InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: Cacophony ❯ Security ( Chapter 12 )

“Miles Brennan: human, age thirty-six, occupation: head of security at the Lucky Starr Casino as well as the Starr Oasis Hotel in Las Vegas.  Certification in firearms safety and marksmanship.  Graduated with honors from the University of Southern California with a master’s degree in criminology.  Participation in a number of clubs, ranging from sports clubs to hunting clubs.  Joined the Navy, was a SEAL for a couple years.  Those records are, of course, classified.  No criminal record, and only one traffic citation in the last five years.  Recently engaged to one Lyza Carr, who works as a cashier at the same casino.”

Frowning in concentration at the copy of the background check that Moe Jamison had just read to him over the phone, Cartham felt marginally relieved that the man seemed to check out, especially since Kelly had told him that she liked the apartment and was seriously considering, subletting it, even though she was a little apprehensive about the rent that was more than she’d thought it would be.

“He checks out, Cartham.  Should be safe enough.  I’d think that, with the guy’s history of working security detail, his place should past muster easily, but I’m sure you’ll check into that, too.  Now, you want to tell me why you’re so interested?  You planning on moving to Vegas?”

Cartham made a face.  “Uh, no.  It’s for a . . . a friend.  Just want to make sure that Brennan’s on the up-and-up, is all.  Thanks, Moe.”

“Not a problem,” Moe replied.  “Let me know if you need anything else.”

The call ended, and Cartham tossed his phone onto the rough wood coffee table without taking his eyes on the report that Moe had sent him.  Aside from the information that the fellow hunter had already read to him, there were a couple pages of transcripts, a copy of his current lease, his driver’s license—basically all public documentation of the man’s life thus far.  “A deacon in his church?” he read out loud, his scowl darkening as he flipped to the next page.  “A damn paragon of virtue, is he?”

‘You know, you should be glad that this guy is so upstanding, Cartham.  I mean, strictly speaking, you’d think that it ought to bother you more if the guy was a complete dickbag, right?’

He grunted.  ‘I’m glad he’s a . . . great person,’ Cartham retorted.  ‘Just makes me think that, when someone comes off as that much of a boy scout, then there’s gotta be something else there—something he’s hiding.’

‘Look, it’s not like he’s trying to hit on Kelly or anything.  He’s just looking to sublet his apartment.  That’s all.  It sounds like he’ll be a pretty decent person to rent from.  Just go out there and make sure the place is secure enough, and it’ll all be good.’

‘I’m aware of what’s going on,’ Cartham grumbled.  ‘Anyway, it’s my policy not to trust anyone, right off the bat.  You already know that, or you should.’

‘Of course, it is.  It makes sense, too, and it makes you a damn good hunter.  The thing is, you ought to be able to trust Kelly’s judgement, don’t you think?’

He scowled.  It wasn’t Kelly that he didn’t trust, no.  He’d seen for himself that she wasn’t one to be swayed by just any old guy.  After all, she’d flat out turned down that pharmaceutical guy who could have easily been considered a prime catch, he supposed.  No, it was more that he worried that she’d find herself in some kind of situation that she had no control over.

‘You know, if you’re so worried that something’s going to happen, then maybe you should think about moving closer to her.  Then you could drive her crazy instead of keeping that specific honor for me.’

Cartham snorted, but he was saved from delving into it too deeply when the trill of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts, and he answered it without bothering to check since it was the ringtone that only belonged to Kelly.  “Hey, missy,” he greeted when the call connected.

Her reply was a very loud, very pronounced sigh.  “I can’t do it,” she stated flatly and in a rather sullen tone of voice.  “I can’t allow myself to rent that place, even though I really liked it—not without a roommate or something to offset the cost of it.  I just can’t . . . can’t justify the added expense in my own head . . .”

Cartham chuckled.  “That right?  And you don’t know anyone you’d want to have as a roommate?  No one at work or anything?”

She sighed again.  “Not unless—Why don’t you move here?  You can be my roommate,” she blurted, apparently struck by instant inspiration.  “I mean, I can tolerate you, and—”

“Tolerate?” he interrupted before he could stop himself.  “Is that right?”

