Chapter 12
His hands were unusually fidgety, which was quite uncharacteristic considering what he was known for around Garden. Notwithstanding his poor academic showings, Arturo Hagel was one of those gifted with an uncanny mastery of the guitar. Often seen in the quad plucking away to what had fondly been called 'Breezy' because everyone thought it was the perfect tune to drift with Balamb's gentle winds, the C student would rather while the day away with his acoustic 6-string rather than spend it inside the classroom with classmates that don't think of him much as a student as he was a musician, and an instructor who at the end of the term would most probably give him another marginally passing grade despite his best efforts.
Arturo had often asked himself this question. If he weren't so keen in his studies, why bother staying in Garden? Why did he bother to enter it anyway? He could hardly remember the answer to his second question, but it probably had something to do with a wish his mother left him before she moved out of Balamb. As for the second question, well… the answer was, to his delight, sitting right in front of him.
The same answer also accounted for his unusually fidgety hands. Shyly, Arturo looked across the table, hardly enduring the thrill of staring into the most beautiful pair of emerald eyes he had ever seen. Selphie was busily dealing with her Caesar's salad that she hardly noticed him ogling at her. But when she did, her moist lips formed a somewhat uncomfortable smile.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Uh…" he fumbled. "Um… ah… nothing. I… I was wondering if that ranch dressing is non-fat."
Selphie almost burst out laughing. She had never heard a catch line as pathetic as that. But in a way, she also thought it was cute. Having been used to the overly suave and smooth style that her beau, Irvine Kinneas, often radiated, Arturo's glaringly timid and spectacularly klutzy ways was akin to a breath of fresh air for her. Selphie thought it was nice to be with someone who had a penchant to trip on his own feet once in a while. Was that the reason why she obliged to this lunch invite after the too many times that Arturo attempted to ask her out? She didn't exactly know. Or maybe she did, she just didn't want to think about it.
"Actually, no," she obliged. "Not that it matters, you know. With all the things SeeDs do every day, we can afford to eat whatever we want and still not worry about gaining weight."
"I can imagine…" Arturo trailed, looking forlorn. Selphie held a hand against her mouth, feeling sorry for what she had just said. She was quite familiar about his reputation of failing the most SeeD exams in Garden history, something that must have rendered him sensitive to conversation topics about SeeD. Selphie didn't want to rub it any harder than she already had.
Arturo noticed her reaction. "Nah, don't worry about it. I ain't all that touchy as I used to be after that last exam I flunked in Dollet," he said, smiling smugly.
Selphie felt her hair standing on ends. "What do you mean?" she asked, stepping on the brakes in time to keep the grisly details from spilling out. What Arturo mentioned was the exam where he committed a fatal mistake that resulted to the death of twelve hostages. The thought of twelve people electrocuted to a crisp was enough to give her goose bumps, and she expected Arturo to feel a hundred times worse. But he was smiling.
Maybe he's just bottling it all in, Selphie subsequently thought, feeling more sorry for him as a result. She then felt a tinge of regret for all the times she had turned him down in the past. If anything, what Arturo needed right now was a friend he could talk to. And if there was anyone who fit that bill, it had to be her. Selphie could do no less, for as an orphan she herself had felt the pangs of loneliness of having no one else to talk to in her time of need. That was perhaps the reason why she had always been so warm and friendly to people. She firmly believed that no one had to go through life alone.
"So…" Arturo followed up. "What do you wanna do after this?"
"I don't know," she said with a warmer tone, hiding her mild surprise to the fact that Arturo seemed to have loosened up. "What do you have in mind?"
In the back of her mind, Selphie was thinking that maybe she shouldn't be doing this. Being accommodating to a guy who clearly had a crush on her could be misconstrued as a futile lead on. But Selphie quickly dumped the idea. Arturo deserved a break, and she can explain this to Irvine later on if she needed to. Not that she ever needed to explain herself to him whenever she spent time with other guys (which accounted for why she and Zell had been getting away with impunity). Maybe she'd just tell him that she liked Arturo's fashion sense. The coat, which had the same color as Irvine's, was definitely a touch of class. The headband was a bit grungy, though.
Shallow as hell and flimsy as any sorry excuse can get. But that was, of course, not meant to be serious.
Should she also explain to Zell?
Why in bloody hell should she?
Selphie sighed. She was more confused than a T-Rexaur chasing its own tail. Maybe she was the one who needed a break.
