InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Changing Lives ❯ The Last Kill ( Chapter 18 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Though thoughts of tomorrow and that trip to the therapist were now both confusing and angered her, she found herself looking forward to it. She even made the decision that Inuyasha wouldn’t come this time, at least not into the room with her.

She imagined how he would flip upon hearing that.

~*~ Phantom ~*~

He had to keep telling himself that. Just one more. . .

~*~ Detective Motsumoto ~*~

Oh no, the Phantom was going to be caught, identified, judged and sentenced like all the other psycho killers in his district.

No one ever got away from Motsumoto.

~*~ That Night ~*~

And then all sounds stopped, even the clock ticking in the next room. Motsumoto’s heart beat a little quicker, hairs raising at the back of his neck.

Something was happening.

AE Fifty

It took many deep breaths to calm his heart. Mostumoto remained seated until he heard a slight squeak in the direction opposite Desyno’s cell. Motsumoto began descending the stairs, slowly, and looked around the wall he was up against. Seeing nothing, he looked in another direction.

And then, quite clearly, he felt a gust and heard a ‘whoosh’ go right past him. Everything in his body seemed to freeze, to paralyze in fear, but he managed to turn around.

A hand flicked the stairway light on. The man standing there looked in pain, halfway up the stairs, and regretful. He had white hair, very short, but for two silvery strands that hung along the sides of his face, to below his collar bones. His bangs nearly covered his eyes, a strikingly gold shade, and infinitely sad.

“You. . .” was all Motsumoto could get out.

He was wearing a thick, heavy-looking black trench coat that covered most of his body, along with heavy army boots, a high-necked shirt of some sort, and black gloves. But each finger was tipped with white claw-looking things, which Motsumoto guessed were metal.

“Me,” he replied. He walked down two steps, level with Motsumoto, and sat down, bracing his elbows on his knees.

Oddly, now that Motsumoto could see him, and there was light, he wasn’t afraid anymore. He could tell by a look that this man was dangerous, but he felt no aggression or violence from him. After wondering for a moment what to do, he sat down as well.

“Why are you doing this?”

The man dropped his chin onto his forearms as he crossed them over his knees. “I thought I left a letter explaining that.”

Motsumoto shook his head. “I want to hear it from you.”

He looked at Motsumoto from the corner of his eye. “You realize I could just knock you out, finish here, and leave forever.”

Motsumoto shrugged. “You would have done it already, I think, if that’s what you wanted.”

Phantom looked directly forward. Whoever he was, he was obviously sluggish to get going tonight.

“Was the psychiatrist right?” Motsumoto asked him. “Are you regretting this?”

His eyes narrowed a little and his eyes drifted downward. But he didn’t answer.

“What did these guys do to you?”

He shut his eyes this time, and his brows drew together, as though he was fighting off a surge of pain.

Motsumoto stood up. “Why don’t you just stop?”

“. . . I can’t.”

The reply was so quiet, Motsumoto could barely hear him. “Well, why not? It’s obvious you don’t want to do this.”

“I can’t,” he repeated, firmer.

“Why the hell not?” Motsumoto snapped.

The Phantom stood up so fast Motsumoto hardly saw it, then he was at the bottom of the stairs and facing Motsumoto. “They raped and killed the only woman who was ever willing to give up everything to be with me, even her feelings, her memory, her soul!” He looked then, almost through the walls and various objects, directly to where Desyno’s cell was.

“That’s why they have to die,” he finished, with a cruel tone that made the hair of the back of Motsumoto’s neck stand on end again.

But he heard a loophole in that one statement. “They,” he repeated, and the Phantom looked up at him in question.
Motsumoto stepped down the stairs and looked the man in the eyes. “You said ‘they,’ not ‘he.’ You never thought of the men individually, did you?”

The Phantom’s eyes grew infinitely sad once more. He said, quite simply, “They’re not individuals.”

