InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Endings ( Chapter 53 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Jessa knelt beside the bed, staring at the sleeping child as a sad, sad smile tugged on her lips, twitching just a little as she carefully lifted his head, as she slipped the silver chain over him before laying him back down, straightening the softly-glowing talisman.  "If you . . . If you ever need me, Kells . . . If you really need me . . . Just break this, and I . . ." Biting back a sob, she swallowed hard, drew a deep breath, hoping that her words reached him as he slumbered.  "I'll come find you," she whispered.

He sighed, rolled toward her slightly, cherubic cheeks glowing in the wan, warm light.  He was a rare child—so bright, so brilliant . . . and even if it was just for a little while, she'd loved being with him, too . . .

"Can you be my mommy?"

Jessa blinked and shot the boy a look.  "Wh-Wh-What?" she stammered, unable to help the blood that suddenly shot into her cheeks, making her feel a little feverish.  "Wh-Why would you ask me that?"

He giggled.  "'Cause you're pretty an' I wike you!"  Then he frowned.  "Everybody else has a mommy . . . Nadi and Emmy have a mommy . . . Cherry's their mommy . . ." His frown shifted into a confused sort of sadness.  "I don't know why I don't gots no mommy."

She grimaced, and yet, the memories kept coming . . .

"Yeah . . . I gots to go now.  It's time for s'mores!"

"Okay, Kells.  Have fun, and I miss you."

"I miss you, too, Jessa, and I miss Daddy . . ."

She didn't dare kiss him, but she didn't dare not do it, either.  Child of her heart, even if he wasn't ever really meant to be hers . . . And he'd never, ever know, would he, just how very much she'd come to love him . . .

Kissing her fingertips, she brushed them over his cheek, her fingertips, lingering against the warmth of his skin, but she forced herself to turn away before she started to cry . . .

She didn't have much time, did she?  She'd already ordered a taxi, and it would be here soon, so before it came, there was one last thing she had to do . . .

The overwhelming smell of their lovemaking nearly stopped her before she could even enter Ashur's room.  Too close, too bittersweet, too poignant, and too beautiful, she forced herself to step into the room, forced herself to move toward the bed.  Staring at his sleeping form, she grimaced, smashing her fist against her lips, hard—hard enough to draw blood as her tender flesh collided against her fangs.

She pulled the duvet up over him, wished that she could crawl right back into that bed, back into his arms, wondering just for a moment what he'd say if she begged him, if she . . . if she pleaded with him . . . Even if he couldn't love her, would it really be so bad, would he let her at least love him . . .?

'Except that would be entirely unfair, and you know it . . . That's why . . .'

And she hated the truth of those words, too—hated that she had to make such a choice, that she couldn't remain as she was, that she . . .

Then, she closed her eyes, just for a moment, willing away the painful surge that nearly brought her to her knees.

Reaching back behind her, grasping the low-hanging ponytail she'd tied her hair into after she got dressed, she cut through it with one solid flick of her claws just above the velvet ribbon.  She shook the length out straight, stared at it for a moment before laying it on the pillow beside Ashur, and she sighed.

She'd lied to him, had purposefully led him to believe that her plane was later in the day, which was the only reason why he'd given in and fallen asleep.  She'd lied to him when he'd asked her how long she'd be gone, too, because she hadn't intended to come back at all, not from the start.

She wanted to put a nice face on it, didn't she?  Wanted to say that she was stepping away for all the right reasons—because it was time to stand on her own, because she wasn't a child any longer . . . because she wasn't afraid of the future, of what it meant to her . . .

She wanted to say all of those things, but not one of them was true.  No, the ugly truth of it all was that she . . . that she was afraid, wasn't she?  Afraid of putting Ashur in the position to have to say those things to her that he'd said in private, without realizing that she'd overheard him, that she'd have to try not to let him see just how badly it hurt her, that she would have to pretend that it wasn't a big deal to her, too . . . afraid of having to see the reality that she really wasn't anything to him other than a warm body . . . Afraid of the anger that lived deep down in her, that anger that could and did hold it all against Ashur—that he couldn't step back and understand that she wasn't mature, she wasn't sophisticated, she wasn't versed in the ways of the world, and yet, how could she be when she was only eighteen . . .?  It was an impotent sort of anger, tinged with a sense of hopelessness . . .

