The trickle of hunting season customers was fast becoming a steady stream. And Elira knew by experience that it was only going to get worse. Last year, a streak of illness had run its course though the groups of Kalm-fangs around Neo-Midgar, so the number covered by the percent that were available to hunt had gone down drastically. Many hunters had come back from the fields empty handed. And so, it seemed, this year everyone was eager to get out there sooner, just in case the unexpected struck again.
The days flew by. And, to Elira's surprise, she found the stock of shotguns and rifles they at the shop had been making for a month rapidly disappearing. Less and less orders were being placed, and since Elira had to man the front room to sell the weapons, she was forced to take Vincent from forging orders and put him to the task of forging the standard hunting models. He was efficient and, as always, did good work. Soon, the store of weapons was building back up in relation to the early rush and to the number they would probably need for the remainder of the season.
But, Elira was still worrying. She had promised Mr. Geddes that she would return near the end of the week to finish inspecting the displays of ancient guns, but, with the early rush giving no sign of slowing, she wasn't sure if she would be able to leave the store for hours at a time. Perhaps if they scheduled it for sooner, at least she and Vincent would only be gone during the climbing of sales and not at the peak.
Mr. Geddes was more than willing to accommodate and said that the two of them could come down that day, even though it was three days earlier than the prior date. Elira agreed, and soon she and Vincent found themselves on a train, seated together at Elira's insistence, heading out again to Odriam, sector seven.
The museum was busy with a tour when they arrived, a woman in a blue uniform talking in crisp tones while showing a class of well-dressed students around the galleries. A few of the adolescents turned as Elira and Vincent passed but, after a heartbeat, they returned their attention to their guide. Elira was surprised that not one of them nudged their neighbour or leaned over to whisper in an ear about the two out-of-place visitors. But Odriam was the sector known for art and education. Perhaps children here grew up instilled with an appreciation and respect for knowledge and beauty that most children didn't know, and were therefore a little mature for their age. Elira felt a twinge of jealousy, remembering her own education that had never gone beyond the classroom walls. If it hadn't been for Eagan's father, she never would've learned of her love of machines and would've never experienced the thrill she received from creating a gun. Still, what was saying she would've discovered these talents while growing up in Odriam? Chances were, she'd be some highly educated pianist attending university to become something as ultimately unsatisfying for her as a teacher. Or a tour guide in a museum. She smirked a little, but composed herself quickly as Mr. Geddes descended the stairs to meet them.
"So nice to see you again Miss Maddison, Mr. Valentine," he said, smiling genially. "I assume you'll want to get started as soon as possible in order to get back to your shop in good time, so I won't spend long on pleasantries. The museum is having a class tour today, but I have instructed Mrs. Linolet to stay away from the weapons displays to allow you to work."
"Thank you," Elira replied, genuinely thankful. She didn't want this to take all day; the job of looking over each weapon and scribbling out a report on it was time consuming enough.
"Well then," Mr. Geddes continued, clasping his hands together, "if you'll follow me."
Elira couldn't help but be awed again by the impressive collection of ancient guns. To have all of these historical weapons in one place was almost more than she could stand. As she and Vincent moved from glass case to glass case, poring over the many models, she found herself smiling in anticipation of finding something great that she recognized from the gunsmith's book. And each weapon seemed more magnificently crafted for its time period and filled with more tales of past glory than the last.
Elira smiled at Vincent as she finished her write-up on a particularly old gun that they'd decided was better off not being restored and waited as he moved over to the next case. Elira followed a step behind.
The guns shown here were some of the oldest they'd seen yet, their barrels chipped and their luster faded with age. The weapon in the middle, however, was the first to catch Elira's attention. It was by far the most battle-scarred out of the group, yet seemed to possess a kind of mysterious beauty beneath the tarnish of years. Its manufacture was different than the many guns around it, as if it had been made by a whole other race. Elira moved in closer to the glass as she discovered about thirty small scratches on the butt of the gun that seemed too well-molded to be blemishes. After a moment's inspection, she decided that they looked almost like they could be letters, and she looked to Vincent in order to ask him what he thought about them.
But Vincent seemed even more mesmerized by them than she.
He was frowning as if in deep concentration, his lips parted, his eyes wide. And then a shudder ran through him and he stumbled back a step from where he'd been rooted to the floor. Doubling over suddenly, he put his hands to his ears to block out sounds and voices only he could hear.
Elira stared in shock at his strange and unexpected behaviour before kneeling down in front of him and taking him by the shoulders.
