InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Ideology ( Chapter 32 )

~~Chapter 32~~

~Ideology~

 

-=0=-

 

 

`I don't know what to believe . . .'

 

Holding the steaming mug of coffee as he stared out the window in the dingy little diner, Kurt let out a deep breath and wished for the thousandth time that he understood exactly what was going on.

 

He'd wandered in for a cup of coffee, having spent the better part of the day since leaving the facility just wandering around without a real destination. He'd stopped Harlan long enough to tell him that he was taking some time off. It hadn't struck him at the time, why the bastard was more than willing to allow it. Kurt knew now, though, that Harlan just assumed that he was going to hunt down another demon—a male. That's the only reason why the damned old fool would have grinned like a moron when Kurt said he was taking time off.

 

Honestly, though, Kurt didn't give a damn, what the man thought. He just needed to think . . .

 

He'd spent his entire life hating those things, hadn't he? He'd spent so much time believing that they were nothing but monsters . . . Having not one, but two families destroyed in front of him . . . He'd really thought that he was right . . . but now . . .

 

The absolute sadness on the little demon's face . . . the tears that pooled in her eyes but would not fall . . . Tears for the family who would be worried sick about the youngest: the baby . . .

 

“Then Papa would sit down and play the piano . . . When I was little, I'd sit beside him, just to listen . . .”

 

`N . . . no,' he thought, setting the mug down and digging his hands into his hair. `No . . . it's . . . it's a trick . . . It has to be a trick . . .'

 

He wanted to believe that, didn't he? Wanted to believe it because . . . because admitting that he had been wrong . . .

 

Standing abruptly, he dropped two dollars onto the table and slipped out of the place. New Year's Eve . . . the calm before the storm . . . People milling about, buying those last minute things that they'd need for their parties . . . Hurrying here or there as they muttered about waiting till the last minute . . .

 

And if he believed the little demon, then he knew that there was one family somewhere . . . one family that wasn't watching fireworks or running all over town as they tried to find those items that had somehow slipped their minds . . . One family who was sitting near the telephone, hoping, wishing, praying it would ring . . . And if that were true . . . then it was his fault . . .

 

`Damn it . . .'

 

But they were monsters, weren't they? Monsters . . . beasts that killed and destroyed indiscriminately . . . They'd killed his family, and all because he could see them . . . and yet . . .

 

And yet, the little demon . . .

 

So where was the truth? Where was the understanding? How could he accept the idea that she wasn't really so different from anyone else . . .? If that were true . . .

 

If that were true . . .

 

Hunching his shoulders against the wind that battered at him, he tugged on the black leather gloves and kept moving. If that were true . . . then who was the monster, really?

 

Everything that he'd ever thought; everything that he'd believed . . . was there any truth in it? Was there any real and true reason?

 

“My sisters have missed Papa's birthday, but I never have . . . At least, I never did . . . till now . . .”

 

Pressing onward, he kept moving through a sea of unknown faces, against those beliefs that had become so ingrained in him over time that he hadn't thought to question them . . .

 

The door to a small shop crashed open, a little girl dashed outside. Crashing into Kurt's legs, she stumbled and nearly fell. He reached out to steady her instinctively, blinking when she smiled up at him. Deep blue eyes in such a tiny little face . . . corn silk blonde hair that whipped in the wind . . . a little dimple in her cheek . . . Human, yes, but . . . but if she'd had those ears—those little white dog ears . . .

 

Kurt stepped back as the knot in his stomach grew. She probably did look just like that when she was little, didn't she? Hair a touch paler, eyes a hue darker . . . a little girl's smile . . . a little girl who hadn't realized that there were some monsters out there who were infinitely worse than the ones that she might believe hid under her bed at night . . .

 

The child's mother ran outside, glancing curiously at Kurt before rushing her daughter back inside. He stared at the door for a long minute before forcing himself to move on.

 

“The youkai I was hunting . . . He killed fifteen children in Paris . . . Fifteen families, destroyed, and all because he didn't like humans, and I thought he . . . he deserved to die . . . I thought that I was helping, but . . . There are youkai who despise humans—youkai who blame humans because we have to hide, but we're not all like that . . . I know you don't believe me, and . . . and I can't blame you for that. If anyone hurt my family, I think . . . I think I'd hate them, too.”

