in a placating tone, a soothing tone. “I'm only saying that you must be sure. You understand that, right?”

 

Samantha stopped and turned to stare at her mother, slowly shaking her head. “It's not like that, you know. It's not like that, at all.”

 

A vague sense of anger flickered over Bellaniece's features; an anger that she masked, but not before Samantha saw it. “He put you there, didn't he? That's what your father said . . . He put you there in that god-awful place . . .”

 

“And he got me out, too,” Samantha countered quietly.

 

“Do you think that matters?” Bellaniece demanded. “What those men did to you—”

 

“Doesn't matter!” Samantha cut in as her indignant outrage spiked. “What was done, was done to me! To me! Not to you or to Papa or to anyone else! And Kurt . . . Kurt helped me! When he was there, I wasn't alone!”

 

For some reason, Bellaniece looked even more upset by Samantha's words. Shaking her head, her hand fluttering over her chest, she blinked quickly moments before the scent of tears filled Samantha's nostrils. “That . . . that's not love, baby,” she said quietly, unable to meet her gaze. “That's . . . that's desperation . . .”

 

Staring hard at her mother, Samantha fought to keep her anger from consuming her. Face stinging as furious color flooded her cheeks, she turned her back on Bellaniece and blinked back tears of her own. They didn't understand—didn't want to understand . . . and Samantha wasn't at all sure that she could explain it, either . . .

 

Bellaniece sighed, grasping Samantha's shoulders. Samantha stiffened and stepped away. “Sami,” she said in a fragile tone, as though she were afraid that Samantha would crumble if she spoke any louder. “Sweetie, I'm not saying he isn't your mate—I'm not . . . I'm only saying that you need to be sure; that's all. Do you . . . do you understand?”

 

“Understand,” Samantha repeated quietly. “Of course.”

 

Bellaniece sighed at the understated bitterness in Samantha's tone. “Surely you can understand the worry . . . Because of him . . . Because of what he did . . .”

 

“Don't you think that I know what he did, Mama?” Samantha pointed out quietly. “I also know that he's not perfect, just like me, just like you, just like Papa . . . I know that, but maybe the difference is that I took the time to find out why he did it before I decided to condemn him.”

 

“That's not it, at all,” Bellaniece insisted. “I think you should just take the time to consider what you're saying. This man—”

 

“Kurt.”

 

Bellaniece sighed. “Kurt,” she amended. “How much do you really know about him?”

 

“How much did you know about Papa when you figured out that he was your mate?” Samantha challenged angrily. It seemed to her that they didn't want to understand, that they didn't have any interest in even trying . . .

 

“I knew he was a good man,” Bellaniece remarked quietly.

 

“And you don't think Kurt is.” It was a statement, not a question.

 

Bellaniece slowly shook her head. “That's not at all what I meant, sweetie. Look at it from your father and my point of view, can't you? He took you there, right?”

 

Samantha pivoted on her heel to stare at her mother. “That place . . . Mama, let me ask you: did you ever do anything that you weren't entirely proud of? Something that may have hurt someone else?”

 

Standing slowly, Bellaniece smoothed her skirt and wandered over to the window. “Nothing like this,” she replied.

 

“This . . . that . . . something else . . . does it matter? Hurting someone is still hurting someone, isn't it?”

 

“No . . . no, I don't think it is,” Bellaniece countered quietly. “This is entirely different.”

 

“And I say it's not,” Samantha retorted. It was unfair, wasn't it? Entirely unfair . . . her parents weren't even the slightest bit interested in knowing exactly what had happened. The same parents who had always told her to trust her instincts . . . The same ones who had always told her that they trusted her to make the right decisions for herself . . . And now . . . “I used to think that you and Papa were the greatest . . . the most open-minded people, ever, and I was so glad that you were my parents. Do you really not trust my judgment?”

 

“It's not that simple, Sami,” Bellaniece said.

 

Turning to face her mother, who was still staring out the window, Samantha slowly shook her head. “But you won't give him a chance to change your mind, either, will you?”

 

Bellaniece sighed, rubbing her arms as though she were cold. “I'm sorry, baby,” she murmured. “I . . . I don't think I can . . .”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“What is your name?”

 

“Kurt. Kurt Drevin.”

 

“Drevin . . . All right. How did you find us?”

 

Letting out a deep breath as he tried not to grimace since he was quite positive that Samantha's father really had broken a few ribs, Kurt shook his head. “She mentioned Maine once,” he reiterated calmly.

 

The one that was in charge shook his head. “Why did you do it? Why in the hell would you take her to that place?” he demanded.

 

“I didn't know her; anything about her. I thought . . .” Gritting his teeth, Kurt had to force himself to finish the statement; not because he feared the demons who were gathered close around him, but because . . . because she wasn't . . . and she never had been . . . “I thought she was a monster,” he admitted quietly.

 

A savage growl erupted near the door. Kurt didn't need to look to see who it was. In the past hour since he'd been in this room submitting to their brand of interrogation, Samantha's father—Kichiro, he'd overheard—had to be restrained a number of times. “A monster? A monster? I'll show you a monster, damn you . . .!”

