Elira went to Vincent's cabin in the morning only to be informed that he would be spending the remainder of the trip behind the locked door. Pushing down her disappointment, for she'd wanted to bring him up so that he could feel the wind on his face and look at the horizon, she went to breakfast. And met Leo in the cafeteria. They got a table together and, after eating and chatting, took a walk together around the ferry. Elira was surprised to realize how comfortable she was around him; he didn't pry, as if he, too, had certain secrets he didn't want her to know. She found herself slipping into the remembered role of friendship she'd had with Benita, and with Terry before he'd changed. Though Elira wondered sometimes if he'd changed or he'd just shown his true colours.
The few hours slipped by as quickly and smoothly as the docking of the ferry at the end of the ride. Soon, Elira found herself walking down a crowded ramp onto a large and bustling dock, her backpack strapped to her shoulders. She felt a little like a tourist, dressed as she was in pants and a long sleeved shirt with her jacket draped loosely over her arms amongst those in more revealing clothing, but this thought was forgotten as she realized that she couldn't spot Vincent in all of the confusion. Standing on her tiptoes, she peered over the heads of others, searching for what she thought would've been a discernible black dot in the sea of warm weather colours. But he was nowhere to be seen. She wondered abruptly if he was waiting for the crowd to disperse a little before emerging from the ship; or, there could be another, more serious reason for his delay...
Elira pushed through the people who had inevitably clustered around her, making her way back toward the ramp that was still in use. Because of the press of bodies, she was unable to get onto it. She waited for a few minutes in irritation before pulling herself around the handrail of the ramp and forcing her way upward despite the protests of the others using it to disembark.
Inside the door at the top of the ramp stood a short man in a blue shorts-and-shirt uniform with a hat on his head that reminded her of the one she'd seen the dock master in Kalm wearing. He frowned a little as she came up in front of him, a little closer than would've been perfectly comfortable due to the stream of passengers pushing against her as they walked by.
"Excuse me, sir," she began over the noise of chatter. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. He's tall, has black hair and is dressed in a long black coat. Have you seen him?"
The small man huffed. "I'm sorry, miss, but you are not allowed back on the boat."
Elira sighed. "No, I just want to know if you've seen my friend. He looks...different, so that you would remember him."
The man didn't seem moved. His irritated look told Elira that he dealt with cases like this often, and that he was less than thrilled with the job. "Please, miss," he started after a moment, his voice condescending as if he was speaking to a child, "just go down to the dock. I'm sure you'll find your friend there."
Elira wrinkled her nose in a little offense. Why was everyone intent on treating her like a youth who didn't know what she was talking about? "Look, can I just go on for a minute? My friend has a...an illness and I just want to make sure he got off okay."
The man was shaking his head even before she finished speaking. "No, I'm sorry; that's against policy. If you'd like one of us to go and look for him..."
Elira's mind flashed suddenly with the thought of a ship's hand opening Vincent's cabin door only to be mauled mercilessly by Chaos. The image frightened her, both for the person that found him and Vincent himself. "No, I don't think that would be a good idea. I need to go to him myself."
The man was shaking his head again. Elira gave a sigh of impatience and supressed panic. She was about to lose a bit of her cool when someone pushed up beside her suddenly.
"Hey! Hey, you! Sir! I need your help, sir!"
Elira barely noticed the familiarity of the voice and turned in some irritation to the man who had snubbed her so rudely. Only to find that it was Leo. She wondered what was wrong. He gave her a quick look before continuing. "Sir, I've lost my luggage. Could you get someone to go and find it for me?"
The ship's hand put his palms up placatingly. "Calm down, sir. Your luggage will be returned to you momentarily."
Elira felt Leo's elbow bump against her as he attempted to move into the full view of the man. She gave a small noise of protest. He looked at her again, briefly, and gave a quick wink. "Please, sir, I need my luggage now. My pills are in it. You see, I have extreme claustrophobia. In fact..." Leo began to turn his head around spontaneously as if expecting an aerial attack. "...I...I don't think I can take the press of people anymore." He clutched his hands to his ears in a convincing display of hysteria. Elira moved forward to put a hand on his shoulder; she'd never figured him to be claustrophobic. He glanced at her again as the sailor began looking around in agitation, grabbing at Leo's shoulders. And then Leo mouthed one word: Go.
It took a moment for everything to sink in. And then Elira began to smile, recognizing the chance Leo was providing for her. She gave him a grateful look before slipping off into the ship, the man in the blue hat shouting after her futily.
