21
Tuesday, October 26th, 9:46am – Dr. Kauffman's Office, Psychiatric Clinic, TURK HQ, Shinra Building
Colour was such a welcome change. It did enough to subconsciously occupy Reno's brain, swarming into his skull through the corners of his eyes whilst remaining unobtrusive enough to prevent him from realising that it was only there to distract him from psychosis. And, as though it had pilfered elements from the majority of the spectrum, it radiated warmth and energy––borne of crushed berries, ground nuts or dried leaves––to efficiently create an environment of synthetic nature.
The carpeting, green and lush, stretched underfoot over to the end of the room flanked by empty wooden coat racks and an endearing grandfather clock. All in all, he was immersed in a microcosm separated from the real word with partitions of confidentiality and understanding. Only within these four walls could he ever flee from prejudice, rendering the veils of arrogance and fatuity obsolete, unravelling them alongside the truth that would only fortify the walls and protect him further.
Now that the veils had gone, however, he could not help but feel exposed and undeniably foolish. He shrank in his seat and wrapped his arms around his chest under the scrutinising gaze of a security camera. He had been constantly reassured that the camera did not record sound and was only installed as a measure to protect the doctor from his somewhat deadly patients, but Reno had always known how to differentiate deception and white lies.
Dr. Kauffman stroked the emergent patch of white hair under his chin, lost in a state of pondering as though trying to decipher an ancient, arcane language. The name of the stolen child had become verboten, dragging every other word along with it as it seeped out of the room, removing the medium that had once given Reno comfort in spite of vulnerability.
The doctor's foot tapped against the floor as his eyes met the ornate hands of the grandfather clock. He did not wish to be disturbed as he mentally placed all the jigsaw pieces together, completely ignoring the primary aspect of his job. Of course, he had developed a fondness for conversing with the fellow members of his species, all so unique despite their blatant similarities, and could only dismiss such an action if a piece of the puzzle was missing.
In this case, the missing piece was Tifa Lockhart.
As a single puzzle piece, Rude was an incredibly complex man. But, upon slotting his piece with all the others, partially completing the picture, his character had become as lucid as he had always professed. His attitude towards life, love and work were all direct, albeit a little naive, following the rigidly straight path of logic. The only kink in this apparently straight path presented itself with a fear of allowing complex emotions connected to thoughts of the aforementioned aspects to cloud his judgement when, in actual fact, his simplistic lack of emotions became the real problematic issue. Funnily enough, the converse statement would hold completely true for Reno; a man once seen as incredibly simple, thriving off cheap thrills, now becoming confusingly complex.
But Tifa. Who was she? Where did she stand? What did she feel? Who did she pledge her allegiance to, if at all?
"Look, Doc," Reno uttered, stealing Kauffman from his reverie, "this company doesn't pay you to just sit there and feel your ass grow."
Embarrassed as though caught in some lewd act, the doctor exposed a few pearly whites and pushed his bifocals further atop the bridge of his nose.
"Forgive me for being so rude. I was lost in my own thoughts."
"What were you thinking about?"
"Isn't it my job to ask the questions?" he chuckled; his east-continental accent emerging unrestrained.
"No, it's your job to develop a rapport between yourself and your patient. You aren't merely interrogating me, you're excavating the secrets within my soul that even I am unaware of."
"But of course. Again, forgive me," he responded with a gracious look of vitreous transparency, eliciting an even stronger response from his patient.
"You seem to have forgotten that I'm in a very fragile state at the moment. I gotta tell you, your period of silent meditation isn't really helping my paranoia."
"You believe I am thinking about you?" he objected; his bony fingers waving defensively in the air. "I will always verbalise my thoughts regarding you when in your presence."
"Oh, well that's much better. You tell me how it is to my face, but then you'll go straight back to silently judging me as soon as my back is turned. What kind of fucking shrink are you!?"
"Now hold on. I'm not judging––"
"As far as I can tell, you're sat there, avoiding eye contact with the biggest prick on the planet. C'mon, be honest with me. You must think I'm the lowest of the low right now."
"Of course I don't, Reno. It's only human nature to look out for one's own interests. People can do truly evil things, but that does not mean they do not deserve a second chance."
