Elira glanced at Trodder as he stopped the car outside of the hospital. He looked a lot like his brother, she mused, but with darker hair and a rounder face covered with a light beard. And there was something about him that seemed older; she wondered if it was the responsibility that came with being a father that had made him so different from Terry. Trodder flashed her a smile when he noticed her glance and then switched off the ignition and opened the door to get out. Elira opened her own door and stepped onto the sidewalk. Benita came up beside her after a moment, putting her hands on her hips as she let wary eyes examine the building.
"Are ya sure ya wanna do this, Lir?"
Elira nodded without hesitation. It wasn't so much that she wanted to do it as she felt obligated to. Terry had always been there for her like an older brother. She owed him this visit at least, when he was probably feeling worse than he'd ever felt before. She owed him something for all of the effort he'd put into trying to get to know her.
The hospital was cold and sterile, smelling of antiseptic and floor polisher, just like Elira knew it would be. She remembered it all unconsciously from when she'd visited her mother as a child. The sights, the smells had scared her as she'd sat on a chair in the room with her prone mother and crying father.
The day her mother had died, the scent of antiseptic had been so strong it had made Elira vomit.
Antiseptic was the scent of Death's work clothes. It almost made Elira's stomach buck as she followed Trodder silently down the echoing corridors, Benita at her heels.
Room 117. Elira smoothed down her shirt, maybe a little out of nervous habit, as Trodder opened the door. And then she followed the man in.
Terry lay propped up on an adjustable hospital bed, surrounded by a desert of white. Elira was unable to look at him for a few seconds, almost afraid of what she would see. Benita had said he'd lost an eye, and who knew what other damage had been done. Finally, with a sigh, she raised her gaze.
Terry's face was distorted by weaving lines of dark scarlet stitching. One line ran down from his left temple to his jaw, and another ran from his forehead into a white bandage over the eye, emerging again to scar a crooked nose. Patches of his hair had been shaved off to allow stitching to continue into his hairline. There was also a streak of crimson that started from the right side of his neck and traveled down under the collar of his hospital gown.
Elira tried her best not to gape. At first, she was inclined to believe that they had walked into the wrong room, but then she began to recognize Terry beneath the injuries. It was his hair, his eye-colour, the shape of his face. There was no mistaking him.
Elira swallowed, feeling her stomach turning sour.
"Hey, Terry," Trodder began, walking around the bed to put a hand on Terry's shoulder. "How are you, today?"
Elira noticed that Terry's eye had not left her face since she'd entered. It disturbed her a little to see the intensity there though she could read nothing from his expression.
"I'm fine, Trod. Thanks for bringing Elira. Would it be possible for me to talk to her alone for a few minutes?"
Elira had to bite back a protest.
"Sure." Trodder left Terry's side and walked up to Benita. "Come on, Beni."
Benita didn't look at him, standing stoically beside Elira like a faithful bodyguard.
Trodder's expression softened a little and he glanced at Elira. "Elira?"
Elira almost wanted to argue for Benita to remain, but then decided against it. She'd come to visit Terry and perhaps make him feel better, not to fight with him. "I'll be all right, Beni."
Benita looked at Elira for a moment as if gauging how serious she was before accompanying Trodder out the door. Elira felt, strangely enough, as if she were being left alone with a hungry lion.
Elira tried not to fidget under Terry's scrutiny, which she could feel like a hot pulse on her face as she stared at her hands. Finally, as if suddenly noticing her discomfort, Terry began to speak.
"Well, Elira, these weren't the exact circumstances I had pictured us next meeting in."
Elira couldn't help a soft chuckle. "Ditto."
"But, still, I'm glad it was me instead of you so that I could at least warn you."
Elira frowned in confusion and looked up. "You instead of me? What do you mean?"
Terry glanced around with his one eye as if suspecting someone of lurking in a corner. And then he beckoned to Elira. Hesitantly, Elira approached, sitting on the bed beside him as he directed her. He then placed his fingers on her hand as if to comfort her, but the touch only served to increase her unease. She had to fight the urge to pull away.
"Elira, you may not believe what I'm about to say, but I want you to try, okay? I'm telling you for your own safety."
Elira looked into his scarred face and then lowered her eyes to the sheet and nodded. "Okay."