 

And yet he knew, didn't he? After she'd tried to escape that first time, had she ever actually hurt anyone? Had she raised her claws to strike them down? True, there was the incident with Peterson, but . . . but even then, she'd only tried to shove him away, and while she had cut his cheek . . . Well, Kurt couldn't say he blamed her for that. Still, when the guards had come, she hadn't tried to fend them off . . . and somewhere deep down he understood, didn't he? She'd let them kill her before she'd willfully bring them harm, no matter what they'd done to her . . .

 

And somehow, that just didn't sit well with him, either, did it?

 

What kind of creature was she, to wield such power and yet to choose not to use it to help herself get out of there? He liked to think that he could control her, but if he were honest, he knew he couldn't. If she'd been set to gain her freedom . . . Safety was an illusion that he'd created because it had suited him to do so, and the one to suffer for his arrogance . . .

 

“I'm sorry . . . so sorry . . .”

 

With tears in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks—tears that she refused to let fall for herself, for her family . . . and yet she'd shed them for him . . .

 

For him . . .

 

Stopping on a strangely deserted street corner, Kurt lifted his head, stared at the gray skies that threatened snow that didn't fall . . . `Like her . . . tears . . .'

 

“It means . . . monk, basically . . . Are you a monk?”

 

A harsh, bitter sound surged out of him. He might have thought that it was a laugh if he had harbored the capacity to make such a noise. Eyes narrowing as he stared at the skies, he shook his head. `If . . . if there is a God or something—anything . . . if there's anything at all . . . Then show me, can't you? Show me exactly what I'm supposed to . . . believe . . .'

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“I hate this place.”

 

“So you've said.”

 

Kichiro snorted and shot his twin a doleful glower. “Shut up, Ryomaru.”

 

Ryomaru sighed and shrugged offhandedly, leaning in closer to his brother as he avoided a woman who was hurrying along the sidewalk with an armload of shopping bags nestled in her arms. “Well, you know, baby brother, it really ain't that bad . . .”

 

“Keh! I can't believe that they still insisted on having that damned birthday party . . .”

 

“Yeah, but it made Grabby smile, so I figure it was for a good enough cause . . . `Sides, you see Zelig's face when Gin gave us that cake? Looked like someone just dealt him the wedgie of the century . . . Good `nough, if you ask me.”

 

Kichiro shot his brother a completely frustrated look. “Good thing I'm not asking you, then, isn't it?”

 

“C'mon, Kich . . . it wasn't all bad, right?”

 

Kichiro shook his head. “You mean, before or after Baby-Belle and Lexi got into their shouting match?”

 

Ryomaru winced. “Yeah, okay, that was bad . . .”

 

Kichiro sighed, jamming his hands into his pockets. He'd known, hadn't he, when Bellaniece had called to ask him hesitantly if he'd come home for his birthday . . . He'd known what they were planning, but he simply didn't have the heart to deny her, either. Something quiet and strained in her voice . . . and he'd hopped onto the first flight he could get with Ryomaru in tow, and they'd flown back to Maine for the debacle of a birthday party, only to fly back into Chicago early this morning . . .

 

And maybe it was done with the best of intentions—a moment in time to remember the family he'd been neglecting of late, and he'd done his best to smile and to accept those well-wishes that sounded entirely too tight, too strained to be genuine.

 

But after his altercation with Mamoruzen—damn that pup and his pragmatic thinking . . . And the hell of it was that Kichiro did understand what the young man was trying to say. That didn't mean that Kichiro liked it or that he'd ever give up and stop searching. No, it only served to add to the weight of it all that was bearing down on him, and every time he turned around, he was reminded of the things he couldn't be.

 

Then his daughters . . .

 

Stepping into the kitchen, hoping for a brief reprieve from the unsettling notion that everyone was watching him, just waiting for him to flip his lid, Kichiro had stopped short when he heard the raised voices inside . . .

 

“You know, I think that everyone is having a great time,” Isabelle said as she pulled a few bottles of champagne out of the refrigerator. “I wish Grandma and Grandpa were able to come . . .”

 

Alexandra slammed the water glass on the counter and slowly turned to face her sister. “It's a joke, Bitty! Don't you get that? A huge joke . . . not one of those people wants to be here, especially Papa and Uncle Ryomaru . . . You dragged them home just to have this farce of a party when they ought to be out there looking for—”

 

“One night is not going to make or break anything,” Isabelle cut in curtly. “In fact, it might do them both some good! Papa's running himself ragged, if you haven't noticed, and Uncle's not much better.”

 

Alexandra narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at her sister. “You can't even bring yourself to say her name, can you?”

 

“Don't be silly! Of course I can!”