Motsumoto’s grip on his gun tightened. He took one step back, one foot on the stairs, and lifted it, pointing it directly at the Phantom’s forehead. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

But Phantom’s eyes grew only sadder, and he smiled. “Shoot me. It won’t kill me.”

Motsumoto’s finger on the trigger twitched a little. Some thought was creeping in the back of his mind, something trying to get to the surface, even as he struggled to understand the man in front of him. Those sad eyes, the anger he heard a moment ago, the way he spoke – this Phantom was nothing like anybody Motsumoto had ever met.

And then, though he didn’t consciously realize the thought behind it, Motsumoto said, “A demon.”

And the Phantom nodded. “Half, actually.”

“That’s why shooting you won’t kill you.” Even as he said this, Motsumoto didn’t lower the gun.

Phantom’s smile was a little twisted. “That, and more pointedly, I already died.”

Motsumoto dropped his gun on the ground then, with thoughts running through his head of how demons were immortal. How had he died, yet remained alive? “How. . ?”

Phantom shook his head. “I died when they did.”

“They?” Motsumoto echoed.

“I’m sorry about this.”

It was instinct, then, that made Motsumoto move. He moved as quick as he could, reaching for his gun, and as his fingers enclosed around the grip, he felt a sharp, thudding pain in his chest. The world around him moved too quick for his eyes, and then another pain exploded in his back. When his eyes unblurred, he was staring down the stairs, and the Phantom was gone.

Not only that, but the light was out. He heard, quite clearly, Desyno scream, “No!” and then no sound.

His instincts were telling him to run. It was battling against his police training, telling him to get up and fight for Desyno’s life, twisted as it was. He got up and dashed down the stairs, almost tripping. He rounded the corner and across the house, to Desyno’s cell. He looked in the window, grabbed the handle, and yanked.

The door swung open, and in that instant, Desyno’s screams were easily heard. The cell was ten by ten feet, and Desyno was in the corner, Phantom in front of him. Though Motsumoto couldn’t see what Phantom was doing, he could already see blood on the walls, and a chunk of human flesh on the seat.
His stomach churned, he lifted the gun, and fired four times into Phantom’s back.

Phantom didn’t even flinch, Desyno’s screamed again, and then there was a dull thud, the sounds stopped, and Motsumoto looked down. Desyno’s head was on the floor, but his body was still in the corner, upright.

Motsumoto’s stomach couldn’t take it. He backed out of the room and emptied the contents of his stomach on the floor. He coughed and wiped his mouth, then froze. He could feel, though a sixth sense, that Phantom was directly behind him. He looked up, now more frightened than he had ever been before in his life.

“You threw off my concentration,” Phantom began. “I killed him too fast.”

There was regret in that tone, but it was laced with a cruelty that made Motsumoto quiver. “I. . .”

“Shot me,” Phantom finished for him. “Four times. You didn’t aim well.”

Motsumoto’s legs kicked into movement, and got him standing. He stared at Phantom, gripping his gun tighter than he had before. “I failed. . .”

“No,” Phantom interrupted, shaking his head and taking a step forward, directly over what used to be Motsumoto’s dinner. He lifted his hand and touched Motsumoto’s shoulder, at first lightly, then began pushing him backwards. Motsumoto had no choice but to follow, and with each step, Phantom’s expression changed a little. It was sad at first, then began getting calmer and calmer, and eventually, he had a truly evil look.

The kind of look that made your blood freeze in your veins. Motsumoto’s hands gripping his gun began tingling as they went numb from the hold he had on it. He pulled the trigger, and heard a clear sound of a bullet hitting flesh through clothes.

Phantom didn’t stop, however, not until Motsumoto was pinned against a wall and fearing for his life. Phantom then smiled, showing a single elongated fang, and lifted his other hand into sight. Motsumoto stared at the second hand, at the tipped white claws extending from within the gloves.

Clack!

Motsumoto jumped and snapped his eyes shut. The pressure on his shoulder disappeared, and for a long moment, he thought he’d died. But then he opened his eyes. Phantom was still there, in front of him. His left hand was still raised, and Motsumoto recognized the pose of the fingers – he had simply snapped his fingers.