Terry himself nodded. "Good. You heard that I was attacked by an animal, right?"
Elira nodded, not looking up.
"That's what everyone assumed. These markings couldn't have been made by anything other than the claws of a bloodthirsty beast, isn't that right?"
Elira nodded again, wondering what Terry was getting at. He'd always enjoyed beefing up secrets until his audience was buzzing with anticipation and impatience. That was one thing that had always irritated her, though she had always forgiven him afterward because every little known fact he had ever unveiled had been mind blowing. She wondered what this little mystery about his assault was; he seemed so eager to share it with her. Right now, though, she didn't feel very anxious to know. Confused and a little uninterested better described her state of mind.
"Well, it wasn't a wild animal that did this to me."
Elira looked up at him once more in puzzlement. Was this some sort of joke? "What do you mean? Did someone attack you with a knife?" She doubted it. In order to accomplish those kinds of wounds, someone would've had to have held Terry down while the knife-wielder carved away. But the criminal element in Virna was not like that. Their attacks were quick and often unpremeditated, while this one would've required a little planning and some driving force beyond the simple want of money. Elira shuddered a little, hoping sickos hadn't started inserting themselves into the night life of sector four.
"No, not with a knife. With claws, Elira. It was a demon-creature, a devil-spawn, with wings."
Elira stopped breathing, suddenly afraid to move in case it would give something away.
Terry seemed to take her abrupt stillness as an expression of horror. "Yes, a demon, Elira. You have to believe me. But, there's also more."
"More?" Elira was dismayed at the quiet gasp her voice had become. She swallowed noisily. No more...don't let this be what I think it is...
"Yes, more. The demon wasn't a demon at first. It was human..."
Elira shut her eyes, as if that would block out the truth she knew was coming.
"It was Vincent, Elira. Vincent attacked me. I know it's hard for you to believe, but I'd always figured there was something...wrong about him. I just never thought it would be something this...horrific."
...he's not horrific...he's a poor, poor man who's been abused by fate...
"He's a monster or something, and he attacked me! He was trying to kill me!"
Elira didn't believe that. If Vincent had wanted Terry dead, she believed Terry would be dead.
"He could come after you next, Elira. I want you to get rid of him, fire him, stay away from him. He's dangerous."
...dangerous...Elira recalled the word, used so many times by Vincent to describe himself. The beast that he transformed into had totalled his apartment and had chased after a punk with the passion of a cold-hearted killer. And attacked Terry. She wondered if the conclusion to Terry's injuries had been what she'd found on the floor of Vincent's bedroom almost two weeks ago.
But he wouldn't hurt her. He needed her. Right?
Elira continued inspecting her hands, unsure of what to say. She hadn't been expecting this news. She'd thought Terry had wanted to apologize for his previous words and actions. But, no. Maybe Terry figured that if Vincent was pushed out of the picture, Elira and he could start up where they'd left off. Without a hitch. Without an apology. Because he didn't really believe he'd been in the wrong.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
Elira glanced up to look at Terry's face and made herself meet the gaze of his one eye. "No, I do believe you, Terry." She bowed her head, resuming her study of her hands. "I just thought you wanted to talk about our fight and, you know, patch things up. We've been friends for so long..."
Terry gave a sudden incredulous scoff. "What? I can't believe this! I'm telling you that one of your employees is a raging monster and you're worried about the little argument we had? That's old news, Elira!"
Elira glanced up sharply. "So is the news about Vincent! I already know about... what he is."
Terry's expression became one of confused surprise. "You know already? Well, have you fired him?"
"No."
"Why not? He's dangerous, Elira! He tried to kill me!"
Elira was shaking her head before Terry could finish. That wasn't true. It couldn't be true. "He wouldn't have transformed without being provoked."
Terry opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out for a few seconds. Finally, he stuttered, "H-how can you say that? Are you saying that I made him... transform?"
"Yes. That's what I'm saying. He wouldn't have attacked you otherwise."
"Elira, he's a bloodthirsty beast! Killing is second nature to him! He didn't need any provoking!"