“Well, you don’t annoy me, if that’s what you mean—no habits that drive me batty—maybe your weird coffee fixation,” she quipped.  “And you know, if you lived with me, then I wouldn’t need that gun, right?”

“Nice try, missy.  You’re still going to practice using it.”

She uttered a little, derisive hrumph.  “Anyway, I could totally afford the place if I lived there with you, and . . . and you can do your job from anywhere, can’t you?  You don’t have to be there, right?”

“This is true,” he allowed, settling back in his chair, tossing the papers onto the coffee table.  “I mean, yeah, I could work from wherever, but you said you wanted a guest room, and if I’m living with you, then you won’t have one, so it kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but . . .” Trailing off, she clucked her tongue a few times.  “I know; I know.  I’m being ridiculous.  Dropping everything to move out here?”  She laughed suddenly, as though the entire concept was completely asinine.  “Belle used to tell me that I would do stuff without stopping to think it through, and she’s right . . . Of course, she’s not really that much better about it . . .”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re being ridiculous,” he told her.

Her sigh told him that she thought he was just humoring her.  “You know, maybe I should just stay here, save up money till I have enough for a decent down payment on a house or something, but then, I’d have to make sure that this is where I want to be for a long time.  This apartment is nice enough, really, and for just me, it’s comfortable.  I could always just get new furniture to freshen the place up . . .”

“You could, or—”

“I’m going to call Miles back, let him know that I’m going to pass on that apartment, and then I’ve got to get to work.  There’s a management staff meeting in about an hour, and I can’t miss that.  I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

The connection ended before Cartham could respond, and he lowered the phone, frowning at it thoughtfully as he slowly weighed it in his hand.

He’d thought it fleetingly before, and she was right; he didn’t really need to live in Maine to do his job.  Being here made it easier, sure, but only for things like briefings before missions.  The other hunters who didn’t live anywhere near Maine tended to do a things a little differently, in that they were sent their assignments and did briefings via video feed.  Normally, they’d purchase their own prepaid cards and phones, and Cain would reimburse them for the expenses, and there was no reason to think that he couldn’t do the same for Cartham, should he decide to move.

Letting out a deep breath, Cartham shook his head.  What was he thinking?  Moving away from Maine?  He frowned.  He liked being here.  He liked the feeling of the wide-open space that still existed here.  He felt entirely at ease here, which was something that was hard for him to come by.

‘Well, even if you did decide to get a place in Vegas, nothing says you have to sell this one.  It’s not like you can’t afford it, you know, and that way, you can always come back here if and when the time’s right.’

That was true, of course.  Even so . . .

Everything hurt.

With a pained hiss of breath, Kelly’s eyes flashed open, her alarm, her near panic, instant and intense.  The pain, like a million shards of glass, digging into her body, brought a sheen of tears to her eyes as darkness ringed her vision, and she groaned, cried, squeezed her eyes closed as tears seeped out of the crease of her eyelids, trickling down her face, firing off another round of intense stinging as the salt in those tears flowed into the burned flesh of her cheek.

She wanted to pass out again, and if she had any kind of rational thought ability, that was what she’d have wished for.  In those moments, the fear that overwhelmed her only caused the pain to intensify into a hell of sensation that was too much for her to bear.

Slowly, though, the sound of a voice, speaking in soothing tones, broke through the haze of her brain, and as it grew louder, the pain seemed to lessen, at least, to the point that she could breathe.  Those breaths echoed under the plastic oxygen mask, strapped to her face, and Kelly slowly, cautiously, opened her eyes as a heavy sort of fog settled over her, dulling that pain at the cost of her ability to control her thoughts.

The friendly smile of a nurse dressed in light purple scrubs wavered into and out of focus.  A young-looking woman—Kelly found out later that she was youkai—spoke to her, but her words took all of Kelly’s concentration to sluggishly comprehend.  “I gave you something for the pain,” she explained, her smile not faltering.  “The doctor didn’t want you to have as heavy of a dose until after you’d regained consciousness.  Standard protocol for our kind . . . I’m sorry about that.  Just go on back to sleep, Kelly.  Dr. Kent will keep you sedated for the next few days so we can debride your wounds without hurting you more.”