Then Motsumoto blinked, and in that split second, Phantom was gone. His gun dropped a second time from his hands, and he looked around sharply.

What was that?

He grabbed for a phone on the wall, but heard no dial tone, and dashed across the house again for his earphone communicator. He had to call this in. . . but what would he say? A demon – no, he said he was half demon – had broken in, had a little chat, killed Desyno, scared the living piss out of Motsumoto, but let him live in the end, only scaring him in a twisted joke?

How many people would believe all that?

~*~ Sarah Lanes’ Office ~*~

She smiled as Kagome came in and sat down, noting a very grumpy-looking bodyguard glaring at her from the doorway as Kagome shut the doors.

“You decided not to let him in,” Sarah observed.

Kagome nodded and took her seat, looking troubled. She fiddled with her hands and glanced around the office. Sarah watched her for a few moments, then clicked on the tape recorder and put her clipboard in her lap.

“What is it you wanted to say?”

“I’m confused,” Kagome blurted out quickly.

Sarah nodded and noted that. “Confused about what, exactly?”

“I just. . .” She blushed and stared at her hands in her lap. “I really want to. . . to make love to him, but. . .” She shook her head.

“I cannot help if you cannot speak,” Sarah said, gently. “If it’ll help. . . I’ve been allowed to tell you something.”

Kagome looked up, confused. “Tell me. . ?”

Sarah stood up and brushed her hair back to reveal her ears, which came to soft points. Kagome’s jaw dropped. “You’re a demon?” she snapped.

Inuyasha was inside the room almost before Kagome finished speaking, and stood guard in front of her, his left hand holding tight to Tessaiga. He was growling.

Sarah sat back down. “I was employed years ago, in fact, more than a century ago, by your older brother,” she said, nodding at Inuyasha. “I asked him yesterday after our session, if I could tell you, Kagome-san. And you, Inuyasha-sama.”

“Sama?” Inuyasha echoed. “Why give me such an honorific?”

She smiled. “That is something I can’t divulge.”

“Your name. . .” Kagome began.

Sarah looked at her. “My husband’s last name is Lanes. I changed my first name about fifty years ago. Legally, of course.”
“But, I mean. . . Sesshomaru-sama?” Kagome asked.

Sarah nodded. “You’ll both be told about all of this, eventually. For now, just accept that I can’t say anything more. After all,” she added, sitting up straight, “this is your time to let out your feelings, Kagome-san.”

Kagome looked away once more. “Inuyasha. . . would you step outside again?”

He sighed. “I want to be in here with you.”

“Yes, but. . . I can’t say everything I need to when I can see you. . .”

Sarah nodded. “Inuyasha-sama, it is best if a woman tells her feelings to another woman, especially in times like these.”

He grumbled something and stomped out of the room, slamming the door so hard it cracked.

Kagome laughed nervously. “Um, I’m sure we can fix that. . .”

Sarah shook her head. “Sesshomaru-sama is paying for everything.”

“But -”

“No buts, he has more than enough money to pay for the door and these sessions. Just please, tell me what you have to say.”

Kagome looked down and gripped her skirt with both hands. “Okay. . .”

She took a deep breath and began.

~*~ Phantom ~*~

Climbing through the window each morning was a little cumbersome, but more or less worth it. Perhaps it was pointless to be sneaky, but then, it was ingrained in him. He’d have made a nice ninja if ever such a thing had appealed to him.

As soon as he got inside, he looked down at himself. All at once he didn’t want blood on him, and began taking off his clothes, tossing them idly around the room. He sat down on the carpeted floor afterwards, nude, and crossed his legs. He stared at a single spot on the floor in front of him – maybe a drink or shot, perhaps a drop of blood – and thought over what happened this night.

Detective Motsumoto. First name, Higaru. Age, twenty nine. Marital status, divorced. Children, none. Yearly income, above average. Years as a policeman, four. Years as a detective, five. Years of therapy needed after tonight, probably a dozen.

