InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Fruition ❯ Fear ( Chapter 49 )

"Come on."

Ben raised an eyebrow as he stared down at Charity's hand as the woman pulled him along behind her down the hallway toward the bedroom that he'd been assigned that was directly across the hall from the one that Charity had been given—a not-so-subtle reminder that they weren't yet mates officially, he supposed.  The twins were currently being passed around like toys between all the women in the living room downstairs, and he figured that was all right.  Charity had waylaid him in the hallway as he was heading down to have breakfast, and she'd decided that he looked like he was about ready to start ripping people's heads off.  Not too far wrong, he had to admit . . .

"I need to get down there and see if there's any word yet," he argued.

"In a bit," she countered, shaking her head stubbornly and letting go, only to point on the bed.  "Okay, Ben, lose the shirt and lay down on your tummy," she commanded.

"I just got up," he told her.

She rolled her eyes and waved toward the bed again.  "You get ready, and I'll be right back."

Before he could argue, she hurried out of the room, and he frowned.

'Better do what the boss-lady commands,' his youkai-voice piped up.

He shrugged, working the buttons on his shirt and taking it off, dropping it over the arm of the easy chair near the window before shaking his head and crawling onto the bed, laying on his belly, exactly as she'd instructed—just in time, too, as Charity hurried back into the room with a suspicious-looking bottle in her hands.  "What's that?" he asked, eyeing the bottle while she rolled it between her palms.

She laughed softly, gently.  "It's massage oil, Benjamin," she told him.  "Or more specifically, it's a special and exact blend of various oils infused with specific essential oils and steeped herbs created by Kagome-oba-chan in the perfect ratio to provide ultimate relaxation as well as mind and body rejuvenation."

"That's a mouthful," he replied.  "Was that written on the bottle?"

She giggled.  "Nope.  But that is what it is."

He arched an eyebrow.  "Are you going to give me a back rub?"

She popped the cap open and squeezed a good amount into her hand before closing it up and setting the bottle on the nightstand.

He felt the bed give just a little as Charity climbed onto it, rubbing her hands together for a minute before latching onto his shoulders and slowly massaging—not too heartily, but not too lightly—just the right amount of pressure, and he groaned despite himself.

"You've been so stressed out lately," she said quietly, " I know why, and I understand . . . I just hate that there's nothing I can do for you . . ."

"This is nice," he murmured, eyes drifting closed.  "I don't want you to worry . . ."

"Hmm," she intoned, slowing her hands just enough to rub the stress out of his shoulders, "but you know, don't you?  Mates share those worries, those fears . . . As for Manami-san?  I'm sure that she'll be just fine."

He frowned.  Something about her entirely too-upbeat tone convinced him that she was just as worried as he was, just as stressed out about everything, too.  He grimaced at that realization.  Because he'd been so wrapped up in his own feelings on the matter, he hadn't stopped to think that she might well be feeling the same way that he was . . .

"Cherry . . ."

She laughed quietly, her hands moving down to knead the muscles around his shoulder blades.  "Do you think that she'll choose to live in Maine, too, when all this is over?  I mean, it would make sense, given that she is going to work for the North American office . . . I know that some of the other hunters don't live there, but it'd be closer, and I think it'd be nice . . . I think I'd really like to get to know her better . . . "

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he thought he might have uttered some kind of agreement.  He had to wonder if she'd ever taken some kind of class or something because she was entirely too good at it . . . Gathering the last of his willpower, he forced himself to roll over before he gave in to the lure of slumber.  Charity blinked and pulled her hands back.

"You don't like having your back rubbed?" she asked quizzically.

He grinned and grabbed her hand, bringing the back of it to his lips.  "A little too much," he admitted.  "You almost put me right back to sleep."

Reaching out, she gently smoothed his hair back off of his face, a small and gentle smile quirking the corners of her lips, her eyes glowing in such a sweet way that he'd never seen on anyone else before, just her.  "I wish . . . I wish I could tell you that everything was going to be okay," she murmured.  "I wish that I could just snap my fingers and make all of this stuff go away.  I . . . I just cannot understand people who harbor that kind of hatred, that kind of venom, in their hearts . . ."

Ben sighed, reaching out to grab her wrist to tug her down on top of him.  "Of course, you don't, and I don't want you to—and I should be the one to tell you that it's all going to be okay."

"It's . . . It's scary, isn't it?"

He reached up, smoothed the lines away when she furrowed her brow to frown at him.  "It can be," he allowed.  "I tell you what . . ."

"Hmm?"

"As long as you smile at me, then I know that everything will be all right, even if it isn't perfect."