But that was a lie, she’d found out.  Drugged up enough that she was unable to move, cognizant enough to feel every last, excruciating second as they pulled away the pressure dressings, as they used tweezers to pull off layers of dead skin . . . Unable to do more than groan, she couldn’t even cry as, hours upon hours, days upon days, were spent, putting her through a whole new odyssey of absolute agony . . .

Eyes flashing open, Kelly sat straight up in bed, her breathing, harsh and labored, as a cold sweat soaked through her pajamas despite the coolness of her bedroom.

Hastily shoving the light sheet aside, uttering a terse little growl as she struggled to yank her feet free, she finally stumbled off the bed and out of her room without bothering to turn on any lights, heading for the bathroom to splash cool water on her face as her heart hammered painfully against her ribcage . . .

She spared a few moments to hurriedly splash water on her face before yanking off her clothes and turning on the shower with a deft twist of the wrist.  She didn’t wait for it to warm at all, ducking under the cold flow to instantly cool her overheated skin.  After savoring the feel of the water on her body, she soaped herself and rinsed off quickly.  By the time she was done and reached out to shut off the tap, the water was just starting to warm, and she sighed as she wrapped herself into a soft, thick towel, ignoring the moisture in her hair as it dripped down her back.

For once, she ignored the pajamas she left on the floor and headed back to her room.  This time, though, she turned the lamp on beside the bed and gritted her teeth as she let the towel drop to the floor.  Then, she grabbed the large jar of medicated cream from the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed with a frown.

Bellaniece had sent the cream from the air force base, which meant that she had gotten it earlier yesterday—four jars of it, actually, which was enough to last Kelly for quite a while, even though she used it once, sometimes twice, a day.  She’d felt the difference immediately.  Even though nothing really alleviated the itchiness entirely, the cream worked wonders for that, and, she knew, over time, it would help even more.  She’d left a couple jars, back in Maine.  She hadn’t even thought about grabbing them before she left, and that was really the only thing she wished she’d taken the time to pack.  Letting out a relieved little sigh as the very light tingle that was somehow soothing erupted, deep in her skin, Kelly could feel the edges of her upset, staring to loosen its grip.

That nightmare that was more of a memory than an actual dream hadn’t plagued her in quite a while—since before she’d moved to Las Vegas—but it was just as harsh now as it had been back then, back when it had come to her, night after night after night, until she’d felt as though she were going mad . . .

It would probably never really go away, she figured.  After all, that time in her life was so traumatic in so many ways.  The months and years following the accident had been hard to deal with, and so often, it had felt like one setback after another.  After the initial series of three reconstruction surgeries, she’d thought that she was finished, that the worst of it was past.  About a year after that, though, some of the grafted skin had started to die, and they weren’t sure why, so she’d had to undergo another couple surgeries to replace some of the grafts, and this time, Kichiro had opted to wait longer between the surgeries.  He’d postulated that the initial operations had been performed too closely, that her body had needed more time in order to start to assimilate the grafts better.  His theory had proven correct, and he’d waited almost two years between the first of the correctional surgeries and the second.

At least now, at this point, her body had adjusted to the point that she no longer needed the anti-rejection medication, which meant, according to Kichiro, that she was pretty much home free.  Even so, she still tended to check those areas where she’d had trouble after the first series, trying to make sure that she caught any sign of rejection earlier than she had the last time.  She probably always would.  Some habits were impossible to break, weren’t they?

It was a weird thing, really.  She’d learned to live with that deep-rooted sense of anxiety that hadn’t ever really gone away after the accident, to the point that it had become normal to her, and that anxiety had married into the whole, convoluted ball of negative emotions until it had manifested itself as that depression that had crept over her in such a way that she hadn’t even realized what was happening until after she’d managed to break free of it, if only by a little bit.  In a very real sense, her defection from her hometown had probably saved her life.  Even a year ago at this same time, she had spent so many nights, wondering just what was the point of her existence.  To be brutally honest, she still couldn’t say she had an answer to that question, but . . .

But she had found things that made it worthwhile to wake up in the morning and to open her eyes.