 

A rush of bodies moved to block her irate father. Kurt didn't blink, didn't move. To be honest, he doubted that he could dodge anything at the moment, anyway. “I didn't know,” he muttered, unable to look any of them in the eye.

 

“Oh, well, then that makes it all just fine, doesn't it?” Kichiro snarled, lunging against the hold that the others had on him.

 

Kurt shook his head. “No, it doesn't.”

 

“Knock it off, Kich,” the other twin growled. “Balls, and they say I'm the hothead . . .”

 

“Let go, Ryo,” Kichiro demanded.

 

His brother shook his head and yanked him back again. “No, damn it!”

 

Kichiro uttered another terse growl but didn't lunge again.

 

“Did they send you to find her?” Bas asked, leaning against the wall on the far side of the room with a menacing glower in place and his ungodly large arms crossed over his chest.

 

“No one sent me,” Kurt said. “Those guys . . . they can't hurt her again.”

 

“And we're just supposed to trust you on that?” Kichiro sneered as he yanked free of his brother's hold to stomp over to Kurt. The irate father managed to grab the front of Kurt's shirt before the others managed to restrain him.

 

“Get him out of here,” the one in charge demanded.

 

“Go to hell, Zelig!” Kichiro snarled.

 

“Just go calm down,” he shot back.

 

“Settle down, baka!” the one called Ryo gritted out. “You ain't doin' a damn bit of good here, and remember what you promised your pup!”

 

That reminder, whatever it meant, seemed to calm Kichiro a little. Still not satisfied that he was finished making a spectacle of himself, though, Ryomaru shoved his brother out of the room.

 

The one in charge heaved a sigh, rounding the wide desk to rifle through the drawers. He finally came away with an unopened pack of cigarettes, and Kurt didn't miss the way his hands shook as he yanked the seal off and ripped the pack open. “Why did you come here?” he asked after he'd lit a cigarette, as he shook a match to put it out.

 

Kurt didn't respond right away. Feeling as though his head was going to explode—or maybe he simply wished it would since it hurt so damn badly—he rubbed his forehead with a grimace. “I have information for you. I figured . . . I figured you could monitor it better than I can.”

 

One golden eyebrow quirked—those eyes, so like the little demon's—Samantha's . . . “Information?”

 

“Yes. In that.”

 

Shifting his gaze from Kurt to Bas, he nodded once at the case that someone had brought inside when they'd ushered Kurt in earlier.

 

Bas set it on the desk and opened it, frowning at the collection of files, the Slimline computer, everything. “What's this?” he asked as he pulled a file and started to leaf through it.

 

“It's all the information on all the facilities that do that kind of research that I know of,” Kurt replied wearily. “All the names of all employees—security guards . . . secretaries if they have one . . . and the white-coats.”

 

“White-coats?” the older of the two repeated.

 

Blinking rapidly—Kurt was having a hell of a time making his eyes focus—at least, the one eye he could still see out of, anyway—he nodded. “That's what the little—Samantha calls them. She, uh . . . she said they weren't doctors or scientists; not really . . .”

 

“How'd you get this information?” Bas demanded.

 

Kurt shrugged. “I destroyed them,” he admitted quietly. “Tore up everything . . . and implanted trackers in all the white-coats.” The two men exchanged meaningful glances. Kurt didn't see them since he was staring at the floor. “All their trackers are being monitored through ASOPSYS satellites and fiberoptic telekom systems. They won't come near her, ever again.”

 

“So you did it.”

 

Kurt slowly lifted his gaze to meet that of the one called InuYasha. He'd been sitting in the windowsill for the most part, saying nothing though his unsettling gaze had remained focused on Kurt for the majority of the interrogation. He looked like he was trying to figure something out, and while he didn't seem to have come to any real conclusions, the expression on his face was one of marked interest. “That place in Chicago. You the one who ransacked it?”

 

“They deserved what they got,” was Kurt's only reply.

 

He snorted indelicately but said no more.

 

“You mean there were five of these places?” the black haired one demanded as he peered over Bas' shoulder at the files that he was looking over.

 

“That I could find, yes,” Kurt said.

 

“And you wrecked them all,” Bas muttered. “Gunnar . . .”

 

The black haired one nodded, taking the files and digging the cell phone out of his pocket as he strode out of the room.

 

Leaning against the window, the one in charge looked thoughtful, troubled. He didn't look exactly hostile, no, but he certainly didn't look friendly, either, which wasn't at all surprising, all things considered. An abrupt knock on the door drew his attention, though, and the white haired one that had escorted Samantha inside poked his head into the room. “Sorry, Cain,” he apologized. “It's, uh . . . Sam.” Casting Kurt a somewhat blank look, he glanced back at the one in charge and shook his head. “She wants to see him,” he said, jerking his head in Kurt's direction without actually looking at him.

 

“Not now,” Cain said without taking his eyes off Kurt.

 

The one in the doorway heaved a sigh. “Easier said than done,” he muttered as he ducked out of the room again.