Elira moved stealthily through the decks, avoiding people in blue uniforms until she rounded a corner and nearly collided head-long into one. He paid her no mind, however, merely giving a quiet apology before going about his business. Elira walked with a little more confidence after that.
Vincent's door was locked again. She knocked loudly. "Vincent! Are you still in there?"
Nothing. Perhaps he had already left the boat and she just hadn't seen him. Elira chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. And then she knocked again and, putting her ear against the wood. "Vincent?" She strained to hear something, anything.
A small, muffled groan of pain, nearly ending in a whimper, reached her. Elira felt her face contort with horror. He was in there, probably battling Chaos. She withdrew from the door and pounded on it with the heel of her palm. "Vincent! Vincent, it's me, Elira! You've got to unlock the door!"
There was no answer of any kind. Elira rattled the knob in growing alarm, but there was nothing she could do. Finally, taking a breath to calm herself, she began to think of possible solutions. Could she break down the door? No, and it would take too long even if she could. Was there some way to break the lock? She examined the knob quickly, but no weakness in the alloy became apparent. There was another muted sound from inside the room and Elira nearly screamed in frustration. He needed her, and she was incapable of reaching him.
There was the sound of approaching footsteps, hurried, as if someone was running. Elira turned toward the noise in near desperation, hoping the person would be able to help her, even if it was that short man in the blue uniform coming to get her. But it wasn't the man.
It was Leo, his hair a little mussed from where he'd clutched at it with his fingers and his glasses fallen partly down his nose. He ran a hand through his hair and pushed his spectacles up as he met her in the hallway, as if grooming himself for her inspection. "Are you all right?" he asked, peering at her in a little concern after a moment.
Elira nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. But...but my friend is ill and he's locked himself in his room. I can't get to him!" Realizing she was getting panicky again, Elira took a breath, unclenching her fists and feeling the knots in her stomach lessen a little.
Leo pushed past her suddenly, digging around in a shorts' pocket as he approached the door. Elira watched in curiousity as he bent himself to the level of the doorknob, bringing out a twisted piece of wire that looked as if it had once been a paper clip. And then he carefully inserted the wire into the lock.
"I always lose my room key when I take this ferry," he chuckled softly, "so you could say I've become a bit of an expert at picking locks." He made a small sound of satisfaction as something clicked. And then he moved to open the door.
"No!" Elira exclaimed suddenly, rushing forward and grabbing his arm to stop him. The look he gave her was one of worried puzzlement. Knowing how she must appear to him, she calmed herself, letting go of him. "Sorry, but...I think it would be better if he sees someone he knows first."
"Ah." Leo nodded. "It's that kind of illness."
That kind of illness? Elira wondered, trying to guess what Leo thought Vincent had. But there was no time to debate it. She considered taking the tranquilizer gun out of the hiding place she had created for it on her backpack, but then decided against it. She didn't know Leo very well; she didn't know what he would do if he saw her entering a room with a gun, saying that she was going to help a friend. She almost giggled at the absurdity of the image. He would probably think she was going to end his misery, or something equally crazy. She just hoped she would have enough time to prepare the shot inside the room if such action was needed.
Elira opened the door quietly, though she realized it really made no difference; Vincent would hear it anyway. When the space was just enough for her to maneuver through, she slipped into the room and shut the door behind her.
Vincent didn't look up as she entered. He was on his hands and knees on the floor, his hair hanging around his face in clumped strands; he was shivering miserably, as if unbearably cold. Elira moved slowly as she slid out of her backpack, lowering it to the floor. She then opened it, intermittently glancing at Vincent as if afraid he was about to bolt. She was pleased with herself when she realized she had placed the darts on the top of her clothing at some point, making for quick and easy access. Taking one tranquilizer out of the package, she stood up.
"Vincent? Do you want me to put you out?"
He didn't answer for a few moments, continuing to tremble. Elira felt a shudder go through her own body, as if she'd felt a part of his pain, and she dropped to her knees beside him to at least offer her presence as a comfort. She glanced around him as a basic caution and saw that the metal digits of his prosthetic hand had inadvertently etched unsteady scars along the wood floor. She looked to his face. His eyes were fixed open, staring at nothing, and she wondered for a little while if he'd even heard her speak.
"You wouldn't be able to carry me out," Vincent observed suddenly, his voice roughened with strain and anguish.
Elira would've scoffed at him had he not been in so much obvious turmoil. Did he think that was the greatest of his worries right now, whether or not she'd be able to get him off the ship? "You think you'll be able to walk off?" she questioned chidingly.