"Vincent, are you all right?"
He looked at her wildly, his pupils lost within scarlet irises. And then he jerked backward out of her grip, bumping soundly against a glass case. He whirled suddenly as if the case was an attacker, but upon seeing no one, he turned again.
Elira saw the look of a hunted animal evident on his face.
And then he bolted, running out of the room before Elira could prepare a shout. It was a moment before she was able to react. And then, dropping the clipboard Mr. Geddes had provided her with to write her reports, she raced after him. Upon reaching the stairway leading to the first floor, though, she slowed. He was nowhere in sight and she couldn't hear the sound of running footsteps. Fearing the worst, that somehow Chaos had been allowed to emerge again, she chose to descend the stairs instead of searching the second floor, hopping down them with more agility than she'd believed she'd ever possessed. At the bottom, she stopped again, wondering where to look first.
"Excuse me! Miss!"
Elira turned to find a young man, probably no more than a couple of years her younger, addressing her from among a small group of the students she and Vincent had passed earlier.
"Are you looking for your friend? The one in black you came in with?"
Elira hesitated for a moment before nodding dumbly.
"Yes, he left the building in a hurry just a minute ago, out the front door."
Elira nodded again and turned to run out of the building, calling a belated, "Thank you!" over her shoulder.
Elira was surprised to find Vincent's newly-replaced door locked when she arrived at his apartment, though the eviction notice for 'excessive noise and willful destruction of property' taped to the wood didn't astonish her in the least. In confusion, frustration, and not a little panic, she tore the notice down and threw it at her feet. And then she left.
Where would he go? He'd always gone to his apartment before. That was where he kept those sleeping pills. But what if that one bottle had been all he'd had? In that case, he didn't have any reason to visit his apartment, except that it was away from prying eyes...
But there were other deserted places he could've gone...
Elira was out of breath when she reached the park. Jogging in through the rusted gate, she saw immediately that Vincent was not around the old stump. Quickly, she pushed her way through the brush to her right, ignoring the thorns that scraped the backs of her hands, and pulling angrily at her clothing when it became caught.
The children's park was deserted, too. Her panicked pulse was just beginning to pound in her ears when Elira remembered the old tree. She glanced up and found herself relieved beyond words when Vincent's familiar form caught her eye, seated on the lowest branch.
He sat motionlessly with his back pressed against the trunk, his knees drawn up and his head bowed. Elira marveled at his balance and approached quietly, as if afraid of disturbing him, though she didn't doubt he'd already detected her presence.
She became sure he knew she was there when, without lifting his head, he asked softly, "Did I hurt you?"
Elira lowered herself onto the swing she'd sat on before, worriedly tracing Vincent's frame with her eyes. "No, I'm fine. You didn't hurt me. You just ran."
Vincent nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
There was no sound save a breeze rustling the leaves of nearby trees. Elira studied Vincent for a moment, knowing already that he wasn't going to explain what had happened, if he knew, unless she inquired it of him. It was his way. She wondered if he even realized how secretive he was, rarely speaking unless answering a question, voiced or implied. After a few more seconds of silence, she asked, "Did you transform?"
Vincent shook his head.
Elira distractedly ran her fingers over the coarse rust covering one of the chains, wondering idly if Vincent had run the distance to park. "What did happen, then?"
Vincent looked up to meet her eyes. His expression was one of weary frustration. "I don't know." He bowed his head again after a moment. And then he spoke, his voice muffled. "I think Chaos...saw something, through my eyes, that...frightened it. It screamed. I...I was unable to stay."
Elira frowned. "You mean those letters on the gun? Is that what it saw?"
Vincent glanced up to meet her eyes with a steady gaze. "So you noticed the Cetra runes as well. Yes, I believe they had something to do with it."
Elira raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You mean you can read the Cetra language?"
Vincent shook his head, and then swiveled until he sat with his legs dangling from the branch. "I've seen examples of the written language twice in my lifetime, though, and the runes carved into the gun in the museum looked like what I remember."
"Oh. But, you don't know what the runes might mean?"
Vincent shook his head again. "I don't know what they mean, and I don't know what they meant to Chaos." He lowered his eyes as he continued, "I also don't know if it is wise for me to return to the museum." His reasons were obvious and Elira nodded her agreement when he next glanced at her. He gave his own nod of acknowledgment and pushed himself from the tree limb, landing at the base of the trunk in a crouched position, his hair and coat fluttering into place.