"Come again?"
"Let me put it to you this way. You can remove a knife from a crime scene and see it as nothing more than an implement of murder. But don't forget that the same knife can also be used to cut bread to share amongst the hungry. Your life is a lot like that knife; it is able to impact the world positively or negatively depending on whose hands it is in. Obviously this is just an analogy: your life is far more complex than a simple inanimate object, but the same principles apply, and you can only move forward to do better things if you let go of your past. You can't be afraid of the judgement of others. People forgive and forget. It's one of our finest qualities."
Reno took his time to digest the comments, rocking gently on his seat as he nodded. "Do you really expect me to fall for that bullshit?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Let me put it to you this way. If I presented a toilet to you and told you I had managed to clean it so vigorously that I had actually eradicated every last bacterium from it, would you still drink out of it?"
Puzzled, Kauffman shrugged his shoulders, already preparing to admit defeat. "I... I... well..."
"It's a simple yes or no answer, Doc."
"I would have to say no then."
"What if I presented you with a toilet that was brand new? Would you drink from that?"
"Well, of course not."
"So you're saying that you can't ignore the stigma of drinking water from such a container just because you associate it with human waste? How about if we return to your knife? What if it was used to slit your child's throat? Would you still use it to cut your bread the next day? Or what if you met the owner of the knife? Would you offer him a glass of wine and a seat by the fireplace of your home just to prove how resilient the human mind is with its ability to forgive and forget?"
The doctor's wizened skin flushed in an instant, adding the forbidden missing colour into their private microcosm; a red of passion and aggression like lurid flames engulfing the wooden ornaments. He clenched his fists tightly enough to squeeze the blood from his fingers as they trembled, transforming them from hot red to ghostly white. The ground stole his attention as he tried in vain not to glance at the framed picture nestled between neat stacks of paper on his desk.
"What do you know?" he whispered through clenched teeth, failing to maintain his composure.
"I do my homework, too, Doc," he responded, as his arms slowly unclamped from his chest, tingling with a sense of overpowering authority. "But I don't need case histories or creative writing essays to do so. I can see what's underneath your skin. I can smell it. I can taste it in the air as it radiates off your tongue." With an ingloriously wicked smile, he nodded at the picture by the desk. "You're what? Seventy-something? And that's a sepia photograph of a school kid in a photo frame? I'm assuming this child will remain forever young, rendered immortal by the hands of some wretch like me."
"How did you know?" he managed to ask above his trembling.
"You don't have a wedding ring, so you're not married, at least not any more. I doubt you have any other family either, judging by all the hours you spend here. Y'know, I don't think I've ever seen you leave the building once. In fact, I've checked the log books over at the dorm cells and found you've been living there for the past four years now. I thought it was just a peculiarity at first, but now I see the real reason behind it. You've got nothing else to go back to. You prefer to stay cooped up in this room, talking to a bunch of psychos so you can reassure yourself that there are some people worse off than you."
Reno, feeling the onset of guilt festering within his stomach, took a cigarette from his pocket and sank back into his seat as he sucked on it.
"So," he spoke, his words muffled by the now lit cigarette, "what was his name?"
"Ruben. His name was Ruben. He was my shining star, extinguished by the cruel hands of fate, shot in the neck as he walked home from school with his friends: a case of mistaken identity between the teenage gangs of the slums. It happened over forty years ago now. He should have turned fifty-one three months ago. God, has it really been that long?"
"I'm sorry. Really."
Kauffman carefully lifted the picture, grazing the tip of his finger over the cold glass, a proud smile developing across his lips.
"He is the only inspiration I have left. The only reason I ever get up in the morning. I know there are people out there who must endure similar tragedies, and, as though his seraphic smile is pushing me into this room, I know I must offer them the help and counselling I was never fortunate enough to receive. Whatever I do, it's because of him. It's for him. So don't you dare assume I am as selfish as you! I do not do this job merely for my own personal gain."
"Fair enough," he conceded tactfully. "Well, now that that's out in the open, why don't we regenerate our dynamic by starting afresh?"
"And how exactly do you propose to do that?" he responded bitterly, his eyes still locked onto his son's as he placed the frame back on the table.