"I have some new songs I want to try out. But the chords are a bit confusing. I thought maybe you could help me out."
Selphie smiled. Nothing could be more unbelievable than Arturo being challenged by guitar chords. But at least he was starting to be creative.
"You're on."
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Metal couplings held his arms and legs against a contraption that looked like a bed constructed with similar material, only it was inclined at a near-vertical position probably to give free visual access to whoever was lurking behind that mirror before him. He couldn't see anything beyond it, with a mere reflection of his frail form bouncing back to his eyes from the mirror's surface. But he had been into too many of these rooms with a mirror mounted at one of its walls. It was one-way, of course. And behind it, in an adjacent room, stood his captor.
Claude glared at the glass portal with seething eyes. If looks could burn, that mirror would have already been reduced to silicon sludge.
On one hand, he had every right to be furious. No one had any right to rob him of his freedom. Prisoners normally became such because they had done something that called for punishment in the form of incarceration. They had to be taken away from the public scene not only to rehabilitate them, but also to keep the threat they posed away from innocent folks. What could he have done to be given this treatment? He knew of no crime that could warrant this fate.
On the other hand, he actually had an inkling of what brought him this misfortune. But whatever that was happened a long time ago, when he was still young, strong and virile. It had been so long that he could no longer recall the details.
Unfortunately, he could recall enough of the essential things. There was a mistake committed in the past, something that he wished years later that he shouldn't even have conceptualized to start with. Claude had hoped that he wouldn't have to be reminded of it, but past ghosts sometimes had the ability to travel through time and torment their conjurers in the present. Now, his past had begun to haunt him, and in more ways than a simple storm in his conscience. Clearly, certain people were now interested in knowing the details of what he had gone through many decades ago. Clearly, certain people wanted power.
Right now, he was wondering whatever it was that pushed him into that decision. Many years ago, a group of scientists had requested for volunteers for an experiment that allegedly sought ways to safely augment human capabilities for combat. Being a warrior, he was one of those tapped to reconsider. Being a legendary warrior, he was one of those expected to flush all caution down the drain for the sake of acquiring more abilities to promote the greater good.
But Claude had never believed in such drivel. On the contrary, he had metamorphosed into a warrior of such renown because of his unreserved faith in the power of the human spirit. According to him, weapons could only be so effective, and that it amounted to nothing if the warrior's heart was not right, pure and bold. If they were so, a combatant would hardly need to employ weapons. That was the main reason why he was so feared in his time. Claude, the legendary warrior, was just as deadly barehanded as he was with a broad sword or a machine gun. Many had succumbed to the mastery of his hands in the art of combat. And many more had feared him because of that.
But very few knew his secret, which wasn't really much. He remembered one of them. His grandson. His beloved tyke who always scraped his knees running. Many times he had thought of seeing the young man, if only to tell him how proud he had made his grandpa. But as many times Claude abandoned the idea, wary of what his sudden appearance would cause.
And then there was the other one. Greta. Claude wondered what had become of her.
At least she wasn't sharing his predicament. At least she wasn't bound like this, helpless and seething with futility. And if his suspicion was correct, any time now someone will come through that steel door beside the mirror, bearing an instrument with the purpose of drawing out blood from him. It couldn't have been anything else. Whoever it was holding him captive could possibly want just one thing from him, and that was the fruit of the mistake he committed a long time ago.
Power. The one currency that bound ambitious conquerors and demented madmen. Power that could bring total peace to the world or bring it into ruins. And from the way he was bound, the one who did this couldn't possibly want peace. They want power to oppress. Power to wage war. Power to conquer.
And they will have that power. And in a way, it'll be his fault.
Claude continued to seethe. But that was all he could do.
For now…
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For four hours he had been sitting by the doorstep of that dainty log cabin. Four hours, and in all that time he couldn't find the courage to come back inside and apologize to her.
Squall winced. He didn't know what happened, he couldn't figure out what came over him and drove him to act that way. As he stared into the night with nothing but the stars and the moon illuminating its less than urban surroundings, the embattled SeeD commander's mind warred between two great conflicts. For one, he was still petrified by the events, by the consequences of that one night nine months ago when out of sheer, infantile frustration he drank himself nearly to death and was rendered unable to drive back home. For one, he still found it a little far-fetched that Quistis would coincidentally appear on that night of all nights from a consultation assignment in Dollet. For one, he was still half-convinced that it was all planned.
