~Kouen's Rather Demented
Mind~
~Deling
City's Prison; A Week Later~
He looked out through the bars of his lonely cell. Yet he was never alone. He would always have his god to console him.
And still, there was his angel. His poor, little, angel. It had been because of his angel that the
depths of his mission had been possible. The letters she had sent him during her stay with the SeeDs had told him
all he needed to know. She wouldn't let
him down now, not after getting him this far. He knew she would come to him, he knew she would.
He heard the voice of the prison
guard. "What? The cereal killer?! You're crazy! On what terms?"
"He's my father," she answered, if not
bitterly. He smiled, oh; he smiled to
himself as he heard the heavy door, her light footsteps, and then the slam of
it closing behind her.
"Hello Rinoa," he said her name.
She acknowledged him, "General Caraway."
"My angel," he crooned. "You came to see your poor, poor
father. I've failed my mission, I'm
afraid."
"What mission?"
"Oh, Rinoa, my angel, my god commanded
me to take revenge, sweet, sweet revenge on that sinful bastard, Seifer
Almasy."
"He did nothing to you."
"Oh but he did, Rinoa," her father
glared coolly through the bars. "I know
he made my daughter cry, two or so years ago, when you found out he'd gone to a
party with his friends, that wretched albino bitch and the senseless tub of
lard, and what you heard he did with the pale one, oh how you cried. I remember, do you?"
"I remember," she was trying to stay
calm.
"Not to mention," he continued without
heed, "The murder he's brought about, the suffering, and the pain, to the
world. A sorceress's knight, he called
himself. Bullshit. It was for that, dear angel, that my god
commanded me to take action."
"That doesn't mean you had to kill
Squall!"
"Squall was key to making him suffer,
angel."
"Squall's death is making me
suffer."
"Oh, no, angel," he laughed. "You're much better without the boy. You've
always got dear…old…daddy."
"You are no more a father than you are
religious," she spat, her anger bringing her dangerously close to the
bars. "And don't you dare call me
angel."
He smiled viciously and his eyes
sparked, and all to late she knew she'd hit a wrong button. His hands shot out from the bars too fast
for her to react, looping around her neck. With more force than she knew he possessed, he brought her head
forwards, pounding it against the bars, then pushing her back, and repeating
the motion. Again and again and
again... She couldn't stop him, no
matter what she tried.
He pounded her head that way until she was long past
unconscious; blood everywhere, and then dropped her. He laughed because the prison guard had not come in to stop
him. With as much as he'd learned in
the past week, the fat tub of lard had more than likely fallen asleep at the
front desk.
The general crouched down in his jail cell and
reached for his daughter's body. He
took gently from her purse the little knife he knew she carried for
emergencies. He opened it and very
calmly jabbed it into her throat, slicing the jugular vein. Once again very calmly, he pulled the knife
out, put it to his own skin, and slit his wrists.
Had there been a window, he would have made note
that the night was as black as the death that was slowly clouding his
vision. How ironic that a father would
die along side his daughter. He smiled,
and closed his eyes one last time, waiting. Waiting for his god to rescue him.
A rescue that would never occur.