Elira covered her mouth again as another yawn assailed her, leaving in its wake a vaguely cotton-headed feeling. Blinking, she shifted and willed her eyes to remain open to the darkness.
Not three hours ago, she'd been wakened out of a restless sleep when she'd heard Vincent stumbling around outside. Concerned, she'd stood from her bed, moving to the flaps of the tent. Before she'd been able to peek out, however, his strangled cry had filled the air. She'd grabbed the tranquilizer gun from beside her pillow, already loaded with one dart, and jumped out to see his dark form shuddering on the ground in the throws of what looked to be a very painful transformation. But he'd stopped her before she'd been able to shoot, saying that it was over. So, she'd dropped the gun and hurried to kneel beside him. He'd been gasping weakly and she'd felt so sorry, and so angry at the injustice. She'd put her arms over him, rubbing his back comfortingly, holding him to her as if she could transfer her strength to him.
He'd been too weak to put up much of a fight when she'd hoisted him up and half-carried him, with quite a bit of difficulty, to her tent. Laying him down on her sleeping bag, she'd relieved him of his gun and taken up the watch.
The night was silent, but she kept her hands glued to the metal of his gun anyway, just in case. There wasn't even the sound of the chocobos stirring in their sleep. At Vincent's unexplained transformation, the two creatures had shied and fled, warking in distress. The sounds of them had stopped not long after as they'd either run out of hearing range or calmed down from their scare. Elira had felt she should go and see if she could find them nearby, but the thought of leaving the camp unguarded, and Vincent alone with Chaos, had dissuaded her.
The stars winked at her from the inky depths of the night sky, seeming to shimmer in place. Elira rubbed her eyes with her left hand, but the stars continued to tremble in their locked positions as if trying to get up and dance around. Strangely enough, she began to feel a pity for them that she'd never felt before while looking at the heavenly bodies. And she was glad she was not a star and could dance if she wanted. Even if stars never experienced pain, they could not move to express their joy to the other stars, whereas she could at least sway with her feelings, and she could step closer to others when she was lonely.
The stars must have a melancholy kind of happiness, she mused, a desolate kind of joy.
A sound at her elbow made Elira realize that she'd been drifting off to sleep with her rambling thoughts. She glanced up at the darkened shadow that was Vincent, his red eyes shining down at her.
"The chocobos ran away," she reported, attempting to stifle yet another yawn. "But they might not have run far, I don't know."
Vincent stepped away from the rock and went out onto the path, bathing himself in moonlight. After a moment, he returned. "They are gone," he stated. "I hear nothing."
"Are we going to go back for them?" Elira asked, though she already knew retracing their steps would take more time than what they'd already spent on the journey.
"No," Vincent answered quietly, "we will have to continue on foot."
Elira nodded and stood, stretching discreetly and brushing what dirt there was from the seat of her pants. "How are you feeling?" she wondered, trying without success to see his expression in the darkness.
"Rested."
Elira nodded. "Good." And then she voiced the question that had been in her thoughts for the three hours she'd been sitting against the rock. "What happened? Why did you transform, Vincent?"
Vincent said nothing for a moment, and then he gave a half-hearted shrug. "I have come to assume the watch," he said after another pause.
Elira shook her head gently, willing to let him change the subject for now. "No, you go back and sleep. You need it more than I do, I have a feeling."
Vincent gave an almost inaudible sigh through his nose. "I am rested, and I am assuming the watch. You will return to your tent to sleep."
Elira felt herself bristle a little at the way he was ordering her, but she bit down on a retort, keeping herself from getting angry. "This is going to be a hard trip. We should share the watches so that we both get enough sleep. It wouldn't be good for you to be tired while you're fighting 'surprise' transformations."
"I am not tired, but you are. You should return to your tent."
Elira frowned. Her argument made sense, why wasn't he listening? It would be foolish of him to let himself become too weary to stand against Chaos, didn't he see that? "No. You return to the tent and if you want I can wake you in a few hours to replace me."
"Elira..."