 

“Then say it,” Alexandra challenged. “Stop acting like there's nothing wrong! Stop acting like a child! Samantha's out there somewhere! For all we know, she could be—”

 

“Don't you say that! Don't you dare!” Isabelle cut in coldly. “She's fine—just fine! And you should feel that she's fine, too!”

 

“Yeah, well, I don't!” Alexandra countered. “You might, and Mama might, but I don't! And don't say that it means that I don't care, because I do! If I could bring her home right now, I would, but you . . . you live in this fantasy world, don't you? Do you even grasp it? Do you understand it at all? Samantha is gone—gone! She's been missing for two months! We don't know who has her or what they want, and even if we did, would it matter? Wake up, damn it! Wake up and look at the facts! Grandpa and Uncle haven't found her—the best of the best can't locate her! What the hell do you think that means?”

 

Isabelle strode over to her sister, glowering at her in a fierce sort of way that was entirely unlike her. “Don't you dare talk like that, especially not in front of Mama, do you hear? If you do, so help me, Lexi . . . I'll never forgive you. Never!”

 

“Girls,” Kichiro said quietly as he strode into the room. “What are you doing?”

 

They both had the grace to look entirely ashamed, and Kichiro heaved a sigh. “Sorry, Papa,” Alexandra muttered, hurrying over to kiss his cheek. He gave her a wan smile and a quick squeeze meant to reassure her though he doubted that it actually did.

 

Isabelle turned away, as though she needed a moment to compose herself, and maybe she did. Alexandra slipped out of the kitchen, and Kichiro sighed again. “Baby . . .”

 

She held up a hand over her shoulder. “I know; I know,” she interjected quietly. “I'm the eldest; I should be an example, right? It's just . . . I feel it, you know? I know that she's out there, somewhere, and . . . and tonight, she's thinking about us, too . . .”

 

Kichiro didn't know what to say to that, either. In the end, he said nothing at all, simply wrapping his arms around his daughter, hoping that she understood the things that he just couldn't say; the silent promise that he'd bring her sister home . . .

 

“Listen, Kich . . . we'll find her, right? We'll find her, and she'll hug me and tell me that I'm the best, of course.”

 

Kichiro snorted, knowing damn well that his irritating brother was just trying to irk the hell out of him, and damned if it wasn't working like a charm, too . . . “Shut up, baka.”

 

Ryomaru grinned just a little. “You worry too much. You're just like Mother that way.”

 

“Yeah, and you never worry enough, do you?”

 

Ryomaru snorted. “I worry just fine, baby brother.”

 

Kichiro didn't respond to that as the two of them continued along the street. Passing by buildings that they'd seen a hundred times if they'd seen them once, and it didn't matter from what angle they saw them, it was the same: no Samantha.

 

“Well, you know, she's always liked me better, anyway . . . not that I blame her. I'm hella fine, eh?”

 

Kichiro rolled his eyes. “If you're so hella fine, why don't you and Nez just have another one of your own instead of trying to steal mine?”

 

Ryomaru shrugged. “Been thinking about it.”

 

That got Kichiro's attention quickly enough. After Nezumi had lost their baby a few years ago, Ryomaru hadn't mentioned trying again. “Yeah?”

 

Ryomaru's ears flattened for a moment then flickered back up once more. “Nez said that she . . . she wants to try again, but . . .”

 

Kichiro nodded. He could understand that, he supposed. Losing their baby had been hard on Ryomaru, even if he hadn't said as much out loud. Kichiro knew. Kichiro always knew, didn't he? “Well,” he joked half-heartedly, “maybe it's better if you don't. After all, weren't you recently called a woman? A fairy woman?”

 

Ryomaru grunted and shot Kichiro a dark look. “A half-fairy woman, damn it,” he grumbled.

 

Kichiro shrugged. “Sounds about right.”

 

“Shut up . . . and I think that it's time for me to remind you that we're twins—identical twins—even though I'm better looking with softer ears—”

 

“And a bigger ass,” Kichiro added dryly.

 

“—so if I look like a woman half-fairy, then I suppose that means you do, too.”

 

Kichiro rolled his eyes. “Whatever, whatever . . . You know, maybe if you took some time off work . . . maybe it'd be better for Nez if you do decide to try again.”

 

Ryomaru let out a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I thought so, too . . .”

 

Kichiro suddenly chuckled.

 

“What's so damn funny?”

 

Shaking his head, he turned the corner and kept walking. “Just struck me, you know . . .? We used to walk all over Tokyo, trying to figure out what girls we could pick up . . .”