"By reminding you that this element of honesty is a two-way street and asking you, now that you no longer see me as a client, but rather as a jackass, what you are thinking about."
The doctor exhaled like a slowly deflating beach ball before letting out a low chuckle. "You know, the magnitude of your paranoia barely scrapes that of your guile."
"So I've been told."
Kauffman took to his feet and shuffled over to the window, his frail body becoming a silhouette against the dazzling morning light.
"Alright, I'll be frank with you. I think you are a truly self-absorbed little man that would sell the soul of his own mother before admitting defeat. You've been gifted with a vastly superior intellect, but this seems to be a blessing in disguise, enabling you to get everything you've ever wanted without even aiming. Because of this, you've never lost control of any situation, which inevitably leaves you inexperienced at dealing with such problems when they finally occur. I mean, I look at you now, and all I see is a headless chicken scurrying about with no clue of what to do next."
"Yup," Reno agreed, nodding along, "that sounds about right."
"I'll confess; I'm only helping you so that you in turn may help Rude. I've been offering solutions to reunite him with his son for what feels like a lifetime now, but they all seem to have failed. He shouldn't miss the best of years of Jake's life and Jake should not have to go without a father."
"I agree. So what do we do?"
The doctor's aging eyes traced the contours of the plate, soon abandoning it for the horizon marred by jagged mountain tops and the very faint glimmer of the Gold Saucer.
The only answer he could formulate was preceded by a sigh.
"This could be difficult. Before we can untangle your attitude towards Rude we must first dig to the core of this problem, and, unfortunately for you, the core of this problem lies within Tifa Lockhart. We know how she feels about you, but your feelings towards her are still a mystery."
Reno winced, sucking the air through his teeth as he did so. "I hate to break it to you, Doc, but her feelings towards me are equally murky. You see, there's a little snippet of my story that I haven't told you yet."
"I'm listening."
"Well, to cut a long story short, she and I were out jogging yesterday morning down Corporation Park. One thing led to another and––" he paused and rolled his eyes about their axes, searching for a visible explanation. "Well, actually, one thing didn't lead to another. She just sorta pounced on me with no explanation like a horny little minx. It was so spontaneous and exciting, like... like her character developed a completely new dimension and took the legs right under me. I mean, for the past month, the one thing I've always hated about her is her predictability. Then she goes and does a thing like this, and all of a sudden I feel the overwhelming urge to get over my fear of commitment lest I never find such a woman again.
"So, we stumbled into the woodland and ripped off our clothes, engaging in a tumultuous embrace, lost in a sea of chemicals stimulating pleasure receptors in my brain and dick that commandeered my tongue and forced it to tell her I was falling in love with her."
"That's a nice way of putting it," Kauffman interjected, wiping his spectacles with his chequered tie as he returned to his seat. "The pleasure receptors commandeered your tongue? It seems the honesty on this two-way street is only flowing in one direction again."
"You're a shrink, OK? You should be able to comprehend the subtext of my speech without me having to spell it out for you."
"I'm afraid that's no longer good enough. You're not my client anymore, Reno. You're just some jackass. Remember?"
"Fine! I felt like telling her I loved her, so I told her. Are you happy now, old man?"
Kauffman smiled arrogantly, giving Reno a taste of his own medicine. "Very. Please, continue."
"So," he continued, lowering his head as though dragged by the embarrassment, "there we were, lying naked in mud and stone-cold grass when I let my... love for her slip off my tongue. And you wanna know what her response was?"
"I can't wait," he replied sarcastically.
"I think I'm falling in love with you, too––Rude."
The doctor frowned upon hearing the buzzword employed by the entire emotionally-drained community, fearing the core of the problem may actually reside within Rude as a direct result of his constant interference. He had imposed the natural propensity to exist with another soul upon him, trying desperately hard to define that soul as Jake. But the nebulous terminology he used could have easily coerced him into a string of dead-end relationships, forgetting how the human mind will always opt for the simplest approach. As far as Rude was concerned, he still had a glimmer of hope regarding his relationship with his son, and maybe that was all he needed to survive. To know he could ultimately destroy such a dream would obviously force him away, searching for affection elsewhere.