Elira stood from the bed. He was lying. Vincent wouldn't have charged Terry without having been very angry, right? At least, that's what had happened with the punk. So, if she just never made Vincent angry, everything would be okay, right? Elira found herself doubting, now that she was suddenly faced with the reality of what Vincent had tried time and time again to tell her. But she was still willing to take the risk, right? Even if it meant ending up in the hospital, scarred for life...
Or ending up in the morgue as an unrecognizable mass of human flesh...
"Elira? What is it? Sit back down."
Elira turned and started for the door. She had to talk to Vincent. She had to hear him say Terry had started it. She had to hear that he hadn't just attacked on a whim...
Because if Terry was telling the truth, she could very possibly be next...
"Elira, wait!"
"No, Terry." She didn't look back, but she stopped at the door for a moment. "I've got to go now. I'm meeting Vincent today." And she walked out of the room.
...Terry...Terry...no...my friend...I wish...I wish things had turned out differently...
...Vincent...no...are you that dangerous?...I'm still willing...aren't I?...
Elira ran down the hall. The scent of antiseptic was so strong it was choking her. She couldn't breathe. Terry was gone, dead. The Terry she had once known had died and left in his place a leering, green-eyed monster...
...and Vincent could become a monster with the ability to maim, probably to kill. A monster that might be bloodthirsty without the fire of anger, that might just relish the feel of death running through its fingers...
Elira managed to get to the ladies' room and push her way into one of the stalls before vomiting up the painful knot of tears and anguish that had been churning in her stomach. And then she sat wearily beside the toilet, humming unsteadily to the tune of a song her mother had sung to her as a child when she'd been sick. Humming and humming in an attempt to pull herself together, until Benita found her...
Vincent arrived at the door to the shop at exactly one, as stated. Elira didn't smile up at him, but accompanied him silently to the train station. As they rode together in the stifling stillness of the car, Vincent didn't ask what was wrong. But he did cast a glance in her direction every once in a while. Elira pretended not to notice. She would wait until they were completely alone.
The park was deserted. Despite her mood, Elira found herself in some awe of the place she had only ever seen in the dark of night; in the daylight, it was not menacing at all. Just somewhat unkempt, and full of life. Birds fluttered into the trees at the pair's arrival and squirrels scattered into hiding among the leaves. The long grass bent beneath their steps and brown-barked boughs beckoned to them, inviting them.
Elira walked to the stump where she'd been working on her aim, looking at it under the eye of the sun. Broken shards of glass glinted vividly as she moved. She looked up in search of Vincent only to find him pushing his way through some underbrush to the right of the gate. Elira hurried over and followed him, urging scratchy branches aside in hopes of keeping them from catching on her clothing. Eventually, she came out on the other side into another part of the park she had never seen.
This had obviously once been a park for children. A corroding jungle gym sat in the middle of the area, and a slide lay further beyond it. Closest was a rusted swing set. Elira made her way over to it and sat down on one of the worn leather straps held up by russet chains. She pushed the swing into a rocking motion with the toes of her sneakers, but stopped at the horrible squealing sound that came from the unoiled metal. And then, settled, she glanced around, hunting for Vincent.
But he was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, she swept the park with her eyes. The sound of a creaking branch caused her to look upward, and she spotted Vincent seated nimbly on one of the lower limbs of the nearest tree. This particular tree appeared to be dead, it's twigs dry and bare despite the coming of the warmer seasons. Elira almost called out to warn Vincent that the tree was dead and a potential hazard, but then thought better of it, guessing that he'd probably been going up to sit on that branch for as long as he'd lived in this sector.
A silence prevailed for about a minute. Elira was a little irritated by the way Vincent always seemed to expect her to start any and every conversation, but she forced the annoyance down in favor of more important things.
"I went to see Terry in the hospital today." She glanced up into the tree to see if Vincent would give a reaction. He didn't, his face as impassive as if she'd said nothing at all. Elira cleared her throat and looked at her hands in her lap. "He's doing fine. He's always been one to heal quickly. A little surgery could probably remove the scars, too. And his eye, I think, could be..."
"It was me."
Elira looked up at Vincent suddenly, caught off guard by his interruption. His red eyes stared down at her intently.
"I did attack him as Chaos."
