It was almost ten. Elira idly watched the second hand of the front room clock tick out a half-minute, and then, with a sigh, she looked back at the monthly numbers. Pay attention to what you're doing, she told herself sternly. Bills were coming due and it was almost time to hand out employee cheques; the monthly numbers had to be finished today. Pinching the end of the pen between her teeth, she stared intently at the page and began to add in her head.
She'd nearly finished totaling one column when, without conscious effort, her eyes were inexorably drawn back to the clock. Twenty-five seconds to ten. Twenty-four, twenty-three... She shook her head when she realized she was counting seconds and forced her eyes to return to the task at hand. Her momentary lapse of focus had, however, caused her to lose her place. The third time in fifteen minutes. Sighing inwardly in frustration, she breathed out a curse.
Why wasn't he up yet?
She knew he'd come home late; later than usual. One portion of her mind argued that he was working himself to exhaustion and needed the sleep. But another part was practically screaming with impatient worry. If only he'd get his behind out of bed and make an appearance so she could tell him Pegatha had run away. And then maybe she'd be able to stop watching the damn clock and get some work done!
Because it was impossible to concentrate on anything when her thoughts were so occupied with the sudden, angry departure of their daughter. She ached to tell Vincent what had happened, as if hoping it would make him realize that, no matter how much North Corel's police needed him, his family needed him more. Hoping, somewhere inside, that it would make him quit and return home, so that Pegatha could return home...
She glanced at the page again and ran her tongue over her teeth. And grimaced. Vomit. She could still taste it from this morning. Frowning, she groped for her coffee and brought it to her lips for a long swig. It was hot and bitter, but she forced herself to ignore the slight pain and acrid taste in favour of re-coating her mouth. After a moment of swishing it around, she swallowed and combated the immediate bucking of her stomach with a few deep breaths. It was getting worse. This morning, she hadn't been able to eat anything. Even the thought of food had made her feel ill. Coffee wasn't much better, but she'd needed something to wake her up or else she would've been dragging all day.
Like she was dragging now, she realized. Pursing her lips, she looked back at the paper and began to add the column up again from the beginning.
She managed to keep from looking at the clock long enough to write the total at the bottom. She smiled and started on the next string of expenses; two sums from the end, however, the phone rang, effectively banishing all math-related thoughts from her head. She cursed again, louder this time, and threw the pen to the desk top. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Taking a breath to calm herself, she pushed her hair back from her face and answered the phone.
"Good morning, Valentine's Weaponry Station, how may I help you?"
There was a beat of silence before a somewhat uncertain-sounding man replied, "Yes, hello. I'd like to speak to Mr. Valentine, please. Is he there?"
She raised an eyebrow. Another call for 'Mr. Valentine', but this time it didn't sound like the police. "No, I'm sorry, he's not at the moment," she replied politely. "Can I take a message?"
He hesitated. "Um, yes. Yes, thank you. Could...could you have him call me, please? My name is Arnold Harrows. He visited me yesterday; he should remember me. Could you please tell him I called?"
Elira said she would and took down the number for the man's store as he recited it. Once they'd hung up, she looked the number over, trying to figure out what side of town it was from. Definitely not southside, but beyond that she was at a loss. Why would he be visiting another shop? A moment of thought, however, convinced her that she was never going to find out; Vincent always refused to give any but the most innocuous details about his job. Sighing, she put the number down and looked back at her work. After staring blankly at the page for a few seconds, she picked up her coffee and let her eyes drift back to the clock, finally giving in to her distracting impatience.
Vincent woke and, as was becoming routine, found himself alone in the bed. Blinking and rubbing a hand over his gritty eyes, he rolled over and checked the clock. Just after ten. With a sighing yawn he dropped his head back onto the pillow.
It had been a long night. Since Mr. Harrows had refused to help him, he'd spent much of the afternoon and evening looking up and talking to other gunshop owners. Every one of them -- every one -- had denied that they made drop-offs, though they hadn't been able to explain why they'd been fortunate enough to have escaped being robbed in the last three weeks. No one was willing to take a risk. He'd believed before that North Corel had changed quite substantially from the handful of uncooperative men and women it had been before Meteor, but now he wasn't so sure. Didn't it bother anyone that a criminal organization was basically running the city? Didn't anyone want them stopped? Some days, it seemed a hopeless business.
He'd spent until after two in the morning riding around looking for another meeting, or a drop-off, or anything. But, as if they'd seen him coming, he hadn't encountered a trace of the organization that sometimes seemed to be everywhere he looked. And the police still hadn't come up with anything new. He'd been so tired when he'd walked through the door...