Feeling somewhat responsible for all this, Kauffman removed a pen from his pocket and began jotting down a few notes, hoping the action would seem constructive enough to mitigate Reno's anxiety.
"I put my balls on the line for the first time in my entire life and the bitch shot me down."
"Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue," Kauffman added, chewing on the tip of his pen. "You found her unconscious in his arms. Whatever happened between the two of them must have been pretty significant. Her mind could have just wandered at the wrong time."
"Even so, it just means her mind was wandering when I was finally pouring my heart out. That speaks volumes about how she feels about me, doesn't it?"
"I suppose. So how did you deal with the situation?" the doctor asked, immediately returning to his original state of professionalism.
"I dealt with the situation like a headless fucking chicken, ditching her there in confused mess. I locked myself in my reserved cell back here in HQ and raided my liquor cabinet, hoping to fight the fire in my stomach with more fire, ready to drink myself into a coma. And the funny thing about it was I didn't even know why. Why did I care so much about her? Why did I care if she liked me or not? Why was I so angry at Rude for betraying me when I know I would have done the exact same thing in his position?"
"At least your anger was confined in a locked cell. I mean, a drunk, distraught hit-man is pretty much like a raging bull in china––"
"They called up and asked for their money," Reno interjected, planting his face firmly within his palms to save himself from any prolonged agony. "I had to enlist the help of one of Don Corneo's underlings, asking him to keep the kid in a secure location and expect payment within a day or two. I can only guess the Don wasn't too happy about the arrangement, because within six hours my cell phone was already ringing. They demanded payment, said they didn't care who I was, and that they would kill Jake if they didn't feel the bulge in their wallets within the next twenty-four hours." Reno's eyes sunk lower to the floor of their orbits, wishing to see nothing more than the fake grass under his feet. "Returning home after the humiliating climax of my jog, in a furious, inebriated state, I told them I didn't give a damn about the kid anymore and hung up, ready to pass out in a pool of my own vomit."
Kauffman remained calm, placing his pen on the table before leaning forward on his seat to regain Reno's full attention. Avoiding anger, he adopted a soft tone, speaking to his client as though he was his own grandson.
"As I continue to tell you, your inexperience in the face of failure and rejection led you to this position." Leaning further still, he bored to the crux of the matter, touching Reno's arm gently. "How much time do we have left?"
"Just over four hours."
"Does Commander Tseng know about this?"
He shook his head. "The only information he has is a name. He hasn't connected the crime to Corneo's mafia and doesn't know about the deadline."
Kauffman took to his feet once more and opened the door, gesturing for Reno to stand with him. "The only reason you have come here is because you want an answer to your predicament: do you value your friendship with Rude over your relationship with Tifa? Or is it the other way around? You're also looking for someone to tell you you're not a monster, but I can't offer you any real absolution with words or pills. You have to follow your heart. However you choose to deal with this situation, whatever you feel inside, will lead you to your answer, which, it saddens me to say, lies in the life or death of Jake Gauthier."
"If that is so," Reno responded, rising from his seat slowly like a cobra from a charmer's basket, "then the answer simply resides within my conscience. And I know I wouldn't let a child die just to prove a point."
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" he replied, holding his hand aloft for a gentlemanly shake. "I think we've gotten everything we can out of this session. It was a pleasure meeting you, Reno. I bid you adieu."
Ignoring the doctor's hand, the Turk stood by the doorway, his gaze menacingly cold.
"I think you mean au revoir. The word adieu means 'to God'. It's only used when you are sure you will never see someone again."
"I know. It's just that I am aware of how Heidegger punishes treachery, and, based on what I've seen today, I can only assume you'll make the wrong decision."
He took a final drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out under his shoes on the lush carpeting, waiting for his mind to produce a clever response.
"Fuck you," he finally hissed. It was the best he could manage under such stress, dampening the shame by shoulder barging Kauffman and slamming the door behind him, blind to blatant use of reverse psychology, one of the oldest tricks in the book.
