I went back to chapters one and two and fixed the little holes in the plot and spelling errors. Nothing too big, but I did made chapter one much MUCH easier to read.
"So, what do we do now?"
Yusuke's slightly troubled expression reflected in the water from the fountain as he looked up.
Kuwabara sat on the edge of the Three Ferrygirls fountain. "Well, I dunno about you guys, but I don't feel too good about this. I mean, we kidnapped this girl when she didn't even do anything!" He said, his voice rising to try and drive his point home.
"He has a point, you know," Yusuke commented to his other two companions.
"Heh, the buffoon is just worried about his honor," Hiei said scathingly.
Kuwabara jumped up and shouted at Hiei. "Oh yeah? Well, at least I HAVE honor, you pipsqueak!" A slight blush bloomed across his cheeks.
"Hn," Hiei's eyes narrowed and his hand strayed towards his sword.
"Hiei," Kurama said calmly, wordlessly cautioning him. His eyes drifting towards the window that Rio was surely behind.
"Fine," Hiei turned away, disgruntled.
"However," Kurama continued. "Don't be at a loss. We are helping someone who was not only possibly dangerous to others, but to herself."
"Well, when you put it like that, it doesn't seem so bad..." Kuwabara relented.
"No, it doesn't." Kurama said quietly, watching the water flow from the tips of the marble broom handles.
"Have they run any tests yet?" Yusuke inquired, uncharacteristically calm.
"They're observing right now, but the test should begin as soon as they know it's safe."
The four spirit detectives looked up as they heard steps coming towards them on the cobblestone path.
"Yes, all that is correct," stated Koenma as he walked up to the group around the fountain. The midday sun glinted off of his pacifier as he spoke. "As circumstances stand, though, we may not have to. We are hoping that she will display inhuman activity before we have to start testing, because, well, frankly, there are so many things to test for, and most of the test can hardly be said to be pleasant or...safe."
"Hey, you're not going to hurt her, are you?" Kuwabara demanded.
"Well of course we'll try not to," Koenma said, looking the other way across the lush green lawn towards the medical ward.
"So," he said with satisfaction plainly evident in his tone of voice. "You're trying to say that after begging and pleading for a chance for redemption, after betraying me to save your skin, and successfully getting said chance at redemption, you've messed it all up again?" His voice rang out in an amused tone.
"Shut your trap, Whit." Bo growled threateningly.
"But why should I?" Whit chuckled happily to himself. "You're the one in trouble now. This time, you can't even blame it on me!" A hint of vindictive glee glittered in his voice, just like the satisfaction in his eyes.
Bo groaned and leaned his head against the hard wall. What is the point in all of this, he wondered. He had too many enemies to be welcome here, he reminded himself. People he and his wife had stepped on, climbing the ladder of success. Too many things had changed in eighteen years. Some of those people were still around, and were not above holding an old grudge.
"What do you want, Whit?"
"You," Whit said without hesitation.
"What? You still...After all this time...?" Bo scrambled for words, all of his ready-made replies thrown from his mind.
Whit laughed a different laugh. Not the young, happy laugh he had used moments before, but a harsher, more bitter laugh. "No, I want you put down. Spat on. I want to see you suffer like I did. And then I want to see you die."
"Oh," Bo said, all intelligent replies driven from his head.
"You know, I wanted to die so many times after you left. My punishment was not light, oh no. No matter how many times I told them it wasn't my fault, that I hadn't done anything..." Whit's voice trailed off and he crossed his arms in an effort to bar the memories from his mind. "Our master saw my unwavering dedication to him even in my punishment, though, and had mercy. He gave me another chance," Whit said quietly, his voice going slightly hoarse.
Bo had no reply for this information. His mind flashed back to the events eighteen long years ago that had led up to this. He remembered how young he had been. How young they had all been. Young and foolish. Pangs of guilt plagued his mind as he glanced at Whit. His once toned and muscular form was thin and undefined, his beautiful, expressive golden eyes were dulled by pain and mistrust. His complexion was now pale and sickly, when before it had been golden-brown and healthy. His stance was still confident, but now it was cautious and on the alert. No new wrinkles had appeared on his handsome face, but there were dark circles under his eyes and his full lips were turned down in bitterness. Bo wondered if he had smiled at all in all these years.
Suddenly, words rushed up to the tip of his tongue. Words of apology, of pleading for forgiveness, wanting to acknowledge just how horrible he had been, promises to make it up to him filled his mind. He looked up to Whit, pleading in his eyes, wanting to make him understand...But Whit had turned his back to Bo, still reliving the bitter things he had experienced. His hand moved of its own accord, reaching out to Whit, almost touching him, before he realized what he was doing. He bitterly dropped his gaze and let his arm fall back to his side.