"No, Vincent." Elira stared up at him in the darkness determinedly. "I don't know what it is about me, but everyone seems intent on treating me like a child, telling me what to do. Is twenty-three really that much younger than you?"
Vincent gave no answer.
Elira sighed, calming herself. "I only want to help. Since we were both worn out by the events of the day, it only makes sense that we both get a chance to sleep tonight. Doesn't it?"
Vincent didn't say anything for a few moments. And then he lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the rock. He beckoned for her to join him. Elira glanced around as if to check that everything was secure before seating herself beside him. She was close enough to have looped her arm with his, or to have laid her head against his shoulder. But she didn't, dismally chagrined by the idea. Seeing him weakened, in need of her help, had made her feel closer to him, but she could still feel the wall of secrets and ignorance between them that had yet to be broken down, and not only by him. But, he was the one who still seemed a little mistrusting at times of the understanding that flowed between them, as if not truly believing that there was someone out there who was like him. And that made her warier than she liked.
"There are a few things you should know about me."
Elira glanced up at him, but his face was enshrouded in shadow. So she looked instead at the prosthetic hand emerging from the cuff of his sleeve, at times still captivated by the way he moved it as if it was flesh.
The fingers twitched distractedly, as if he was nervous. She felt the irrational desire to hold the golden hand, to comfort him, but she ignored it.
"I told you once that the Professor shot me, and that is true," he began in a soft, monotone voice. "What I did not tell you is the shot was deadly, aimed for my heart. However, before my body had finished dying, the Professor summoned the demon into me. I do not know whether he intended for me to be alive or not, but this procedure trapped my soul within my body."
Elira looked carefully to Vincent's darkened face, wondering at his expression. And she was troubled by the flat, disinterested tone with which he unraveled another mystery of his past, as if it didn't mean anything to him. As if it hadn't been a horrible thing that had been done. She frowned; he'd become so angry at the pain Terry had threatened to cause her, and yet he showed nothing for the pain he'd received. Maybe she would have to feel the anger for him, feel the disgust that it had been another human being who had done this to him.
Vincent continued after the momentary pause. "I did not die, but I did not heal. And I have remained that way since. The growth processes of my body no longer function correctly; for example, my pale complexion is a result of my inability to produce red blood cells at a steady rate after I have lost blood."
The metal fingers of his left hand closed into a loose fist as if he was trying to hold onto something that was slipping away. Elira looked back to his face but he was not looking at her, his eyes focused upward, on the stars. "Blood loss does not affect me," he went on softly, "and I do not get ill." He paused a moment and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "But, I do believe I would die if someone were to disable my body in such a way that would kill a human. But, if that were to happen, my body would continue to live, so to speak. Chaos would most likely be given free reign over it, using it to remain in the realm of the physical. So, I must live on; I do not want the madness of the demon to ensue in the event of my death." He gave a small sigh and lowered his head. "I have gotten away from my point," he murmured quietly as if speaking to himself. Raising his head, he turned to look at Elira, his red eyes piercing in the darkness. "I have told you all of this so that you will accept what I am about to tell you. I do not often need sleep, Elira, or food. I can go long periods of time without both. My body suffers no ill effects. So, you see why I am insisting that you get your rest. I will not tire as you will during a wakeful night."
Stars never became sick. Crimson stars in the blackness, immune to all physical human frailties, but still isolated, trapped, unable to share themselves with the other stars. Still desolate, melancholy, and alone.
It was a few seconds before Elira stirred herself and gave a nod. "I see," she answered for lack of a better response. A small silence followed and she fidgeted. After a moment, she murmured quietly, "Then I suppose I didn't need to spend all of that extra money on food supplies."
Vincent made a small sound that might've been a smirk had it come from anyone else. "I only purchased half of what was set aside for us."
Elira digested this a moment before herself giving a chuckle. "I thought I had counted right." There was another silence of about a minute before Elira ventured, "So, you don't get sick and you rarely need to eat or sleep. Is there anything else?"
Vincent gave a slight shrug, the shadow of his shoulders moving. "My body is not readily affected by external temperatures. That is the only other thing I can imagine you might need to know."