And yet, unable to sleep for at least another hour. It hadn't helped that Pegatha had been missing from her room when he'd peeked in to check on her. In his state of immediate anxiety, he would've gone to rouse Elira had he not seen the note, caught under the door; Pegatha had gone to stay with a friend because...because she'd had to 'get out'. It had relieved him to know that she was safe, but the note hadn't made him feel any better about the fact that she was gone in the middle of the night.
Vincent stretched and, despite the fact that he was still missing an hour or so of sleep, made himself get up. He showered, shaved, and, after passing by the kitchen and realizing that he wasn't in the mood to eat, descended into the shop.
Elira was in the front room, as usual, a mug of coffee in her hand as she sat at the desk and tallied up the latest bills. He sidled up behind her and kissed her softly on the head.
"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked into her hair.
"Fine," Elira answered curtly without looking at him. Vincent straightened up with a sigh. She was upset with him again. Or still. But there was still nothing he could do about it. "I'll be in the forge," he told her.
"Wait." She said it quietly, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to stop him.
Obediently, Vincent halted.
Without looking at him, Elira continued. "A Mr. Harrows called for you about fifteen minutes ago. He wants you to call him back at his store. Here's his number." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she held up a torn strip of the sheet she was using for calculations.
Vincent plucked it out of her hand. "Thank you." He turned around, intending to call from the apartment.
The sound of her voice, soft and yet steely, accusing, made him stop before he'd reached the doorway. "Pegatha ran away last night, Vincent."
He sighed again silently. "Yes, I found the note when I came in."
"She didn't say who she was going to stay with, and she didn't call last night. I have no idea where she is."
Vincent had suspected as much, but Elira's words made him wince inwardly as if with sudden realization. There was no way to check up on her, no way even to know if she'd made it safely to wherever she'd gone to last night. And there was no way of going and getting her; it was completely up to Pegatha when she would return, if she would return...
Vincent came out of thoughts as Elira took a shaky breath. When she spoke, it was in little more than a whisper. "She ran away because you weren't ever home," she told him, and he could hear the frustrated tears in her voice that she was trying to hold back.
Vincent closed his eyes as a decades-old ache throbbed within him, nearly forgotten and yet still familiar. He was doing his best, trying to choose rightly, and there didn't seem to be anything else he could do. But she'd still turned her back, walked away...
Married Hojo...gone to a place where he couldn't reach her, couldn't save her...
"Elira," he said, but the word was more of a gasp as he struggled under the pain and crushing guilt associated with the accusation. "I'm doing all I can, but I can't be everywhere at once."
"I'm not asking you to be!" Elira asserted suddenly. "I'm just asking you to be where..." She stopped abruptly and then shook her head, still facing away from him. "No, I can't argue this with you right now," she said quietly, wiping at her eyes discreetly with her fingertips. "Go make your phone call."
Vincent didn't move for a few moments, uncomfortably aware that a fight was opening up before them, but unsure whether or not to pursue it. After what seemed a long time, but was probably no more than ten or fifteen seconds, he opened his mouth to speak. "It won't be much longer, Elira," he stated softly.
Elira didn't respond to his claim and, after a short pause of waiting for some sign that she'd heard him, he turned and headed upstairs.
Mr. Harrows' son picked up when he called the shop, but it was no more than a minute before he was speaking to Harrows himself.
"Mr. Valentine." He sounded relieved, but there was a strange tremor to his voice as if he was also a little nervous. "Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. I...I was hoping to talk to you today. You see, I..." He paused as if to collect himself. "I've reconsidered. I thought quite a bit about what you said yesterday. So far, I've been letting this corporation walk all over me. I guess I thought it was the best way to protect them, my family. But really, I was just delaying the inevitable, wasn't I? Because if no one fights back, it will become inevitable."
Vincent gave a grunt of acknowledgment. "Unfortunately, that is true."
"So..." Harrows paused. "Are you still looking for a way to trail the corporation? Because, well, one of them called me last night to ask if I could make the drop-off tonight; if you're still up for it, I was thinking you could meet me at my shop, say, nine-thirty this evening. The drop-off's for ten."
Vincent resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Just as things had started to fall apart around him, his salvation had appeared from an unlikely source. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Harrows. That would be a great help to me."
"I'm glad to be able to do something," Harrows replied sincerely. "For the first time in weeks, I'm feeling a little bit of hope."
With an agreement to meet together at his shop at nine-thirty, they said good-bye and hung up.
This would be the last night, he swore it. After tonight, everything would go back to the way it had been before he'd taken the job, and everyone would be able to rest easier, him included.
