InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: Cacophony ❯ Curiosity ( Chapter 7 )

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

“Jerry Morris, jackal-youkai originally from Perth, Australia.  He slipped into the country just before a hunt could be issued for him some twenty years ago for causing an apartment building collapse in Sydney that killed forty-seven people and injured a slew of others, but he was recently spotted in the Valley of Fire State Park, not far from Las Vegas.  Jude Covington wanted to send his hunter in to track him down, but I told him that we could take care of it quicker and more efficiently since this is our turf, anyway.”

Cartham grunted, crossing his ankles as he settled back in the chair in Zelig’s well-appointed office.  “You starting an international pissing war?” he countered mildly.

Cain snorted.  “Nope.  It just makes good sense.  After all, if he did send in one of his hunters, I’d still have to send one of you with him.  I’m only cutting out the proverbial middle man, so to speak.”

Cartham nodded slowly.  He knew from the few past instances where executive hunt orders had been transferred, it wasn’t really as simple as that.  Once the case was turned over, the acting tai-youkai would still have to investigate the charges, make sure that they still applied since every region had its own rules that varied just a little.  A few years ago, Cain had to send a case to Ian MacDonnough, the European tai-youkai, and MacDonnough, douchebag that he was, had decided that Cain’s case wasn’t strong enough to warrant a hunt, thereby effectively giving the youkai in question a stay of execution, so long as he remained within MacDonnough’s jurisdiction.  To Cartham’s knowledge, the bastard was still there, too, and likely was still up to his old tricks . . .

Cain sighed, shoving a slim-file across the desk.  Cartham leaned forward to nab it, turning it on and opening the file to stare thoughtfully at the target, Jerry Morris.  Spiky, frosted blonde-tipped, black hair, a slightly elongated nose, lips that were on the thin side, slightly bulging eyes that were so dark, they appeared to be black . . . He couldn’t rightfully tell from the snapshot, just how big Morris was, but he seemed to be pretty slight of build, given that the black trench coat in the picture hung from his frame in all the wrong ways.

“Anyway, he might be tougher to track down,” Cain went on, oblivious to Cartham’s current line of thought.  “The Valley of Fire State Park isn’t that big—roughly forty-thousand-acres—but that terrain is pretty challenging, and we have no idea, just how long he’s been holing up there.  They do have a campground, though, so it might be easier to go that route.  Maybe some of the campers know something.”

Cartham grunted.  “Hey, Zelig . . .”

“Yeah?”

Settling back in the chair once more, Cartham held up his hands.  “Do I look like a camper to you?”

Cain blinked, stared at Cartham for a long moment, then he chuckled.  “Well, no, not really,” he allowed, scratching his chin thoughtfully.  “Well, I think Larry’s available.  I could give him a call.  He’s probably better suited for this one . . .”

Cartham grunted as Cain reached for the phone.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Larry.  Hold on.”  Cain hit a couple buttons, and the call transferred to the computer.  A moment later, the video feed connected.  Larry looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower, which made sense.  It was only ten in the morning in Maine, which meant that it was about seven in Washington state where Larry lived.  “Hey, I’ve got an assignment for you.”

“All right,” Larry agreed.  “Oh, hey, Cartham.”

Cartham only nodded his greeting, weaving his fingers together atop his chest.

“I’ve got a guy who seems to be hiding out in the Valley of Fire State Park—wanted for a number of human deaths in Australia.”

“Was thinking about doing a fishing trip, but I guess I could put it off . . .” Scratching his head thoughtfully, Larry’s clear blue eyes seemed to cloud over as he considered it.  “Valley of Fire State Park?  Oh, in, uh, Nevada?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Cain said.  “It shouldn’t be too difficult, aside from tracking him down, but I figured it’d be easier to take care of if you stayed on-site at the camp grounds.  I was going to send Cartham, but . . .”

Larry chuckled.  “Yeah, not really the camping type,” he agreed.  “It shouldn’t be any trouble,” he decided.  “Got any intel on him?”