The sound of a car horn outside made her grimace, and she sighed, letting her knuckles brush over Ashur's cheek for one last, long moment, savoring the trace hint of stubble on his skin, the sharp rise of his cheekbone, the darkened smudge of his eyelashes, fanning down over his cheek . . . Biting her lip as she turned away, she couldn't stop the first tears that fell.  Somewhere, deep down, it felt as though some part of her was ripping, tearing, rending in half, only to crumble away as the harshest ache opened up, so deep, so raw, that she had to smash her hand over her lips as she slipped down the hallway, as she grabbed her bag before hurrying down the stairs . . .

The sun had barely begun to rise in the strange and macabre haze of the early morning.  The cab driver stood beside the running car, holding the rear door open.  "Morning, miss," he greeted.

She nodded, but said nothing as she slid into the back seat.

He closed the door and loped around the car as she stared up at the house, with the ivy that grew up over the stone and mortar, at the windows that seemed sad, hollow, almost as empty as she felt, too . . . It stood, silent and cold, as though the act of simply walking out the door had brought on the sense that it wasn't her home anymore, as the familiarity of it was lost in an instant, in a blink of an eye, forgetting her as easily as the sun would rise in a matter of minutes . . . It wasn't hers.  It wasn't meant to ever be . . . "Jean Lesage International Airport?" the driver asked, peering at her in the rearview mirror.

"Yes," she murmured.

He fell silent as he crept along the long driveway, heading for the road.

That was fine with Jessa, as she finally let the tears that she'd been holding in, flow.  Digging into her bag for a tissue, she pulled out the music box instead.  It was the only gift she'd taken with her—a birthday present, and that was all right . . . Those other things—the earrings, the baubles, the trinkets . . . Those things were given from a sense of owing her, weren't they?  Those things . . . She didn't want them, didn't need them, and she sniffled, letting her fingers trace over the smooth surface, gently lifting the lid as the soft chime of Greensleeves dug at her just a little more . . . If she'd known then what she knew now, would it have changed anything that had happened?

Wiping her eyes with the long sleeve of the light peach sweater, she sighed.  No, she thought . . . Even if she had known from the start, just how it all would end, she didn't really think she would have changed a thing . . .


"Daddy?"

Ashur groaned, but didn't open his eyes.

"Daddy?"

"Kells . . .?" he muttered, unable to process much, feeling as though his entire head was full of sawdust and very little else.  "Wha . . .?"

Kells uttered a little whimper.  "Daddy, where's Jessa?"

Forcing his eyes open as he pushed himself up on his elbow, Ashur blinked and slowly focused on his son.  "Jessa?" he mumbled.

"She gave me dis, and I can't find her," Kells went on, the distress in his voice, in his aura, growing exponentially more agitated with every passing moment.

Scowling at the small orb, suspended on a chain around the boy's neck, he slowly shook his head, gingerly reached over, let the pendant dangle against his open palm.  "Jessa's . . . flames . . ." he murmured.  "She . . . She gave this to you?"  Kells nodded, uttering a choked little sob as he launched himself into his father's arms.  "Kells . . ."

"I want Jessa," he whined, whimpered, smashing his face a little deeper against Ashur's chest.

Rubbing his forehead as he tried to make sense of Kells' near panicked state of upset, he shook his head.  "Jessa was going to visit her cousin for a couple weeks," he told him, attempting a placating sort of tone.   "She's only going to be gone two weeks—just like when you went with Ben and Charity, remember?"

Kells shook his head stubbornly.  "She said if I need her, that I should break it," Kells insisted. Suddenly, he sat up, blue eyes flashing, shining—almost terrified.  Grasping the orb, he tried to jerk on the chain, but it wouldn't give, and Ashur reached out, stilled him, wrapping his hands over Kells' to stop him.  "Daddy!  Let go!  I gotta break it!" he growled.

"No, Kells, stop," he commanded, maybe a little harsher than he intended.  When the child didn't give up, Ashur sighed, neatly pulling the necklace off Kells as he rolled off the bed and hid the pendant in one of the upper drawers of his bureau that Kells couldn't reach.

The child uttered a furious growl, launching himself at Ashur's legs, balling up his tiny fists, smacking them against Ashur's thigh.  "Give it!  It's mine!" he hollered, his upset, increasing by the second.

