This is how it happens.
I push through the thickness of the Midgar night, face set in my Valkyrie mask, and I make myself a promise. After this, I'm going far away. On a vacation. A leave of absence. Stress leave, something. I'm going. And I won't come back unless Tseng begs me to.
This is how it happens.
I see the rendezvous point Jessie told me, the theatre. I make myself a promise. I won't break like that again, will not shatter the way I just did with Rude. I'll build myself a mask. Cheerful, I think, eyes slitted with near-humor. Maybe even a little clumsy. Blabbermouthed. What an idea. I'll build myself this mask, these walls of Elena, and I will hide behind them, and I'll nurse Ellie back to health.
This is how it happened.
It was our last performance of Loveless. I had roses in my arms. And I dare to ask myself – for the first time – if I hadn't been a Turk, could I have done this? As a living, I mean? I am a thin blonde and I'm a great actress and I'm told I have stage presence and a great pair of legs. And it doesn't matter where you come from, if you go into show business. The audiences love a Cinderella story. Ellie would be welcomed with open arms.
I poke and prod at the thought of that future as though at a still-tender bruise. Elena the actress. Elena the innocent. Elena, who didn't even know how to use a gun.
What a ridiculous idea.
The last show was a matinee and I had told Tseng I'd report to work afterwards. Rude, who had come and led the standing ovation, walked me back, carrying my roses piled high in his arms. I look funny, pulled out of the pages of a fashion magazine, in my pressed blue suit and stage makeup. I am ecstatic. Reviews were wonderful. The performances were wonderful. I've got a dinner date with the boy who played Squall.
Rude isn't saying much, but that's not unusual.
In the office, Tseng greets me. "El Dorado. How did it go?"
"Over very well," I babble, smiling fit to split. "We had a standing ovation."
"Don't you always?"
"It's because they know you're a Turk," Reno provided in a genial aside, from his corner. He was scowling, smoking something foul. "They're too afraid not to clap. You actually don't even have to go out on the stage."
Rude casually thumps him on the back of the head.
"Do it again," I laugh.
Rude thumps him on the head again.
"I stand by what I said," Reno says.
"Again," I grin, and Rude complies.
"Elena, you talk too much," Reno whines, but now he too is laughing.
"Today, my dear child, marks the advent of your second great public performance," Tseng tells me with joking solemnity.
"Oh yeah?" I
say cheerfully. Rude lays down my bushel of roses in a swivel chair.
"And what's that?"
"The Scarlettian opera," Reno provides.
I roll my eyes. "Oh,
right, that public execution crap. That's starting today?"
"If you feel you need some time to prefer yourself, Innocent Miss Elena," Tseng begins, mock-seriously.
I swat at him, laughing. "Don't be a hater, Tseng," Reno says judiciously. "She's a great actress, our little Ellie."
I turn on my heel. "Don't call me that," I rap out, and there is a thoroughly awkward silence.
"Okay," Reno says finally. "Don't have a cow."
I turn back to Tseng, my merriment extinguished. "Where am I headed, then, oh fearless leader?"
Tseng glances at a memo on the table. "The public stadium, 16:00 hours. You're executing the spy. The double agent."
"Oh?" I said unconcernedly, taking out my compact and beginning to remove my stage makeup. "They found her out, did they?"
"Me," Reno said proudly. "It was me. I found her out. Ten points."
"Maybe five."
"Ten," he insists. "She was in SOLDIER and everything. Super-duper snitch. The entire ShinRa empire in indebted to me."
You'd think I
would have known, then. Sensed something. "Most be Tuesday," I
said lightly, and snatched up my purse to leave. "Don't worry,
Tseng, I'll bring my favorite rifle and wear my Sunday best. It'll
all go over like a dream."
I knock on the theatre door, to all appearances abandoned. I can hear muttering inside, see flickers of motion in little chinks in the wall.
"It's Ellie," I hear someone whisper, and the doors slide open.
"Hi, Tifa," I say with a smile, stepping inside. She's carrying a materia lamp; quickly closes the door behind me again. Near Tifa, sitting in the abandoned seats of the theatre, is the rest of Avalanche. Barret. Wedge. Biggs. So long, boys.
Jessie.
"What's happening?" I ask, taking off my jacket, as though I intend to stay a while.
"Big night already," Tifa replied. "We just found out security's light on the Eastbound train. We were thinking of hijacking."
I play concern across Ellie Highwind's face. "Isn't that – sort of short notice, like?"
"There's no time like the present. You can't wait around with stuff like this," Tifa says wisely. She smiles at me, trying to be reassuring. "Why, what's the matter? Is this stuff a little too radical for you?"
"Actually, I was thinking of introducing a radical a lot sooner," I say with a smile, and pull the handgun from my purse, and spray AVALANCHE with bullets.
I reported to the stadium, to guards who wouldn't meet my eyes. A very unique privilege of the Turks. I asked them where to go.