Tuesday, October 26th, 9:49am – Shinra Airspace
Tifa lost herself in silence, only interrupted by the drone of rotor blades and the distorted commands erupting from the helicopter radio. She had opted to leave the headset microphone untouched, fearing helmet hair and the prospect of talking to the suits besides her. Sandwiched between stoicism and distrust, both abiding by strict rules of postural etiquette, she fixed her gaze to her lap, ignoring the wonderful views beyond the immobile features of their profile faces.
She had awoken earlier this morning to a refulgent sunrise in its earliest phase, the light barely reaching the littoral sands in the far distance, in a state of monumental bliss. Trapped in the transition from sleep to wake when her dreams had yet to be disengaged from her life, she smiled at the earth, watching from above with all the pride and hope of a mother. It reminded her of the phrase she had abhorred for so long: the mother without a child. But up here, enjoying the majesty of God's creation, observing the beauty of the world they way He did, she knew her affection would transcend to a larger scale. She knew she was in the right, fighting for the better cause in her own way. After all, a mother cannot kill one child to save another. No, she would protect the planet, becoming the mother it needed, without resorting to terrorism.
And then, as though crashing into frozen water, the smell of his familiar cologne violently roused her from her reverie. She had turned to see a warm smile, an obvious attempt to demonstrate his ability to take her criticism with a pinch of salt, and a granola bar. She rejected his offering of breakfast, complaining of a stomach that was still fast asleep, and the two immediately began the ascent to the plate, ignoring the triviality of complaining about the difficulties of resting the previous night, reaching the parking lot of the Shinra building by nine-thirty.
She couldn't have imagined anything more awkward than her first meeting with Tseng, somewhat intimidated by his eloquence and his domineering aura. He had chosen to ignore her, as she had likewise, both seated besides one another, avoiding eye contact like opposing generals coerced into signing a peace treaty. She could only imagine him using his scarlet tilaka, his third eye, to monitor her as he spoke quietly to Rude, mentioning the all too familiar name of Don Corneo.
She, like plenty of women in the slums, had had many a run in with Corneo and his foul men, leaving her unable to stray too far from Wall Market, avoiding the goons that indefatigably continued to harass her, persuading her to join the innumerable scores of women working to satisfy the carnal desires of the Don with brutal force. Trained in a variety of martial arts, she did not fear any of them, but they often lurked around in packs of fifteen or twenty; a number far too large for one person to tackle.
She was almost glad that Corneo was responsible for Jake's kidnap: now she had two reasons to kick his butt.
Remaining abstemious, she ate a light breakfast of fruit slices before being carted away to a clandestine airstrip, loaded onto a helicopter piloted by an anonymous aviator. Tseng had entered first and she had followed second, prompted by Rude to enter before him in another unnecessary display of chivalry, leaving her in the middle of the two of them for the rest of the journey.
She found the courage to glance to the left at the pale cheeks, half obscured by his achromatic mane, of Rude's superior, catching sight of a very subtle smile. He had faced her only once before boarding the helicopter in their only moment of dialogue, dizzying her with his contrasting use of a soft, almost saccharine tone with terse sentences, wasting as little time with her as possible. He told her they were mere temporary allies, that this did not change a thing between Shinra and AVALANCHE, and that he was only allowing her to tag along because her skills as a martial artist could prove beneficial. She had accepted the agreement with nothing more than a nod, unable to produce a verbal response before he turned his back on her and walked away.
Turning to the right, she could afford a longer glance, mistaking the cause of the butterflies in her gut for fear. But upon recognising that similar smile from this morning, the smile of friendship and camaraderie, she realised the butterflies had emerged from cocoons of a developing trust. She still felt safe in his presence. Still inclining towards happiness. But did trust for the enemy not warrant a need for fear?
She winced as the helicopter submerged quickly below plate level, the number of butterflies multiplying exponentially, grasping the seat as she allowed the darkness to envelop her. She had always encouraged her friends and family to overcome their fears. Now, unable to turn back, it was her time to practise what she preached, for Jake's sake, and even more so for her own.
A/N
If you've made it this far, I applaud you. These past four chapters have been pretty heavy, I know. But, in RPG terms, we're approaching the final dungeon! The next chapter may or may not be the last, but either way, we're nearlly at the end! Hopefully!
Until then.
aardy.