“I’ll send it in a minute,” Cain said.  “Oh, and after you’re done with that, can you drop by Las Vegas?  My daughter’s friend’s living there.  I just want you to check in on her.”

“Yeah, okay,” Larry allowed.

“Cartham can send you Kelly’s details.  Nothing big.  I just want to make sure that she’s all right, that she doesn’t need anything.”

Frowning at the change of directives, Cartham cleared his throat, deliberately assuming an even more casual position.  “You know, I’ll take care of it,” he said, interrupting the conversation.

Cain blinked.  “Uh, but—”

Cartham shrugged.  “Eh, it won’t be a big deal.  Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve been camping.”

Larry frowned.  “Hey, uh, Cartham . . . Do you even own a tent?”

He grunted.  “Who needs a tent?”

“Well, if you’re trying to blend in with other campers, you might want to try, looking like one instead of one of Hell’s Angels.”

“Point taken,” Cartham replied, rolling his eyes, shaking his head.  “Anyway, weren’t you going fishing or something?”

“Yeah, I was thinking about it, but I haven’t made any solid plans.  I can take the assignment, sure.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Cartham replied before Cain could add his own two-cents.

“Well, all right, then . . . I guess Cartham’ll take this one.  Have fun on your fishing trip,” Cain said.

“Yep, call if you need anything else.”

The connection ended, and Cain tapped the button to turn off the monitor before slowly, almost cautiously, lifting his gaze to meet Cartham’s.  He looked like he was trying to figure something out, but finally, he just shook his head.  “Okay, hunter.  You’ve got your orders.  Check in on Kelly, too, while you’re there.”

Cartham hauled himself out of the chair and headed for the door, raising a hand to indicate that he’d heard him.

“Oh, are you leaving?  I’ve almost got lunch ready, if you’d like to stay,” Gin Zelig remarked as he stepped out of Cain’s office.

“Sorry, but you know, your mate’s a slave driver.”

Gin giggled, her amber eyes, lighting with little sparkles.  “I’m sure that it’d be fine if you were an hour or so late to get going.”

Cartham chuckled.  “Well, one of your meals takes more than an hour,” he reminded her, mostly because it was nearly impossible, not to sit around, talking to her.  She was entirely too engaging, too sweet, that Cartham had wondered more than once, just how Cain Zelig had managed to land a woman like her, to start with.

Gin seemed a little disappointed, but in the end, she shrugged.  “At least let me pack up a little lunch for you to take with you,” she offered, turning on her heel, heading back toward the kitchen.  “You stay put!”

He didn’t argue with her.  He’d learned a while ago that it wasn’t a good idea.  Oh, she’d agree easily enough, but even then, those cute little hanyou ears of hers would droop, and then he’d end up, feeling like the biggest, meanest ogre on earth . . .

Instead, he took the time to call and make arrangements for a flight out to Las Vegas, and if he hurried, he’d be able to catch it since the next one they had available wasn’t until very late tonight.

‘So . . .’

‘So . . .?’

Cartham’s youkai-voice grunted.  ‘So, are we going to discuss that whole thing?’

‘What whole thing?’

The voice snorted.  ‘What do you mean, what whole thing?  That one-eighty you just did in Cain’s office.  Since I happen to know that you’re not really that keen on camping, then I’d guess that it was the order that Larry check up on Kelly that bothered you, right?  So-o-o-o-o . . .?’

Cartham grunted.  ‘What?  That?  That wasn’t anything.  She just . . . It took her long enough to warm up to me, didn’t it?  Sending in someone else?  Yeah, that won’t work . . .’

‘Ah, so, we’re taking one for the team, then, are we?  Okay.’

He didn’t bother to argue with that, and he was saved from further scrutiny when Gin hurried back into the foyer with a black plastic bentou box that she handed to him.  “There!”

“Uh, thanks,” he said, reaching for the door handle.  “I gotta get moving.  The flight I booked boards in a few hours, so—”

“Oh, no, no!  Go on!  Have a safe flight and be careful!”

