4.
Let Time Mark Why

He's alive. Zack's alive. So am I…how?

Lights blaze into my pupils, burning, writhing their way into my brain. Fire, burning connective heat squirming in my mind. Struggling. Wiggling. But no movement. Wha—? Who—where am I? Who am I?

Frozen in a ray of light, captured in its presence and all else is lost.

A girl…I hear. How amusing. Made her way through SOLDIER, eh? Then maybe she'll be able to take this.

Throttling pain sears through my sides, races to my chest. My mouth doesn't open, but I'm screaming, shaking. Screeches noises, and black, dry nothing. My eyes see in that split second--

Needles and machinery.

Then blank again. Blood rushing in my ears, rivers thrashing against the banks, racking my heart in din. God, let me die. If you exist, if you are merciful, you'll let the next one steal my life. Another prod--

Medical Instruments, more tables. Hair? Blonde. Spiky. Unconscious.

But still alive. Just end it please. No more fighting. No more blood or tears or pain. White flag, please. But still again--

And eyes, bleak, black, crazy. Through a pair of oval-shaped spectacles.


"Wake up, dear."

Why? What's the point?

Click, static. Click, click, static.

"You've been asleep for quite some time, little one."

But it's comfy…I'll sleep as long as I want!

Click. A warmth resonates through my legs, manifested as a wiggling block of heart by my calf. Its heat warms like a spark, catching fire in my cheeks and forehead. "Investigations have been conducted of the terrible incident…"

"Come now, your limbs will be weary."

Five more minutes…I was in the middle of an important dream.

More wiggling and a flat toned voice that sounds painfully forced, saying "…no comment so far from the other side of the issue…"

"Child, how can you possibly know how important a dream is?"

Because I said so, now let me sleep.

The block of heat leaves, its warmth lingering tentatively through my limbs. I hear shuffling and—what sounds like—plastic sliding. A breeze begins to stream in and the block returns. My forehead grows hotter. Small beads of condensation cluster above my brow. "Many more questions seem to arise…"

"Darling, I'm afraid it's not a dream."

What? But my eyes are closed.

"No dear, I'm afraid they're quite open."

"…about the terrible incident…"

"And now you must wake and see why."

"…at Nibelhiem."

Nibelhiem...

Nibelhiem.

FIRE. Whodidthis? Flames soaring, growing, enveloping the sky. Deep blue heavens, twinkling diamonds, Destroyed. Swallowing the skies. Smoke brimmed horizon, reaching like hands into the clouds. Whereishe!? Zack,wheredidyougo!? "Hey..." Fighting, struggling, heat burning—my arms—singed clothes. Too hot to breathe. STOPHIM! Reactors. Sirens, bleeding into my ears, driving, drilling deep into my brain. "Hey!" Sephi—Howcouldyou? Blood, fire, its all the same. Ibelievedinyou. Blue lights, prodding, pain. Zack's alive. So am I...how? Stupidgirl.

"HEYY!" the cacophony stops, ceases to an eerie dead silence. "You okay?" I am gasping. I am sweating. But I can't remember anything. It's important, it must be. Everything that had just been pounded through my lobes, the immense memories—it is too much for me to carry, and so it escapes away. "Did you hear me? I said, are. you. okay?" I look up.

I look up. He gazes down at me with peaceful crystal blue eyes that seem to smirk as he speaks—the man in my dream. I keep looking. My eyes had already been open, like doors ajar with rusted hinges. I only need to move my chin to see—and that's hard enough. I look at him. He looks right back. He's dressed like he's in an office: black slacks, white collar shirt which still has a few buttons to go, and a tie hanging loosely knotted around his neck.

"Wh…" my voice is coarse and uneven, as if forced through a rusted gateway that has not been used in a long time. "Who…are you? Where am I? Where's Zack? Where's Cloud?" I force out. It sounds so foreign to me. Is that really my voice? That hoarse whisper? That sad excuse for noise?

"Whoa, slow down now," his eyes seem to twinkle as he says it. I memorize those eyes immediately: the first pair I have seen in so long. He leans in towards me so that his block of heat presses against my thigh. "Name's Reno. You're in my apartment—and I might add, in my bed—which I would like back whenever you can. And whoa—you have a fever." He retracts his hand gingerly from my forehead and leans over, reaching across my lap for a bowl filled with cold water and a soaked wash cloth. He smells of spice.

He begins to pull the washcloth across my forehead; the water trickles down my cheek, but he catches it with the cloth. I can feel the tension grow. It's awkward. I don't know this person, and with a little effort, I bring the back of my hand against his and push him away. My arm hurts, and he looks surprised, but it's worth it. I can't remember much right now, but one name I do remember, and that's Martin.

"Okay…" he says slowly. "Do it yourself then." He turns away toward the television, which I just start to notice is by the foot of the bed I'm in. I reach for the cloth he set aside and lift it with some effort. A searing pang flashes through my arm muscles and the cloth drops to my chest. This...Reno character doesn't notice. Or he notices and decides not to care. "So," he says abruptly and turns to face me. "What happened?"