Elira nodded again and then hid a subdued yawn behind a hand. She wondered what time it was back in Neo-Midgar.
"You should return to your tent," Vincent observed quietly once she'd finished yawning. "Without the chocobos, the journey will be somewhat more laborious."
Elira nodded tiredly after a small delay, still a little loathe to leave the watch to him though she didn't doubt what he'd told her. But she was too sleepy to worry about it now. After handing Vincent his gun, she pushed herself up and made her slow way to her tent. As she shuffled along, the toe of her sneaker hit something; it was the tranquilizer gun. She bent to retrieve it before continuing.
She turned around at the flaps of the tent, but Vincent was hidden completely in the shadow of the rock, angled as it was away from her viewpoint. She glanced up at the stars.
Overhead and to the south she could see the constellation Cletus, the one best visible from sector six. She traced the outline of the heavenly warrior with her eyes, noting the contours of a poised shield and an uplifted sword. She wondered how long the historical figure had been standing there without a battle to fight, without an enemy to kill.
How long had it been since he'd been a part of humanity? Did he miss it? What had he lost in becoming a cluster of stars, in gaining immortality?
What loss did he feel at becoming nothing more than darkness framed by beauty?
She wondered if the loss tore at him, gnawed at him as he watched humanity from his perch in the sky. And then she shook her head. Her weary mind was becoming silly. The stars felt nothing. They were only stars. She slipped into her tent and prepared to sleep.
The trip along the path that skirted the foothills was fairly tiring and they took several breaks along the way, including one stop for the night. The days warmed quickly and Elira kept her coat in her backpack, rolling up her sleeves to bare her arms as she tried to make the walk a little more pleasant. As a way of ignoring the discomfort of unused muscles, she kept her eyes always on the scenery, staring upward at the Midra Mountains as they passed formations she had only ever seen in text books: three flat plateaus were the Sleeping Giants; a small ledge that looked almost like a chair was Throne Rock; a face, if an observer were to look at it from the correct angle, called King's Mistress.
Vincent didn't speak at all as they walked, so Elira observed everything in silence. His face was set almost like the stone of the mountain, and sometimes his eyes were closed as if the brightness of the day was too much for them. But she noticed that, even as the sun set behind the mountains on the first day, encasing the two travelers in shadow, he didn't stop shutting his eyes periodically. Elira wondered what was bothering him if weariness and hunger couldn't plague his body.
It was turning to late afternoon by the time the foothills along the path were being left behind. A small river had come into view ahead of them to their left and Elira could remember than Kalm was just beyond it, sitting on the edge of the river before it emptied into the ocean. Elira knew that, not long after she had left, Kalm had turned into a port town so that trade routes could be established between itself and Costa Del Sol. She also knew that a ferry circuit had opened up as the resort town on the western continent became a popular vacation spot. Elira had never been on a boat or a ferry, though the scent of the ocean was something she recalled well. She could smell it now, in fact, as a wind off of the coast blew southeast toward them, salty and refreshing. She inhaled deeply, but then frowned as another scent, this one acrid, like rusting and rotting metal, reached her, though it was not very strong. It was kind of familiar, as if she'd dreamed it once.
"Do you smell that?" she asked Vincent, speaking for the first time since their departure from the campsite that morning.
He turned to look at her suddenly as if she had startled him. After a moment, he answered, "It is the odor of the ruined city of Midgar."
Old Midgar, she'd almost forgotten. A little to their left, to the West, she could see that the sky was a little darker, as if swarms of insects were gathering. But, it was only the particles of the decomposing city floating out of the huge iron graveyard and into the air as if searching for heaven. A rise in the land, however, hid Midgar from their sight; Elira was almost thankful. She had seen the meteor hanging in the sky when she'd been thirteen and she knew the image was permanent in her mind. It had frightened her and she'd closed the curtains of her window in her bedroom for the time it had hovered over Midgar, as if afraid that it could follow her into sleep. It had, sometimes.
She didn't need the image of cursed Midgar to follow her into her dreams now.