Still, she had to wonder, just how long it would take before she could look at herself in the mirror and not have that one, fleeting moment when she felt that irrational fear, that panic.  Maybe if she could get to the point where she felt that sense of familiarity she used to take for granted when she looked at herself, then she’d know that she was all right.

Frowning as she took in the sight of the scars that still traversed her body, she forced herself to take her time, working the cream into her skin.  Kichiro had told her to massage it in, that it would help to encourage the blood flow necessary for the skin grafts to meld with her own.

What would Cartham have thought of her if she hadn’t finally sought to escape the prison of her own mind?  He’d come to find her because Cain had asked him to—paid him to, actually.  That had put her on her guard, and rightfully so.  But still, it confused her.  He’d helped her by loaning her money, and sure, maybe it was nothing more than a means to an end for him, but he could have been heavier-handed—could have easily insisted that she do things his way.

And she tried to remind herself not to read too much into it, not to rely upon his apparent kindness, upon his apparent friendship.  She tried to remind herself that she shouldn’t look forward to his impromptu visits, too.  None of that seemed to work, though.  No amount of those reminders could stop the quick flutter in her chest when her phone beeped unexpectedly, when the tap on the door announced the arrival of the man in question.

The last time, Cain hadn’t sent him, hadn’t known that he was coming out to see her, and maybe . . . Maybe she wasn't just a job, not anymore . . .

Wiping her hands on the towel, she sighed again, but it wasn’t an entirely unhappy sound, either.  No, it was more than that, and it took a moment for her to really grasp what it was that she was feeling.

It wasn’t optimism, exactly, but it wasn’t negativity, either.  It was more of a sense that maybe—maybe—things might well end up, all right in the long run, as long as she could hold on until then . . .

Blinking as he slipped off the motorcycle in the driveway in front of the Zelig mansion, Cartham spotted young Sebastian, playing in the grass, just off the path with the family dog.  The six-year-old and future North American tai-youkai sat still, idly picking at the blades of grass with a thoughtful frown on his face as the crisp fall breeze blew his long bronze bangs into his eyes.  Cheeks rosy from the brisk wind that blew off the sea, wearing a red quilted flannel jacket, buttoned from top to bottom—doubtless his mother’s influence—he seemed a little more somber, a little more reflective . . . Something about the boy seemed a little more serious than normal, which was saying a lot since he tended to be a rather serious child, overall, and Cartham stepped toward him.

“Why so serious, kiddo?” he asked, hunkering down beside him, resting his elbows on his knees as his hands dangled limply in the air between them.

Sebastian—Bas, for short—screwed up his face as he considered Cartham’s question.  “I was thinking,” he replied simply.

“You look like you’re doing some pretty serious thinking,” Cartham pointed out.

Bas shrugged his small shoulders, letting one hand fall to the thick fur of the dog beside him.  “Well, my daddy said something, and . . . and I don’t get it,” he said, and as he spoke, the scowl on his tiny face seemed to darken.  Not surprising, Cartham figured.  The boy had an uncanny way of taking things far more seriously than someone his age probably should.  It would probably make him a damn good tai-youkai one day, but for a child?  It seemed a little much.

“What did he say?”

Bas made a face, making no bones about the idea that he was very irritated that he couldn’t grasp whatever it was that Cain had said.  “He said that he isn’t always my daddy,” Bas finally said.  “He said sometimes, he’s gotta be tai-youkai, but . . . but he looks the same, so . . .”

“I see,” Cartham said with a slow nod.

Bas wasn’t finished.  “So, if he isn’t my daddy, then who is?  Don’t I have a daddy all the time?  And where does Daddy go if he has to be tai-youkai?”

Cartham chuckled and reached over to muss Bas’ hair, which earned him a wizened scowl that gave a brief glimpse into the man that the boy would one day be.  “I think what he meant was that sometimes, he has to think and make choices as the tai-youkai, even if he’d rather do things more like what your daddy would do . . . Like, if you want to play football, right?  But he has to say no so that he can work in his office.  Does that make sense?”

Bas pondered that, and slowly, he nodded.  “So, if he can’t play with me, then it’s because he has to be tai-youkai?  But he’d rather play with me?”