But the thoughts were also bringing him a heap of guilt. Yes, it may have been true that Quistis had been harboring deep-seated feelings for him for some time. But in the many years they worked together, never did she try anything to compel him to return those feelings. If he knew her well (and he did), he'd easily conclude that she would never stoop so low as to machinate events to make him hers by hook or by crook. Quistis, as everyone in Garden knew, was a woman of impeccable character and integrity. If anything, many loved her because of this.
And her near-flawless character was highlighted more by her inherent loyalty to her friends. And Quistis had never been a greater friend to anybody than she was with Rinoa. This alone would have prevented her from directing any malicious intent at forcing an issue she knew she could never sway to her favor. Quistis loved Rinoa too much to betray her. She would never do anything to hurt her friend.
But then, Quistis was only human.
But then, so was he.
So what was to say it was only Quistis who wanted that thing to happen that night? What was to say that he didn't also want it, whether drunk or not? What was to say that he didn't finally succumb to the goddess-like beauty so many men had long desired to possess?
He was only human.
Perhaps it was a terrible moment of weakness that made Quistis forget who she was. But it would be incredibly illogical to say that she was the only one suffering from a moment of weakness that night. Squall was out of his wits. And whether he admitted it or not, being intoxicated was more than enough to weather down the resistance he had built to prevent himself from being enamored by her beauty and character the way the other guys had. Whether he admitted it or not, there was no denying that he too was physically attracted to her. Well, who wouldn't? A priest, maybe. A dead priest.
He was only human.
And Squall realized that whatever happened that night was not a one-way thing. Nothing would have happened that he didn't want to happen. Whatever came down that night, both of them wanted it.
He had no right to rage at her the way he did a while back. They both wanted it to happen.
Now Squall didn't know how to say he was sorry. He had been hard on Quistis, too hard. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment from him.
"Quisty…" he muttered under his breath. "I'm… sorry…"
The doorstep he had been sitting on had grown warm, a far cry from the chilly touch that met him when he first sat on it four hours previous. Dollet usually got cold during this part of the year when high winds changed course from east to west, bringing frigid air from Trabia. Squall had been trying to endure the dropping temperature for quite some time now, and he had begun to deliberate whether to leave for the train station or come back inside the house. He was about to choose the first option when the door suddenly swung open.
"It's getting pretty nippy out here," Quistis said, holding the door open. "You should get inside."
Squall looked up momentarily. Quistis' face hardly assumed any emotion, but the eye bags were a dead giveaway to what she had been doing in her room. He felt even more guilty. But he wasn't about to freeze to death on account of his guilt. Squall pushed against the doorstep to propel himself up, and gingerly went inside the house. He heard a soft click as Quistis locked the door behind them.
Same ol' Quisty, he thought. Even after what he did, she still couldn't bear to leave him out in the cold.
Groping for something to break the ice between them, Squall fixed his attention to the picture frame standing beside the phone.
"So… is that Hunter?"
Quistis looked at the picture and allowed a mild smile. "Yeah. We had that taken in a studio in Dollet the day we got married, a few days after I resigned from Garden. Jo was actually quite frantic about it because he wanted our picture before I started gaining weight."
Quistis was talking about the weight gain typical to pregnancies. Squall tried to act nonchalantly, even though the thought of her pregnancy brought back the painful anxiety inside his chest.
"You didn't look like you put on much," he said, almost smiling. "You look just as pretty as before you left Garden."
"Now THAT is scary," she quipped. "Squall paying me a compliment. My oh my…"
Squall ignored the remark, and instead remembered the question he had been itching to ask.
"So, where is he?" he said, almost regretting it when Quistis' smile lost its color.
"Um… he's gone. He died about three months ago from neuroblastoma."
"Oh… I'm… I'm sorry to hear that."
Quistis nodded, trying to hold back her tears. "I've actually known about his sickness even before we got together. I was just hoping at least the bad day wouldn't come until after the two of us had a child of our own, and..."
"And so he wouldn't have to settle for that kid," Squall interrupted. Quistis tossed him a firm glance.
"Kayla. Her name will be Kayla," she said, her arms crossed before her. "And for your information, Jo had treated her as though she was his. He didn't care if you… if someone else fathered her. That's…"
"That's how much he loved you," Squall again interrupted. The stolid look on Quistis' face abruptly melted, as she was touched by the tenderness in Squall's voice. She was actually surprised, not expecting that despite having loved someone else, she still valued whatever tone of kindness she could squeeze out from him.