Elira caught herself staring as he stood; but, she couldn't deny that, sometimes, she found it fascinating just to watch him: at work, she was occasionally captivated by the way he could sit for hours without fidgeting, or by the way he walked, the way he moved. It was almost as if every motion he made had been planned out. He never bumped into a table, or tripped over the crack in the floor. He left no audible footsteps. She wondered as he approached her with a lithe gait if he'd been born with such effortless grace, or if it had taken years of practice like his dead-eye aim. She guessed that this type of physical discipline was not something that had gone with being in Avalanche, if he had, indeed, been a part of Avalanche; graceful was a not word that would ever be used by anyone to describe Barret Wallace after all. So, if it hadn't been in his genes from birth, and it hadn't been from the group of heroes he might've been a part of, that left...what? Elira pursed her lips, wondering what he could've been involved with that required such cultivation. She pushed this stream of thought aside, though, as Vincent arrived at the swing set and waited for her to stand.
The train station was nearly empty. As the cars headed for Virna pulled up, Vincent gestured to the entrance, motioning for Elira to precede him. But Elira shook her head.
"I'm going to go back to the museum first to apologize to Mr. Geddes and arrange another time where we can look over his weapons."
Vincent nodded after a moment and stepped onto the train without her. Elira watched him through the windows while he chose a seat. She saw him glance at her as the cars pulled away and wondered at how forlorn she looked, standing alone at a train station.
Elira regretted her half-truth once the train was out of sight, though she questioned whether he'd guessed already the words she hadn't said. But, if she'd said outright that she was going back to the museum to get some information on those runes, she was almost sure he would've objected. After all, he hadn't wanted to return and delve deeper into the mystery. Maybe there was something he wasn't telling her, too: a half-truth.
Shoving her pre-arranged ticket back to Virna into a pocket, she stepped up to the ticket booth and bought a ticket for the next train to Odriam. The train took less than five minutes to arrive and the trip was short and undisturbed. Still, Elira was glad to get off at the station in Odriam, out of the stuffy car and into the light and fresh air of the day. She was of a mind at first to hail a taxi, but after less than a moment's reflection, decided that she would deny her hypocritical urges and walk to the museum.
Though the streets were moderately busy with traffic, she met no one as she made her way down the sidewalk, and saw very few others out walking. Those she did see were either a ways away or on the other side of the street. She began to wonder if a move to Odriam, sector seven, was in store for her little shop...
Jaron, the guard at the gate, let Elira in without the usual banter, though he did warn her in low tones that Mr. Geddes had been looking for her. She ignored him, as usual, and began to plan her apology.
Mr. Geddes was not angry, though, when she found him. Rather, he was relieved to find her safe. "I was afraid something had happened," he chuckled as they stood by the entrance doors.
Elira smiled at his demeanor. "No, Vincent just had to leave unexpectedly because of...illness. Nothing serious. I'm sorry that we weren't able to finish today like we'd wanted, but we'll return tomorrow if you like, to finish the job."
Mr. Geddes was smiling, too, as he shook his head. "Whatever is good for you, Miss Maddison. I'm afraid the grant we've asked for from the representatives at the Metropolitan Building has been delayed in the system, so it may be months before the actual restoration will be possible."
Elira nodded sympathetically. "That's too bad."
Mr. Geddes shrugged. "Ah well. So, is there anything I can do for you?"
Elira hesitated for a moment and Mr. Geddes' face took on a slightly shrewd look. "I assume you did come back for more than just the rescheduling," he intoned quietly. "You do realize that we could've discussed all of this over the phone."
Elira chuckled a little, inwardly surprised at the curator's perceptiveness. "Well, you're right, I am here for more than the scheduling. I'm here because of one gun we saw. It had some markings on it that Vincent thought might've been Cetra."
Mr. Geddes nodded thoughtfully. "That is possible. Does information about the Cetra interest you?"
Elira shrugged a little. "Yeah. I guess you could say it's a recent interest. Is there any way I could get a copy of those markings from the gun?"
Mr. Geddes considered her request for a moment before answering. "If you need it for today, we do have an instant-picture camera."
"Yes, thank you. Thank you very much, Mr. Geddes."
"No problem at all, Miss Maddison."
While Mr. Geddes fetched the museum's camera, Elira walked up to the second floor and into the room where the ancient guns were kept. By the time Mr. Geddes arrived with the camera, Elira had found the weapon she was searching for.
Mr. Geddes scrutinized the gun before lifting the lens to his eye and taking the picture. A second later, an undeveloped card emerged from the photo outlet. He handed it to her.