“Aiyuh,” Cartham agreed, figuring that it was the easiest way to explain it to the boy.  “Why didn’t you just ask your dad what he meant?”

This time, Bas sighed.  “I tried to understand it,” he explained.

Cartham nodded, too.  That made sense.  Given the boy that he knew, it wasn't surprising to him that Bas simply didn’t want to admit that he didn’t understand, in the first place.  One day, he’d learn that there was no harm in asking if he didn’t get something right away, but Cartham figured it was a lesson that he’d figure out over time, and there wasn’t anything wrong with that, either.

But Bas’ current quandary seemed to be solved, and he was ready to turn his full attention to Cartham, instead.  “Are you here to see my daddy?”

“Aiyuh,” Cartham replied, bracing his hands on his knees to push himself to his feet again.  “He inside?”

Bas looked thoughtful, his tiny mouth, pursing and shifting to the side as his eyes rolled upward in an exaggerated show of consideration.  “I think so,” he said, looking entirely too serious for his own good.  “I can go find him, if you want.”

Cartham chuckled.  “That’s okay . . . Looks like you’re busy.”

Bas shook his head and whistled for the dog to follow him as he hopped up, pausing long enough to grab the sides of his waistband to hike up his jeans with a little jump.  “Is this business, Mr. Cartham?”

The formality of the address drew another chuckle from the hunter.  “I guess you could say that.”

Bas nodded and darted past Cartham, up the steps of the wide front porch and into the mansion, leaving the door, standing wide open, likely thinking that Cartham was following close behind.

“Daddy!  Mr. Cartham’s here to see you!” Bas announced in a rather self-important tone as he stood in the doorway of the office near the entrance.

“Oh, he is, is he?  Well, tell him to come in,” Cain said, a vague little smile on his face as he spotted Cartham over his son’s shoulder.

Bas turned and blinked solemnly.  “My daddy can see you now,” he said, stepping to the side to allow Cartham to pass.

Cartham ruffled the boy’s hair in passing, and Bas, satisfied that his job was done, whistled for the dog again and dashed back outside.  This time, he closed the front door behind himself, and Cartham chuckled as he slipped into a chair, opposite the North American tai-youkai.

“What’s up?” Cain asked, setting aside a small stack of papers he’d been looking over.

Cartham shrugged, settling back in the chair in a lazy kind of way.  “Nothing really,” he replied.  “I just wanted to see if you had anything for me?  Otherwise, I was thinking about flying out to Vegas for a few days.”

Cain frowned.  “Vegas?  Is Kelly all right?”

“As far as I know,” he replied.

Cain still seemed confused as he idly patted his pockets for a rumpled pack of smokes.  “Good . . . Good . . . But if she’s fine, then . . .?”

Cartham shrugged again, digging a stick of Doublemint gum out of his coat, deliberately taking his time as he unwrapped it and folded it into his mouth.  “Eh, you know.  She doesn’t have anyone nearby.  If something happens, then she’s alone.  That’s all.  So, I was, uh . . . I was thinking about maybe moving out there, you know, just for a little while.”

Cain stilled for a long moment, and then, he shook his head.  “To Vegas?  You want to move out there?”

“For a little while,” he repeated, purposefully keeping his tone on the lighter side.  “It won’t be a problem, will it?”

Cain blinked and shook his head.  “Yeah, no, it’d be fine,” he assured him.  “It just seems kind of out of the blue; that’s all.”

Cartham made a face.  “Well, kind of.  I mean, I’ve been considering it, off and on.  A change of scenery is nice every now and then.”

Cain didn’t look like he was buying, and why would he since Cartham had lived in pretty much the same spot for almost as long as he’d known him?  He opted not to say anything about it, though, and he shrugged.  “Well, there’s nothing that I can’t assign to someone else if it came down to it,” Cain said, apparently opting to dismiss whatever thoughts he had on Cartham’s abrupt announcement.  “At the moment, there’s not really anything on the radar, as far as hunts go—thank God.”

“Cool,” Cartham said, pushing himself to his feet.  “Give me a call if you need anything.”

Cain nodded, but remained silent as he watched the hunter go.