 

Ryomaru chuckled, too. “We did, didn't we?”

 

Kichiro let out a deep breath, his gaze roaming over the building fronts of the never-ending streets. “When did all that change?”

 

“Hell, I try not to think about it. Makes my head hurt.”

 

Kichiro rolled his eyes, wondering how many times he'd wandered this way, always searching, searching . . . and how many more times he'd have to keep doing the same. `As long as it takes,' he thought with a sudden grimace, a tightening of his fists. `As many times as it takes . . .'

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

The combined aura drew his attention; a power that he sensed long before he saw the demons. Lowering his head, he scanned the streets, eyes widening when he spotted . . . them?

 

Two of them, both with the same silver hair as the little demon; both with the strange dog ears, too. The strangest sense of déjà vu settled over him as he stared, as he watched the two. Tall—easily over six feet tall . . . powerful, yet there was something about them, wasn't there? A measure of . . . sadness . . . but it was more than that.

 

They could have been . . . `Twins,' he thought with an inward grimace. Twins . . . `It's . . . hopelessness, isn't it . . . hopeless because they can't . . . they can't find . . . her . . .'

 

And even though he didn't know which one her father was upon first glance, did it matter? Hanging back far enough to avoid drawing their notice, he followed at a distance, repulsed yet compelled . . . They looked entirely too similar not to be related, not to bear that close of a familial bond. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through Kurt's chest as the two turned their heads, their ears twitching and pivoting to intercept any noise, any hint of something familiar.

 

The wind shifted slightly, blowing against Kurt's face, carrying sound to him that he might not have otherwise heard: a conversation . . . the bits of a conversation . . .

 

“. . . We'll find her, right? We'll find her, and she'll hug me and tell me that I'm the best, of course.”

 

“Shut up, baka.”

 

“. . . Just like Mother that way.”

 

“. . . never worry enough . . .”

 

“I worry just fine, baby brother.”

 

`Damn it . . . they really are . . . her family . . .'

 

Digging his hands into his pockets, bracing himself against the bitter wind that the two demons didn't seem to notice at all, he heard the voice in the back of his mind, telling him that what he was doing was stupid; foolish, that if he got caught, they'd kill him, not because of what he could see, but because of what he'd done to one of theirs . . .

 

But he couldn't stop, either. Call it morbid curiosity or a sick sense of irony, Kurt trailed the two along the streets. If they had a real destination in mind, he couldn't rightfully tell. It was all right, wasn't it? After all, he didn't really have anywhere he had to be . . .

 

The neater looking one—that was her father. Kurt wasn't sure how he knew this. There was more of an urgency in his aura, more of a desperate quality, and while the other did seem concerned, his feelings were nowhere near as strong as the one. Long hair braided and hanging down the center of his back, clothes immaculate, worn easily, as though he took no notice of his appearance, and maybe he didn't. Still, there was a quiet sense of frustration, an underlying anxiety, and Kurt understood that, too, didn't he? He'd . . . he'd seen it before . . .

 

Kurt had been seven the spring when Caroline had slipped out of the yard. He'd said he'd play with her, but got sidetracked reading a comic book. The next thing he knew, his father was there, demanding to know where his sister was. It was then that Kurt had realized that the gate was opened just enough for her to slip out . . .

 

And they'd searched frantically all over the neighborhood. All the neighbors, the local police—everyone had come out to help look. The raw emotion on his father's face . . . the tears that stood in his mother's eyes . . . and the absolute relief when they finally found her.

 

The trill of a cell phone caught Kurt off guard. The two demons stopped while the one with the braid pulled out his phone and frowned at the display. A moment later, he opened the device and held it against his head where a human ear might have been. Kurt wasn't close enough to hear the exchange.

 

A fleeting glimpse of raw hope flickered to life on his features. Kurt moved in closer to the store window beside him, pretending to be interested in the items on display. Long ago, he'd learned how to mask his power if he wanted. It was one of the few useful things that Old Granger had taught him, but he had to concentrate to do it. It came in handy now, though he didn't doubt that those particular demons might find it odd if they caught him following them.

 

As fast as the hope had surfaced, though, it disappeared, only to be replaced but an unmasked air of complete and utter disappointment. “No,” he said, his voice taking on a raw quality, a harsh sound. “No, that . . . that isn't her.”

 

The twin shook his head, his expression taking on a commiserating slant, a harshness that was disbursed by the concerned lines near the corners of his eyes. “No luck?”

