I've been working on this story for months, and here's the beginning of what I've finally come to. Enjoy. Maeli
Otousan's Lies
Chapter 1: Mortality
Each labored, fading footstep made the blood in Kenshin's head pound as he stood paralyzed with terror, shallowly gasping for breath as rising bile burned his throat. His eyes jerked to his wife, who stood staring through the open door behind him, motionless and white as a corpse. She twitched as the dojo's squeaky gate swung violently open, then darted blindly forward in pursuit of he who was fleeing, tripping straight through the fresh pool of blood on the floor.
She stumbled to a halt as Kenshin caught her wrist with his cold, quivering hand.
"Let go, Kenshin!" she panted, "he's leaving again, he's—come back! Come back!" She pulled uselessly against his icy grip. "Don't leave again, please . . . let me go! I have to stop him, I have to save him . . . he didn't know, he didn't know what he was doing, he couldn't—"
A tear splashed near Kenshin's foot as her hopeless wail broke off with a choking sob. She descended to her knees as the swinging gate slowed and finally stopped. There was a trail of blood leading to it down the steps and through the dark courtyard, still moist and red. Kaoru reached forward to touch the closest warm red puddle.
"What have we done?" she whispered slowly, "our baby, he's gone . . ."
Kenshin dropped his head and shuddered as Kaoru's words became unintelligible and her voice degenerated to pained, hysterical weeping. He'd never heard her cry like that. No one had. She hadn't allowed it since her father died.
"Kaoru," he murmured, tears gathering in his eyes, "I'm so sorry . . ."
He heard her rise suddenly behind him and turned in time for his distraught wife to collapse weakly against him.
"It's not your fault, Kenshin," she whispered fiercely. "Please don't blame yourself for this."
Not his fault?
Of course it was his fault. He had chosen to lie, to hide his very identity from their son. He had made the mistake of thinking it would protect him. He had been foolish enough to assume he would never figure it out. He had failed as a father, had dismissed and attempted to suppress his son's abnormal gift for swordsmanship, had lied and treated the near man as a child, and now the boy's rebelliousness had become fatal. He had pushed away their son, he had hurt Kaoru, and now someone was dead.
It was all his fault.
Kaoru clenched her eyes shut as Kenshin abruptly clutched her kimono with the intensity of a frightened toddler. His tears soaked through her clothing; his embrace was so tight that she would have told him he was hurting her if the discomfort wasn't overwhelmed in sorrow. Instead she only squeezed back, refusing to look at the guilt eclipsing his face.
"I should have seen it coming," Kenshin cried haggardly. Kaoru's eyes stung and she pushed her head into his chest.
"I want him back, Kenshin. I want Kenji."
When had this nightmare begun? There had been no warning, no signs, no reason to suspect that something was wrong . . . but Kenji had suddenly become their enemy.
What had gone wrong that day, a month ago?
Stop running!
"I can't!" Kenji heaved as his eyes flitted back and forth with escalating panic. "I have to get away from the dojo, have to get away from them—"
She's losing blood.
"I know!"
He clutched the girl in his arms closer with feverish terror and desperately maximized his speed, ignoring the red stickiness soaking through his gi.
"Have to save her—"
Yahiko!
His house was right there, right in front of him. Yahiko would help, right? Yahiko would—
"No!"
Yahiko might help, but then he'd go straight to the dojo for Kenshin. He couldn't risk that. He couldn't be found by them . . .
He couldn't hear her breathing.
"Yahiko!"
He threw his shoulder repeatedly against the door, continuing to scream urgently. And there were footsteps . . . footsteps! Someone was coming . . .
"Hello?" a groggy voice asked.
"Yahiko, it's me! Open the door!"
Kenji heard the lock click and smiled in exhausted relief.
"Hurry Yahiko, we have to help her!"
The door remained shut.
"Help her?" Yahiko asked tentatively. "That girl from before? The one helping you look for . . . for Battousai?"
Kenji had the sudden urge to retch. He knew this was a stupid idea.
"Yahiko," he gasped, slipping to his knees, "please don't do this . . ."
"Kenji, I won't—"
"Yahiko . . ." Kenji suddenly whimpered, and the man on the other side of the door froze as he realized the boy was crying.
The door slid slowly open and Kenji raised his head to see Yahiko step backwards, his face portraying horrified disbelief.
He probably would have reacted in the same way if he had found his surrogate brother kneeling on his doorstep, carrying a corpse and doused in new blood.
"Please help me, Yahiko. She's dying."
"Kenji," Yahiko gasped tearfully, crouching in front of him, "what have you done?"