- Adrenaline & Bad Dreams -
Denzel hadn't run this much in his life. Harsh daylight blinded him at once as he burst outside into the hot air of Icicle Inn. Muggy, crowded, noisy. The altered weather in Meteor's wake had melted most of the ice around the crater, and the town was now constantly filled with tourists. Denzel rushed into the crowds in a dizzying frenzy, into the rush of swimming anonymity. He had to move forward. He had to keep going. He glanced over his shoulder once, but there was no pursuit. It didn't matter, though. Denzel fell, scraping his palms on the dirty concrete, then stumbled as he propelled himself back up from the ground and kept on running.
The last time he'd run like this in such terror had been at that awful prank Marlene pulled last year on him. She'd become such a trickster over the last year since Barret was over in Corel more. What Denzel wouldn't give to have Marlene with him now instead of… he glanced again behind him. Still nothing through the crowds, although a few people were giving him distinct glances of annoyance or concern.
That didn't matter. None of it mattered. He needed to get to a pay phone.
Turning swiftly around a corner, he immediately collided with a dark suit.
"Hey, watch it, you stupid kid!"
Denzel stumbled back and fell once more to the ground. The man towered above him, bright red hair in stark contrast to the vast blue sky above.
"Hey, wait a minute… aren't you that kid? Uh, Strife's kid?"
Denzel blinked and looked up at the man. Yes, he was quite familiar. Oh no, now he remembered him.
Picking himself off the floor, Denzel tried bolting back the way he came and instead was cut off by another dark suit. A bald man with sunglasses.
"S-s-stay away from me!" Denzel shouted, "I know you. I remember you! Tifa had told me never to talk to you!"
This elicited a laugh from the red-headed man. "Oh yeah? Hm. Tifa's kid then. That makes sense, I guess," he remarked to his partner.
The bald man said nothing.
"Whatcha doin' way up here, kid? Aren't you, uh, supposed to be in Edge? What happened to your arm?"
Denzel saw an opening in the spacing of the crowds directly behind the talkative suit and dove for it. Sliding through a group of tourists lugging suitcases, Denzel ran off at top speed, evading numerous further obstacles and not looking back.
He had to get off the street. He had to get out of sight. If Cloud were looking for him…
A sign towards the edge of the next street corner caught his eye. Store for rent. That meant vacant. Somewhere to hide.
Denzel pushed through another gaggle of people and reached the storefront. It's windows were boarded up and the door was broken, glass shards edging the metal frame. Within, it was dark aside from a few patches of light bleeding through the spaces in the boards. Okay, fine, Denzel thought, this will do for now. Just to catch his breath.
There was no time to find an alternative. With those two suits, Denzel was sure they'd bring him back to Cloud if they caught him. Did they even know about Tifa? Denzel fell back against the side of the building and inched towards the broken door while the crowds continued flowing along the sidewalks. Casual, easy, don't draw attention.
Then he was in. Quickly moving away from the door, Denzel crouched in the corner of the immediate wall next to the entry, carefully watching to see if anyone followed him. But nothing outside looked out of the ordinary. He realized his hands were shaking and carefully folded them against his abdomen. Stop, stop, he commanded, and held one palm against his forearm trying to staunch the blood flow.
Finally he leaned back and closed his eyes, still holding his wound and taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Once he was absolutely certain those suits were gone and that Cloud hadn't followed him, he resolved to leave town. But how? It would be impossible to book a flight with no money, and he didn't have a phone on him to call for help. If he could just get to a pay phone, maybe someone would give him a few gil and then he could -
A snap of broken glass grabbed his attention. In the dimly lit interior, Denzel could make out the space of an empty storefront covered in litter and refuse, old storage containers and metal wire shelving. A few discarded advertisements. This place had once been a materia shop, according to the leftover signage. Now bits of torn paper fluttered in the air like dust, and a thick coat of grime covered everything.
"H...Hello?" Denzel called cautiously. The stinging sensation in his arm had been starting to kick in since his adrenaline was settling, but now this faint noise had immediately perked it right back up and the pain in his arm was distant once more.
But there was nothing.
Faint yellow from the outside world cut in and out as pedestrians walked past, blocking out the light at various interludes. In one such interlude, Denzel swore he saw something move in the corner and he immediately knew he wasn't safe. What was that Cloud had once told him? If you ever think you're in trouble, assess the threat, assess your options, and remain calm. And what if that threat is him, Denzel thought grimly. Fuck, figure it out. But he couldn't go back outside. Not yet. The suits could be there.
Another sound, like the crunch of broken bottles under someone's boot.
"I have a … a weapon!" Denzel spoke to the darkness. He didn't, but maybe that wouldn't matter. Sweat was sticking his clothes to his body and his hair was matted against his forehead.
Suddenly, there was a hand right behind him. A person emerged from the corner and grabbed Denzel's hair with one hand then put an arm around his neck, and instantly there was the hot breath of someone near his ear.
"Don't move, kiddo…" A low snarl. "You got any money?"