A wonderful ssssmell, don't you agree? Rot, death, decay. Vincent just closed his eyes again, ignoring the voice.
You sssstill will not talk? I am hurt. After all we've been through together, Vinsssscent.
Hissing, gasping laughter ran in his head like the sound of a death rattle. After a few moments, it settled and there was blessed silence. Vincent looked again to the approaching town of Kalm, focusing his attention on it in an attempt to keep his mind from straying to thoughts of their destination. So far, he had been successful in keeping his it a secret, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep Chaos from knowing. It didn't matter, though. Every second that passed without Chaos knowing was another second in which another step was taken forward.
It didn't matter because, once they reached their destination, Chaos would know anyway. Vincent hadn't a clue what he would do then, but he left the matter alone, deciding to wait until the problem came up to deal with it. Because if he thought about it too much now, he might discover that the whole plan had been impossible from the start, and he therefore might be tempted to turn back. And he did not want that. The trip was disturbing Chaos greatly, enough to cause it to fight its way to Vincent's consciousness to find out what was going on. Fate was questioning his actions, his break in routine, suddenly at a loss.
And that pleased Vincent.
He heard Elira quicken her pace from where she had been lagging until she was keeping stride with him. And then, breathing with a little difficulty under the strain of the walking and the burden of her pack, she turned her eyes to him.
And she spoke.
And Vincent was unable to stop her before the words were out of her mouth.
"How long do you think it'll take us to get to the Forgotten City of the Ancients?"
Vincent doubled over and clutched at his head at Chaos' enraged scream.
The Ansssscientssss? The Ansssscientssss! You are plotting to exorsssscisssse me! Death to you! Hell take you! MADNESSSS FIND YOU! Chaos stopped ranting and pushed forcefully against Vincent's defenses, bringing him to his knees as he offered what small resistance he could. But the attack had been too sudden, and it was too powerful. Vincent shuddered, feeling as if his body was being torn in two. And the transformation began.
Elira fumbled for the tranquilizer gun, struggling in alarm to grab it over her shoulder from where she had attached it to her pack. Her mind skittered frantically over pieces of remembered conversation.
...he summoned a demon, Chaos, and let it infiltrate my body...
...In my transformed state, there is no real thought. It is all abrupt action...
...I believe Chaos would've killed...had I not been able to reign it...
She was beginning to fear that she would have to take the time to take her pack off when she felt her fingers brush the barrel. Pulling mightily at the attachments, she brought the gun around and aimed it at the beast Vincent was changing into. Attempting to steady trembling hands, she closed her eyes and fired.
The dart went into a grotesquely muscled shoulder and the demon glanced at it in little concern before leering at her with bloody eyes as it stood to an impossible height. Elira stumbled backward a few steps in pure terror before she was able to gain enough hold on herself to bring the gun up again. She fired. But, of course, the gun was now empty. It could only hold one dart at a time; the other darts were in their protective packages in her pack. Disgusted with her lack of foresight, she flung it to the ground and prepared to run.
But the demon did not advance. It shook its head fitfully, as if being plagued by a sudden nervous twitch. And then, with a snarl, it turned away from her and thrust itself into the air, throwing its wings open to catch the wind. Elira found herself confused when she'd been fully expecting it to give chase and, more than likely, kill her. She wondered, her mind still a little numb with panic and horror, if Vincent was still fighting it, protecting her, from within.
As Chaos flew off, oddly headed toward Kalm (which she also attributed to Vincent's efforts), Elira wondered when the dart would take effect.
If the dart would take effect. The last time she'd used it, Vincent had not been transformed. Maybe the demon was stronger now against the drugs than when hidden within Vincent's thin frame. Despair battled with hope for a few long seconds before Elira stirred herself enough to grab up the discarded gun and begin a frenzied pursuit.
Chaos floated on the breeze with a deceptive serenity, as if merely stretching its wings. And then, as it closed in on what had once been Elira's hometown, it dipped clumsily in the air about twenty feet before stabilizing itself. Elira cheered inwardly to see that the drug was finally taking effect. The feeling of relief wore off, however, as she saw that the demon was continuing to drop, its landing destination already picked out.