He chuckled a little. Maybe it was overly cruel, but nothing really ever beat the look of absolute fear that humans could get in their eyes. It was cruel, really, but. . .

He couldn’t be sad about it. Not since his world was taken from him. Making humans fear him wasn’t exactly the definition of evil, anyway. Maybe he just lost touch with his feelings, or maybe he was waiting for his death as best as a man could.

He laid back on the carpet and stared up at the ceiling. His hand scratched his left side, felt the scar there. . . the only scar he had, a long one, almost perfectly white. . . He got it after she died, when Sesshomaru was trying to bring him back to himself with sparring.

Sesshomaru’s poison stung like hell when it got him. It took three days of his maids working on the wound to clean out the poison, and the scar remained ever since.

It also itched where he had been shot, but those wounds had closed and pushed out the bullets an hour ago. How nice it was, he supposed, to have a body with such strong immunities and healed so fast, than a bullet would be pushed out seemingly by itself.

Four shots in the back, one through his left shin, all of them painful, but not nearly as painful as the truth.

The truth. . .

He allowed it, this time, for the memories to return. Bittersweet images of his lost love, of her smile, of her eyes and voice and impossibly perfect scent. And of course, the feel of her in his arms, holding her, loving her, touching her. . . and later, carressing her womb and the child within. The child he never thought he could have.

The child he didn’t have. . .

He squeezed his eyes shut and the process brought a tear from one eye. A small tear, which only managed an inch trail before stopping. That wouldn’t last long. . . it should be mere seconds before he found himself longing for death again, for all the pain to end. . .

And he allowed himself a new pleasure, as a new thought entered her mind.

She would be okay now. Her and their child. They would be okay.

He smiled this time, which turned itself into a grin. He laughed in true joy for the first time in many, many years, even as he cried at his loss; he had to laugh in knowledge that it was okay now.

He sat up sharply, stood up, and began pacing restlessly. Now he could see her! Tell her. . . tell her and her mate. . . tell her everything. Knowing her well enough, he knew she would be saddened by his story, but dammit, it was okay now! He wouldn’t allow her to cry for him, either.

No, he’d cried enough, plenty, for everyone on the planet.

Maybe he’d die tomorrow, after he told her, after he let his secret be known.
That sounded like a plan.

Although after centuries of being next to Sesshomaru, he seriously doubted the man’s ability to simply let him die. And all of Sesshomaru’s descendants – they certainly wouldn’t look away and let it happen.

Then he had to die in private. Two days gone from this particular home, and Sesshomaru would know he allowed himself to die at last, and would come looking for his body. And he, himself, would look down on them from Heaven, glad he made everything right, even if it had torn him apart to do so. He would watch them give him a proper burial, as he knew Sesshomaru would order be done.

It was a chance that he would go to Hell for his lifetime of crimes, but that was fine. As long as she was okay.

. . . As long as she was okay. . .

~*~ Next Morning ~*~

As was the habit these days, Kagome woke and stretched in Inuyasha’s arms. She moaned lightly and snuggled into him instinctively.

And she wasn’t at all surprised that he was up, which he made obvious by groaning low and long. “Don’t,” he began, “um. . . don’t do that.”

She let go of him and sat up, smiling faintly. “Do what?”

“You know very well what,” he snapped back, sitting up as well and throwing his legs off the bed so his back faced her.

She hugged him around his shoulders and rested her head on his shoulder, still partially asleep. “Mm-hmm.”

He was talking about snuggling into him. He already told her, in so many words, that rubbing up against him makes his ‘fucking body work overtime,’ which was one of the crudest hints at arousal Kagome had ever heard. And so Kagome generally kept her distance.

Except for that moment in the forest. . . where the hell had that come from, anyway?

“Pent-up lust,” Sarah had said. “It’s not an uncommon side-effect of being raped, to want to know the better points of sex – especially when the woman was a virgin.”