For so many years, Quistis had yearned for a measure of kindness from Squall. She had been longing for a moment when he'd treat her as something at least a little above a cafeteria table. He had, of course, been extremely professional at work, and she appreciated his respect for her as a colleague. But for two people who supposedly called each other friends, for two people who supposedly grew up together, they were just too distant. There had been improvements to their relationship ever since coming back from Trabia two years ago when they all remembered being together as kids, but his kindness had been more mechanical and ritual. For Quistis, it had never felt real.
That was until now. When Squall spoke, she could have sworn that he was actually happy for her. Perhaps it was because he was genuinely glad that she had found someone to love, or maybe just relieved that someone had finally gotten her off his case. In the end, she didn't care. Squall had finally become kind to her.
"Quisty…" he followed up. "I've screwed up big time, I know." Squall was stammering like a shy schoolboy before his instructor. Despite the discomfort, Quistis didn't try to stop him. "I know that I've been a major ass and a main factor in making your life miserable, and I didn't care that I hurt you more times than both you and I could count. But…"
He looked at her, repentance searing from his eyes. She just stared back at him.
"For the past years I've been acting like you're the bane of my existence. I was a fool. And I'm sorry." She held herself back, wary that she might welcome him too eagerly. "I'm sorry for causing you all this trouble. And I'm especially sorry that you have to go through this alone. I should have at least done my part…"
"I know you couldn't," she finally retorted. "But Squall, I'm fine with that. I could never force you into doing something that will compel you to compromise your love for Rinoa. When I allowed that night to happen, that was my choice. And when I left Garden without letting my beloved friends know where I went, that was also my choice. This condition…" her hands rested on her bulging stomach. "… you couldn't have done anything about it, you didn't even know. And that was also my choice. You didn't do anything to me that I didn't do to myself first."
Squall seemed agitated. "Quisty, why can't you be selfish and vindictive for even one damn second? I did this to you. Can't you at least tell me off or something?"
"I'd do that if you think it would make you feel less guilty," she said, smiling. "But… I'm just not built that way."
That was when it came to Squall. He could never have had a better friend. And he had been missing out on all of it all these years.
Come here, Squall almost said as he was nearly overcome by the urge to pull Quistis close to him and hold her. But for some reason, he felt he can't do that. Not with this situation. Instead, Squall unleashed the first heartfelt compliment he had ever told Quistis in years.
"Hunter had to be the luckiest guy in the world."
Quistis' eyes almost welled out, but she tried to keep her emotions at bay. "Yes, and I also had to be the luckiest girl… for having felt his love even for only a short time. If you only had the chance to know him…"
"Yeah…"
Silence then fell over them, as they both became unsure of how to react next. The stillness was broken when Quistis remembered that all was not yet well. They still had Rinoa to worry about. She almost hated to ask, but someone had to address the situation.
"So, what do you have in mind? I mean… about Rinoa?"
He wished she didn't have to bring it up, but Squall knew that it was unavoidable. "I honestly don't know. If you're going to stay out of sight, maybe I can just act as though nothing happened. But…" he paused. Not again, he thought. Squall realized that he had already caused her much hurt. And even though Quistis seemed to insist on maintaining her disappearance, he just could no longer, in good conscience, tolerate that situation. It would only be tantamount to going back to square one.
The thought petrified him, but he knew that he had to face up to his responsibility.
"… Like I said, law of fate. All secrets are bound to blow sky high one way or another. Other people already know. And… I think things will be far worse if she learned about this from someone else."
"So what are you telling me? You're going to come clean with her?" she said uneasily. Squall wasn't the only one terrified by the prospect. Being Rinoa's best friend, Quistis was similarly frightened. She knew that he had a point, but she also didn't know what to do once Rinoa found out. That would certainly mean the end of their friendship.
Shaken by anxiety, Squall couldn't find the words to answer her question. He didn't have an answer to that. He can't bear the thought of losing Rinoa.
"I've got to go…" he trailed softly. "I have to figure out what to do."
"But Squall, it's already dark outside. And the train won't come until three tomorrow. I think it'd be better if you spend the night here."
"No," he answered firmly. "Should Rinoa find out, it'd only add insult to know that I spent the night here. At the least, I shouldn't give her a reason to believe that we've gone far beyond a single… night."
Once again, Quistis found herself at a loss for words. She hated it, but she knew Squall was right.
"I'm going back to Garden."
"Yeah… guess we don't have much choice," Quistis said as Squall began for the door. But before he walked out, Squall turned back to look at his friend.