Inside the town.
Elira doubled her effort, running with a speed and determination borne of adrenaline. It was too late, though. She could see the creature disappearing behind a building. She prayed that the drug would disable the demon before it was given the chance to harm. And she prayed that she would get there before some well-meaning townsperson took it upon themselves to rid Kalm of Vincent in whatever form they found him in.
There was a large crowd in the town square when she arrived, people having gathered to see what had landed in the middle of their quiet community. Elira pushed through them almost viciously, forcing her way to the front in a panic.
A man was speaking. She could hear him before she could see him, his voice placating.
"It's all right everyone. Go back to your business. Don't be afraid, this is all taken care of. Go on."
The crowd was dispersing slowly and by the time Elira made her way to the front, she saw that Vincent, now unconscious and in his original form, was over the shoulder of a blond-headed and blond-bearded man who couldn't have been much over thirty. The man was not tall, but his presence was striking. His clothing was simple, though: brown pants and a tan, sleeveless tunic. Perhaps it was his hair that made him stand out, long sun-coloured strands that hung thickly around his face and ears, or maybe his eyes, bright green as if lit from inside.
Or maybe it was the impression Elira got from him that he knew what he was doing.
The man turned and the crowd parted for him as he made his way to the door of a plain brick house, Vincent hanging down his back like a rag doll. The door opened for him as he drew near and Elira thought she could see a woman inside. And then, the man entered and the door shut behind him.
As if starting out of a trance, Elira made her way through the remaining townspeople and up to the door of the house the man had gone into. Uneasy and more than a little curious about why this man had taken Vincent into his home, she knocked loudly, rapping her knuckles on the wood until they stung.
It was a moment before a tall, slender woman in a white tank top and black pants opened the door, her long brown hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Brown eyes gazed out of a thin, fine-boned face.
"Yes?"
"Where's the man you just had brought into your house?"
The woman's features softened a little. "Don't worry, it's all being taken care of. He won't bother anyone."
Elira shook her head. "No, I mean I want to see him."
The woman frowned a little. "Um, I don't think..."
Getting frustrated, Elira sighed. "I know him. His name's Vincent. I was coming here with him when..."
The woman's eyes had gone wide. Interrupting Elira, she asked, "You know Vincent?"
Elira blinked. "You know him?" she reciprocated.
The woman said nothing for a moment. And then she ushered Elira into the living room of their house, shutting the door quietly behind her. She looked Elira over in curiousity. "Where are you from?" she asked.
"Neo-Midgar. Vincent is...well, he was one of my employees. I owned a weapons shop." She considered telling the woman more, but then realized that she'd been the only one answering questions. "How do you know him?" she inquired of the woman.
The woman was silent for a moment, her eyes becoming distant, before she said, "From a long time ago."
Elira's mind formed one word. Avalanche?
Any forthcoming conversation was cut off as the blond-headed man walked into the living room. Upon seeing Elira, his expression became one of suspicion. "Who is this, Tifa?" he asked, coming up to the woman's side.
Tifa? Why does that name seem recently familiar? Or am I just remembering these people from when I used to live here?
The woman turned to him, speaking softly. "She knows Vincent from Neo-Midgar. I think she's the girl Barret was talking about."
Elira's ears perked up at Barret's name. And she remembered him saying to Vincent in the shop that he was going to call 'the others' and tell them where Vincent was living. Were these two of the others he'd been talking about? Perhaps that was why their names seemed familiar.
The man flicked his bright eyes to Elira and glanced over her warily. "Why would Vincent be here with you?" he asked gruffly.
Elira debated with herself on how much she could reveal. Finally, she answered, "We were just passing through to head north."
"Yeah?" the man continued, seemingly unsatisfied with her vague response. "What for?"
Elira struggled a moment for an answer.
"And why is Vincent unconscious?" he pressed when Elira didn't speak immediately.