He nodded and slipped outside, taking the steps off the porch, two at a time and completely ignoring the sudden sense of anticipation that he had no reason to feel . . .


“Wow . . .”

Turning away from the small locker after she had retrieved her purse, Kelly raised an eyebrow at Lyza, who was leaning in the doorway, slowly shaking her head.  Her expression was a mix of bemusement and mock-despair, and she shrugged.  “What?”

Lyza sighed melodramatically.  “Did you really just blow that guy off?”

Kelly blinked.  “ ‘One-hundred-thousand bucks worth of chips, please.  One . . . hundred . . . thou-u-u-usand,’ ” she imitated since the man in question really had wanted to make sure that she heard him clearly—and that everyone in the vicinity heard him, too.  “That guy?”

Lyza laughed at Kelly’s dead-on impersonation.  “At least you know he’s got some cash,” she said.

Kelly snorted.  “Apparently, more dollars than sense, if you ask me,” she retorted.  “Besides, I don’t have time to pander to a man right now, especially one who may or may not be teetering on the cusp of a gambling problem.”

“Never date a guy you’ve met at a casino?” Lyza quipped.  “Actually, that’s probably pretty sound advice.”

“Mhmm,” Kelly intoned.  “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lyza giggled and headed back down the hallway since her break was just about over.  Kelly, however, was done for the day.

‘Well, done with work, anyway . . .’

Letting out a deep breath as she headed in the opposite direction, toward the secured door that led into the casino, Kelly stifled a yawn, checking her watch.  She had about forty minutes to get across town to the Nevada Technical Institute where she was taking classes in business management and staffing resources.  She wasn’t working toward a degree yet, but she wanted the certification.  Her boss had told her a couple months ago that he thought she could get promoted to cashier manager if she got those certifications since the current cashier manager was set to retire in a few months.  She’d had to come up with the money for the courses, but if she got the promotion, the casino would reimburse her if she negotiated it into her contract, and, while it wasn’t exactly her ideal job, it was definitely a step in the right direction.

And the money was damn good, too, even if she didn’t get a promotion.  Already, she’d earned a couple merit-based raises, along with her first quarterly bonus for having better than ninety-five-percent of her cash-out figures being dead-on.  All of that, along with her tips, meant that she had saved up just over two thousand dollars of the money that she still owed Cartham.

She sighed as she pressed her thumb against the lock and waited for it to release.

Cartham.

She hadn’t seen him in nearly two months.  She had, however, kept in touch with him via text, often sending him really off the wall and silly memes designed to heckle him.  It amused her that he actually did normally text her back, even if it was little more than an exasperated emoji.

The thing was, she really didn’t know, just what to make of him, had no real idea, just what their relationship really was—if there was one, anyway.  Most of the time, she kept things in a certain perspective, knowing deep down that the only reason he had helped her, that he’d found her, was simply because Cain had ordered him to do so, and, yes, he did have to come by so that she had a chance to pay him back.  She understood what he’d said about being beyond cautious about not giving out his home address.  She supposed that if she worked a job like he did, she’d feel the same way.

But she’d be lying, too, if she didn’t admit that sometimes . . . Sometimes, she’d stop, think about it, wonder what things would have been like if she’d just met him randomly somewhere.  If her life had been different, what then?  What if she’d met him in the middle of the grocery store back home?  Maybe in a restaurant or even in the library . . .? If she hadn’t been disfigured in the fire . . .

‘Does that really matter?  Life is the way it is, and maybe you were meant to meet him in this way.’

She frowned, pushing out of the security door when the lock released with a beep and a soft click.  It swung closed behind her, fastening with a repeat beep-and-click to indicate that the lock had engaged once more.  Reshouldering her purse, she headed for the front of the casino.

“Hey, hey, hey . . . You off work now?  What a coincidence . . . I was just leaving, too . . .”