But he had to finish this. There was almost no question, no doubt in his mind about that; and those questions and doubts that did exist were nothing to the feeling he had inside about this job. It was his duty, it was his fate; it was something he had no control over. Elira had already accused him of doing this to appease the demons he'd collected as a Turk.
And perhaps she was right. Because lately he'd found himself thinking about it: there had to be a way to make retribution for all of the things he'd done. And if this was it, he was willing to endure any agony, any suffering, to complete the job. It deserved his best effort, and more. It deserved nothing less than every bit of energy and life in him. After all, that's what he'd poured into being a merciless killing-machine.
It deserved no less than everything he had. And, though it frightened him, he realized that some part of him was willing to give up everything he had...if that's what it would take.
His stomach rumbled impatiently, bringing Vincent out of his thoughts. But he didn't feel like eating. There were too many things on his mind right now for him to be able to sit down to breakfast, so he headed down the forge. It was the perfect place to forget everything that didn't have to do with molding heated metal or polishing gun barrels. Once he'd descended the stairs, however, his feet led him back into the front room as an idea formed in his mind concerning Pegatha.
Elira was in almost exactly the same position on the stool as when he'd left her, her pen caught between her teeth. He wasn't sure if she'd heard him approach, so he cleared his throat as if offering a truce, hoping to prevent their earlier simmering argument from blowing wide open during business hours. Elira glanced at him and gave a glum smile. Encouraged a little by her subdued demeanor, he spoke. "I was thinking," he began, "doesn't Arick have a shift tonight? He could possibly know where Pegatha is." The idea that their daughter would feel secure in letting Arick know her whereabouts when she was keeping it from her parents made Vincent scowl inwardly, but there was nothing for it. If Arick knew, he would gladly take the information; finding her was more important right now than his unease concerning Rory's younger brother.
Elira sighed and took the pen out of her mouth, gesturing with it as she answered. "I would ask him, except I don't think he's going to show up today. He's already missed one shift this week and when I called his house to find out where he was, his mother told me that he hasn't been home since the beginning of the week."
Vincent frowned as this new piece fell into place. "Arick may have convinced her to run away," he stated grimly.
Elira glanced dubiously at him. "I don't know about that. She was mad enough last night to have run away on her own."
"But he may have put the idea into her head."
Elira rolled her eyes. "You know, this is what got you and Pegatha into trouble in the first place; your differing opinions of Arick. I've tried to be objective through all of this, but, frankly, I think I'm starting to side with Pegatha. You're being too hard on Arick. He's a nice boy; I know he has his problems, but he's not a bad kid. I can't imagine him convincing Pegatha to do anything that might harm her in the long-run."
Vincent didn't reply, but he was inclined to believe as he had before. Maybe Pegatha and Elira couldn't see it, but there was a searching, grasping sort of darkness around Arick that unsettled Vincent; it was too familiar to him for him not to have noticed it. He was sure he'd had the same sort of shadow around him when he'd been Arick's age, and he wouldn't have wanted Pegatha to know the boy he'd been.
Elira sighed suddenly and Vincent took this as his cue to head into the forge, before this new argument had the chance to turn into a fight as well. It seemed that fighting was all he and Elira did anymore when they were together. But...there was nothing for it except to go through the fire and hope he came out unscathed on the other side...
Before he disappeared through the door, he said to Elira, "I'm going to work my entire shift today. I won't be leaving until this evening." He pursed his lips. "And I might not return again until late."
Elira nodded stiffly without looking at him, her pen clenched firmly between her teeth. Vincent hesitated for a moment as if expecting some other movement or word from her, but she remained still and silent. He sighed and, trying to ignore the uncomfortable weight of what lay unresolved between them, walked to his desk and lost himself in his work.
It was strange to go to school as if everything was normal. It was even stranger when she realized that, unlike most of her peers, she wasn't going home to her parents once classes were over. This distinction, however, gave her no feeling of independence; she felt instead as if she'd lost some freedom she'd once enjoyed. Of course, she attempted to deny this feeling at every moment, as if to prove to herself, and to her absent father, that it didn't matter if he was around or not because she could live without him.
And not just live, but have a better, happier life...without him...
During the lunch hour, Pegatha spent some of her dwindling allowance on a cafeteria-made sandwich. It wasn't until she'd seated herself beside Haelie that she realized she wasn't very hungry. But it would be a waste, now, if she didn't eat it. Sighing, she dutifully picked up the sandwich and took a bite, resolutely ignoring how bland it seemed in comparison to the ones her mother made.