Vincent said nothing for a few moments. His gloved right hand had clenched into a fist beside her, trembling as he trembled with the effort of keeping the demon in its place. "Chaos knows what we are doing," he said finally, quietly. "I think you should provide me with my own supply of tranquilizers."
Elira nodded quickly. "Of course."
Vincent closed his eyes and gave a slight nod of his own. And then he spoke, his voice monotone, under control. "Administer the drug."
Elira hesitated for a moment before plunging the needle into his upper arm, knowing he was less than eager to be sent into oblivion. Vincent grunted.
"Perhaps...a little gentler next time," he murmured after a moment.
"Sorry." Elira pulled the empty dart carefully from his arm and resisted the urge to rub the spot where she'd injected the tranquilizer.
It was perhaps a minute before the drug took effect, causing Vincent to topple over until he lay sprawled out on his back on the hardwood floor. Elira did a routine check of his heart and breathing rate before standing and going to the door. She opened it and beckoned to a patiently waiting Leo. He obeyed and entered the room.
And stopped walking as his eyes fell upon the prone form of Vincent. He turned a questioning gaze to Elira. Elira smiled and stepped away, crouching down by Vincent again. "He's just unconscious." She let her eyes sweep once over Vincent's face before turning again to Leo. "Would you help me carry him off the ship?"
Leo continued to examine Vincent for another few seconds, his mouth open a little as if he wanted to ask a question, but then he shook his head slightly and approached. "Sure."
Elira first gave Leo Vincent's pack and then slipped into her own. Once they were ready to begin the trip off of the ferry, she made sure to take Vincent's left arm, sitting him up carefully and draping the prosthetic over her shoulders. Leo squatted down at Vincent's right and, putting the black-sleeved arm behind his own neck, nodded once. They stood together, slowly, pulling Vincent up with them. Elira tried not to grimace under the weight of her companion and began to walk forward.
The short man in the blue uniform continued to stand at the top of the ramp for the straggling passengers. He raised a hand as if to stop them as they approached, ready to protest, but Leo got the first word in.
"Sorry, sir, we can't stop. This man is in dire need of medical assistance."
Elira did her best not to smile, knowing it would ruin everything. As they passed the man, his arm descending slowly as he watched them go, Leo called back, "Thank you for all of your help. Have a nice day."
Elira couldn't help the breathless laugh that escaped her lips, though she knew this wasn't the time or the place for humor. Nothing about the situation they were facing was funny. She'd just had to tranquilize Vincent because of Chaos, and now they would be spending an indefinite amount of time waiting for a barge while the demon continued its 'attacks'.
And besides, she didn't even know where the villa was. Vincent had said he knew, so she'd been willing to leave it up to him. She hadn't reckoned on this. Neither of them had.
You're not talking about that massive building over the bar, are you? Elira recalled Leo's question to her during their first conversation. Maybe she had been talking about that building. How was she to know? Adjusting the hold she had on Vincent, and trying not to dwell on the way the contact between them was making her feel, she lifted her voice to ask, "That building over the bar you mentioned, did it once belong to President Shinra the First?"
"Huh?" Leo craned his neck to look at Elira around Vincent's bowed head. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I think so." He gave a muted grunt as he hefted Vincent more comfortably on his shoulder. "Actually, now that I think about it, yes. Yes it did belong to him. I remember the big deal they made about trying to sell it."
"Okay. Then that's the villa I was talking about." Elira found herself breathing heavily, wearily, sweat forming on her body from the muggy heat of Costa Del Sol, despite the lateness of the season, combined with exertion. She realized that, if it ended up that they would be staying for a little while, she would have to get a new wardrobe to suit the high temperatures.
Leo gave the low whistle Elira was beginning to recognize as his expression of wonder. "The President's old villa. Lucky you."
Elira raised an eyebrow as she plodded along. Lucky indeed. She wasn't sure what to think of luck anymore.
Smells. Strange, very faint scents tantalized Vincent's memory, taking his hazy mind back to his days in Shinra. But there were no images with the memory, only feelings. Feelings of disgust, and a little fear. He opened his eyes, hoping they would solve the mystery his tired brain couldn't muddle through.