Sparing the man who hurried over, falling into step beside her, a sidelong glance, Kelly summarily dismissed him.  She was off work, and she chose not to fraternize with the customers of the establishment.  It was discouraged, certainly, but not strictly against protocol, and she had decided long ago that it was a good policy to adhere to—not to mention the fact that she just didn’t feel like exposing herself to dating again in any case.

When she didn’t respond, he chuckled.  “Now, I know you can talk,” he coaxed, a certain arrogance, seeping into his tone.  “How about joining me for dinner?  I’m staying at the Revan Palisade, and the restaurants there are absolutely top-notch.”

“I’ve already got plans,” she replied in a brusque and business-like tone, reaching out to push the glass door open, only for him to hurriedly stride forward and hold the door for her.  He wasn’t trying to be polite, and she knew it.  Guys like him tended to use those kinds of gestures as a part of their whole façade—the nice guy—the smooth guy—and she saw right through it.

“Surely you can change them, can’t you?  How often does someone offer to take you to dinner at one of the best restaurants in the United States?”

She could feel the start of a very definite headache coming on.  Opting to ignore him since she figured it wouldn’t matter, what she said, he would still choose to brush aside her claims, all the while, convincing himself that she was just playing hard to get when nothing in the world was further from the truth.

All in all, it was really just annoying.  She didn’t have the time nor the inclination to try to find a nice way to tell the overzealous man that she just wasn’t interested, and she had someplace she needed to be.  Ignoring the nagging little voice that sounded entirely too much like her mother that reminded her that what she was about to do was a colossal waste of money, she brushed past him and strode over to the curb, raising her hand to summon a taxi.  He looked genuinely surprised when she slipped into the cab and quickly closed the door, summarily dismissing him like he was not at all important to her as she murmured her destination to the driver and settled back for the ride.


Crossing his arms over his chest, Cartham frowned at the slight form of Jerry Morris, the jackal-youkai that he’d managed to track down in less than twenty-four hours, deep in the middle of the Valley of Fire State Park.  The deep red of the valley still seemed to glow, even now, hence, the name of the state park, as the last rays of daylight disappeared on the horizon, casting a comforting darkness that thickened over the landscape.  In this secluded, remote place, he’d found him easily enough.  Morris either didn’t care enough to try to cover his tracks or he had sorely underestimated the abilities of one of Zelig’s top hunters.  Cartham didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t much care, either.

In truth, it had only taken a few hours to glean enough information from the local campers to find him.  It seemed that Morris was known to wander onto the grounds, making casual conversation with those campers, sometimes joining them for a beer or even a meal in a few instances.  A couple of them had mentioned that Morris had mentioned a pond that was situated about two hours’ hike north of the camp grounds.

It was a good tip since Cartham had located the youkai’s campsite easily enough near that pond.  Then he’d tracked Morris down to a small valley where he was trying to trap his dinner . . .

“You don’t have the right to hunt me down,” Morris said, trying to get a good feel for the terrain where they were, deep in one of the valleys between the unforgiving rock formations for which the park was named.  The unmistakable condescension in the man’s tone, fairly dripping from his words.

He was a dime a dozen, as far as Cartham was concerned.  It didn’t seem to matter, time, place, era, crime . . . They were all the same, weren’t they?  Fundamentally, it all came down to the misplaced sense that they were superior, that they had the right, to do whatever they wanted, regardless of who they hurt along the way.

Cartham stood his ground, but said nothing, knowing from experience that Morris wasn’t really going to listen to anything he had to say, so why bother?

It actually irritated him quite a bit, really.  That Morris was that easy to track down just reeked of his opinion that North America’s hunters were subpar, not to mention the absolute arrogance on his part, thinking that he could go wherever he wanted and that no one would catch him.

He was dead damn wrong.

Morris tried to survey the area without being too obvious about it, searching for a way out, Cartham figured, not that he had one.

“So, which one of the Zelig’s lackeys are you?” Morris asked, inflicting more than a little bravado into his tone.

Cartham shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest, the faint clink as the chains that hung from the jacket, punctuating the movements.  “The name’s Cartham,” he said as the jackal slowly tried to back away without drawing the hunter’s notice.