She just taken a second bite when Haelie jostled her elbow. "Pegatha, listen! I think they're calling your name over the P.A"
Pegatha perked up and discovered to her surprise that, through the crackling static of the intercom, someone was saying her name. "Pegatha Valentine, please report to the office; Pegatha Valentine, please report to the office. Thank you."
"What could they want?" Haelie asked.
Pegatha shrugged. "I have no idea," she answered, though inwardly she was wondering if somehow the school knew she'd run away from home. She pushed her styrofoam plate to her friend. "Here, Haelie. You can have the rest of this if you want. I'm not hungry."
Haelie had already eaten a salad, but she took an edge of the plate with a finger and dragged it in front of her. "You sure?"
Pegatha nodded. "Wait for me here, okay? Hopefully this won't take too long."
Haelie waved her off with an assurance that she would remain in the cafeteria as she took a large bite of the sandwich. Pegatha stood from the bench and made her way around the tables to the doors. At any other time, she might've glanced around the cafeteria to see if Arick was within sight, but today he hadn't come to school. He'd also stopped going to work, he'd told her. Pegatha didn't care if he was going to quit his education; that was his choice, and besides, it sounded like the dojo was going to be getting some classes of its own. But the news that he'd quit his job had made her wonder immediately how her mother was doing. She hoped she wasn't having too much trouble running the shop now, especially considering that she had the flu. It seemed bad luck that all of these things were happening at the same time, but Pegatha tried not to let herself feel too bad about it. Because, if she allowed herself to feel bad, she was half afraid it would convince her to go home. And she wasn't ready. Not yet.
When she arrived at the office and introduced herself, one of the secretaries handed a phone receiver to her. "There's a call for you, dear, on line one."
"Oh." Pegatha took the receiver blindly. "Thank you." She put it to her ear. "Hello?" she asked, half-sure she already knew who it was.
"Pegatha?"
"Mom?"
Her mother let out a sigh. "There you are. I'm glad to hear that you're all right. You are all right, aren't you?"
"Yes, Mom, I'm fine."
"Good. I was worried when I found your note last night. It was pouring when you left."
"Yeah, but I was all right. It was just a little rain."
"Where did you stay last night?"
Pegatha hesitated for a moment. "At Haelie's," she lied quickly.
"Will you be coming home tonight?"
Pegatha bit her lip. "Um, I don't know. Is..." She took a breath, feeling as if her chest was constricting. "Is Dad there?"
"Yes, he's in the forge."
Pegatha felt something quicken within her. "Is his other job finished?"
Her mother sighed again. "No, honey. He's still working there. But he told me this morning that his shifts are almost over, and then he'll be at home again."
"When will he be done?"
A pause. "Well, he's not sure, but soon, he said."
Pegatha couldn't help but feel disappointed with this answer. He'd said from the beginning that the job would be over 'soon'. But how soon was soon? It already felt like he'd been doing it for too long. "Okay," she replied finally. "I guess I'll call you tomorrow, Mom, just to let you know I'm still all right."
"Are you sure you don't want to come home, Peg?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll come home soon." Soon, soon... "See you later, Mom."
"Bye, honey. And try not to be too angry with your father. I know this is a rough patch, but he loves you and misses you, too. He wants you to come home as much as I do."
Like last night, Pegatha felt a sudden lump in her throat. She swallowed uncomfortably. "I know. I just need a couple more days."
"All right. See you soon, then. Be careful, and don't be too much trouble for Haelie's mother."
"Okay. Bye Mom."
"Bye sweetie."
She hung up with a peculiar feeling in her stomach; her mother hadn't been angry, but she'd spoken in that soft, gentle voice she used sometimes when she was sad. It made the guilt she was feeling that much more pronounced. But at least her mother hadn't sounded sick. That made Pegatha feel a little better. And she'd be home in a couple of days, anyway. From there everything would, hopefully, just go back to the way it had been before all of this had started.
Soon...soon everything would go back to the way it had been. With a dim smile at the secretary who'd handed her the receiver, she turned away and headed back to the cafeteria.
That evening around nine o'clock, Vincent headed to the police station to speak with Inspector Neilson. Mindy was at the front desk when he entered. He thought, as she led him to Neilson's office, that the bold little secretary was getting more comfortable with his visits; she even offered him a faint smile before departing back to her computer.
Once Neilson had waved him into a chair across from him, Vincent filled him in on the details of the hours to come and what he hoped to accomplish. Neilson smiled grimly.
"It's bad indeed when we have to start involving the public. God." He ran a hand over his face. "Sometimes I still can't believe it's come to this. We're supposed to be the ones out there fighting to keep these people safe. But we can't put a stakeout at every store." He sighed and turned his head to look at the corkboard. "We can't even stakeout half of them. North Corel's still such a young town..." He shook his head. "Damn. We were so unprepared. I don't think any of us expected something like this."