"An interesting find, Miss Maddison. I do believe you have some of that eye for things uncommon and extraordinary."
Elira smiled as the picture developed in her hand. "Do you have any idea about the Cetra language, Mr. Geddes?"
The curator looked up from the gun. "No, unfortunately. But, there are professors who teach ancient languages in our university who may be able to help you with a translation." Mr. Geddes stood from his stooped position over the glass case and adjusted his glasses. "Does that aid you in any way?"
Elira nodded, grinning. "Yes, it does. Thank you for all of your help, Mr. Geddes."
Mr. Geddes smiled warmly. "You're welcome, Miss Maddison. And don't feel pressured to return within the next week. Just come when you can."
Elira nodded and, with a departing smile, left the museum.
Since she didn't know the way to the University of Odriam, Elira decided to take a taxi there. The ride took a good few minutes, since the university and the museum were at either ends of the sector, and Elira seized the opportunity to survey Odriam from her window. She tried to map out in her mind the maze of streets they followed, but eventually she became lost and contented herself with gazing at the buildings, people, and trees, trusting the driver to get her there.
The University of Odriam was a structure even larger than the museum, but with no uppity security guard. Brown-bricked and three stories high, it was an impressive sight. As Elira paced up the stairs and stepped over the threshold, pushing valiantly at one heavy door, she belated wondered if the school had a dress code. Jeans and a draw-string top with an mismatched jacket folded over one arm did not strike her as an ensemble anyone would wear to a school like this one. When no one who stood watching her entrance stopped her, however, she gained a little confidence and walked up to the secretary seated at a computer behind a long desk. The secretary, a thin, mousy woman with her brown hair done up in a tight bun, looked up at her approach and smiled.
"Hello, can I help you?"
"Yes, I hope so." Elira leaned her forearms on the desk, her coat hiding her hands. "I'm looking for someone who can help me with a translation."
The secretary nodded. "Then I'd suggest Professor Fulton. He's the leading languages instructor. And, I believe..." She typed furiously on the keyboard in front of her and then glanced at the screen. "Yes, he has a free period now. You'll probably find him in his lecture room, 221, the second floor."
"Thank you." Elira smiled appreciatively at the woman before heading for the elevators.
As she walked down the spacious hall of the second floor, trying not to let her sneakers squeak on the polished tiles, she could hear progressing lessons from the rooms she passed.
"...and only in REM sleep is true rest reached, where the sleeper is dreaming for perhaps three minutes..."
"...so if we apply the quadratic equation formula to this question, we arrive at the answer..."
"....pages 504 to 523 are your personal projects for the week. Now, onto our next lesson..."
There was no lecture coming from room 221. Elira stepped up to the open door and, peering inside, spotted a man seated at a desk in front of a large blackboard. He looked forty-ish with wispy blond hair and drawn out features. His long face was made even longer as he frowned while reading what Elira supposed was a student's paper. Unsure if she was interrupting something important, she knocked firmly on the open door. The man looked up for a moment before returning his attention to the sheet in front of him.
"Ah, come in, young lady," he said in an unenthusiastic voice.
Elira walked into the room until she stood in front of the desk. The man pretended not to see her standing there for almost a full minute before he sniffed and glanced up at her.
"Yes? What can I do for you?"
Elira shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "Are you Professor Fulton?"
"Yes."
"I was hoping you could help me with a translation."
Fulton inhaled slowly through his nose and then exhaled noisily. He put the paper down and ran his hands over it as if smoothing it out. "Actually, child, I'm quite busy right now. If you could come back tomorrow, I could..."
Impatience overrode Elira's attempt at courtesy, already straining with the effort it took to keep herself from becoming offended at the professor's manner; she hated being called 'child' as if she was some nine year old. "Professor Fulton, I am not a student. I'm looking for a translation of some Cetra runes that I need for today. I can't come back tomorrow."
Fulton seemed taken aback by her words for a moment and Elira wondered if he'd ever had anyone speak to him this way. "Well, my dear, I suppose I could take a moment to help you in that case."
Elira sighed. "Thank you, Professor."
Fulton mumbled some unintelligible reply as he walked over to a computer station across the room. Sitting down at one console, he asked, "Do you have these runes with you or are we to rely on your memory?"
Elira pulled the picture of the gun out of a pocket and handed it to the Professor. He took it from her and began to examine it. After a moment, his scowl began to change into an expression of awe.