Elira was grateful when the woman, Tifa, began to speak in her defense. "Cloud, stop it. This isn't an interrogation. She doesn't have to explain everything to us right now. God knows, Vincent always was hard to explain anyway."
"But how can we be sure...?" the man named Cloud fumbled protectively. Tifa appeared ready to reply, but Elira held up a hand. Tifa looked at her and shut her mouth.
Elira lowered her hand, realizing that she was on the outside. Outside of a close-knit group; Cloud definitely looked as if he could've been a part of Avalanche; the way he was so gruff and furtive seemed to indicate that there was a piece of his life he kept hidden. She sighed, realizing that, no matter how much she was against the idea, to get in to see Vincent she would have to prove herself. "I assume from the fact that you know Vincent that you already know about his...transformations."
Tifa nodded. Cloud just continued staring at her skeptically, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Well," Elira went on, feeling a little as if she was betraying Vincent, "that demon, Chaos, has become somewhat unstable. We were going north to the Forgotten City to see if there's some way of getting rid of the demon."
"What is the gun for?"
Elira glanced at Cloud, and then at the tranquilizer gun in her hand which Tifa must've noticed but neglected to mention. "Like I said, the demon is unstable. It...it's been making him transform against his will. This is a tranquilizer gun. Vincent asked me to put him out whenever he started to change."
Cloud seemed to accept this, nodding slightly. And then he said, "I put him in one of our guest rooms. I'll show you where." He turned and began to walk across the living room toward a wood-paneled hallway. Elira followed. As they passed what Elira guessed was the kitchen, a small girl in a yellow spring dress ran out, her blond curls dancing around her face. "Daddy, Daddy!" she squealed, her arms outstretched. "Catch me!"
Cloud stopped and caught his daughter under the arms as she jumped at him, pulling her up and over his head. She laughed.
"Spin me! Spin me, Daddy!"
Cloud shook his head, putting her back onto the floor. "No, not now, Doria. Go find your sister and tell her I want the two of you to stay out of the hallway, all right? No noise. We've got guests."
The little girl nodded as her eyes fastened onto Elira. She stared unashamedly for a few seconds before running off again.
Cloud led Elira to a darkened room on the west side of the house. Opening the door quietly, he gestured for her to enter. She nodded her thanks and he walked away down the hall, leaving her to look in on Vincent.
The room was silent. In the small sliver of light from the door Elira had left partially open, she could see Vincent's coat, boots, and pack piled around and on a chair by a desk. Across the room, under a window with its curtains drawn, was a bed. On the bed lay Vincent, the covers pulled up to his chin. After depositing her pack and the gun on the floor by the desk, Elira approached softly and sat carefully at his side on the mattress.
He was asleep. She watched his pale, still face as he breathed shallowly through his nose, wondering if he had reached a peaceful oblivion. A tendril of dark hair lay across his bandana, trailing down one side of his nose to end on his upper lip. Elira lifted it aside gently before hesitantly cupping his cheek in her palm. He was still so warm; he'd said his body was nearly immune to changes in temperature.
And Elira felt pity for him. Here was a young man, attractive and charming in his own way, who'd had years of his life taken away from him because of the demon. He'd had to hole himself away; he'd had to sacrifice everything to appease Chaos. To appease fate. He'd had to sacrifice the healing he'd needed after the rejection and death of Lucrecia to keep people away, to protect them and himself. He'd had to sacrifice it all.
Until now. Until she, stubborn and needy, had proven herself trustworthy, finding a way to reach him despite his defenses. Until she'd been willing to take the time to help him and herself, willing to banish the loneliness.
Willing to grant him what he deserved. He didn't need to sacrifice himself any more. And soon, he would realize it. They would go to the city and he would be freed. He'd be given another chance, a second chance. The chance he deserved after all of the undeserved hell he had suffered through.
The creak of hinges made Elira glance over at the door. Bathed in the light from the hallway, a girl with long brown hair that lay falling over her shoulders peered in. She smiled as she noticed Elira looking at her and stepped inside, followed closely by the smaller blond-haired girl Elira had seen in the living room.