Elira looked back at her lap; she was glad Vincent hadn't made her spell out the question she'd wondered if she would've ever been able to ask. Picking at her nails distractedly, she sorted through all of the questions she wanted to ask. Had Terry provoked the assault? Had Vincent been trying to kill Terry? Did Vincent share in the bloodlust of the creature? But, despite the various words bumping against her lips, when Elira opened her mouth, only one word came out. "Why?"
Once the question was in the open, Elira glanced up at Vincent, waiting for an answer.
Vincent hesitated for a moment before saying, "He angered me and I was unable to stop the transformation. It was...very sudden."
So, Vincent hadn't just attacked for the sport of it. Terry had brought it on himself. Elira was relieved to hear it, though she found herself upset at Terry for his behaviour and his lies. She let her gaze travel up the tree until it rested on Vincent's face. There were still other questions to be asked. "What happened between you two? How did he anger you?"
Vincent shrugged a little. "I knew he was behind me as I was going to the train station, and I suspected the purpose of the stalking. He shouted things that are not suitable to repeat, attempting to goad me into a fight. I believe he was drunk. I had no intention of fighting him and continued walking. When I reached the train station, he broke off pursuit, but not before telling me how he was going to...well, in less obscene terms, rape you. I have never been able to stand men who take advantage of women. It awakened a hate in me that I had forgotten about, and Chaos took the moment to emerge."
Elira was unable to speak for a full minute. Would Terry really have raped her? She didn't know, but the very fact that he'd said it horrified her, even if he had been drunk. Was that it? Was that all it boiled down to after years of friendship? But it wasn't even her love he was after; he wanted control over her. Elira finally regained her voice. "Were you thinking of...killing him?"
Vincent shook his head, looking to the ground below. "In my transformed state, there is no real thought. It is all abrupt action. I believe Chaos would've killed Terry had I not been able to reign it, but..."
"Wait," Elira interrupted, a memory niggling at the back of her mind, "I thought you said in your apartment a couple of nights ago that you couldn't control Chaos."
Vincent gave a shrug, not looking up from the ground. "That is partially true. I used to be able to control it, to tap into its power and use it, but it has been a while since that time and...I have forgotten how. Well, perhaps I haven't forgotten. If I said I was out of practice it might be closer to the truth."
Elira nodded distractedly, pensively. "Were you born with this?"
Vincent looked up suddenly and a smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. "No," he answered softly. "No, I was not born a freak, Elira. It was a punishment put on me..."
"Yeah, I know, by fate. Vincent, I don't think you're a freak."
"Don't you? Do you believe it is normal and natural for a man to change into a beast when his anger gets the better of him?"
It was Elira's turn to smirk. "Everyone turns into a beast when their anger gets the better of them. Your beast just manifests itself on the outside."
Vincent had no reply.
"Vincent, how did you...I mean, where did you..." She faultered off and looked to him for assistance.
"What made the transformation possible?" he supplied.
"Yes. Why do you change into that...into Chaos?"
Vincent pushed his gloved fingers beneath his bandana and massaged his forehead. "It is a nightmarish story, Elira."
Elira shrugged. "I can handle it." You're not getting away this time. This time you invited me, and you said you were willing...
Vincent stared at her for long moments without movement. And then, suddenly, he vaulted himself from the branch, landing in a crouched position on the ground. Standing, he made his way over to the swing set and lowered himself onto the leather seat beside her. "You do remember me telling you of a woman I once loved who..."
"Yes, I remember," Elira replied quickly, but then cringed at her impatience. She was too eager to hear the story; she would have to hold her curiousity in check. The last thing she wanted was to discourage him from talking to her. Not when she was so close. When they were so close...
Vincent focused his eyes on the ground at his feet. "The man she married was a professor and a scientist, but by no means was he an atheist. He was very interested in things supernatural and the various ideas of after life, especially the 'heaven' of the Cetra."
At the mention of the Cetra, Elira recalled the history lessons of her highschool experience. The Cetra were an ancient people who had nearly died out trying to seal away an evil in the planet more than two thousand years ago. The evil had been discovered despite their efforts, though, approximately thirty years prior to the rising of Sephiroth the Mad. And then the heroes known as Avalanche had destroyed the threat, but not before the total ruin of Midgar. The history had been so recently included in the teaching scheme that there were no books to read it from. But, the people who ran the education system had believed the Cetra were now a mandatory subject considering how influencial they had been in the recent developments. After all, one of the members of Avalanche had been half-Cetra.