"These really are Cetra runes," he marveled, as if shocked by the fact that Elira had known what they were. After a moment, he entered a few commands into the computer and a program titled Advanced Ancient Languages came up on the screen. Using the cursor, Fulton picked out the runes in the picture from a long tool bar filled with many examples of 'letters'; Elira guessed that these made up the Cetra alphabet. Soon, he had finished and he set the computer to the task of translating.
Elira leaned in as it worked, watching over the professor's shoulder as the computer searched through its data files. "So, this will find out what the runes say?" she asked after a minute of silent loading.
Fulton sniffed again. "It is improper to call them runes. A rune literally describes a single letter while each member of the Cetra language makes up an entire word. The term 'ideogram' perhaps describes them better."
Elira shrugged. "Whatever."
The professor seemed annoyed by her indifference and shifted in his seat to wait for the search to finish. Elira smothered a grin.
The sounds of the loading stopped after a few more minutes. Elira held her breath as the runes were translated before her eyes into words she could understand.
"An evil exists in the earth. The creature (being; monster) was drawn by it. We sealed (locked; shut; fastened) it away because there is a power greater than any demon, as only we of the city know."
Fulton 'hmphed' quietly and turned his head to see what Elira made of it. But she was no longer in the room. He sighed and returned his eyes to the screen, frowning as he read and re-read the words, wondering what in the world it could mean.
There was a paddy-wagon parked at the curb outside of her shop. Elira's body froze as her mind raced over all of the reasons the police could have for being at her store. And then, she ran across the street and burst through the door, the bell jangling above her head at the sudden violence of her entrance.
The first person she recognized was Terry. He was flanked by two men she didn't know who were dressed in uniforms and wielding some sort of gun she had never seen before. These were the police officers.
She could hear Benita yelling something at Terry as she stood stoically, her five foot frame blocking the doorway to the forge against his five foot eight inch build. He pushed her aside as if she were no more than a doll. Benita cried out as her head hit the stool and then there was no more noise from her. Terry proceeded unchallenged into the forge followed by the officers.
Elira forced herself to stir, feeling as if she was an observer in a dream. Her legs felt like they had been turned to lead, but she made herself run.
The scene played before her as she entered the forge, and she stopped again to watch, still in some shock. Terry was approaching Vincent as the other employees backed away, and Vincent was standing from his stool slowly. Was he moving slowly, or was everything in slow motion? She wasn't given a moment to consider as Terry stepped forward suddenly and pushed Vincent in the chest. Vincent may have been taller by an inch or two, but his frame was much lighter. He toppled backward over his stool and hit the floor with a grunt. Elira gasped and the spell was broken; she ran forward. What was going on? Had Terry gone insane with jealousy? She reached Terry's side and grabbed his arm.
"Terry, what are you doing?" she demanded hoarsely.
Terry turned to look at her, fixing her with a glare from his one good eye. "He's dangerous, a dangerous freak. There's no place for freaks in this city, so he's being taken care of."
Elira felt her face contorting into an expression of horror. Terry was going to have Vincent taken away. Probably to be tested on, experimented with, dissected. And Terry was enjoying the thought, she realized, seeing his smug grin at her alarm.
"No! You can't!"
Terry looked away, as if bored with her protests. And then she felt strong fingers grip her face and push her backward. She stumbled, trying to keep her footing, and heard the crack of her skull as it hit the wall. A searing bolt of white-hot pain shot through her head, followed by a fierce bout of nausea. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, the room spinning painfully around her.
Once the urge to vomit had passed, Elira forced herself to look up despite the burning agony behind her eyes. Vincent was standing again. And he was looking at her. His eyes were ablaze. Elira thought at first that she was shivering because of the knock she'd received, but then she realized that it was Vincent who was shaking. Shaking with rage.
And he had no pupils within the blood red of his eyes.
Voices were jumbled and garbled in her ears. It was a moment before Elira realized that Terry was gesturing to her, talking about her. And then he was coming toward her.
Elira scooted backward in a sudden panic, knowing she had no strength to fight whatever evil intent he had in mind. But Terry stopped and turned as a growl filled the air. And then Terry laughed, a horrible, mocking sound.
Voices were becoming clearer. Soon, Elira could make out what Terry was saying. "C'mon, Vince! Show me what you've got, you son of a bitch! C'mon and try to kill me! I dare you!" He laughed again.
And Elira realized that the weapons the officers held were really tranquilizer guns. Terry knew. He knew Vincent transformed when provoked beyond endurance. And so he was going to make him angry, make him lose control until Chaos emerged. The police would tranquilize him, and he would be carted away to only God knew where.