"Thanks… for having me here."
She nodded, apprehension wreaking havoc inside her.
"And wish me luck," Squall added. Quistis just nodded at him with an exhausted smile as he walked out and closed the door behind him.
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He lay curled in the darkness, hollowed and emptied. He maintained his vigil even as day approached. The dawn's light turned the indigo sky to soft mauve as the moon began to retreat from view. Not even the beauty of the blushing could drive away the churning gloom that enveloped him. He felt as though his innards had been carved out and put on display. He felt bereft. The light, which had once sustained him, had drained away, leaving behind a void of despair that threatened to pull him in. Failure. He had failed. He felt worthless. Worse than useless, he had failed Siegfried.
As sunlight illuminated the ugly contours of Fisherman's Horizon, he crept into the shadows and hid there. He felt torment looking upon his friend's shattered shell, wishing with all his being that he could join his friend. He could not. Not now. He could only watch and wait. He saw the first of the technicians climb down the metal ladders and the metal chink of each footfall caused a stabbing in his heart.
The technician turned as she stepped off the ladder and discovered the horror that he himself had been forced to endure. Her jaws were agape like some strange deep-sea fish, opening and closing in breathless gasps for air. Her eyes were wide orbs as she stood there, her face frozen in a grotesque mask of horror, her limbs too shock-filled to move. Siegfried stared back in an unseeing gaze, looking up with eyes that could perceive nothing. She made a gurgling gasp and took one staggering step backwards, her breath coming faster and faster. The paralysis fled and she ran, shrieking in an incoherent stream of panic.
"Sieg! It's Sieg! Oh god, it's Sieg!" The mindless repetition echoed from wall to wall, resounding in the pipes, seeping into every crevasse. Every word was jagged glass tearing his heart just a little more. It made him yearn for relief, any relief. Anything that could make the pain go away, if only for a moment. Nonexistence seemed like a haven, one forever denied him.
The others came running and amid the panic and disarray, someone kept a level head and thought to call law enforcement. It was not long before the constable arrived with his people. They looked down at the body of Siegfried Waller, trying to keep the shock from their eyes. The cool professionalism of their actions was betrayed; he could see shaking hands and bitten lips. A clenched fist vowed revenge that he himself yearned for so desperately. Ugly, hideous yellow tape was pulled up around the scene as the men and women began scouring the place for evidence. They never once noticed him. He did not wish them to.
Crowds of the curious began to come, attracted like scavengers to the scent of death. He suppressed the urge to roar into their midst and drive them away because it would have served no purpose. Worse, it would have distracted from the all-important task of finding the one responsible for this heinous act. Oh, how he wanted to find the one responsible.
He listened as whispers drifted down to his hiding place. Speculation, gossip, rumor. It all flew about like blowflies, making him rumble in disgust. What sickened him most was the whispering that he heard, the hate that only ignorance could spawn.
"It was SeeD. He must have known something."
"Get real! Didn't he even date a SeeD once? They aren't like that."
"Oh? Maybe he knew something. Maybe Markkon is right about them. Had you thought of that?"
He hissed in anger and some of the people nearby looked up in sudden anxiety. Baffled as they looked around and saw nothing, they resumed their work. Sometimes he hated humanity as much as he loved it. He had no use for such foolishness. He wanted answers. He wanted solutions. He wanted revenge. He wanted to grieve.
He wished that he could but it was caught in his chest, trapped and unable to be freed. Like coal trapped in a chute, it was a lump so far down that it blocked up everything behind it. He could only watch in that state of unnatural calm as the zipper forever shut Siegfried away from the light. Huge, bloody, lantern eyes shone from all the people's faces but all he could do was become part of the shadows and watch. His curse, his bane. He'd failed the one who had trusted him to be a guardian, a protector. Now what would he do?
Even if he were to find the culprit, he was helpless to act. He was bound by traditions and laws far older than him. It was simply not in him to break those bonds. He had to find someone else who could act, someone who had not given the oaths that he had. He needed to find someone who would be his wings of vengeance, his sword of retribution. He required someone with the power to act. The murderer of his dear friend would be dealt with by one as closely bound to Siegfried as he had been.
He had to find Quistis Trepe. If for no other reason than that she had been Siegfried's beloved. SeeD would destroy this monster in man's form. Siegfried would be avenged. On Quistis, he had to hang all his hopes. Afterwards, he would have release. He would be able to mourn.
End Of Chapter 12