Denzel frantically shook his head and sputtered, "No! Let me go!"
Hit him with your elbow then spin and twist his arm away from you, Denzel felt he could practically hear Tifa telling him this. But she was gone. Hot tears were already in his eyes, but he obeyed the voice and jerked his elbow back suddenly, hitting the assailant hard, then he grabbed the other's arm and twisted hard, pulling away at once.
A squeal of pain ejected from the other guy and Denzel spun to face him, backing away while still holding his arm, slippery with blood from the prior wound.
It was a junkie. Denzel could tell by the look in his eyes. That dim glow. A junkie who apparently had already been in here, squatting here maybe. Shit, Denzel knew he'd been stupid to come in here while still in a hazy rush. Never do anything when your emotions have you. That would be Elmyra saying that. If he ever saw Elmyra again.
"Look, man, I don't have any money. So just stay away from me…" Denzel kept his eyes locked on the junkie and continued backing away, though further into the darkness. The door was directly to the junkie's right and that meant he'd need to dash directly past him.
A cold smile spread across the older man's face. "You picked the wrong place, kid. I don't believe you don't have any gil. You reek of money. I can see that nice new backpack, and your fresh clean clothes. What's with the bloody arm?"
The man cocked his head to one side, examining Denzel. Suddenly, the junkie withdrew a blade. A dagger. Short, serrated. Denzel's eyes went wide.
"N-n-no...Please, it was a mistake! I'm… I need to hide from…." Denzel held out one arm as if that could protect him and his eyes kept darting between the man and the door and all the obstacles that lay in between escape.
Now the suits didn't seem all that bad. Hell, even Cloud would be a nice sight. Wait, let's not go too far, Denzel reigned his thoughts in. Focus. Think. He just needed to get to the door, then to a pay phone, then… then what? Worry about that when we get there, he commanded himself.
But the junkie moved. Fast. The steel dagger flashed forward, and there was a glint of daylight as it caught a beam shining between the boarded windows. Denzel reacted, adrenaline already flying through him. He darted to one side and fell back. The junkie was right on top of him, stabbing again and slashing towards him.
Behind him, on the floor, Denzel found a broken shard of glass and grabbed it like a lifeline, not caring that it cut into his palm, not feeling the slow pause of time as the knife in the other man's hand traveled towards him, cutting, shining. There was blood already covering Denzel's hand from the cut on his forearm and the shard of glass was almost too difficult to hold, but there was no more time. Survival charged through him and Denzel gripped the shard and brought it across the space directly next to the junkie's neck just as the man was coming towards him, deadly intent clear on his face.
Then time resumed and the man screamed. The shard of glass was buried deep in his neck. Denzel yelped and released the broken chunk, shuffling backwards on the floor away from the man now spurting blood and curses. Denzel had seen people die before, he'd seen the vast amount of blood that seemed so impossible for one human to carry spill all over the floor. But it always startled him to no end, and he'd never been the one to make the killing blow.
Gurgling and sputtering angrily, the junkie collapsed into a heap then lay deathly still. Blood continued pooling outward and Denzel felt sick. In another moment, he vomited harshly all over the floor, crying and backing away in a blur. The dagger lay at the dead man's feet. Denzel snatched it up, unable to comprehend why he'd done it but he just knew that he had to. He knew he had to run. His hand stung horribly when he picked up the piece.
The world once again became a haze of instinct and pulse. Run. Run now! But his hands were shaking again and he couldn't get the dagger into his backpack quickly. Blood was everywhere. Finally, the zipper closed and Denzel stood, holding his injured hand tenderly against his side.
Immediately, he flew towards the broken door and pulled himself through the jarred frame. But outside, it became clear at once that he had nowhere to go. He couldn't escape. The suits stood right there, directly outside the vacant storefront, blocking any path out into the street. They stood out against the flow of the crowd like two rocks in a tidepool.
"F-f-f-fuck," Denzel stammered.
"Ready to talk now, Strife's kid?" The red-haired one asked.
The bald one with the sunglasses crossed his arms over his chest, but remained silent.
"Looks like you're in a real mess now," the Turk said with a grin, peering behind Denzel into the abandoned store.
"What do you want?" Denzel tried his best brave voice.
Reno let out a laugh. "My partner here thinks it would be...impolite if we didn't inquire after the curious wherabouts of Lockhart's, uh, household kid. You are their kid, right?"
But it had all caught up with Denzel and he didn't feel brave at all anymore. The torrent of blood gushing from the dead man's neck was fresh in his mind, as was the image of the glass jutting from his artery. The glass that he had shoved there. In defense. And all at once, tears welled up in his eyes, horrible and unwanted, but he couldn't stop them.
He was crying, and he couldn't stop.
The bald suit grimaced and the redhead sighed.
"I...I need a phone…." Denzel managed to get out between awful attempts to stifle his tears.