 

“Did you come here to see her?” Cain demanded.

 

Kurt slowly shook his head. “N-no . . .”

 

“You don't sound very positive.”

 

Rubbing his forehead, Kurt didn't really have an answer for that, did he? “That's not . . . I didn't come here to . . . I just wanted to give you that information,” he said, knowing in his head that his answer sounded entirely too clinical, too simple: too rehearsed.

 

Cain nodded slowly, a strange light in his gaze, and he almost seemed . . . disappointed . . .? “I see.” Pushing himself away from the window, he shuffled across the floor in a slow sort of gait, a very deliberate ease of motion. “Well, you understand if I tell you that we cannot just let you leave here; not after what you've done, and while I know that you ultimately returned her to us, I cannot ignore the fact that you took her from us, to start with.” Pausing in his step, he turned to face Kurt with a very serious expression on his face as he shook his head. “I'll level with you. I don't think that there's a single person in this place that wouldn't love to get their hands on you and tear you to shreds other than my granddaughter—myself, included.”

 

Kurt nodded, understanding that feeling only too well. He shifted uncomfortably, just enough to dig into the pocket of his jeans for the small plastic static-free bag that he handed over to Bas. “That's a tracker,” he said. “Just put it in a bottle with some saline and inject it wherever you want. I can't take it out once it's in there, so you'll always know where I am. You can kill me if you want to. It's fine, but . . . but there's something that I need to do first. That's all I ask.”

 

Bas eyed the device and handed it to his father, who stared at it for a long moment then stuck it into his shirt pocket.

 

“You'll understand that I need to ask you to remain here for the time being,” Cain said at length.

 

Kurt nodded. “Of course.”

 

Cain heaved a sigh and nodded. “Bas, could you . . . show Mr. Drevin to a room?”

 

Bas stepped forward, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and waved his hand, indicating that Kurt needed to stand up. He did, albeit a little slowly since he couldn't seem to move any part of his body without said body groaning in abject protest. Bas fastened the cuffs behind Kurt's back and grabbed his arm to escort him from the room.

 

Cain waited until they were gone before he sighed again and sank into his chair, pulling the tiny device out of his pocket and eyeing it thoughtfully.

 

“Keh!” InuYasha snorted. “You ain't gonna do that, are you?” he growled in his normal tone.

 

Cain turned the packet over in his fingers before responding. “What do you think?”

 

Getting to his feet, the hanyou stomped around the desk, ears twitching with his agitation. “Sami says the bastard's her mate,” he pointed out.

 

Cain nodded. “I know.”

 

“And there's more than that.”

 

Letting the packet fall from his fingers, Cain sat back and stared at InuYasha. “What'd that be?”

 

For once, InuYasha actually looked like he might be at a bit of a loss. Flexing his claws, he shrugged offhandedly though his expression was a little strained, at best. “Kagome says his aura . . .”

 

“What about it?'

 

InuYasha shook his head. “We used to know him a long time ago.”

 

“What's that mean?”

 

InuYasha shot Cain a look that said quite plainly that he thought Cain was a little slow on the uptake. “That damn pervert, Miroku.”

 

Cain frowned, trying to place why that name seemed vaguely familiar. “Miroku . . .?”

 

“Keh! The damn monk we traveled with while we were collecting the shards of the Shikon no Tama.”

 

Cain pondered that then shook his head. “But that was . . . almost six hundred years ago . . .”

 

“I didn't say he was Miroku,” InuYasha shot back with another loud snort. “You're really dense, you know it?”

 

Ignoring the deliberate slur, Cain shrugged. “So you're saying that this guy is the . . . the reincarnation of your old friend?”

 

“He's got spiritual powers, don't he? Stands to reason.”

 

“So what do you think I should do with him?”

 

InuYasha shrugged indifferently and stomped toward the door, pausing just inside to offer his last bit of advice. “I ain't above beating on him a bit. After everything Sam went through, seems fair enough to me.”

 

Cain rolled his eyes, wondering why it didn't really surprise him that InuYasha's answer would involve violence. “We can't kill him; not if he's Sam's mate.”

 

“I didn't say kill him, Zelig. Damn, you're hella stupid—always wondered why Gin married someone as dumb as you . . . `Sides, if he's anything like the fucking pervert, you can't kill him, even if you tried. Kinda like a parasite that way . . .”

 

He stomped out of the office then, leaving Cain alone to think. Drevin was dangerous, no doubt about it. The fact that he could discern youkai was enough, not to mention that he obviously was a little more multifaceted than that. After all, if he really was able to infiltrate all of those facilities and systematically destroy then, then that spoke volumes, too, didn't it? The problem was that he was presenting more and more of a threat by the minute. It was true enough that they couldn't kill him, no . . . but somehow, InuYasha's tongue in cheek suggestion . . .

 

Well, that idea wasn't really half bad . . .

 

 

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A/N:

I'm going to be out of town for most of the day tomorrow, so here's tomorrow's chapter. Enjoy!

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Final Thought from InuYasha:

Damn pervert …

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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~