That didn’t exactly calm her down any. Now all she knew was, ‘I’m lusting after Inuyasha because I know his sex would be better than what I was introduced to.’

Subconscious. Sarah had called it a subconscious realization.

After a few more moments, Kagome released him and looked around the room. Her eyes landed on her computer. Was she finished with that image yet? It struck her mind again, and she found herself eager to finish it and find out.
“Inuyasha,” she said softly, “will you go see if breakfast is made?”

“Keh,” he snorted. “Always so hungry.” Despite his harsh insult, he got up and went downstairs to check. As he did so, Kagome got up and sat once more at the desk.

She opened the program and zoomed in, then began clicking again. Inuyasha was back in five seconds with a ‘yes,’ followed by, ‘now get downstairs and eat, wench!’

She merely smiled. His recurring insults only proved that things were getting back to normal, despite the short amount of time between her rape, trial, and now. She hid the program and went downstairs. After dinner, Mama turned on the news loudly so anyone walking by the living room would hear it.

And Kagome heard it, as she was about to go upstairs – Inuyasha was taking a shower, as he found them much more favorable to baths. Quite clearly, a female host was speaking. . .

“The sixth death occurred late last night, with a sixth, and final, message. It read simply, ‘He defiled her last.’ Once more we shall list the messages and to whom they pertain.

“Hisochane Ishi – He touched her first. Yashutino Kei – He hurt her second. Tsunemi Okiano – He cut her third. Yashutino Ryoki – He made her cry fourth. Itsukonomu Serio – He frightened her fifth. Desyno Firino – He defiled her last.

“We have yet to discover the whereabouts of. . .”

Kagome didn’t hear it after that. The faces of each of those men were imprinted on her mind, linked with names that she would never forget. . . And as that list played, her memory played.

Hisochane had touched her first. He made it painfully obvious that as the leader of their little band, he always got to touch their captive first.

Yashutino Kei had hurt her second. When she had struggled against Hisochane, Yashutino hit her, hard. Despite lookin the finest of all the men, he was the brute.

Tsunemi had cut her third. The hit hadn’t stopped her from struggling, she doubted anything could have made her stop protesting, and Tsunemi had cut her in several places.

Yashutino Ryoki had made her cry fourth. More pointedly because he had dribbled bits of salt in her eyes, muttering obscenely to his friends that a crying woman made it better.

Itsukonomu had frightened her fifth. He was the most frightening of them all, really – even more so than Hisochane had been, who reminded strongly of Naraku himself, except that Naraku had kept himself immaculately clean. A hulking brute of a man, he had more strength in him than the rest combined.

And Desyno had finished it, in a sense.

She sat down on the stairs. They were killed in the order they began that day, and the knowledge made her head spin. Someone knew, unconditionally, exactly what had happened that day, and turned poetic justice into a deadly game. For her.

Inuyasha told her he hadn’t. She truly believed him on this. And she hasn’t told a single living soul yet, exactly what had happened in that room. Yet someone knew.

There was a second possibility in her mind, that the men had a habit, a routine, about how they went about their darker pleasures. And she wasn’t the only one subjected to it; that she knew. There could have been hundreds of women all across Japan, and perhaps overseas, who had felt their touches.

Perhaps plenty of them hadn’t survived the excursions.

“. . .Kagome!”

She snapped her consciousness back into place and jerked, looking around sharply. It was Souta calling her, tugging at her sleeve. When she responded to him, he seemed to relax, and stopped tugging.

“Geez, Kagome, you scared me!” he said, sighing.

“S-sorry, Souta,” she said with some difficulty, finding her voice again. She cleared her throat. “What is it?”

He shook his head, seemingly have forgotten. Then he looked up, “Oh yeah! Remember that guy who I saw a couple days ago?”

She blinked. “Who?”

He gave her a kid-like glare. “That guy who looked lost, who Mama’s worried about?”

“Oh.” She nodded as the conversation returned to her mind.

“What about him?” a gruff voice called from behind her.