"Larger cities than North Corel have fallen to corrupt organizations," Vincent offered. "Midgar was unprepared for Shinra's sudden rise to power, and Midgar had been around for decades. I will admit, however," he interrupted himself smoothly, " that North Corel could have been better prepared, but that would have taken extraordinary foresight. North Corel is not the type of place I would expect an organization to want to occupy. And for what the town needed to battle crime beforehand, the police force it had was adequate. I don't think anyone could have reasonably expected better preparedness."
Neilson glanced at him out of the corner of one eye, and then sighed. "Well, maybe you're right." He took a breath and changed the subject. "You talk about Midgar like you grew up there," he remarked.
Vincent shrugged a little and nodded. Neilson smiled suddenly. "It's remarkable how quiet you become when it comes to questions about yourself," he observed. Vincent didn't reply to the allegation. After a moment, Neilson continued. "Some of my men thought you might have a criminal past. Do you have anything to say about that?"
For the first time, Neilson was able to correctly pin an emotion to his dark visitor; he looked decidedly uncomfortable, and after a moment, he stood from his chair. "Perhaps we could leave these questions for another time. I need to meet Mr. Harrows at his shop in a few minutes."
Neilson got to his feet and waved a hand obligingly. "Of course. This isn't the time." Vincent was a step from the door when Neilson spoke again. "Were you going to come back here again tonight to let us know how it goes?"
"Yes, I was planning to. I'll return in a couple of hours at the latest."
Neilson nodded. "That sounds like a plan. I'll be here in my office, or thereabouts. Good luck, Mr. Valentine."
Vincent gave an acknowledging nod and left the station while Neilson went about getting himself another coffee in preparation for the long evening.
Mr. Harrows was quick about packing up the merchandise and loading it in his car, despite the obviousness of his anxiety. He kept wringing his hands and repeating things under his breath as he bustled around his front room. Vincent watched him silently, hoping to himself that Harrows wouldn't crack under the approaching pressure and give him away. Not only would that ruin his chance at trailing the extortionists, it would put both of them in a lot of real danger. This was a gravely serious thing they were doing and, though Vincent was pleased to see that Harrows was taking it as such, he trusted that he wasn't too far worried to warrant concern about his frame of mind. After all, the man had to realized that, if Vincent was successful, he might never have to do this sort of thing ever again, and that probably gave him some peace of mind; hopefully enough to keep him focused on his part in the operation.
In a few minutes, they were ready to leave. Vincent followed about fifteen seconds behind Harrows' car, and although he didn't doubt that their small procession looked a little suspicious to onlookers (there was little to no traffic on many of the roads they took), they weren't doing this to throw off observers. He only had to be far enough away to park unobtrusively and wait for the black car.
They traveled for several blocks before Harrows' parking lights flashed twice: the signal. Gently, Vincent urged the motorcycle to the curb and shut down the engine. A moment later, Harrows pulled into what looked to be a parking lot.
The transaction took no more than five minutes, and then Harrows was driving back the way he had come. Vincent caught a glance of the man in his windows, giving a tiny salute as his car passed, and then he was gone around a corner.
Vincent waited in position on the bike until he heard the starting roar of the black car's engine, and then he stepped heavily on the ignition pedal, bringing the vehicle to life underneath him. Not for the first time, he wordlessly thanked Elira for the strong muffler she'd built onto this thing.
The black car whispered smoothly out of the parking lot a few seconds later, heading east. Vincent trailed it at a more prudent distance than he'd practiced with Mr. Harrows, but never let the car out of his sight. He wondered initially if they were heading in the direction of the Corel Mountains, but they surprised him by pulling up suddenly in the middle of the street a few blocks from the lot. Expecting at first that he had been discovered, he readied himself for flight in the hopes of losing them before they even began pursuit; he stopped short, however, when four men dressed in black clothing, as well as ski masks, stepped out of the car and headed toward an old brick shop on the corner.
It was a robbery. Or perhaps some kind of a message. Swearing under his breath at this unforeseen complication, he guided the bike to the edge of the road and shut it down again. He spent a difficult moment wondering if he should attempt to stop them, but finally decided that it was too big a risk to blow his cover now. He was after the entire organization, not the small time perpetrators; the only reason he bothered with them at all was as a means to an end.
It took them no more than half a minute to jimmy the lock, and then three of them entered the store while one took up the watch outside. Vincent kept his eyes glued to the door, waiting for the reappearance of the men so they could pick up this covert chase scene where they'd left off. When a light suddenly came on from the second floor, it did not escape his notice.