“Cartham,” Morris repeated, and even across the distance, even in the stingy light of the burgeoning night, he could see the youkai’s face pale.  He’d obviously heard of him, and, given the situation, Cartham wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good or a bad thing.  “Hey, uh, listen . . . I-I-I have money—more money than you’re being paid to hunt me down, I’d bet.  If you, uh . . . If you just tell the Zelig that you couldn’t find me . . .”

Cartham grunted.  “Oh, yeah?” he replied, figuring that he might as well humor the bastard, at least, for the moment.  “You think?”

Morris nodded quickly, rather emphatically.  “Yeah, yeah . . . Here,” he went on, suddenly struck by apparent inspiration as he fumbled with the cell phone he dug out of the pocket of his rumpled and dingy pants.  “Just . . . Just tell me where to send the money, and—”

Cartham shook his head.  “Well, you know, why don’t you tell me if you killed the people you were accused of killing?”

Morris’ nerves suddenly seemed to disappear, and he chuckled.  “They were easy pickings,” he replied with a careless shrug.  “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“Is that why you killed them?  Because they were . . . How did you put that?”  He snapped his fingers.  “That’s right . . . easy pickings . . .”

“Oh, come now.  You’re a hunter, aren’t you?  You understand that feeling, don’t you?  That sense of power, that you get to make the decision, who lives and who dies . . . I walked through the city . . . It’s a beautiful city; have you ever been there?  Everything about it except for one thing . . . It’s not like I was searching for a target or anything, don’t get me wrong.  Every morning, though, when I woke up . . . Well, I chose the building simply because it obscured the view from the hotel where I stayed when I first got there.  It had to go; that’s all.”  He laughed, shook his head as though he’d made a joke.  “I was simply improving the view.  Any fool could have seen that.”

“So, you chose to kill innocent people because the building they were in was obstructing your view?”

Morris tapped the side of his nose as his grin widened, as the spark in his eyes glowed brighter.  “Acceptable loss.  Don’t get it twisted, though.  I didn’t target those humans.  I really don’t have anything against them, but you have to admit, their lives are so transient, why does it matter?  It just shaved a decade or two off their existences . . . No big thing.”

His reasoning, the way he stated his opinion so nonchalantly, sickened Cartham.  He’d heard enough, damned if he hadn’t.

Morris didn’t seem to realize that Cartham was done listening.  The bastard chuckled, slowly shook his head.  “Anyway, feel free to tell your illustrious tai-youkai not to worry.  I’ll be happy to move on soon enough.”

Cartham said nothing as he stood his ground, even as Morris turned on his heel, as he started to amble away, like he didn’t have a care in the world.  Tamping down his general disgust at the man’s pomposity, he brushed aside Morris’ claims and calmed his emotions, separating himself from his thoughts as a matter of course—something he’d become damn good at over the years.

He didn’t move as the chains, hanging from his jacket, shot out, elongating, moving in such a blur that Morris barely had time to react.  He gasped, grunted, as the chains wrapped around him, dragging him forward as he struggled to regain his freedom.  Too bad Cartham’s youki was far too strong, quickly overwhelming Morris’ own.  Hiking boots, scraping over the hardened terrain, he struggled more, and, as he did, the chains wrapped themselves, tighter and tighter.

“For the murder of forty-seven humans in Sydney, Australia nearly twenty years ago, you’ve been targeted to be destroyed by the authority of both Jude Covington as well as Cain Zelig—in the names of the tai-youkai,” Cartham rumbled.

Morris jerked, flailed, gasping for breath as the chains snaked up around his throat.  The flesh of his face mottled, greying fast, purpling in the capillaries that traversed the surface as the blood vessels ruptured, one by one, and, all at once, the deafening crack as the rogue youkai’s neck snapped.  His body went limp, dangled there, held upright by Cartham’s chains for a brief moment before his body shattered, exploded in a wash of dust and a flash of white light . . .