An unfamiliar ceiling above an unfamiliar queen-sized bed in an unfamiliar room. Pictures hung on the walls; there was an old, richly-carved wardrobe against one wall, and other pieces of furniture, night stands and dressers, decorating the rest of the room. But, although he didn't recognize everything, it was not wholly unfamiliar, as if he had walked through a room like it once, years ago. He frowned a little, and then winced at a painful throb from a temple. He could vaguely remember the ferry docking before Chaos had screamed and fought him for control of his body. Costa Del Sol? He sighed; this was now the second time he had awakened to an initially unknown environment. First Kalm, and now the...President's villa? He sniffed the air again, his mind racing back to the memory of a haughtily decorated office on the seventy-ith floor tiled with ugly linoleum and perfumed with cigar smoke. And he realized that it was the decaying, nearly-extinct scent of President Shinra himself, drifting through the air like the last few cremated ashes, that he was smelling.
Muffled voices, one he recognized as Elira's, one he didn't recognize, a male tenor voice. He glanced around the dimmed, windowless room and let his eyes rest on the door that had been left slightly ajar. The voices were coming from a nearby room. The words were hushed so that, even with his sensitive hearing, he had a hard time deciphering them.
Moving silently, he sat up and slipped his legs over the mattress, discovering as he had so often before that he'd been relieved of both his coat and his boots. He stood slowly, testing the strength of his legs before putting his full weight on them, and walked a little unsteadily to the door. Reaching the door frame, he put out a hand to brace himself. He felt like mentally cursing the after-effects of the tranquilizers, but didn't; they were the only things standing between him and complete anarchy. Besides, if it wasn't for the amazing healing rate and capability of his body, something he couldn't quite attribute definitely to anything, the aftermath could be a lot worse. The amount of drugs being pumped into his body on what was becoming an almost regular basis would probably seriously harm an average human.
But he wasn't average. Just one look at the pallor of his skin and the colour of his eyes could convince anyone of that. His body was nearly dead and no pain could harm him for long; the gunshot wound Hojo had inflicted on him hadn't even left a scar over his heart, and the knife injury he'd received from the teenager in sector seven was all but invisible now. He was not normal. And, although Captain Cid Highwind, the last one to join Avalanche, had once commented that Vincent was his own fountain of youth and healing, Vincent didn't appreciate the gifts. Not when the cost for them was so high...
Elira was laughing. The sound made Vincent attentive; it was beautiful, lilting. He hadn't heard her laugh often. An inner pain often sat heavy upon mirth, dampening it until it was saturated with irony and bitterness. He hadn't laughed aloud in anything except pain and anger for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like. He found himself a little envious of her.
And, strangely, a little envious of the person who had made her laugh that way...
"But, seriously, he told me that the barge went up early last week," the man with the tenor voice said casually. "If you're dead-set on catching it, you'll have to wait until next month's supplies have been collected and they're ready to ship them up."
Vincent heard Elira sigh. "All right. I guess we'll just have to wait."
The man gave a soft chuckle. "Oh, don't be so down-hearted. Spending a few weeks at a resort town in a huge and gorgeous house isn't the 'horror' everyone says it is. And besides, I've already promised you a job. You've got nothing to worry about."
There was a pause of a few moments, after which Elira gave a long sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right." There was another small silence. "Hey, Leo, I just want to thank you...for everything. You've been a great help, and you don't even know me or my friend."
Vincent frowned a little, vaguely pleased to find that the action didn't cause him pain any longer, and wondered how much Elira had told this man, this stranger. He answered his own question, however, after less than a second's delay. Elira had proven herself trustworthy so far; she would've been discreet about him, shirking questions or making up false reasons. Vincent glanced involuntarily at the golden hand hanging below the left cuff of his sleeve that he always left unbuttoned so that the arm would fit. He wondered idly how she had explained it away, this metal monstrosity hinging on his elbow.
The 'claw', more than anything else about him, represented the hell he'd been through and the freak he'd become. Even if he wasn't standing in front of a mirror to see his red eyes, even if he covered up nearly every inch of sickly white skin with clothing, he couldn't hide his prosthetic hand so that it looked 'normal'. It was his constant reminder, constantly bringing him back...
Hold him down! Damnit, I said hold him!
...to that day, ripping away from firm hands and taut restraits...
Painful! Didn't I tell you painful? Get me something duller!
...pungent breath filling his nostrils...
If you won't transform willingly, I'll make you!
...and the excruciating agony of having his forearm severed slowly from his body, shadowed only by the torture in his mind and soul at knowing Lucrecia was dead. But, despite the pain, he'd held out, keeping Chaos beneath the surface with a strength born of will. Until Hojo had uttered three words to make Vincent crazy with hate...
