InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Stealing Heaven ❯ Of a Past Unknown ( Chapter 31 )

Chapter Thirty-One

Of a Past Unknown

Kagome pulled up outside the address the professor had given, puzzling for a moment over the desolate neighborhood, over the rundown façade of the tiny pub. Why would someone of Professor Taisho's standing come here? But then- as she got out of the car and rounded the vehicle to step up onto the dilapidated sidewalk- she put together the dismal location with the distance she'd had to drive from the school to get here.

No one was likely to know him here. How better to protect his reputation on the extraordinarily rare occasion he got plastered, than to do so in a place where no one knew him?

As she drew close to the door she overcome by the unmistakable sensation of being watched, yet . . . it wasn't like anything she'd felt before- the normally invasive feeling was tempered with curiosity and concern and, if she wasn't mistaken, a hint of sadness. Furrowing her brow, Kagome paused in her steps, casting a glance over her shoulder.

So faint and wisp-like that she almost didn't make it out, was the image of a child, peering at her from around the bend of the building. She blinked rapidly several times at the wide, barely visible eyes- brown, she wasn't sure exactly why she thought it, but she just knew they were brown- staring up at her, Kagome looked around very quickly to be certain no one was near.

She half-expected the tiny specter to have vanished by the time she turned back, yet it was still there. Her mind jumped to a hundred different terrible conclusions that could cause a child ghost, each one aiding in the tears that welled instantly in her eyes, in the tremble that shook her bottom lip ever so slightly. She pushed past that to sift quickly through her lessons with Myoga- it wasn't like in television shows, when you could see spirits, it did not automatically mean you spotted them all over the place, or that every one of them in your vicinity metaphorically flagged you down to either torment you or seek your aid; it simply meant that those who wanted or needed help would put in the effort to reach out to you if they had the strength to do so. And not all of them wanted aid, not all of them wanted to move on . . . so the smart, stubborn ones kept their distance from active mediums.

Forcing a sniffle, she knelt down until she was eye-level with the child, afraid that if she tried to step closer she would scare it off. “It's . . . it's okay, I won't hurt you. Is there something you need?”

After a long moment of staring silently, the small, wavering image stepped out from behind the wall and Kagome found herself looking at a little girl who bravely stepped directly up to her so that they were face to face. “I know you wouldn't hurt me,” the girl's mouth moved, and yet the sound of her voice wasn't coming from there, seeming to be somehow echoing gently from within Kagome's own head. “I needed to see you for myself, to know you won't hurt him.”

“Hurt who?” Kagome whispered, but the girl was already going on again as though she hadn't spoken at all.

“I shouldn't be here,” the girl murmured, glancing over her shoulder before turning back to Kagome, “he doesn't need people most of the time, but today is different. Today he needs you to be his strength.”

There seemed to be only one person the spirit could be referring to, so Kagome voiced it, “The professor? You're talking about the professor? Why does he . . . what's today?”

No sooner had the last words left Kagome's lips than did the image start to shift, at once becoming more clearly visible, but also troublingly transparent- the child's bones showing a back-lighted black through her skin, like an x-ray in negative. “I have to go,” she said with a sad, quiet smile as the impression faded away as quickly as it had come.

Kagome watched in a mix of confusion and lingering sadness as the child turned and walked away, vanishing little by little with each step. What had that image meant? Taking a deep breath, she shook herself and pushed up to stand, turning on her heel to face the door of the pub once again.

She pulled the door open, not surprised at all to hear its hinges creaking horribly. The place was dully-lit and smoky, the mingling scents of old cigars and new cigarettes assaulting her nostrils for a brief moment as she stepped in. It was relatively empty as she swung her gaze around, searching for Professor Taisho only to find a bowed silver head at the bar.

The bartender made eye contact with her, nodding towards the man before him. Given the crisp, casually elegant mode of dress and the long, low-tied ponytail, she was pretty confident it was who she was looking for and not some other gray-haired man. She nodded back and he proceeded to gently nudge the arm of the man at the bar as she began crossing the room.

Slowly the professor's head swiveled to look over at her. Amber eyes lingered on hers for only a moment before starting to dig in his pockets and produce his wallet, fumbling with it as he tried to pull out bills. Holding in a sigh, Kagome reached out and gently extracted it from his hands.

“What's he owe you?” she asked the bartender, shaking her head at the professor's uncharacteristically child-like behavior at the moment- screw The Thief, alcohol was a demon. The man gave her a number, to which she could only blink wide eyes at Professor Taisho for a long moment, again shaking her head as she opened his wallet and pulled out only enough to cover the tab and a decent tip.

Grabbing the professor's hand, she hoisted his arm over her shoulder, ignoring his grumpy instance that he could walk just fine on his own. As she turned away, the bartender called, “Hey, lady.”

“Hmm?”

“Next time . . . just let your husband drink at home, okay?” Kagome tried to keep the surprise out of her face as he continued, “No one that hits the bottle that hard should be out and about.”

She forced a tiny, stiff smile. “Right, I'll . . . consider being more lenient in the future.”

Turning away again, she walked the professor to the door; he didn't speak until they were opening it to step out onto the sidewalk. “He think's your my wife?” he murmured with a bit of a slur, “It was probably because of how you snatched my wallet, that's a very wife-thing to do.”