Not much had been taught about Avalanche. The group of people had asked to remain anonymous while they lived so that they could finish their lives in peace. Again, Elira wanted to ask Vincent if he had been a part of Avalanche, but decided against it. One question at a time.
"He was also interested in mysticism and the summoning of creatures from the depths. Perhaps instead of 'interested in' I should say 'obsessed with', to the point of tampering with lives...for science and discovery."
Elira felt a tremor go through. "You mean...he did this to you?" she asked quietly.
Vincent didn't look up. "I was disgusted with the way he was treating his wife, subjecting her to a painful and risky experiment. When she died as a direct result of it, I was wild with rage and grief. I confronted him and he shot me. I believe he thought me dead after that for he summoned a demon, Chaos, and let it infiltrate my body. But I was not dead. And now, Chaos resides inside of me, always waiting for the moments when I let my guard down to overpower my will and take over my body. An although I can control it to an extent, it is still an untamed factor."
Were most humans really as selfish and cruel as Elira had come to believe over the years? She found herself horrified and aggrieved by Vincent's pain. He'd surely been through hell; no wonder he embraced the thought of fate. What else could explain all of his ill fortune? On impulse, Elira reached out a hand and lay it on Vincent's shoulder, wanting to comfort him. He glanced up sharply and flinched away. Elira drew her hand back as if he'd slapped it. Vincent frowned and looked again at the ground.
"I'm sorry," he apologized stiffly.
Elira shook her head and did her best to smile. "No, it was my fault. I'm sorry."
An uncomfortable silence followed. Elira dug the toe of one sneaker in the dirt as Vincent sat unmoving beside her. She wondered if the visit was over. Vincent seemed to have exhausted his supply of things to say. Digging a small divot in the earth, she suddenly remembered a word so foriegn to her own ears that it had stayed in her mind ever since she'd heard it. Wanting to sound it out on her tongue, she said, in a barely audible whisper, "Lucrecia."
Elira felt Vincent's gaze focus on her abruptly and she looked up at him, wondering what the word meant to him. Was it a name? Was it possible that it was the name of...
"Where did you hear that?" Vincent asked, his voice hushed, his red eyes intent.
Elira faultered. "Well, actually, you said it when you were passed out under the drugs." She chewed on her lip a moment before asking, "What does it mean?"
Vincent looked to his boots as if ashamed to have given something away unawares. Elira hoped he wasn't upset that she'd stayed with him to hear it. "That was the name of the woman I loved. Lucrecia."
He said the name with such reverence that Elira felt almost jealous of the attention he gave it. Almost. "What about...Hojo?" she asked, wanting irrationally to get the topic away from the woman. "Was that the name of the professor?"
Vincent gave a slight nod. Elira noticed that he was frowning. Had she upset him? Had Vincent not wanted her to know the names of these two people? She doubted this. She doubted it had anything to do with her, and everything to do with himself and his memories. Hearing their names made these people real again, made the memory of them alive again. And maybe that was something Vincent hadn't wanted. Let sleeping demons lie...
Vincent put his one gloved and one prosthetic hand on his knees and pushed himself up from the swing. He stared off the way they'd come for a moment before glancing down at Elira. "Do you want to take a walk?"
Elira nodded and stood, brushing unconsciously at a few curls that were tickling her cheek. She smiled at Vincent and he turned to face forward, begining to walk back over to the brush separating the two pieces of the park. Elira followed and then pushed her way through the prickly twigs after him.
Despite the fact that it was the day nearly all of Neo-Midgar took a break from work, the two companions didn't run into very many people out enjoying the good weather. Elira found herself a little discouraged by this, even as she was glad for the privacy.
"I wonder what it was like in the old Midgar," she said suddenly, breaking the small silence that had surrounded them since they'd left he park, "for the people living beneath the plates, not being able to see the sun, or feel the wind or the rain. It must've been so depressing."
Vincent said nothing, but Elira knew he was listening.
"I think it's a pity that everyone here takes those kind of things for granted, never really appreciating a good rainfall, or snowfall, or even just a nice day."