And then things became complicated. Even from his position down the street, Vincent could hear the sounds of an ensuing argument. A minute later, a stocky older man dressed in a bathrobe and wielding what looked to be a bat was propelled solidly out of the front door. He stumbled awkwardly in bare feet, trying to keep his balance, but the curb was too close behind him and he tripped over it, landing with a surprised grunt on his back in the gutter. The three men exited after him, laughing raucously as they carried dark sacks of money or merchandise out of the store and into the car.
The man struggled to his feet, stumbling from the fall. "You...you hooligans!" he wheezed. "You give me back what's mine! You can't just take what you want from people! I'll call the police!"
One of the black-clothed men approached him and he lost a little of his bravado, falling back a few paces. "We take what we want, when we want it," he said caustically, still advancing until he was close enough to wrench the bat out of the older man's grip.
Vincent couldn't stand to watch anymore without acting. He was just slipping off of the bike, cover be damned, when a shrill and fearful cry cut through the night air and a young woman ran out of the shop's front room in nothing but a nightie.
"No, please! Leave him alone! Father, just let them take the gil!"
The man with the bat turned from the girl back to her father. "Yeah, you should listen to your daughter, Pops."
The other men laughed and one of them advanced on the girl. With a surprised shriek, she tried to run from him, but he was quicker and soon had her around the waist, half-carrying her back toward the shop. "No!" she screamed hoarsely, beginning to cry. "Let go of me! Let go! Help! Put me down!"
Her father had barely enough time to finish crying out a fearful, "Sheila!" before Vincent was on the man, ripping the girl out of his grasp and shoving her away. She tripped a couple of steps before falling backward over the curb onto her backside with an "Umph!"
The man just stared at him, obviously unprepared for the sudden and unexpected involvement of a stranger. Vincent knew his opponent's surprise wouldn't last long, but it was long enough for him to get in the first two hits; a swift kick to the stomach and a chop to the neck with his prosthetic. It didn't work exactly the same as his claw would have, but the metal of the arm was strong enough to absorb the blow and inflict some damage. The man crumpled to the ground, clutching his abdomen. He'd broken at least one bottom rib, Vincent was fairly sure. One more booted kick to the man's head had him unconscious on the street.
The other three were approaching, though somewhat warily. Vincent was a little sorry he hadn't had the chance to stretch before heading right into a battle, but there was nothing for it now; hoping his muscles could keep up like they had the first day in his own shop's front room, he readied himself for a fight.
"Who the hell are you?" one of the men asked.
Vincent didn't answer. The man with the bat was coming at him from the left. He ducked reflexively as the man swung at him, and then caught the bat in the grip of his prosthetic fingers as it came around again. He gave it a good yank and pulled it out of the startled man's hands. Clearly, he hadn't anticipated this level of resistance. The idea that they were still expecting to take him down without a problem, even after they'd seen him make short work of one of their group, offended Vincent a little. They obviously had preconceived notions about North Corel being a spineless jellyfish of a town they could just pin and suck dry.
The bat would've made an effective weapon, but Vincent discarded it in favour of hand to hand combat. He didn't want to seriously injure any of them, just put them out of service for awhile. The man he'd taken the bat from stepped forward angrily, intending to swipe him across the cheekbone with a fist, but Vincent was able to crouch to avoid the blow. And, for good measure, as he stood back up he gave the man an uppercut to the chin that made his teeth clap shut with an audible snap! The man stumbled back, clutching his jaw.
The third man managed to hit Vincent across the temple with a right hook, but Vincent recovered fairly quickly and without losing his balance. A few well aimed kicks and punches later, both the third and fourth members of the group were on the ground.
At this point, the driver of the black car evidently came to the conclusion that it wouldn't be prudent to remain. With what had probably been a sudden stomp to the accelerator, he sped off down the street. Vincent watched the car take off in something akin to horror; his chance to find the hub of the organization was slipping away. He was just about to run to his motorcycle when the second man came up quickly behind him, hoping to defeat him in a last ditch effort. Although caught off guard by the sudden move, Vincent was able to roll away from the blow in time, though it took him a moment to regain his feet once he was a few feet away. He was tiring.
The man came at him again with a harsh cry of frustration, but his anger clouded his judgement and Vincent took advantage of the error. In a few moments, the man had joined his fellows, unconscious on the pavement.
The thought of pursuing the black car was the first thing on his mind, but a voice from the curb called his attention. "Wait, please!" the girl exclaimed.