I killed her.
...want to send him to the depths of hell. Make him want to riddle Hojo's body with bullets until he was unrecognizable. And in the crimson fog of suffering and revenge, Chaos had been able to overpower him, killing every man in the room. Except Hojo. One of the scientists under Hojo's employ had had the sense to give the demon a needle full of sedatives before having his heart gouged out. Watching himself stumble toward the Professor, watching until Chaos receded under the drug's influence. And then, slipping in blood and other fluids, some from the dismembered scientists, some dripping from the stump on his arm, making his own way until he fell forward into unconsciousness, landing no more than a foot from the grinning Hojo. No more than a foot from vengeance and freedom.
The memory was old and well-used, but Vincent still found himself shuddering as he came to himself. Shuddering with stagnated venom, even as he had shuddered after the demise of Hojo while trying to feel anything but empty.
The voices from the other room had softened. Vincent lifted his head from the frame and listened at the door. It was almost impossible to decipher coherent words from the whispers. He put an eye to the opening.
There was a front room just outside the door, light filtering through a window to the right onto the carpet. A low table sat in the middle of the room and a couple of small desks stood along the walls, their polished, if a little dusty, surfaces decorated with delicate trinkets.
In front of the door stood Elira. She was leaning in to someone, her mouth moving. Vincent shifted his stance to get a better look at the person before her. It was a man, only a couple of inches taller than Elira, with sandy brown hair and glasses. He was listening and nodding, a pensive smile on his face.
Vincent suddenly realized how foolish he was acting, spying from a doorway. But, he couldn't make himself open the door and step out. Something was holding him back, something he couldn't put a finger on. Some feeling he seemed to remember experiencing once before.
Elira had stopped talking. The man's expression became sympathetic and he took one of Elira's hands between both of his own, rubbing it comfortingly as he spoke. Vincent's eyes narrowed. He didn't like this man, he realized The familiar feeling was getting stronger; it was upsetting him. He turned from the door and made his silent way back to the bed.
He sat on the mattress, frowning in thought. How could he dislike someone he didn't know anything about, someone who had helped him, no less? It was completely irrational. He had disliked Hojo from the moment he had set eyes on him, but that had been because of the rumors he had heard. He had disliked Terry, but only after his behaviour had become so undesirable. Why should he dislike this man? Leo. His frown deepened. He even disliked the name.
Could he be experiencing...jealousy? He scowled at the thought, but couldn't disprove it. He realized suddenly that his mind was unintentionally comparing himself with the man: tanned and toned against his pale and wasted; witty and supportive to his silence and withdrawn attitude; normal and healthy in contrast to his freakishness and his curse. This Leo made him feel...insecure. But, insecure in what? His standing with Elira? He gritted his teeth in frustration, angry at himself for continuing to think this way. He shouldn't be concerned with gaining her affections. It didn't matter. Nothing should matter as much as getting to the City of the Ancients.
Nothing should matter.
But...somewhere within...part of him believed that this mattered...
Vincent sighed, realizing that he was fighting a losing battle. The only solution that would both protect Elira and keep himself from these uncomfortable feelings would be for him to get separate lodgings. Except that Elira had been right. In his condition, it would be difficult to work, and he didn't want to use the money Elira would be making to pay for his rent.
He would just have to find somewhere that didn't charge rent.
But right now, he felt the need of a shower.
Elira closed the door after Leo and, after no more than a moment's hesitation, made her way to the bedroom Vincent was in. She nearly jumped out of her skin as, with her hand outstretched to knock discreetly, Vincent pulled the door open. Feeling her pulse racing at the sight of him when she had expected him to be out for at least another hour, she put a hand over her heart and smiled.
"You startled me," she chuckled breathlessly.
Vincent said nothing. After a second, Elira moved aside to let him pass. As he began walking, glancing around at the house in some interest, she asked him, "How do you feel?"
At the mouth of a short hall that Elira had already discovered led to a lavish bathroom, a second bedroom she guessed was for the Strife girls, and a stairway to the basement, Vincent halted and looked over his shoulder. "Fine."
Fine. Elira raised an eyebrow. Her father had tried to dissuade her as a child from using that word, she recalled suddenly. "Fine," he'd explained patiently, "doesn't mean anything. It's a word people use when they don't want to think about how they feel." Elira wondered as she watched Vincent walk silently and gracefully down the hall what he was feeling that he didn't want to think about. The thought that perhaps it had to do with feelings for her made her a little giddy, but she shot this thought down before it could root itself in her mind. Before it could pull her into entertaining foolish notions.