 

The little demon's father pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment as he struggled to regain a semblance of his composure. “They, uh, said they saw her on Halloween in Sacramento, California. Said that they remembered because she was dressed up like a devil . . . but . . .”

 

“But she was here on Halloween,” his brother muttered. “Damn it . . .”

 

The phone rang again. This time the father looked like he might consider smashing it instead of answering. Kurt grimaced as a crowd of kids who looked like they were on their way to some sort of party despite the early hour passed between the brothers and him. Weaving through the throng when the demons started to move again, he grimaced.

 

Everything she'd said . . . she'd told him the truth, hadn't she? About the family that missed her; the father she loved . . . Everything, everything, and . . . and he'd taken her away from all of that, hadn't he?

 

If Caroline had lived—if she were still there, that's what he would have wanted for her, wasn't it? A family who would search forever if they had to; search for the daughter that they couldn't find, the sister who had disappeared, the niece that they only wanted to see again . . .

 

But demons were real, and he'd believed for so long; believed that they only killed and destroyed . . . believed that they were the basest of creatures . . .

 

He'd never met anyone like her, no matter what she was, no matter where she'd come from. He'd never met someone who cried for him . . . concerned enough to try to wake him from those nightmares . . .

 

And it was just by unfortunate circumstance that he'd happened upon her: the sad little demon with the deep blue eyes . . .

 

He'd never once stopped to think, never once considered, that she had people who loved and cherished her, people who would hurt when she didn't come home. He hadn't thought enough of her to believe that she was anything more than the monster that he'd built up in his mind so very long ago, and yet she smiled at him, didn't she? She smiled, and she laughed, and she . . .

 

Kurt winced.

 

And she cried . . .

 

The ones that had killed his family—those were the monsters. They'd had no remorse, no shame, no pity. They'd done what they'd done because they could; because there was no one to stop them. That was their crime, wasn't it? But the little demon? What had she done to warrant the disrespect of him and the researchers? What had she done that was so terrible that it warranted a lifetime inside a cold cage—a cage he'd constructed within barriers meant to protect humans . . .

 

A family who loved her, who missed her, who cried for her . . .

 

Kurt increased his pace, stepped up behind the two demons. Lifting his hand, reaching out to grasp him—her father . . . If he told him where she was . . .

 

`They'll kill her . . .'

 

Jerking his hand back as the uttered a harsh gasp, he stopped in his tracks as the realization sank in. If he told those demons . . . they would go after her; he didn't doubt that. If they went after her . . . the guards had guns, and even the little demon couldn't move faster than a bullet . . . If they went after her, how many humans would die? Would either of them make it out alive? And if it came to it, she . . .

 

She wouldn't fight back, would she? She wouldn't because she didn't want to hurt humans . . . If the guards came for her with their guns, fearing for their lives . . . if they pulled those guns on her . . .

 

And she . . . She'd stand there and let them do it, wouldn't she? She'd let them . . . she'd let them kill her before she would raise a hand against them . . .

 

And wouldn't it be worse for her? Should anyone she love get injured or killed just to save her? Knowing that your loved ones died . . . died for someone else's reasons in someone else's war . . . He knew what that felt like, damn it . . . He knew, and . . .

 

Caroline's face flashed through his head—the day she'd gone missing. His father had told him that it wasn't his fault, that they'd find her; they'd find her . . . And they had, hadn't they? She'd gone down the road to the small park on the corner and had fallen asleep in the half buried tires the children could crawl through. The difference was that Caroline had come home, hadn't she? Nestled against her father's shoulder, he'd carried her home in his arms . . .

 

The little demon . . . Kurt swallowed hard, watching the two silver haired demons as they strode away on the sidewalk.

 

She . . . she needed to go home, too, didn't she?

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~= ~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

A/N:

== == == == == == == == == ==

Reviewers

==========

MMorg

Jester08 ------ malitiadixie ------ Firedemon86 ------ iloveanimecartoons ------ asgard ------ DonthatemecuzImbeautiful ------ midcat ------ Simonkal of Inuy ------ OROsan0677 ------ oblivion-bringr ------ dusparr ------ Dark Inuu Fan ------ AtamaHitoride ------ BlkbltVette ------ darkangel05

==========

Forum

psycho_chick32 ------ malitiadixie ------ Firedemon86 ------ BENGbeng ------ MouF ------ BobbyJustGotSheared ------ Chva the Mai-Coh ------ ai_Artista ------ Zero ------ BlkbltVette ------ OROsan0677 ------ cutechick18

==========

Final Thought from Kurt:

…Her …father …

==========

Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Vendetta): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~