She bit her bottom lip, her gaze slipping away to the side as a slight flush infiltrated her cheeks.  "I . . . I don't know exactly how to feel," she admitted.  "I mean, I want everyone I love to all be okay after everything, but I'm afraid—I can't help that . . . But then, I start thinking that all of those people on the other side . . . They have people they love and who loves them, too, and . . . and someone's going to lose—some have already lost, and . . . I can't help but to feel bad for them, too, or at least, for their loved ones."  She winced, her youki surging with an understated sadness, a sense of shame, that cut Ben deep.  "And then, I think about the girls, and I know that, on some level, I don't care about those others, that's it's more of a . . . a perfunctory feeling . . . like something I'm supposed to say because it's the polite thing to do, but . . ."

He stroked her hair, tried to get her to look at him.  She stubbornly refused.  "But what they're doing, it's their choice, Charity.  Their loved ones should be angry at them for what they're trying to do, and you shouldn't ever feel bad or guilty because you love your family.  It's because you're a decent person—maybe more decent than you ought to be."  

She sighed softly, but finally let him draw her back down to cuddle against his chest.  The upset in her aura had yet to dissipate entirely, though it had calmed down quite a bit.

A soft knock on the door frame drew their attention.  Charity hurriedly sat up, slipping off the bed as Toga strode into the room.  Her frown deepened as she got a good look at Toga's expression, and she slowly shook her head.  He looked entirely too serious, too . . . angry . . .? "Papa?  What's wrong?"

Ben stood up, too, reaching for his discarded shirt and shrugging it back on.  "Toga?"

Toga didn't even try to smile at his daughter before he shifted his amber gaze to meet Ben's.  "You need to come with now me, Ben.  I'll fill you in on the way."

Ben strode down the corridor as fast as he could without actually breaking into a sprint toward Kichiro Izayoi, who stood near the nurses' station, talking in low tones to one of them.  "Kichiro," he called as he closed in on the younger youkai doctor.  "What the hell's going on?"

Kichiro nodded at Ben and quickly murmured something to the nurse, who hurried off while the doctor turned to face Ben fully, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he waited.  "Where's Toga?" he asked in lieu of a proper greeting.

"He's on his way," Ben replied, trying to tamp down the irritation that was rapidly rising at Kichiro's perceived attempt to stall him.  "Just tell me what you know.  You can brief Toga when he gets here."

Kichiro opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut as he nodded off in the distance behind Ben.  "There he is."

Ben waved a hand in blatant dismissal and tried to rush Kichiro along.  "Toga said Manami was found on the outskirts of the city?  By who?"

"It doesn't really matter, who found her, but luckily, he was youkai, so he got her here as fast as he could.  I don't know the guy's name, and he took off just as fast.  He was on his way to work," Kichiro explained.

Ben snorted.  "All right . . . So, I'm to assume that she was hurt?"

Kichiro didn't sigh, exactly, but he did let out a very deep breath, face shifting into a momentary grimace as he brought up a hand, crooked his fingers to hurry Toga along.

"We got here as fast as we could," Toga said as he stopped beside the two.  "How is she?"

Kichiro glanced from Ben to Toga then back again before leading them away into an empty waiting area, and he didn't speak until he'd closed the sliding glass door.  Then he sighed.  "She's been unconscious since she was brought in," he finally said, assuming the clinical tone of voice of the consummate doctor.  "We cannot really do anything but make guesses at this point, but she's in very serious condition right now.  We've gotten her stabilized, such as it is, and we did manage to set her arm—it’s broken in a couple places, but it should heal fine.  She also had a few lacerations on the same arm—We're assuming that she must have fallen from quite a distance, possibly where she was found, because she had her wings out, too . . . and that's a large part of the problem."

"What do you mean?" Ben demanded, draping his hands on his hips and wishing that Kichiro would speak a little faster.

"She was flying," Kichiro explained.  "One of her wings is broken—and that's not the real issue, but it's a pretty big concern—and I'm not entirely sure that we can repair all the damage . . ." He grimaced, rubbing the bridge of his nose, almost as though he wasn't sure how to say what he needed to say.  "She was beaten," he finally blurted, apparently deciding not to try to pretty up the picture.  "Flogged is probably a more appropriate term.  To be brutally honest, it looks like someone tried to skin her alive, and because of that, her wings, which I assume were inside her back at the time, took a great deal of damage before she even tried to use them.  Whether she'll ever be able to fly again . . ." He scowled at them, sizing up their expressions, their reactions.  "We honestly don't know."

Toga drew in a sharp breath, but waited for Kichiro to continue.