They directed me down a cement hall and I mused, cool, very philosophical. It was a strange set-up, really, Scarlett's murders-for-show. I had no illusions about what this was, of course, I told myself as I turned a corner. I mean, these deaths would take place in the same location baseball games and rock concerts would be held over the next week. Did Scarlett really believe that this was all about refining the image of the Turks, turning us into killing machines in the minds of the public?
I rested in a green room full of lockers, ready to be called out to do my civic duty, to earn my paycheque. No, even Scarlett must understand that this had nothing to do with PR, with politics. She was simply providing the public with entertainment, in its most streamlined form. Maybe I could be an actress, after all, I mused as I waited. I was certainly already a performer.
A young soldier – just a private officer, not a SOLDIER of any class – stepped into the locker room, stiffening to salute. I blinked, not used to such deferential treatment. "Agent D'Angelo," he said stiffly, holding himself at threadbare attention.
I nodded briefly. By this time, I'd given up trying to correct people about my name. "You can – stand down, soldier," I assured him, the military command rolling somewhat awkwardly off my tongue. "What's the news?"
"They're ready for you." His eyes were wary of me, and he hadn't relaxed; no, Scarlett was wrong, I certainly didn't need my image enhanced.
"And you're going to give me my instructions, are you?"
He stiffened noticeably. "Agent D'Angelo, if you'd prefer I – "
"No, I need the instructions," I laughed. "Scarlett would have a sheep fit if everything didn't go to the very letter of procedure. Please go ahead."
"Yes, Agent." He glanced at the memo cradled in his palm. "At exactly 16:20 hours, you're to step out of the greenroom, into viewing range – eyeshot – of the spectators and cameras. The spy will be handcuffed at the far end of the stadium. Now, this is an exhibition of your test and range as well, so you're to take the shot from this end, within at most meters of the door?"
"Meters of the door?" I smiled, testing him. "Isn't the stadium… like… massive? I won't even be able to make out this 'spy's face. What makes you think I can get a shot off?"
He gulped. "If you'd like me to – relay your reluctance to Miss Scarlett -- "
I laughed again. I wouldn't put the poor guy through that. "That's fine," I said. "I've got my credentials as a sniper. I don't think it will be a problem." I glanced at the clock; mere minutes to go. "Well," I said. "Is that it?"
"That more or less covers it," he nodded, eager to be rid of me.
"Thank you," I called to his retreating back, as the door swung shut on him.
When the appointed time arrived, I rose, took my rifle, and stepped out into the sunlight for that day's second massive cheer.
I didn't hit them, of course. But then, I didn't intend to. My intent was to scare, not to kill.
Immediately, however, I realized I should have gone for kill – because "scare" had been a total failure. Rather than screaming or running away, the group abruptly vanished – dashing in zigzags to make themselves harder to hit, following what was obviously a predetermined escape pattern. They hadn't even hesitated. This AVALANCHE outfit was serious, I realized; much more professional than I'd anticipated.
And, possibly, rather more lethal. Because Tifa hadn't fled – she'd thrown a dolphin kick at my hand that set my nerves burning, then numb, and tossed my firearm across the room. She followed it up with a quick one-two of punches and low kicks that I had no hope of blocking. Wolf in sheep's clothing. Eye candy? This lethal girl with ice in her eyes? I had been a fool.
Seconds into my spectacular raid of AVALANCHE, I'd already made an equally spectacular mess of things. I was bruised, and weaponless, and Tifa looked intent on finishing me off.
Then I heard someone's yelp, giving away their position, hidden behind the mouldy curtain's on the stage. "Don't!"
And I knew who that someone was.
Jessie.
The scream distracted Tifa and I had my chance and, as a Turk, I knew how to use it. I pulled down with my elbow on the nape of her neck and dropped simultaneously, so that all my weight came down on her at once. The move was fast and occasionally fatal and nearly failsafe; Tifa dropped like a top-heavy tonne of bricks, still gasping breaths where she lay on the floor of the theatre, but out of the game. For now, anyway.
I went for my gun. Shifted it to my left hand – my right was useless, Tifa had probably broken a few fingers.
And I went for my real quarry, who was still hiding behind those blood-red curtains, unless she'd fled.
Stepped into the sunlight, to a resounding cheer from the crowd.
And then there was quiet.
I took my time.
Let them get a look at me. Loaded my gun, double-checked it, slowly
as I could. Still, I didn't play to the crowd, didn't pander. I
was a Turk. We had more dignity than that.
Dead silence in
the arena now. I could see the figure chained at the opposite end of
the stadium. Too far away, too blurred, to make out form or features
– just as I had suspected. Still, everyone had a heart and brain in
more or less the same place, didn't they? No real trouble there.
I placed the rifle on my shoulder and placed the remote spy in my sights.
And then a voice shattered the silence – the voice of the woman I was aiming at. Clear, and true, and loud as a bell.
"I forgive you," she called.
There was a murmur, in the stands. People were shifting, were uncomfortable.
I was uncomfortable, too. There was something nostalgic – something so strangely familiar – in that voice. What WAS it?