It all felt like so long ago, though that much time hadn't really passed since Denzel was rescued by the unlikely pair of Turks who had simply been in the right place at the wrong time. Half lost in thought, Denzel traced the scar on the inside of his palm where the shard had cut him deep. If he hadn't run into them, if they hadn't let him call Yuffie from one of their phones…
Denzel brushed the thought away with a sigh. It was pointless to wonder what could have or could not have happened. He'd been lucky and that was that. He still remembered that phone call to Yuffie so clearly. Trembling with the phone in his bloodied hand, he was praying, positively praying that she would pick up despite the strange number he was no doubt calling from. Oddly enough, Yuffie had done so on nearly the second ring. She actually knew his number.
"Reno…?" the ninja's voice had been suspicious. "Is this about Tifa?"
At the sound of her voice, Denzel couldn't stop a fresh torrent of tears though and it had taken him several seconds to orient himself and get any words out at all. And when he did, it was barely much more than a plea for help. To come get him in Icicle Inn, if she could. To bring him home to Edge.
But that hadn't been his home anymore. Not in months. Tifa was gone. Marlene was in Kalm.
Yuffie arrived with her friend, Cid, on an airship and the Turks had silently departed, although the redhead did give a tiny wave almost in a mocking way. Denzel had stayed with the Turks until she arrived only on account that he figured they were likely the only ones around that could potentially put up a fight if Cloud had shown up. He hadn't, of course, which brought Denzel equal parts relief and somehow disappointment. There had still been a part of him that was hoping he was wrong about Cloud all along. Denzel curled his palm into a fist. He wasn't wrong.
Letting out a sigh, Denzel stood and stretched. He couldn't sleep again, and he decided to head outside and at least wander to let his thoughts go. Sometimes walking helped. Sometimes not.
He was in the bedroom that he shared with Marlene, inside Elmyra's house in Kalm. Marlene was asleep in the bunk above him, and the entire house was quiet and dark with only a rustling of wind outside the moonlit window. Carefully stepping towards the door, he glanced back over at the bunk beds and saw that Marlene actually wasn't sleeping at all. She was watching him silently with her big brown eyes in the bluish light of night.
"Marlene, go to sleep. I'm going out for a walk," he said to her.
"...I had a bad dream," she confessed softly, "Don't go."
This caused him to pause. Bad dreams had become frequent for Marlene since Tifa died, and Denzel didn't blame her. It had been a hard series of months to fill.
"Sure, okay," Denzel allowed with a nod then stepped over to her. His head was at the same height as her bunk and he leaned against it with one arm. "So what was it this time?"
"It was Cloud."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, he was hurt…"
"Doesn't sound like a bad dream to me."
"No, Denzel, he was really hurt. Like blood and stuff." She curled under the covers and shivered.
Denzel watched her, waiting for her to continue, but she didn't.
"Well, if I had that sorta dream, I wouldn't think much of it," he said, trying his best to be comforting.
"This one was really real," Marlene lamented, pulling the blanket up higher under her chin. "Denzel, I'm scared," she said softly.
Marlene was already nine years old, but she still managed to look like such a baby when she was scared. Denzel sighed.
"There's nothing to be afraid of, Marlene. It was just a dream," he said gently.
"What if it was a premmunition?"
"A what?"
Marlene huffed. "Like seeing the future," she explained.
"Nobody can see the future, Marlene," Denzel replied, staring at a loose thread on her blanket, "If that were possible, none of any bad stuff would ever happen."
They both fell silent. Marlene ruffled the sheets a bit and inched closer to Denzel.
"I miss Tifa," she said.
"Don't start." Denzel turned away.
"...Sorry, I just…" Tears were already starting to well, though.
"Be brave, like I said," Denzel said, catching her eyes as he gazed back. "Brave," he repeated to her.
Marlene paused and let out a breath then nodded. The tears receded. "Brave," she iterated.
"Tifa may be gone, but I'm still here," he told her, "We'll stick together. That's what families do, I think."
A slight smile glimpsed through Marlene's fright and her face relaxed a bit.
"Will you stay up until I fall back asleep?" Marlene asked, her voice still small.
Denzel glanced over at the window and saw that the moon was visible, bright and clear. It was a long way from dawn, and he knew he'd be unable to sleep anyways.
"Sure thing, Marlene," he agreed, then gave her a tiny smile. A walk tonight was no longer possible.
Denzel sat on the bunk beneath her and kept his hand on the wood of the bunk above, to reassure her that he was right there.
"Do you ever have bad dreams?" Marlene's voice crept through the silence.
He thought for a moment. "Sure, everyone does, I mean."
"What are your bad dreams about?"
His hand dropped and he leaned back against the pillow, watching the moon outside edge closer to the window pane. It was a clear night, with specks of stars in the darkness. Every time his eyes closed, he felt he was back there, in that awful moment with blood trailing from his arm. There were actually two places that always repeated in his head. Two places that he dreamt about. Two moments where he still felt trapped.
Finally, he answered Marlene. He chose the lesser of the two to tell her.
"...Running. I dream that I'm running."