"Kells, quit," Ashur insisted, grasping the boy and lifting him off his feet as he sank back down on the edge of the bed and held onto the wiggling child.  "She's only going to be gone a little while," he tried again.  "But she doesn't want you to break that—not when she's just left . . ."

And yet, even as he'd said the words, he scowled to himself.  Jessa had said that her plane didn't leave till later in the day, and yet, he could tell, couldn't he?  The richness of her aura . . . It was gone . . . But it was an unsettling type of emptiness, not nearly the same as the times she left to run to the store or spend the afternoon with Carol . . . No, there was a darkness, a void, this time, and that . . . That was what Kells sensed, too . . .

"Let me go!" Kells hollered, flailing his little arms against Ashur's firm hold.  "Let go, Daddy!  Where's Jessa?  I need to find her!"

"Kells, knock it off," Ashur growled, wishing in vain that the boy would quiet down, long enough for Ashur to think straight.  "I mean it!  Jessa's gone, and there's nothing we can do about it!"

Kells gasped, momentarily stilling, but whether it was because of Ashur's words or the idea that he had never, ever yelled at him like that before, Ashur didn't know.  Suddenly, though, Kells erupted in a fierce growl—or as fierce as a three-year-old's growl could be—and heaved against him with both his arms, freeing himself as he tumbled back on the mattress.  "I hate you, Daddy!" Kells shrieked, pushing his feet against the bed, propelling himself backward into the pillows.  "I hate you!  I want Jessa!  I don't want you!  You let Jessa leave!"

Drawing back as though Kells had struck him, Ashur blinked, stared at the child, all his irritation, draining out of him as the boy lashed out the only way he could, making Ashur feel just a little worse for it all, and he winced when Kells covered his face with his tiny hands and sobbed.  "I'm sorry, Kells," he rasped out. "I—"

Cutting himself off abruptly, he narrowed his eyes, leaned forward slowly, reaching past Kells to pick up the bound-together length of Jessa's hair from the pillow.  The long, gorgeous curls, the fiery locks . . . He brought it to his nose, breathed in the scent of her—so strong, so overwhelming—and he grimaced.

Glancing at Kells, rubbing his face with a shaking hand, he reached out to touch the child's shoulder, only to draw back when Kells yanked away from him.  He sighed, tugging a few strands out of the long tail and knotted the ends together as Kells flopped down, burying his face in the pillow that still carried her scent.

Letting out a deep breath, he quickly worked a braid into the length of hair that he'd removed.  Satisfied that it was long enough, he reached out, looped it around Kells' wrist, and tied it firmly.  "There," he said when Kells shot him a hostile glance.  "It's her hair," he told the child, nodding at the makeshift bracelet.  "And you can have your necklace back if you promise not to break it."

Kells sat up, stared at the bracelet, another wash of tears, infiltrating Ashur's nose.  Suddenly, though, the boy launched himself at Ashur, throwing his arms around his neck as he sobbed some more.  "I'm sowwy, Daddy," he wailed.  "I'm sowwy . . ."

Ashur sighed again.  "It's okay, Kells," he told him, rubbing his back, staring at the bundle of her hair, tied so neatly with a bit of black velvet ribbon . . . "She'll be back," he said, unsure just why he felt like . . . like she wasn't coming back, at all . . . Wincing as that thought hit him just a little too hard, he swallowed, forced back the edges of turmoil that threatened him.  "You'll see . . . You'll see . . ."


"You look exhausted, Jess," Myrna remarked over salads at a small eatery just around the corner from Myrna's gorgeous skyplex condo.  "And your hair . . ."

"It's just hair," Jessa mumbled, concentrating on her salad that she really didn't want, but was trying to choke down, anyway.

"Well, yeah . . . It was just shocking to see you without your fiery hair, that's all," Myrna added.  "Anyway, it'll grow back . . . You know, I was always jealous of your hair . . ."

Jessa blinked, setting her fork aside, and shook her head.  "You . . . You were?  But why?"

The hawk-youkai chuckled.  "Are you kidding?  Do you know that I can only think of one—one—youkai who has naturally curly hair, and that's you.  Even when I try to curl mine like that, it won't take.  I mean, natural body, sure, but your hair?"  She sighed.  "Your hair's amazing, Jessa, and that color?  I've always thought it was gorgeous."