He waited as the older man and his daughter approached from where they'd gone to huddle together by the door of their shop. During the delay, Vincent's body finally caught up with him and he realized that he was out of breath. Breathing a little heavily, he looked up at the street the black car had disappeared down. Was there any chance of him catching them now?
The girl, who looked to be no older than her early twenties, was beaming up at him gratefully. "Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you so much for your help."
Vincent merely nodded. "You should call the police," he told them.
"Yes, yes, we should," the man agreed, glancing around himself as if expecting more black-clothed men to step out of the shadows. "Thank you for your help, young man. Now, come back inside, Sheila."
But the girl, Sheila, hesitated. "Oh, you're bleeding," she observed with a frown, lifting a hand as if to touch his brow. Vincent shied from the contact and quickly pulled his collar up; the last thing he needed was a detailed witness report describing his appearance. "Call the police," he said once more before turning around and heading back to the motorcycle.
As he'd expected, there was no sign of the black car when he was finally able to take up the search. Feeling a great weariness begin to descend on him, he headed back to the police station.
Mindy cast him a strange glance when he entered, but said nothing to him. Once in Neilson's office, he thought he understood why.
"Damn, man! What happened? You're bleeding!"
Vincent winced as he touched the skin above his eyebrow with a gloved finger. It came away stained with red. "The car I tried to follow was involved in a robbery after the drop-off. I stopped the four men, but obviously not unscathed." He sighed. "During the skirmish, the car was able to get away."
Neilson sighed, too, and dropped heavily into his chair. "They're so damn slippery," he muttered. "Dammit!" And then he glanced up at Vincent. "I want to thank you, Mr. Valentine...Vincent. You don't mind if I call you Vincent, do you?"
Vincent shook his head. Neilson smiled. "Thank you for all of your help. But I feel I should make it clear that you don't have to do this. If at any point you want to drop out of this, feel free. I won't lie and say I'll be glad to see you go, but I know you have a family and your own business to run. If you want to go back to them, you can, whenever you like."
Vincent thought about this a moment before nodding. "I understand, Inspector, but I would like to keep working on this."
Neilson's smile returned and he rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. "I'm grateful. Did you want to take a day off, or anything, though? You look about as tired as I feel, and you've been doing this every night."
Vincent imagined that he probably looked a little worse for wear after his fight with the four men, but he shook his head. "If I need a day off, I'll take one. As it is, I'm fine."
Neilson raised an eyebrow. "Do you want a full-time job here?" he joked, chuckling weakly. And then he sobered up. "Well, thanks for trying tonight, Vincent. I'm sorry, as you probably are, too, that it didn't work out as we'd hoped, but there's nothing more to do about it tonight. Go home and get some sleep. And take a day off from it tomorrow if you want."
Vincent nodded and headed for the door. In the doorway, however, he halted. "You should get some sleep as well, Inspector," he said.
Neilson gave a grunt of a laugh. "Yeah, thanks for the concern. I'm running on about two hours of sleep and eight cups of coffee. Maybe it's time to go home. See you later, eh Vincent?"
Vincent gave another nod before heading out of the station.
The apartment was dark when he arrived home. Wearily pulling off his coat and boots, he headed first for the bathroom.
The cut wasn't much more than a scratch, really, though he had to admit that it looked a little nasty. Grabbing a tissue, he ran it under the tap and began to dab away at the wound.
He was aware of Elira's presence when she stepped into the bathroom doorway, dressed in her beige nightie with her curls frizzed and flattened from where they'd been pressed against the pillow. He glanced at her. "Sorry if I woke you," he told her quietly.
She shook her head gently. "No, I haven't been to sleep yet."
He nodded and went back to tending to the cut. Elira watched him silently for a moment before asking, "What happened to your eye?"
Vincent took the tissue from the wound and folded it smaller to hide the blood he'd already stained it with. "Nothing serious," he answered. "Just a small cut." He began to dab away at the blood again.
"How'd you get it?"
He sighed. "I was nicked by a man's ring, I think," he stated.
"A man who punched you?"
He didn't reply.
"Vincent, I thought you said that I didn't have to worry about you, that you weren't going into anything dangerous."
He sighed again, feeling almost too weary for this right now. "You don't have to worry about me, Elira."
Elira didn't say anything, but continued to watch him. After a few seconds of silence, she stepped up to one of the sink drawers and pulled out a brown bottle. "You should put some antiseptic on that." She took a tissue from the box and poured a little of the liquid from the bottle onto it. "Here." She reached up toward the cut but Vincent stepped away from her. "I can do this myself," he told her.