I blink. "What happened?" I repeat. I can feel my voice swelling again in my throat, ready to go. If only my mind would follow up. "What...happened..." His eyes narrow.

"Yeah. Don't tell you just enjoy sitting in alleyways in the freezing cold," he scoffs. I blink again. When did I...? Throw her away! The cold was seeping in through my pants, leaking through to my skin, dancing in my bones. This was it. My helmet dropped to my side and lay motionless against my legs. This is how I go. The cold would take me. What would Martin think? Martin. And that's when I felt myself being lifted. Martin? A cloud of red hair and suddenly...heat. "Yo! You even listenin' to me?"

"Martin..." I whisper, and he gives me that look again, like I'm daft.

"Right...so... how did you end up in my alleyway?" He glances away for a second. My eyes follow: a clock that reads six. "Hold that thought. I gotta catch a train. So, listen. This is my apartment, get on your feet, but don't mess anything up. You can wear my clothes. Okay? Bye." He turns to leave.

"Wait!" I call after him. When he turns to look at me, I become self-aware, and notice that the washcloth is still on my chest and soaking through my shirt. "How long…?"

"I found you about a week ago," he says while buttoning up his collar. "You've been—I don't know—asleep, awake, whatever you want to call it, unconscious or something until now. Bye." I hear his hurried steps lead down the hallway. Then a door opens, shuts, and suddenly, I'm alone. For some reason, I miss him. What? What nonsense. I shake that feeling away. Time to think.

What happened? He had asked me. What happened... I fold the washcloth and set it aside. What happened... FIRE. Flames soaring, enveloping the sky. What... Deep blue heavens, twinkling diamonds, Destroyed. ...happened... swallowing the skies.

I gain some strength back in my arms and peel the covers away from my legs. Nothing seems to be damaged, so I swing my legs over the side of the bed carefully and dangle them very lightly onto the carpet so that there's no pressure on the toe of the heel. Easy now... I ease my weight onto both my legs. There doesn't seem to be any pain, so I stand. Suddenly, hot pain shoots up my right heel and through to my knee. I fall. He drops me now. I fall on my heel. I feel my tibula shatter. It doesn't compare.

The carpet feels rough against my cheek. My senses feel so new. Asleep, awake, or whatever for one week. I ease myself up with my sore arms and take a deep breath. I don't know why my leg hurts so much, but it really hasn't hit me yet that it'll be a major disadvantage in my recovery. And in my quest to return to Martin. What happened...?

"Stop trying to remember..." I smile. This sweet, sing-song voice is familiar to me. It rings within my ears, loud and clear, but I'm not making it up, this I can promise you.

"Wh-what? Why?" I ask. My voice is still sore.

"Maybe you'll learn later on. It's time to focus on the present and the future. Get out of those bloody trousers, child."

"Oh... alright then. He said I could wear his clothes, I guess it's worth a shot." I lift myself up with my arms, the strength seems to be coming back to my muscles. All those years spent training weren't in vain. I prop myself up onto on leg and lean against the drawers. Hey, this could be fun. I wrap my fingers around the handle and pull the top drawer out: boxers. Hm... don't imagine myself wearing any of those anytime soon. Next one down: shirts. I scrounge around with my hands and grab the first thing my hands rest on: a black T-shirt that says "kiss the Turk" in bright letters across the chest. Whatever that means. Next drawers: pants.

Reno's hips must be pretty slender because all of his pants could potentially fit me. I reach in and pull out a pair of sweats. Yay for comfort. With a bit of an effort, I change into these clothes and then sit myself back down on the edge of the bed. All of this movement has made me dizzy, and I lean my head back down onto the pillow. The comfort of the warm blankets seep into my muscles, but I don't close my eyes. I'm too scared to fall asleep. I'm too scared to dream. I'm too scared to possibly not wake up again. Whatever you do, don't let him see that you're scared.

Some time passes, but I don't keep track of how much. Time means nothing right now, just a pointless marker on why and how until something important comes along.

"How is your leg?"

"Hm...? Oh...it's alright I guess," I say and pull up the bottom of my sweats. There aren't any actual marks on my right leg, but any pressure on it and I feel the pain. Maybe it's internal? Now that's a little scary to think about. Don't let him see that you're scared. "It would be nice to know what happened though."

"You're not quite ready to remember yet."

"Hey, I didn't say I was going to try," I say. I hear the door down the hallway click, and glance up at the clock, it's already 7 P.M. "I just said it would be nice." I finish my point in a bit of a whisper as I hear shuffling down the hall.

"Yo!" I hear Reno call. He pokes his head into the room, looking at me with his smirking blue eyes. Then, the rest of his body sways into the doorway. He's carrying a large paper bag that seems full, and his tie is undone and hanging over his shoulder. "Who you talking to?"

"No one," I say quickly. I can remember that I was so teased when I was little about hearing those 'voices' that I learned to keep my mouth shut about them. "I...was just exercising my voice." Exercising my voice? Well...it's nice to know that my brain is...slightly...working again--enough to make up an excuse I guess. A bad one though.