It's too late, there's nothing to say, Bo reminded himself. Nothing you can do will make up for his pain.
Suddenly, Whit straightened up and turned around, all traces of emotion gone from his face except for a bit of accusation in his eyes. "The lord will see you now," he said stiffly, passing by Bo to press the elevator button.
The doors opened and Bo followed Whit into the elevator, watching him use a key card to access the top floor. The ride in the elevator was silent. Neither of them looked at the other, and Bo could feel the cold dread welling up in his chest, blotting out all other worries as he watched the floors pass by, bringing him ever closer to what was surely his impending doom.
Even though each second ticked by as if it were an hour, soon the elevator doors were swishing open with a soft metallic clack and ding, revealing the interior of the room.
"Enter," a voice called out from the softly lighted room.
Bo made no move to go in, for he was frozen solid with fear. After a moment, Whit roughly pushed him and he stumbled into the room.
"I hope you get what you deserve, bastard." Bo heard Whit say, his voice choking as he said it. The elevator doors clanked shut with the same metallic sounds.
"Well, are you just going to stand there?" He heard Daichi chuckle softly.
I wonder how many hours of boredom it takes to start hallucinating things, Rio thought.
"I'm BORED," she shouted at nothing in particular. "If you're going to kidnap me, steal my clothes and hold me against my will, at LEAST give me some crayons!" She shouted at the ceiling.
To her astonishment, in reply to her request the door clicked open just long enough for a box of soft pastels to be shoved through the door. Taken by surprise, Rio had no chance to make it across the room in time to catch the door before it was shit again. She slammed into the door a good half-second after it had closed.
Rio banged her fist on the door. "Damn it!" She yelled, leaning her forehead against the door in frustration. She pounded the door a few more times to relieve her frustration before looking down at the pastels.
"What do they expect me to do without paper?" She wondered aloud. Then her brain sparked, and she looked around her at the white walls.
Let's give this place some color, she thought mischievously. After all, it wasn't her room.
Soon the pastels were splayed around her as she sat, Indian style on the floor in front of the wall opposite her only window. Rio smiled at the feel of the pastel in her hand, rolling it back and forth between her fingers, watching as it left its residue on her fingertips. She hadn't been allowed to have art supplies at home, not even colored pens. She had always guiltily eyed the racks of brightly colored art supplies in stores, and watched longingly as little girls played with fingerpaints. She had stared in awe at the sheer amount of color in the portraits at art exhibits she had snuck off to see. Now that she finally had some of those coveted art supplies in her hands, even if it was something so small as a soft pastel, excitement flowed through her, activating her adrenaline. Creativity crackled in her brain like a freshly-kindled fire. She crowed in delight, forgetting when and where it was for a moment as she placed the first stroke of color upon the white wall.
As she drew, she let her hands take over for her. Drawing like this felt natural. Soon, she started to be able to make out what she was seeing in the picture. A young man, no more than twenty with a strong, summer-tanned body and windswept blond hair was reaching out to a figure in the distance. It wasn't the man's body that attracted Rio's eyes as she drew, though. It was his face. His face was filled with longing and sorrow. A single tear trickled down his cheek, revealing the storm of emotions going on inside of him.
The figure in the distance was even more perplexing to Rio. He was also young, but he was paler and had a thinner body. He was looking back at the blond man, holding out a hand to him as someone pulled his other arm. His whole form radiated indecision, and his face was contorted with the battle raging in his mind.
As Rio turned to draw the person pulling the man away, she snapped out of her reverie to realize she'd hit the other wall. Looking up in awe, she realized that she had filled the entire wall with her drawing. Looking at it, Rio couldn't believe something of this magnitude had come from her mind. She stood and crossed to stand in front of the young blond man, reaching out her fingers to touch his tear-stained face.
Did I really draw this? she wondered. How could it be possible, when these people in her drawing seemed so real? The entire concept of her being able to create something of this magnitude the first time she'd used art supplies was simply baffling.
A great rumbling startled Rio out of her thought, and only then did she realize how late it was. The room was now lit by fluorescent lights, and her back and arms ached with the strain of the day. Her stomach rumbled again, making Rio look around for food. next to the bed on the night stand was a plate with sandwiches and a pitcher of water with a cup next to it.
Gratefully, Rio ate her meal. As she ate, she noticed how many wrappers and leftover pastels there were littered on the floor. She realized as she ate that they must have brought her more as she drew in her seemingly trance-like state. Growling with annoyance at her missed chances at escape, she scarfed down the last few bits of her sandwich and swallowed one last gulp of water. She fell back into the covers of her bed and was almost instantly asleep.