Elira stared at him a moment before dropping the tissue to the counter. "Fine. Then take care of yourself if you don't need me to do it." She turned on her heel and began to stalk out of the bathroom.
"Wait, Elira," Vincent called softly, apologetically, before she'd completely disappeared into the hallway. At first, he wasn't sure if she'd heard him, but then she returned slowly to the doorway. He wanted to say something to her, but he knew a simple apology wouldn't be enough. She wanted the entire thing, he knew. She wanted to hear that he was home to stay.
After a pause, however, she seemed to resolve herself to not hearing it and looked at the floor. "You know how I called Pegatha today at school, and she told me she was going to be staying over at Haelie's?"
Vincent nodded, picking up the tissue with the antiseptic on it from the counter and beginning to dab at the area above his eyebrow.
"Well, I called Haelie's this evening after I woke up from that nap, and Mrs. Lincoln said that Pegatha hasn't been there since last month when they had their last sleepover." She hesitated for a moment before continuing, as if giving time for her words to sink in. "Haelie's mother asked Haelie if she knew where Pegatha was, and Haelie didn't know that Pegatha had run away at all."
Vincent felt as if his increasing worries would crush him to the floor. "She's with Arick," he said quietly. "Wherever he is, she's with him."
Elira didn't attempt to refute or deny it. "She told me she was going to call again tomorrow night. I was thinking..." She glanced up at him until he looked her in the eye. "...that you could take the evening off tomorrow. All she wants to know is that you're home. If you're here tomorrow, she might come back."
Vincent sighed and leaned tiredly against the sink. "Oh, Elira," he breathed. "I don't know if I can. "The thing I was hoping to accomplish tonight fell through, and now it's going to take longer."
Elira crossed her arms. "Vincent," she said to him, speaking resolutely and rationally. "Our daughter has run away. I realize that battling this organization is very important, but so is Pegatha, and the idea that she's out there somewhere, especially now, makes me worry constantly. I want her home."
Vincent didn't reply right away as his heart and mind fought within him. He frowned. "Elira," he began, ready to protest.
But Elira's eyes had turned steely and she was staring at him angrily, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. It wasn't that he didn't want to find Pegatha; he also, with nearly every fibre of his being, wanted to know she was safe at home. But with every passing day, every hour, the organization was getting bigger and more powerful. One day could mean the difference between opportunity gained and opportunity lost.
However, it was beyond the time for negotiations. There was no use trying to explain now. He sighed.
"Vincent, I can't believe you'd choose a job over your daughter." She paused and fumed silently for a moment. "I think you should sleep on the couch tonight," she finished bluntly.
Vincent looked up at her in surprise. She hadn't made him sleep on the couch in years upon years. With those words out of her mouth, it felt as if she'd taken away the last thing he relied upon for strength. Almost without his consent, he groaned aloud, and then his own anger was sparking in reply to hers. Feeling strangely betrayed, he brushed past her and into their bedroom where he grabbed his pillow and pajamas. On his way back into the hallway, one of his knees gave out momentarily and he stumbled tiredly. He managed to keep his footing, however, and went about rooting through the small storage closet for an extra blanket.
He was surprised when he felt Elira lay a small hand on his arm. He shook her off angrily, but she replaced it stubbornly.
"Vincent, wait. I'm sorry."
He paused in looking for a blanket and glanced at her. She dropped her eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "Even if we're fighting, I shouldn't make you sleep on the couch. You're tired; you've been out doing God knows what. You need a good night's sleep. If anyone should sleep on the couch, it should be me."
Vincent felt his anger flicker in the face of her concern for him. "I wouldn't ask you to sleep on the couch," he replied a little stiffly. "You've been sick."
A corner of Elira's mouth lifted in a partial smile, but it faded quickly. "Then, come to bed, Vincent."
In the room, Vincent changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed beside Elira. A moment of awkwardness ensued when it came to their sleeping positions, but finally Elira just curled up on her side with her back to him. Vincent sighed inwardly and followed suit, getting comfortable where he was. A part of him ached to curl up behind her, whisper an apology in her ear and tell her he'd quit the job tomorrow, but another stronger part kept him where he was. He couldn't apologize when he wasn't sure he was wrong. And he couldn't quit. He was too deeply immersed now to just back out. He had to finish this for the sake of North Corel, for the sake of Pegatha even if she couldn't understand why, and for the sake of his own guilt-ridden soul. The organization had to go down.
He just hoped the tremors it caused as it fell didn't end up shaking his family, his life, apart.
The night was colder than usual without Elira curled up in his embrace, and he felt lost without her presence, her scent, that had always surrounded him before like an invisible blanket. It was a long time before sleep came.
For either of them.