"Hi," the brown-headed one said quietly.
Elira smiled a little. "Hello," she whispered back.
The girl dug her toe into the hardwood floor for a moment, her hands clasped behind her. And then she looked up again, curiousity more than evident on her youthful face. "What's your name?"
Elira's smile grew. "Elira. What's yours?"
The girl grinned suddenly. "I'm Aeris, and this is Doria." She indicated her sister who was huddled behind her shyly. The younger girl peeked out at the mention of her name for a moment before ducking again out of sight. "What's wrong with the man?"
Elira glanced at the prone form of Vincent for a moment as if she had forgotten him and then returned her gaze to the girls. "He's...he's just very tired."
"Oh."
The two girls turned suddenly as footsteps started down the hall. They both cowered away as Tifa opened the door.
"Girls, what did your father say?"
"That we weren't supposed to make a lot of noise, but we weren't," Aeris protested, moving out of reach of her mother's hands.
"We were just talking to the lady," her sister added.
"Okay, well you've talked to the lady and now it's time to eat. Go wash up and come to the kitchen."
"Um..."
"Come on, girls. Hurry hurry, or it'll get cold."
"Okay." Aeris walked out of the room with Doria trailing behind, two sets of eyes still fixed on Elira. Finally, both girls were gone. Tifa smiled apologetically at Elira.
"I'm really sorry. They're just curious. We don't get that many visitors."
Elira shook her head, chuckling. "It's all right. No harm done."
Tifa nodded. She began to withdraw, but before she'd disappeared altogether, she stuck her head back through the opening in the door. "We're going to be eating in a few minutes. You're welcome to join us."
Elira thought for a moment, though she already knew her answer. "No thanks."
Tifa gave another nod and departed, leaving the door open a crack.
Elira stared at the light coming through the crack as her mind traveled back to when she'd been a little girl with her father, mostly her father. The only memory she had of her mother was when she'd seen her in the hospital, and she tried not to think of that too often. Her father had done his best, however, to raise her right, though she'd turned out a little tomboy-ish. He'd loved her, cared for her, listened to her, taught her. He'd never remarried. She'd been all he'd had, and he'd been all she'd had. And that had always been enough.
Elira stood from the bed and, after glancing once more at Vincent's face, left the room. Cloud, Tifa, and their daughters were eating dinner in the kitchen; the smell was appetizing, but Elira ignored it. Moving quietly, she made her way to the front door and slipped out onto the streets of Kalm.
The previous crowd had dispersed completely and no one seemed to notice her emergence. Thankful for the anonymity, she began walking away from the house.
Kalm was almost exactly as she recalled it, except that the old iron structure in the centre of the town had been taken out. Elira felt an odd twinge at this, remembering faintly the times when she and her friends had pretended was a rocket, circling it and making the whoosh and roar of the engines. As she looked around, she spotted the old inn, and the bar. And her old employer's auto-shop, though now it looked as if it had been taken over by someone else.
Elira's feet led her as if of their own accord to an aging, two-story house on the east side of town. She didn't go to the front door, however. Following a cracking flagstone path, she walked around one wall to the back of the house, her eyes reaching upward to trace the contours of the building. At the back, there was a screen door, closed, though the wooden door behind it was open. She turned the handle. It gave a tinny squeak and she pushed her way inside. A bell jingled over her head.
There was a thin, short, balding man dressed in loose-fitting clothes and an apron bent to the task of cutting a gentleman's hair while the gentleman was seated comfortably in a padded chair with a blanket draped over him, reading the paper. A white sink sat against one wall and a tray of tools including a pair of scissors, a razor, a bottle of water spray, and a can of shaving cream sat on a counter at the man's elbow.
Both men glanced up at her arrival. Only the balding man in the apron continued to look after the initial glimpse. There was surprise in his eyes and his mouth had fallen open a little.
Elira tried to smile, but the smile contorted and she found herself hard put to keep herself from crying. It was him. It was really him. He looked exactly the same. After a moment, she swallowed and cleared her throat.
"Hi, Dad."