But Elira couldn't let that happen. Wouldn't let that happen. Not in her lifetime. Not ever.
Vincent had his head bowed and Elira could see that he was fighting the transformation, fighting for his self-control. But she knew he couldn't hold out forever. She had to do something, and quick. Terry was approaching again, a leer on his scarred face worthy of any demon, seemingly intent on harming her since it angered Vincent. He was preparing to push the last buttons, to provide the proof the officers were looking for.
But Terry had always been a little too ready to count his unhatched chocobos.
Elira forced herself to her feet and staggered away from Terry. He followed undeterred and Elira kept her eyes focused on him, trying to be ready for any unexpected move. Her mind registered the sound of Vincent clambering over a table. And then she noticed one of the police standing nearby with a blank look of shock on his face, clearly enthralled with the entire scene unfolding before him. Briefly disgusted with the law-keeping force of Virna, Elira grabbed the tranquilizer gun from the man and pointed it at Terry. With a start, Terry stopped walking, looking warily at the gun.
But she didn't shoot Terry. Aiming beyond him, she fired, hoping against hope that she could keep her hand steady.
Vincent choked out a small cry of surprise as the dart hit him in the right shoulder. Terry spun around to look.
Vincent stared at the dart for a moment as if not understanding what had happened, and then he glanced up, his pupils slowly registering within his irises. Elira could see a smile battling for control of his lips. And then he spoke, his voice somewhat strained, as if he had worn it out with shouting.
"You're aim has improved."
After another moment, Vincent staggered and put his right hand out, propping himself up on a table. And then, he stood swaying for a couple of seconds before falling to his knees. It took him a few tries to pluck the dart out of his shoulder before he collapsed onto the floor, sprawled on his stomach.
Once the relief had worn off, Elira found herself enraged. Turning to Terry, she screamed, "Get out! Get out of my store!" And then she turned on the officers standing behind her. "You, too! Get out before I call the real police and have you charged for harassing my employees!"
The two officers scrambled suddenly and hurried out of her store, the bell over the door chiming a farewell. Terry, however, didn't scramble. He walked calmly to the entrance to the forge and then fixed Elira with a piercing stare.
"Don't believe this is over," he stated softly. And then he left. Elira didn't breath until she heard the bell finish ringing, signifying his exit.
Benita stumbled her way into the forge almost a minute later to find Elira still standing in the exact same spot, the tranquilizer gun clutched in bone-white fingers as if it was the source of her life. The other employees were all huddled by the lathe, talking quietly and looking a little unsure of what to do next. Benita ignored them, coming up to Elira to touch her on the shoulder. Elira started violently at the contact, but then sighed when she saw Benita, her body sagging.
"Are ya all right, Lir?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm...um...Are...are you all right, Beni?"
Benita nodded after a moment. "Yeah. Jus' got a goose-egg on the back a my head, that's all. I'll be fine."
Elira nodded and stared again at the floor, her gaze unfocused.
Benita glanced at the prone form of Vincent and raised her eyebrows, wondering what had happened while she'd been out cold. "Is Vince all right?" she asked.
Elira said nothing for a moment. And then she inhaled sharply as if coming out of a dream. "Um, yeah. Oh yeah. He's just...unconscious. I...I shot him with a tranquilizer dart."
Benita frowned. "Oh. Well, those things can be pretty powerful, Lir. Do ya think we oughta take him to the hospital?"
Elira shook her head immediately. "No, he'll be all right. He's got a bit of an immunity to tranquilizing drugs. But...can someone help me take him up to my apartment? I don't want to leave him on the floor like that."
Benita nodded and motioned for the other employees to do as Elira said. They were a little slow in complying, but after what they had just witnessed, no one was eager to disobey Elira.
Elira led the way up to her apartment as the others followed, carrying Vincent carefully up the stairs. Still completely in the dark, Benita massaged the back of her head and wandered into the front room.
A small press of people stood outside the store, wondering what had happened. Benita suddenly felt as if she should be among them.
And she wondered when the train of circumstances had dropped her off and if she would be able to get back on. Frowning in confusion, she sat at the desk in the front room, ignoring the crowd outside of the door, though she recognized most of them as customers. She doubted she would ever regain her spot on that train, if she'd ever had a spot. Vincent and Elira were on a train of their own, she realized, though she'd kind of always known it in the back of her mind. They were different. She wondered where the train was going. And she wondered also at how much the departure into the unknown would change everything.