Vincent made a small sound of acknowledgement. "It's just the way of people. One never realizes what they have until it is taken from them."
Elira nodded in agreement, knowing this truth inside and out.
The streets were quiet. As the two of them came upon a square filled with pigeons pecking at the cement for bugs and pebbles, Elira found herself hard put to resist the childish urge to charge forward, scaring every bird into the air. And after a moment, she gave in. With a whoop, she raised her hands over her head and ran, laughing, into the square. As predicted, the birds all recoiled at her approach, taking off in a great cascade from the ones closest to her to the ones farther back. It was a magnificent sight, and Elira reveled in the sound of flapping wings and startled coos. Then, she turned to Vincent, laughing breathlessly.
He stood at the edge of the square with his arms folded over his chest resolutely and a dissapproving frown on his face. Elira only continued laughing as she ran up to him.
"Oh, come on, Vincent," she said, still a little winded. "Don't tell me you've never been tempted to scare a flock of birds."
Vincent simply raised an eyebrow. "I don't see the point. You have merely succeeded in delaying the feeding time of those pigeons. They will undoubtedly be back."
Elira frowned with a chuckle. "No, you don't see the point. There was no point, Vincent, except maybe to give me a little entertainment. I just did it for fun. You do know what fun is, right?"
Vincent didn't answer. And then he turned and began to walk along the edge of the square. Elira jogged after him with a sigh. Once she was at his side, she apologized. "I'm sorry, Vincent. That was mean. I shouldn't have said it."
Vincent only shook his head. "It's all right. You just reminded me of her...of Lucrecia, for a moment. I believe she asked me that once."
"What, if you knew what fun was?"
Vincent gave a nod. "I've always been fairly serious."
Fairly! Elira felt like exclaiming, but she kept her comment to herself, not wanting to offend him. "I've always been kind of...I don't know," Elira fumbled. "I guess it depends on what's going on. If things are going well, I'm happy. If they're not, I'm not. Maybe that sounds a little shallow, but that's the way I am a lot of the time." Elira wanted to continue, saying, 'We balance each other out,' but then thought better of it, realizing how personal the statement sounded.
The street coming off of the square was nearly deserted, except for the occasional car or pedestrian. Elira found herself becoming a little overheated in her jacket and so she took it off, folding it over her hands. Vincent, she noticed, did not follow suit.
"So," she began as they finished crossing a silent intersection, "what do you usually do on days like these?"
Vincent gave a small shrug. "Read."
Elira gave a light scoff. "You don't go out and enjoy the day? Vincent, I'm displeased," she chided jokingly. "How can you let perfectly good days like this one just slip by?"
Vincent didn't dignify her reproof with a response.
Elira chuckled after a moment. "Well, if you want to know the truth, I usually spend these days in bed. Yep, I'm just a big hypocrite."
Vincent gave a small laugh through his nose.
Elira stopped walking to stare at him. He noticed her abrupt halt a second later and himself stopped to look back, a puzzled frown on his face. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Elira walked up beside him and, peering at him intently, asked, "Did you just laugh?"
Vincent rolled his eyes and continued walking. "Is that all? I thought something had happened."
"Well, that was something. I've never heard you laugh in all of the time you've worked for me. In fact, you barely spoke. Sometimes I wondered if you had a personality at all."
Vincent gave another shrug as Elira dashed to catch up with him before he got too far away. "Sometimes I've wondered that myself," he muttered.
Elira waved off his worry with a deft motion of her hand. "Of course you have a personality, Vincent. It's just buried beneath all of that...suffering. And I'll help you dig it out. It just may take some time."
Vincent said nothing and Elira wondered at his thoughts.
The train station was not busy. Once Vincent had seen her onto the next train, he left, presumably to read. Elira smiled to herself as the train's engine grumbled to life and the whistle blew, questioning how many times Lucrecia had made Vincent laugh...
At her apartment, she continued smiling. She found herself unable to stop. And it felt good. It was only as she was warming up a bowl of homemade stew she'd made a day earlier that she realized how light she felt, and how happy.
It had been a release of pent up self. After five years, she'd been able to share a piece of herself without feeling self-conscious about it.
Vincent had opened the door a crack; the balloon had a pinprick in it and was leaking. And the small spray of joy washed over her in waves.