"Her wings . . ." Ben repeated, clenching his jaw down hard.  The fleeting image of her, unfurling those gorgeous wings as she giggled and rose in the air, was painful.

Kichiro made a face.  "Even that's not the biggest problem.  The real issue is that she's been poisoned.  It seems to be a slow-acting poison, but I'm still waiting on the labs to see if we can't figure out an antidote.  If we cannot, then we need to find out, who poisoned her and get them to give us the right one.  If we're not able to formulate one—if we cannot get an antidote from whoever did this, she . . . She won't last long."

"How long do we have?" Toga demanded.

"One thing at a time, Toga," Kichiro said.  "I put a rush on the labs so I should have at least a starting-point in the next few minutes.  Worst case scenario, though?  I'd guess that, with the advanced state of the poison, she only has a day or two, at best."

"I want to see her," Ben bit out.  "Now."

He didn't miss the look that passed between Toga and Kichiro.  "Ben, I promise you, we're doing everything we can, and right now, she needs quiet.  Her body is trying to heal, but it seems like the poison is affecting her ability to do that . . . And it's bad.  I don't think—"

"With all due respect, Kichiro, I don't give a great goddamn what you think.  Just take me to her."

Rubbing his face, Kichiro stared at him for a long moment, but he finally nodded.  "All right, but you need to stay calm for her sake."

Ben nodded once, a terse jerk of his head, as Kichiro slid the door open and led the way down the corridor.

He couldn't see her right away since there were a couple nurses bent over the bed.  The mechanical beep of the monitors she'd been hooked up to clanged in his head like a death knell, and he viciously brushed that thought aside.  Striding over, he stepped around the nurses, his breath catching somewhere between his lips and lungs as he got his first look at her—at the rent and torn flesh of her back that seeped blood, despite the nurses' efforts to staunch the flow.  Her wings lay open, dragging listlessly over the sides of the bed.  They'd wrapped them closed with gauze, though, to keep them from sweeping over the floor and to keep them out of the way as the medical staff stepped around the table that looked much like the ones that were made for burn patients since she was face-down, her head cradled in a rounded cushion that surrounded the hole below.

Bile rose in the back of his throat as he stared at her—the beautiful swan that he knew just a little too well.  The skin around the wounds was turning an ugly grayish color, as though it was dying instead of healing.

A harsh whimper issued from her, and Ben knelt down, looking up under the bed at her face through the hole in the table.  Her eyes flashed open, and Ben nearly choked on his relief.  "Nami," he said, trying for a soothing tone and failing miserably.

“Benjiro?”  Her voice wavered, but she didn’t cry.

Ben swallowed hard, bit back the rage that threatened to engulf him.  "Nami, who did this?"

He didn't think she was going to answer.  She slowly shifted her gaze to meet his as her tears pooled in her eyes, fell on the floor.  "Yu . . . kina . . . sa . . . ma . . ." she whispered as her eyes slipped closed once more.  "Kyou . . . hei . . . let me . . . go . . ."

Ben stood up in time to see Kichiro shoot something into the IV.  He caught Ben's glower and shook his head.  "It's just to help her sleep," he said, yanking the syringe free and tossing it into the biohazard bin nearby.  "It's better for her . . . and at least she won't feel the pain."

'Yukina-sama . . .' Ben pieced together her words.  'Hahaue . . . no . . .'

"Nami-chan, I trust you're keeping Benjiro out of trouble . . .?"

"Such a lovely girl, that Manami-chan . . ."

"She would make an excellent mate, Benjiro . . ."

The bile that lingered in the back of his throat rose thicker, higher, and without a word, Ben turned, striding out of the room and down the corridor to the bathroom.  He'd barely gotten himself over the toilet before expelling the contents of his stomach.

He flushed the toilet, wincing at the stench of his own vomit, and stepped over to the sink to splash his face with cold water, to rinse his mouth a few times.  Bracing his hands on the counter, he slowly lifted his head, glowered at his reflection in the mirror.

Yukina had always liked Manami, had always spoken highly of her, often being far more welcoming to her than she ever was to him.  That she could do such a thing now . . .?

It sickened him—sickened him and provoked an ire so deep, so consuming—that he couldn’t even stand to look at himself, not when all he could see when he looked at himself
in the mirror was the mocking image of his father . . .

It took a few minutes for him to calm down enough to leave the bathroom, and when he did, he found Toga and Kichiro standing in the hallway, waiting for him.

The expression on Kichiro's face was even more foreboding than it was before as he scanned through the toxicology report that had just been handed to him.

"Well?" Toga asked when the doctor said nothing.

Kichiro shook his head.  "I . . . I don't know what to make of it," he admitted at length and without looking away from the report.

