Lucrecia fluffed out her pillow one last time
III: Invisible Worm
"Woof,
woof."
"Oh, Hojo.
Please."
"Yes, my dear
Lucrecia?"
"Stop
it."
"I don't know
what you're talking about."
"Stop teasing
him."
Lucrecia craned
her neck back over her shoulder. Still, always. a dark Turk shadow hovered in
the doorway.
Hojo grinned at
her. "Oh, but it's so easy. He's such a puppy dog, following you around
like that."
"Hojo..."
"I'd like to
kick him in ribs."
"Hojo!"
The shadow did not
stir.
"In all
seriousness, Lucrecia, he's interfering with the experiment, and consequently,
both our jobs." He raised a wily eyebrow, eyes on the solution he was
preparing.
Lucrecia wrung her
hands, a strange habit she had picked up since her placement in the mansion.
Funny, the vibes that resonated through this place... "If it will make your
work more precise," she said, indignant nose in the air, shoulders stiff, fingers
tucking an invisible strand of hair that, to her mind, had wormed its way out of
the sleek net of her tightly wound bun. "If it will make our research more
accurate, I will ask him to leave. For professional reasons."
"Why thank
you Lab Major."
Lucrecia rolled
her eyes. That undertone in the scientist's voice both annoyed and amused her. "You're very welcome,
Professor." Clackety, clack, clack, her footsteps like a death toll, she
walked to the door and stopped neatly before Vincent, a perfect foot and a half away
from him as she spoke. "Vincent, what're you doing here," she said in
a low, soft tone.
"Watching
over you. My job."
"Watching
everything I do?" she probed gently, a psychiatrist analyzing tone,
clinical, medical; sweetly, falsely caring. The gentle floating touch of her
fingers on his arm shoved him onto the shrink's couch.
He didn't
speak.
She smiled softly
at him, in lieu of anything better to do. Vincent saw past the lab coat, the
polished badge, the frigid posture, the stiff demeanor. He saw only the smile,
and the soothing silk that lay over her voice. He saw perfect lips moving, the
blur of voice in his ears, humming, but, hypnotized, he heard no words, he saw
no signs.
"Could you
please allow me some time alone to focus on the experiment?" she
asked, giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder.
With a dark glance
in the general direction of Hojo, who turned his nose up snootily at the Turk,
Vincent nodded slowly. He cast one last clinging look at Lucrecia, as if fearing
the truth behind "out of sight out of mind", then disappeared down the
dark hallway.
Lucrecia sighed.
In the pit of her stomach, she felt a prophecy of cacaphony, of Chaos and
suffering and doom. Something very bad was to come out of this...it rung in the
iron bars of the elegant spiral staircase. It whistled through the dusty
forgotten eaves and gables, it jangled with dead child's whispers in the
reflections of the chandeliers, it howled in the catacombs of the basement,
crying. Lucrecia pretended she did not notice, fingers working deftly,
scribbling short mathematic notes on her folders, but she could, she could
hear it. She could hear every word of the coarse cursing epithet; She could feel
it vibrating in her calcium-enriched bones.
"I do
believe," said Hojo without looking up when Lucrecia had returned, "That
that boy believes himself to be in love with you."
"That's too
bad for him," said Lucrecia stonily. "Because I don't believe in
love."
"Oh don't
you?" asked her colleague, eyeing her with an amused smile from behind his
spectacles. "I wouldn't expect it to be so. You are, after all, a
scientist. And a good one at that."
She hid a blush
behind a stack of data sheets. "Gast
believes in God..." Lucrecia commented, not knowing why she said those
words out loud.
Hojo laughed,
continued mixing his chemicals. "That's not too surprising. The old fogey
is more fantastical than one'd think. He's more a storyteller than a
scientist." He siphoned a blue-green liquid from a freezer box.
"Besides, I believe in a God too."
Lucrecia narrowed her eyes. Even...Hojo...?