Kagome bit her lip to keep from saying anything until she got him to the car. “If I ask why you're like this, would you even tell me?” she couldn't help that her tone was a little sour as she opened the passenger side door and just about let him fall into the seat- it was just too frustrating sometimes to be in love with someone so guarded.

He let his head roll back against the headrest and looked up at her, for a long moment pursing his lips ever so slightly. “Yes,” he finally said, “you I would tell.”

Would? Nodding to herself, she closed his door and rounded the car to climb into the driver's seat and start it up. “And . . . will you?”

The professor gave a slow, almost reluctant nod, giving her the impression that, as he'd said, it wasn't that he didn't want to tell her, but simply that it was something he didn't want to talk about. “I will, just . . . not here, not-” he looked down at himself- his clothing was only marginally rumpled, though she was already well aware that what was slightly unordered for any other man seemed unforgivably unkempt to Professor Taisho- and then gestured vaguely at his face, “not like this.”

“Okay,” she thought about the next words, thought about how very bad the situation could become, only after they'd spilled from her mouth, “than what's your house address? I'll get you home; get some black coffee in you.”

Had she really just invited herself to Taisho Sesshomaru's house?

The professor only seemed to notice the reminder that he needed to be sobered up in a mildly unpleasant way. He gave her his address, not terribly surprised when they drove the rest of the distance in silence. It truly wasn't that he didn't want to tell her- it was better she learn now than later, after all- it was simply still such a painful subject, but then, perhaps telling her, telling one that had come to mean so much to him, might ease it for him just a little.

The drive was a good twenty minutes, taking Kagome into a nice, suburban district that looked like it rolled up its sidewalks at nine P.M. every evening. In a way, that was good, no one would be up and about to see her ushering a sloppy-drunk Taisho Sesshomaru into his house. She diligently kept her thoughts on her driving, overanalyzing every turn, every instance of hitting the brakes, double-checking every intersection for street signs, to keep herself from thinking about that little girl, from wondering what had happened to her.

What did black bones even mean? Not . . . blackened, no, so it wasn't a fire . . . . And the way they were almost fluorescently lit from behind somehow reminded her of something being-

“Higurashi, stop the car.”

“Huh?” Dammit- even for all of her instance that she wouldn't think about it, she'd gotten lost in wondering over that ghost.

“We're here, you can pull over.”

“Oh, uh sorry.” She chided herself inwardly as she found a suitable parking spot and pulled in- realizing that it wasn't just her ghostly encounter earlier, but also that she was perhaps a little nervous over the idea of being alone with Taisho Sesshomaru in his house.

Approximately fifteen, unnervingly quiet, minutes later she had him settled on a chair in his pointedly Spartan living room and nursing his first cup of coffee. Aside from the black velvet sofa, bare coffee table and computer desk with an uncomfortable looking chair accompanying it, there were shelves lined with everything from dusty old leather-bound books to antique knick-knacks to some pretty recent DVDs. In the center of the widest row of shelves cabinet doors rested, conspicuously shut . . . at least, conspicuously to her, as Kagome couldn't take her eyes off of it for a long moment.

He caught the direction of her gaze, nodding slowly to himself as he took another long sip of bitter coffee. “Myoga really never told you?”

Blinking a few times in an attempt to make herself focus, she took a seat on the far end of the sofa and turned to face him, shaking her head at him. “No, he said it was your secret to tell and you would tell me when you were ready to. If you'd really rather not, it's okay . . . .”

Frowning at her, he once more began digging in his pocket with his free hand to pull out his and set it on the coffee table between them. “Open it.”

Blue eyes darted from the wallet to the professor's face and back again. “Why?”

She could tell from the meager change in expression that the slowly sobering man was just barely refraining from rolling his eyes at her. “Must you always be difficult?”

“I . . .” she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and did as instructed. “Why?”

He looked away from her then, fixing his gaze unblinkingly on the far wall. “Check behind my driver's license.”

Furrowing her brow, she lifted his wallet and dug a finger behind the card, slowly and delicately pulling out a square bit of laminated newspaper that had been hidden there. She set the wallet down again, feeling cold in the pit of her stomach the moment her eyes skimmed over the printed words for the briefest moment.

Her eyes shot up to lock on the professor's face, despite that he was still staring off. “It's,” she paused to clear her throat, “it's an obituary,” she murmured, unable to bring herself to get further than that.

“Read it, go on,” he said in a level, emotionless-sounding whisper before draining the rest of his mug in a long sip.

Forcing a gulp down her throat, Kagome looked back at the clipping in her hand, reading off today's date, seven years ago. She went silent for a long moment, willing her eyes to keep moving along the printed lines, even though they didn't seem to want to and could not help reading the next words aloud in a halting, trembling voice. “T-Taisho Rin, seven years old . . . laid to rest by her mother and father,” she paused again, her breath catching in her throat, but he picked up the words for her, having read the tiny scrap of paper over so many times that had it not been laminated it would have fallen to bits years ago.

“Laid to rest by her mother and father, Uindo Kagura and Taisho Sesshomaru.” He didn't raise his eyes to hers, fixing them numbly on the carafe as he refilled his mug for another long swig. “Every year on this night I get rotten, stinking drunk because I still can't face the fact that it was on this night that my daughter died.”

1