She didn't know what to say to that, mostly because Jessa had always thought that Myrna was one of the prettier women she'd ever seen—classically beautiful, she supposed . . . "Thank you . . ."

Myrna waved off her thanks and stuck her credit card into the binder that the waitress had dropped off.  "You always were such a stunning child.  I figured you'd be a knockout later, and I was right.  I mean, look at you!  Are you sure you didn't leave someone behind in Canada—someone who's waiting for you to come back . . .?"

The deadly accuracy of Myrna's teasing made her shift slightly in her seat.  "Uh, n-no . . . no one," she replied, hoping that her cousin wouldn't notice her reticence.  "About that," she went on, measuring her words, trying to inflict a measure of matter-of-factness into her tone.  "I've been thinking that I'd rather stay here—that is, if you don't mind."

"You would?"

She nodded.

Myrna nodded slowly, too.  "But I thought you liked Canada . . . Or is it the whole nanny gig? Can't say I blame you for that . . . Don't get me wrong, I think Kells is the cutest little thing, ever, but you have to have patience that I know I don't have, and taking care of him all day?  Not really what I'd consider to be good for your future unless you plan on getting married and starting a family right away—and there's nothing wrong with that if it's what you want, but, girl, honestly?  You are far too young to worry about that stuff already."

It was on the tip of her tongue to disabuse Myrna of the notion that she somehow disliked taking care of Kells even slightly.  In the end, though, she figured that it was best, just to say nothing, to let Myrna draw her own conclusions, even as a small part of her heart felt a though it was going to explode . . . "Something like that," she murmured, her gaze falling to the salad she'd barely pushed around the bowl.

Myrna didn't seem to think anything of her reply, and she laughed.  "Well, I, for one, am glad you're finally here!  It's been a long time, right?  And the last time I saw you—well, before all of this—you were so young . . ."

"You didn't much like me then, did you?" Jessa asked wryly.

Myrna made a face, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.  "It's not that I didn't like you," she said, "I just never know what to do with kids, what to say to them or anything . . . It's just . . . They're little people with their own language, and it's one I don't understand . . ."

Jessa nodded, figuring that Myrna really was trying, in her own way.  "It's all right.  So . . . What sort of things did you have in mind?"

Giving a little shrug as she paused from touching up her lipstick, Myrna winked at her.  "I have to admit, I've been bragging on you some, and there's a guy who really wants to meet you . . . Thought we'd go out for drinks—" She cut herself off with a grimace.  "You can't drink yet here, huh?  Entirely stupid, given that you can drink pretty much anywhere else in the world . . . Anyway, I've seen his friend a few times—really nice guy—maybe a little too nice . . ."

"Oh, I don't think—"

"Nothing serious . . . It's not like you have to marry him or anything . . ." Myrna laughed.

Jessa managed a very weak smile.  "Oh, I . . . I wouldn't be ready for anything like that, anyway," she mumbled.

Myrna nodded, casually sipping her wine.  "You're tired, aren't you?  I'm so sorry that the flight was so early, but they didn't have another seat available till tomorrow . . ."

"No, it's fine," Jessa assured her.  "I guess I am just a little done in . . ."

"Well, if you want, we can go back to the condo.  I've got a few things I need to check on, and you can take a nap or something . . . Did you call Ashur?  Let him know you made it safely?"

"Uh, n-not yet," she said, trying to stave back the wash of pink that she could feel, rising in her cheeks at the simple mention of that particular name.  "I . . . I forgot my phone . . ."

"Oh, do you need one?  I can get one for you—one you can use while you're here . . ."

She shook her head.  "It's fine," she assured her.

Myrna nodded and smiled at the waitress, who took the folder and hurried away.  "You can give him a call from the condo."

"Well, I . . ." Jessa shook her head.  "I mean, it's about time for him to pick up Kells from preschool, and he's always working, so I don't want to bother him.  I'll . . . I'll call him later . . ."

"Okay," she agreed, digging into her purse for money to leave as a tip.  "Tomorrow, we can go shopping . . ."

"That sounds . . . fine," Jessa replied.

Myrna smiled at her as she got to her feet, slipping her purse over her shoulder.  "I'm really glad you're here," she said.

Jessa smiled just a little.  At least Myrna sounded entirely sincere . . .