The professor held up the blue specimen test tube to the light, shook it
gently. "This," he said, in a reverent, hushed tone. Inside, acids
clashed against bases, reactions happened at the speed of light, bubbles formed,
salts disintegrated, and little invasive cerulean cells grew claws and teeth,
multiplying, breeding, a chemist's witching orgy. "This...This is my
God." The light gleamed through the azure liquid and reflected off his
glasses, off his eyes. "Science."
And Lucrecia
fancied she saw a bit of genius in those eyes.
Flash.
Tseng sat on the
leather seat of the helicopter, looking into Elena's eyes as she sat across from
him. The other Turk was concentrated on b*tching out the driver of the
helicopter, and didn't notice that she was under scrutiny. But it wasn't really
scrutiny. It was more....silent approval. Tseng held a certain degree of
affection for all his Turks, and Elena was no exception. But there was something
more...Eh. There could be no harm, the leader decided, in going out with
her on a simple date or something. After all, he needed to get over....after
all, Aeris... he swallowed. Unlike Reno, he couldn't even remember the
last time he had felt human touch, contact. He frowned, the weary brow
furrowing. Burrowed deep in his
memory, he somehow remembered the last time he was hugged, decades ago.
He had been a mere
teenager at the time, a junior Turk, in charge of watching an infant Sephiroth.
"What's love
Tseng?"
"No idea,
kid."
Tseng remembered
the irritated look on his young charge's face. "What do you mean you have
no idea? You must have some idea."
Tseng had
shrugged. "I'm a Turk. Don't know these things..Try hugging yourself."
He had received
only a blank stare, and so the Turk had demonstrated, folding his arms around
his shoulders. "Like that, except more intense. So I've been told.."
Sephiroth had
cautiously mimicked the movements of the older boy. "Oh."
Tseng had given
the surveillance camera a long stare, then had switched his gaze to the child.
He had sighed. "Alright, c'mere." Then, when the silver-headed boy had
curiously obeyed, he had brought him into his lap with a hug. Sephiroth had
stayed completely stiff, even when Tseng deposited him on the floor.
"I didn't
feel anything," Sephiroth had said quietly.
"What?"
Tseng had asked absent-mindedly, eyeing the camera still cautiously.
"I said I
don't feel anything, dammit!" had come the cross reply from Sephiroth.
Tseng had
shrugged. "You don't feel anything, you don't feel anything. It's not my
problem."
Sephiroth had
glared, daggers blazing in that intense, stabbing gaze, as if to say that it were, in fact,
Tseng's fault, Tseng's problem.
"I don't
believe it exists. I don't believe you know. I don't believe you know anything.
I believe you're a liar and a dunce."
But the child had walked
around with his arms folded around himself for a month.
Unflash.
Arms folded about
her shoulders, soul tucked away in a carefully sealed lockbox, Lucrecia realized
that he had taken her by surprise, and that she hated being taken by
surprise.
"Come out
with me tonight?"
Lucrecia almost
started. She hated. The way he managed to break her composure, no matter how much
she tried to maintain it. "Go out with you?" she said in a hopelessly
shaky voice. She hated the way the world spun, so blindly and disregarding
of its rightful orbit, making her world hurtle into space at random. "You mean on a
date? " It thrilled her. It made her palms sweat and her heart beat too
fast and images from tacky movies she'd seen in her adolescence flash through
her head. "You must be joking, Mr.
Valentine." She hated that the most.
She looked at him.
She looked at his eyes. And he looked at her.
He wasn't
joking. No, he was never joking. How could he, with those eyes so full of
the most serious stuff of dreams the world could hold. As if were born somber,
grew up somber, and lived somber, day by day.
She opened her
mouth, and nothing came out. She closed her mouth Processing....Her eyes
darted about desperately. Data retrieving...please hold.... Vincent
waited patiently, still and quiet and expectant before her. Uploading....
"Alright,"
she said, her voice too quite and squeaking.
For a long time
she stood in silence, feeling and hearing and smelling Vincent, Vincent, Vincent
before her, and she thought she was going to go mad. Why wasn't he talking? It
was a while before she understood that he hadn't heard her the first time.