She wandered into the bedroom Vincent had been in and looked around, having not had the chance before. The large wardrobe caught her eye. It was beautiful; perhaps the most beautiful piece of furniture she'd ever seen. Reaching out a hand, she opened the door carefully, almost respectfully, examining the deep brown of the wood. And then she glanced inside. Her eyes went wide.
Dresses. Summer dresses. Gorgeous summer dresses. She fingered one lightly, appreciating the texture. But they weren't hers. She dropped her hand to her side, chewing on the inside of her lip. And then she pulled a sleeveless lavender one gently out of the wardrobe.
Slipping quickly out of her jeans and sweater, she pulled the dress over her head, enjoying the feel of it on her skin. Smiling, she twirled around, the hem flowing about her knees. She'd never really worn dresses while growing up. Not that she didn't like them. It was just that many of her friends had been boys her own age and she'd dressed the way they'd dressed, in jeans and t-shirts. She glanced around, hungry to see her own reflection. But there wasn't a suitable mirror in the room. She sighed before remembering that she had seen a full-length one in the other bedroom. Moving stealthily as if committing an offense, she pulled a number of other dresses out of the wardrobe before grabbing up her own discarded clothing and heading out of the room.
The shower was running. Elira crept into the room across from the bathroom and closed the door. Putting the dresses on one of the beds, she made a study of them. She wondered if Tifa would have a big problem with her wearing some of these until she'd made enough money to buy her own clothing suited to the warm temperatures.
The image in the mirror was almost foreign enough to be unrecognizable. Elira looked at herself in growing awe, pleased with her appearance even if lavender wasn't her colour. The dress had a certain personality about it, a personality Elira had never thought she'd had in her. It made her look...distinctly female. She thought immediately of showing Vincent, wondering at his reaction to the change in her look, but shook her head in some irritation. Why did she always have to be thinking about him? It wasn't good for her. She questioned abruptly if she was falling in love, her fingers trembling. No. No, she'd told herself she wouldn't. It could only lead to complications, because Vincent...
Vincent didn't want it.
...I don't want you to pity me. I want you to understand that I am dangerous and that you must leave me alone...
He felt he was too dangerous. Too dangerous to love anyone.
...Not that...I have decided to defy fate, yes, but I am not a fool. I will allow a friendship between us and that is all...
Even though part of him may have wanted to love someone...
...your proximity, whether you intend it or not, makes me...uncomfortable. I will have to ask you to keep your distance physically, please. I will only risk a friendship...
...may have wanted to love her...
But none of that mattered, she decided suddenly. None of it mattered as much as getting him free of Chaos. It had to be humiliating for him not to be able to control himself. It had to be frightening. She would help him. And, to keep from adding to his discomfort, she would keep her distance physically. He needed her help now more than he needed anything else from her...
She tried on a few of the other dresses, posing in front of the mirror, but her frivolous mood had been dampened. With a sigh, she climbed into her own clothes and, deciding to put the dresses away later, left the room.
The shower was no longer running. The bathroom door was open and the room inside was dark. Elira walked down the hall, looking for Vincent. If he was dressed she would tell him now about the barge, and then they could start deciding other things.
But Vincent wasn't in the other bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the dining room. Elira even checked the basement. He had left the villa. She sighed, wondering if he might've gone for a walk.
She found her backpack open in the bedroom with the wardrobe. Unable to remember opening it, she searched through her things. Only to find that all of the tranquilizer darts were gone. Stiffening, she stood, not wanting to believe what this meant. She looked for Vincent's backpack to find that it, too, was missing.
"Vincent!" She called his name anyway, even though she knew he wasn't in the house. "Vincent!"
Her voice echoed dully back to her. It wasn't possible. Vincent wouldn't have come all this way with her just to abandon her here. Not when there had been so many other opportunities for him to leave.
She walked quickly out of the room and went to the front door. She was about to open it and glance around outside when she noticed that a small piece of paper had been placed on the end table beside her. Curious, she stretched out faltering fingers and picked it up.
The writing was messy and hard to make out. After a few moments of deliberation, however, she was able to decipher the words: Back in three weeks.
Elira felt tears of some relief come to her eyes. He hadn't deserted her.
But he had left her to herself. And even though she guessed he'd done it to protect her, it hurt anyway. It hurt that he hadn't said it to her face. The tears turned painfully hot. Elira tore the paper up and left it in shredded fragments on the floor.