The murmurs grew
louder, uncertain. I realized people were waiting for me to say
something. To clear up this ambiguity, this uncomfortable pity the
doomed woman had incurred.
And, not
coincidentally, to prove my worth as a Turk.
Think fast.
"Me too," I called back across the stadium in my best cool, polished actress' voice, dripping sophisticated, lethal sarcasm. It wasn't the best line. With more time, I could have done better. Still, it served my purpose; the people in the stands (and, I'm sure, the people watching from the comfort of their own homes) laughed as freely as they dared, reassured and relieved. Watching. And silent again.
She said
nothing, after that. I put her in my sights.
She went down instantly, when I pulled the trigger.
I can hear Jessie, although I can't see her. Ragged gasping. Heavy footfalls. She's not been trained to be silent, the way I have. She's running for her very life.
Bet she's regretting saving me now.
We're going up a pitch-black staircase, floorboards so thin and creaky that I fear one of us may fall through. I'm bent double so that I can run my hand along the stairs as I ascend them – falling at this speed would mean bruises at best. I might well even knock myself out, at this speed. I wonder if Jessie's doing the same thing.
The spectators went home.
I went to take a shower, cold clear water coursing over my skin. It felt good. I felt alive, in the face of death. It was such a cliché, but it was true. I must have stood there, scalding myself, for nearly half an hour; by the time I emerged, reddened and damp and bare, everyone had gone home.
I got dressed, and then, predictably enough, I got lost. I wandered up and down the halls of the stadium, completely disoriented, totally embarrassed. I'd been so sure that I was gorgeous-and-deadly just an hour before, but if anyone saw me in this state their fear and awe for Elena Of The Turks would fly right out the window.
Finally I found a red door. Looked promising; I hadn't seen it before. I grasped the handle, turned it.
It was the other locker room. A doctor was in there, back to me, making notes on a clipboard. The body of the spy, the SOLDIER, the woman I'd shot down, lay limply on a bench. Long, lithe frame. Long golden hair. Thin smile, even in the grave.
I was suddenly
shaking, holding onto the doorframe. I knew why the voice had seemed
familiar. And I knew I knew this body.
Marianne.
I corner her. We've run up to the attic of the theatre. No way out. She's like a wounded animal, cowering in the corner, snarling at me as I emerge, panting, into the moonlight the room's little windows let in, into the midst of the dust and the props covered over with sheets, into Jessie's sights.
"I know you," she spits at me as we stand regarding each other. I watch her evenly. "I know who you are I mean," she hisses. "You don't fool me now."
"I'm amazed I managed to fool you at all." And amazed at how steady my voice is. It's calm and collected and no mirror to how I feel inside. "Ellie Highwind? That was enough to trick you? That's pathetic. I haven't even changed my looks."
"I didn't want to believe it," Jessie snarls.
I shrug.
"You sold out."
"I survived."
"You betrayed your past."
"I made myself a future."
"I saw it on TV. The whole world saw it. I saw you."
"You saw me?"
"You killed Marianne."
It's like a slap.
I stare at her. I shake my head. And I say what I've come to believe, after all these long hard years. In word, if not in deed.
"Marianne killed herself."
Jessie is silent, staring at me. "I didn't want to believe it was you," she said. "Those reports, those anecdotes, bloody Elena, ShinRa's golden child. I didn't want to believe you were that fake. That you'd sell out."
"Stop tossing those words around like they mean something," I spit back. "I didn't sell out. I survived. Which is more than can be said of Marianne and – "
"And what?" said Jessie. "More than can be said of me?" She spread her arms, tilted her chin up, daring me. "Do it," she said. "You left the slums. You bought your goddamn golden future. You've got no reason not to." Her voice begins to shake. It reminds me of a violin, thin and trembling and high. "You – I can only guess you accepted this mission – knowing it was me, knowing it was your old home, knowing it – why else would you take it?" she demands. She doesn't even look angry, just beautiful, like the betrayed woman in a black-and-white movie. "To kill me, to destroy all the links, to –"
"To deliver you a message." I toss my gun on the floor between us.
A cloud of dust rises, like snow. Jessie stares at it.
"This message," I tell her, and I know, as I say it, that it is true. "I'm alive and I'm well and I'm living in Midgar. I wanted you to know that, Jessie. And I wanted you to know I still care about you and that I'm sorry about what happened with Marianne. I truly am. And I'm sorry that we're on opposite sides now. I truly am, I'm sorry about the way things worked out. But that's the way fate works out."
Jessie is still looking down, not meeting my eyes. "Look at me," I order her, and she does. "Tifa's alive and so are you," I said. "I'm leaving. Next time I meet you I'll kill you. We're on opposite sides now. So let's try not to meet. That's it," I said. "I'm done here. That's all."
"So what is this?" She said softly. "A warning? A line in the sand?"
"Call it a token of love," I suggested.
And I turned my back on her and left that attic, full of ancient things, and then and forever, I left my past behind.
THE END
A/N: No way! It's done! Crazy! You feel deeply moved and compelled to review. This is Locked Heart Ami, signing off.