"Alright," she repeated, resignedly. "Ok," she said, in a
somnambulist daze.
"I'll go out
with you."
Alert! Alert!
System Error!
Joy spread across
his face, not in expression, but in aura, as if his entire bleak pallor had
become alight. He smiled very slowly. "Thank you," he replied, a deep
caressing mumble."8 o clock tomorrow night?" His voice akin to a
masculine tremble.
System is
critical! Dangerous Error! System at risk to crash!
Suddenly, her
lockbox failed, her soul flew free, and she smiled, grinned at him
wholeheartedly, the heartfelt smile spreading from cheek to cheek, and she
almost laughed.
For a millisecond
she forgot to care.
"Just don't
be late," she said shortly, and turned on her heel.
Illegal
Operation Closed....System Stablizing...
"Vincent,
this isn't damn funny, not in the damn least," she said, her whole filled
with terror.
She could feel him
smiling, even if she couldn't see him through the blindfold. "I've got
you," he said sedately. And it was true, his arms were a stable, immoveable
force about her, a safe haven. Because, with him guiding her up this mountain
path, no idea in her knowing mind as to where they were heading, she felt she
was already falling, hurtling towards a stony death. To a certain degree, he
helped. But only because she forgot about falling when he was around. In truth,
it was still falling, except that he was tumbling down the cliff with her. She
doubted he could break her fall. Strong, tall, stolid, there was something in
his movements that indicated to her an extreme fragility. But then, the same
could be said about her, she thought. Psych 101, be damned. Her? Fragile? She
gritted her teeth at the idea.
"Stop
clenching your jaw," he instructed calmly. "Relax."
"I have to
ask again, Vincent. Where are we going?"
"You'll see
when we get there."
"You already
said that."
"You already
asked that."
There he went
again, making her feel stupid.
Her foot slid
against a rock, and she stumbled, falling against him.
"Oopsee
daisy," he said in a monotone.
She couldn't help
herself. She burst out laughing. "A Turk that says Oopsee daisy?" She
laughed and laughed. "Vincent, you're beyond me." But suddenly that
warm musty presence behind her was gone. "Vincent?" Panic crept, no,
clawed its way into her throat, the smell of blind disability and helplessness
smothering her. "Vincent? Vincent where are you? Vincent!" She was
paralyzed, incapable of movement, soaking in the premonition of cold sweat.
"Right
here," he said, right next to her. "I've been here the whole time,
watching over you, making sure you didn't get hurt. You just didn't
notice."
She...didn't...notice....?
"I'm sorry,
"she said, hushed.
"That's
alright." His voice was so sad. "Anyways, we're here."
Here---
He took off her
blindfold and she saw a massive granite dome, simplistic, primal, beautiful.
"- Oh..." The words flew out of her mouth, unbidden.
"It's...." Utopian. Zen. Nirvana. A Dream, a childhood wish almost
forgotten. Piper, piper..... "It's....different."
He took her hand
in his, she stiffened. He was the piper come to trick her, take her away, wasn't
he? Every logical cell in Lucrecia's body told her to go home and get her proper
sleep. "Let's go inside," he said, and she followed.
Past the sparse
monk's cells, past the side chapels, the closed gift store, they weaved, with
only the nighttime to observe and lightly comment to the moon on the two
wanderers. See the girl, she seems so scared of the fact that she still can't
see what I hide, said the night. He loves us, said the moon. He loves us both,
we're his family, only family. She liked us once, too, said the night in reply.
She still does, said the moon. She just forgot.
"I forgot
what monasteries looked like," Lucrecia said, baring her soul. Freer now
that she was gone from the spotlight of laboratory halogen, cloaked by inky
midnight. "I haven't been in one since I was a-"
"Shhh,"
said Vincent abruptly. "They're starting."
Lucrecia looked at
him questioningly. Then, "Oh. Oh God, Vincent. Oh God, it smells so
beautiful. It's such a beautiful...is it roses? Roses, but more condensed,
sweeter, it....what is this, Vincent," she cried, her eyes alight, her
delight a girl's.