"Ben!"

He turned just in time to see Charity as she ran down the hallway, straight at him.  Skin ashen in color, eyes wild and frightened, she grasped Ben's arm.  "How is she?"

“It’s . . . It’s bad,” he gnashed out before he turned his attention back to the doctor once more, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and he quickly shook his head.  "Can you make an antidote?" he demanded.

Kichiro heaved a sigh.  "It's a bio-toxin, looks to be plant-based," he replied.  "I have markers, but nothing that definitively states, exactly what kind of poison it is or what kinds of plant extracts were used.  All I can tell is that it targets the healing properties—slows them to less than a human's ability to heal themselves—and it affects the blood, systematically breaking it down—essentially turning the blood itself toxic, too."

“If you know that much, why can’t you—"

"Plant-based poison?" Charity broke in, reaching for the toxicology report in Kichiro’s hands.  "Can I see that?"

Kichiro gave it over and turned his attention to Ben once more.  "You asked her who did this.  Did she tell you anything?"

Ben swallowed hard, nodded once, as the anger that he thought he had under control shot to the fore once again.  "My . . . My mother did this," he forced himself to say.  "And . . . she will never give us an antidote."

"Kyouhei-sama . . ."

Glancing up from his task of donning the outer haori as Hana slipped into his room, he frowned.  "You didn't come to me this morning," he pointed out.

She shook her head, her eyes darkened by the slight frown on her pretty features as she stepped forward to straighten his clothes.  "The place is in chaos," she replied.  "The prisoner escaped last night, and both Hidekea-sama as well as Yukina-sama are furious."

"That's nothing new," Kyouhei remarked tightly, carefully measuring his words.

Hana glanced at him, but looked away just as quickly.  "They believe that someone must have helped her," she went on.  "They say she couldn’t have escaped on her own; that she was too injured . . . Hidekea-sama wants to see you as soon as you're dressed."

"I'm sure he does."

"Kyouhei-sama . . ."

Frown deepening when Hana stepped back, when she clasped her hands before her, turning her hands up and down in a nervous fidget, he had a feeling that she was trying to say something.  He simply wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to hear it.  "Hana?"

She winced.  "I . . . I saw you," she blurted quietly.

"You see me all the time," he tried to joke.

She looked even more distressed.  "You helped her escape . . . Why?"

"Forget what you saw, Hana," he said, grasping her upper arm, forcing her to look at him. "Otou-san, okaa-san . . . They're wrong, and you know it."

She shook her head, her confusion evident in her face.  "But why?  You cannot go against them!  They're your parents, and—"

"And that doesn't mean that what they're doing is all right," he insisted.  "It's not.  Tetsuo will never be Inu no Taisho.  No one will ever accept him.  I will not accept him."

Her eyes flared wide, her fear spiking thick around her.  "You . . . Are you working for Sesshoumaru-sama?"

"Hush, Hana," Kyouhei growled low under his breath.  He glared at her, willing her to understand.  "Let it go . . . Let it go, and just forget about what you saw."

She stared at him for several long heartbeats, but she finally nodded, though her fear didn't wane.

Satisfied that she would keep what she knew to herself, he let go of her and stepped around her, heading for the door.  He drew a deep breath as he slid it open, only to step back when he came face to face with Hidekea.

His father's expression was stony, impassive, giving away nothing at all.  He wasn't sure what, if anything, he'd overheard, but as the seconds ticked away, as his instincts kicked in, Kyouhei had a feeling that he just might have heard a little too much . . .

"Otou-san," Kyouhei said, "Hana said you wished to talk to me."

Hidekea nodded once, turning on his heel to indicate that Kyouhei should follow.

Hana watched the two go, biting her lip as she rubbed the sudden rise of goosebumps on her arms.  She could feel it in the air, as palpable as a real entity, and with every moment that passed, that sense only grew, larger and darker and far more foreboding.  'He . . . He's in trouble,' she thought, swallowing hard as blatant fear shot through her.  Something about the look on Hidekea-sama's face, the careful stagnation in his youki . . . Kyouhei-sama was in trouble, and it was her fault for daring to question him . . .

She didn't think as she grasped the long, narrow skirt of her plain but serviceable kimono, as she dashed lightly out of the room, down the hallway, praying that no one saw her, that no one would question her haste.  She had to get out of the house, had to get away because her instincts screamed at her that time was of the essence, that if she didn't hurry . . .

All she knew was that she was responsible—it was all her fault for daring to question Kyouhei-sama, for being foolish enough to give voice to those things she had seen—and, if she didn't hurry, she might well be too late . . .