"Right." He gives me a weird look, then rustles around in his brown bag. "So, you were talking to yourself. Anyway, I bought food. I hope take-out's okay."

"What? Um…yeah I guess it's fine." Food. I haven't even thought about food until now. He starts to pull out small white boxes from the bag and two pairs of chopsticks.

"You wanna go to the kitchen or just sit there?"

"Wha? Oh. No. My leg hurts, or else I would've walked around." He shrugs and hands me a box. It's warm. I smell the fragrance before I even open the box. I've forgotten what food tastes like. I can't remember the last time I've eaten.

"Eat up," he says, and plops down in front of me with his own box. I break the wooden chopsticks in my fingers and pick up my first bit of food. The warmth of it in my mouth feels so good, and the taste—my god. I can't believe the taste. I take another bite, and then another. "Wow… calm down, geez." Reno reaches for the remote control on the pillow next to me and flips the television on. He smells like spice. "Anyway… Rude won't stop being an asshole. I got some coffee with Elena today to avoid dealing with the press coverage. Flew around in the helicopter, said I was scoping out where those two fugitives went, but Rude still found some way to make me tango with publicity. I'll get him though, then he'll see, the tricky bastard. I don't care how bad a headache he has…"

Why is he telling me all of this? Who is Rude and who is Elena, and what publicity? What two fugitives? I don't know anything about this. "Stop," I say, swallowing the delicious food in my mouth. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Oh," he says, takes a bite, and swallows. "My bad. When you were asleep or whatever, I would just tell you about my day. It's nice to have someone to listen."

"Well stop," I say. "It's weird."

"Oh!" he scoffs. "And talking to yourself isn't weird?" It's quiet for a minute. That was rude. I frown. It's quiet; no one apologizes. He finishes his take-out a little after I do. I look at him as he closes the top of his box and mine and puts them both back in the paper bag along with our chopsticks. He notices me watching. "What?"

"Is there more food?" I ask. He laughs. "What! I haven't eaten in ages." He shakes his head.

"No," he says without remorse and shuts off the television. I barely noticed it was on. "Let's move on." He's blunt, it kind of bothers me. "You remember what happen yet?"

"Just tell him you haven't recalled yet. You're not ready to remember."

"I know, I know," I mutter.

"You know what?" he asks. My eyes widen. My mistake. I completely forgot. Where in the world is my mind? Where is my logic and common sense? I must not have recovered it yet.

"Nothing. I don't remember," I say. He gives me that weird look again. I start to notice his features. The best way to describe Reno is sharp. His features are sharp, his look is sharp, and his movements and words are sharp. The dim lighting in his room is flattering on him. It makes him almost attractive. I kept Martin on my mind at all times. No… what am I thinking? I love Martin. He's the only one that appeals to me.

"Let's start with something a bit easier… since it seems like all that sleep has been messing with your brain," he says. How rude. "You remember your name?"

"Yes."

"Right, well I'm waiting. What is it?"

"You don't have to be so mean. What if I don't want to tell you my name?" He squints his eyes at me.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"How can you trust him?"

"How can I trust you?"

He scoffed again, then leaned forward towards me so close that my nostrils filled with his scent. Spice. His eyes flutter down like he's looking at my lips. I feel the pull in his eyes. Don't go in for the bait, I tell myself; no matter how much of my mind I've lost. I don't know this person. "I could've left you in the cold in the alleyway," he says softly. "But I carried you in and gave you my bed. My goddamn sanctuary." He leans back a little more, and his voice raises. The tension simmers. "I took care of you, kept your fever down. Did I mention I let you have my bed? Oh. And by the way, you're still in it." I suddenly miss the pull. Miss his face so close to mine. That was my Martin, my one and only. No!

"I didn't ask you to!" I say. He's quiet, and just looks at me with those blue eyes. The pause is a bit eerie. Maybe I was in the wrong... I just couldn't get the picture of his eyes out of my head and--agh--just snapped. I stare right back at him. "My name is Jalen."

"Pretty name for a pretty face," he chuckles. His eyes sparkle, but he soon looks away. I see his profile and watch the light flicker across his cheekbone, dance onto his lips, and dip onto his chin. I want to trust him, but I'm no judge in trust now. Only time can decide that. So let time begin to matter. Let time mark why.


Hey all. Sorry about the lack of updates. Just took some exams, applied to some schools. And now I'm back:)

This chapter is supposed to be a little scattered, like Jay's senses are all jumbled and start to come back to her more near the end. Basically, sorry if the italics are kind of hard to understand. And the voices she hears should come into play later on if I don't decide to change my original storyline... Oh, I just finished reading The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner (BEST FREAKING BOOK EVER), so his style kind of reflects in mine right now.

Some parts are lacking, but it's a slow chapter overall...like introductions kind of; I might go back and change some stuff. The others will be more interesting, promise.

Tell me what you think!!