Vincent pointed to
the courtyard. Dozens and dozens of monks in partridge gray cloaks, swinging
urns of burning roses, chanting as the overwhelming, mesmerizing aroma rose up
into the air in mystic spirals. Goddess, we implore thee, give unto us a
savior. Goddess we implore thee, do not forget us. Give us a guardian, Goddess
,give us a watcher. Goddess, let us not forsake thee. We will not forget thee,
in time of need or fear. We will not forget thee... "11 o clock
rites," said Vincent, the monks chanting and chanting, and chanting away.
"They do this every night, without fail."
"Quaint,
isn't it," said Lucrecia, hand automatically flying to the rosary around
her neck Hojo had given her.
Vincent fixed her
with a look. "I mean....I only meant..." said Lucrecia, quickly
tucking Hojo's gift back into her shirt.
The magic broke.
Quick as they appeared, in rose colored smoke, they disappeared. The monks only
remnants were a few stray members left to clean up the residue of ecstatic
worship.
She looked back at
him, and found that in those dark swallowing pupils, he had swallowed up her
faults and already forgiven, forgotten. For her, Vincent would forgive
anything.
"Who's this
Goddess?" she asked. Vincent turned her around to face a huge icon hung on
the exterior wall.
She was one woman
and many woman at once, with the open arms of a mother, the demure face of a
virgin, the harsh eyes of a cruel judgment. She was old, she was young, she was
eternal. She was cold, yet ultimately loving. She was fickle, and fair. Gilden
all over, the icon was nonetheless given an image of simplicity.
A monk quietly
passed by in his gray robes, hunched over, ignoring them in his complete
entrancing devotion.
"Who is
she?" asked Lucrecia in a hushed tone, studying the woman's powerful
presence, so loving and motherly, so distant and foreign, so biting and
forboding.
Vincent stood
close next to her, looked up at the statue. "She has many names," he
answered in his deep, earnest voice. "Shiva, Mary,
Diana, Gaia, Tara. Some call her Isis, Rhea, Li, Kwilin, or simply the Goddess,
the Mother. The Moon, Nature, the Virgin, it doesn't really matter. She's a
symbol for something...beyond."
"Beyond what?"
"Beyond what we know." He took
her hands in his. "Beyond the bounds of possible beauty." She turned
to face him, the moonlight beaming softly on her as she tilted her head upwards
towards him. "Beyond the bounds of earthly perfection." She looked in
his eyes and saw deep, deep, dark, and something beyond... "...beyond what
words can describe...something...deep, inside, unbidden, incomprehensible, and
intangible."
"Vincent...why do you believe in
God?"
"Because I believe in
love."
And looking at her
that night, kissing her smooth lips for the first time under the moon and the
stars and the dark endless night, he believed himself.
To Lucrecia,
Vincent's response never answered her
question. Instead, it restated it. Why did Vincent believe in that something
beyond? How could he believe in what he couldn't touch, feel, see, examine, prove? God
is Love? She didn't believe in either. Not until she could put God on an
operating table and run an MRI, dissect him, do a blood test. Not until she
could stick Love under a microscope and study the cellular composition. Not
until...until...
She felt herself
faltering.
And she kissed
him, she did, when he kissed her she kissed him back, her hands warm under the
protection of his dark coat, but she felt dirty. She felt...unsanitary, common.
This was something you read about in supermarket aisle novels. This was
something you watched on made for TV specials. There was nothing beyond, there
was nothing that could take over her mind or actions or fate that easily.
Nothing could control her.... She...She was...more than that. She
was...she felt....
The eyes on the
icon of the Goddess had been staring down at her all night. Lucrecia couldn't
keep her own eyes off of that thing. It seemed like the eyes were gazing
specifically at her, following her every move, judging her. It seemed like they
were telling her something, disapproving silently as she walked and conversed
with Vincent. Vincent, eyes shut to the world, open only for her, did not
notice. And now, as his lips first touched hers, she looked upwards at the holy,
pale face. She looked at the demure features and gleaming halo, and she swore
she saw the eyes of the Goddess cry tears of blood.
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