She stood up and turned around, facing Inuyasha as he rubbed a towel through his hair. For a moment she was stunned silent, looking at him.

His clothes must still be wet, because he was wearing an actual pair of dress pants that Mama had purchased for him a few months back. He had a shirt tossed over his arm, apparently having gotten one arm through the sleeve before deciding that he needed to dry his hair first.

She could have drooled.

“He’s outside,” Souta said, breaking into her fantasies.

She looked down at Souta, at first not quite comprehending what he was talking about. And then she blinked and nodded. “Right, he’s outside. Wait, he’s outside?” she asked sharply, doing a double-take as her mind caught up with her.

“Yeah,” Souta replied, nodding quickly. “He actually said he wanted to talk to you and Inuyasha,” he went on, then stepped past Kagome and shouldered by Inuyasha. Message having been given, he obviously decided his video games were more interesting.

Kagome met Inuyasha’s eyes, and though the man outside was a point to look into, she was having trouble not focusing on Inuyasha’s naked chest before her.

Inuyasha opened his mouth to speak, noticed her eyes jerk down to his front, then back up with lust laced within, and apparently decided his hair was dry enough. He tossed the towel at her, so it covered her face, and his turned his back as he slipped the shit on. It was a vain attempt at hiding his blush as the full realization of what he showed Kagome hit him.

He cleared his throat and grasped his self-control before turning back around and facing her, shoving away thoughts of Kagome naked and sweaty in his mind.

“Shall we go see him?” he asked gruffly but quietly, an odd mixture, and evidently proving his embarrassment and heated thoughts.

Kagome blinked again. “Y-yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Inuyasha’s thoughts were on Sesshomaru. Man with white hair; could be him. Seemed to fit. After all, Souta didn’t know what Sesshomaru looked like, and it would only fit that the bastard came here to make them pay for everything his own money had provided.

But why would he look lost and sad, as Souta had said? There was only one way to find out, and Inuyasha swept up Tessaiga from the kitchen table on his way out the door. (His new habit in the house was to leave Tessaiga on the table or in Kagome’s room.)

Kagome trailed behind him, trying to read his thoughts, and failing. His expression changed dramatically over only a few seconds, and it disturbed her a little to see that look of concentration on his face. A look that she hadn’t seen since the destruction of Naraku, when they had a plan going and Inuyasha was following it for the life of him.

Literally.

:End Chapter:

YAR I be updatin’, that I be!

For some odd reason yet identified, I have spoken thus for a week now. I’ll figure it out later.

On a note every man and/or lesbian woman should hear: I’m in loooooooove!

Yes, that’s right, your authoress got herself a cute ‘n cuddly man. Or I think he’s cute ‘n cuddly. I don’t care what you think. All I know is he’s MINE!! Mwa hahahahaha!!

Therefore. . .

:Releases Naraku: Don’t exactly need him anymore.

:Naraku screams happiness, becomes a priest, and saves the world from his younger self:

Okay, show of hands. . . who saw that comin’? -.-

Also. . .

Tetsusaiga.

Incorrect.

I know that the anime has spelled it ‘Tetsusaiga’ for a long time. . . in fact the entire anime length. . . but it’s incorrect. Rumiko Takahashi spelled it ‘Tessaiga’.

The translators got this wrong because of the style of Kanji used to write the word. If it were indeed spelled ‘Tetsusaiga,’ then Sesshomaru’s name would in fact be ‘Setsushomaru.’

And that just ain’t so imposing or strong, is it?

Try to keep this in mind. There is also the spelling of Sesshomaru’s sword – I have seen it spelled both ‘Tensaiga’ and ‘Tenseiga.’ I’ve yet to figure which one is in fact correct. I’m leaning towards ‘Tenseiga’ myself.

And my spellchecker certainly seems to like it.

The difference between those two spellings, in case you can’t tell, you English-speaking wannabe anime-lovers, is the pronunciation.

“Ten-sigh-ga” = Tensaiga.

“Ten-say-ga” = Tenseiga.

See ya! :Wink: