Chapter 9: And Then
At first, Cloud thought skin was melting off his body as the fiery inferno, like a tornado, consumed him, sweeping Cloud up into the air and hurling him down again in an endless cycle. He felt specks of debris hit his legs and arms and did the only thing he could to protect himself: bury his face in his arms. Even doing this, he was exposed and vulnerable.
Cloud had no concept of time, no sense of direction, and was finding it hard to think. When he was finally slammed down on the hard, cold floor, his senses were gasping with relief. His body shook from shock, and beads of perspiration dripped off of his brow. He couldn't see. The room was too bright. Cloud squinted his eyes shut and pushed himself up on to his feet. The wind had stopped but his skin still stung.
There was a ruffling sound approaching Cloud from the side. He turned and attempted to open his eyes but the light blinded him. All he could do was stand there and wait.
Now he could distinguish footsteps, the footsteps of a woman. Finally, she was standing right next to him, breathing on his neck. Cloud didn't move. He could have knocked her down, could have run, could have done something, but he didn't. He felt as if this person was in him, and not in the sense that he was in himself, because technically he was. In the sense that if he thought, if his mind was alive anywhere, that's where this woman would be.
She placed her hand on Cloud's shoulder, sending shivers down his spine.
"I 've been waiting…" Her voice was sweet and full of wisdom. It rang in Cloud's ears with a bad aftertaste.
Indecision plagued Cloud's mind. What should he say? What should he do? What the HELL was going on?
The woman leaned over, grasping his shoulder tighter and tighter, and hissed, "Welcome to my world." With that she squeezed, allowing all her fingernails like knives to penetrate the skin and draw blood.
Cloud yelped in pain, pain so furious it was like fire. And he fell. And she laughed… as Tifa watched Cloud's body, his physical body, his shoulder began to bleed. Still, Cloud slept on…. And kept falling… And the woman kept laughing… and Tifa began to cry.
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Papers: yellow, pink, and plain old white, were spread out across the entire desk. At present, all activity had stopped. The papers were not being shuffled or even looked at. Reeve sat in a large leather chair, rocking with his back to his desk. He was watching out the window. A pigeon, a rat with wings, had decided to construct her nest on the statue decorating the front of his building. He watched how precisely the bird placed the twigs together, how it lined the inside with thread and cloth from the gutters. This mother, mother to be, was devoted to her young. Reeve was fascinated, but also angry. Why? He wasn't quite sure. He never liked pigeons, or hated them for that matter. This bird just rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was that it was piling a bunch of crap on his statue, or that it would probably splatter his car, parked in front, with its white droppings. Well, these things would irritate anyone, that is, anyone who has time to really think and allow themselves to be annoyed. Reeve certainly had enough time.
Nowadays, Reeve was "living the life". He owned his own company, fully armed with a staff of presidents, vice-presidents, secretaries, and managers. His dealings with ShinRa were behind him. Not to mention, he had become a model citizen; he recycled, he waved to everyone, always had a compliment ready, mowed the lawn of the old lady on his block…. And he had created a constructive program to enlist the services of the former Turks. This is what he was most proud of. After all, everyone deserves a second chance and, although many of the Turks were dead, the ones remaining had many important skills. Actually, the Turk organization, now known as Genus (which is really the abbreviation of the institution, but no one knows what it stands for… that's Reeve's little joke...) has become a private, or really public investigative service. They are in essence, the solvers of the unsolved mysteries, trackers of the fugitives, and examiners of the unexplainable. These are the jobs that the police force doesn't have the time to invest in. Perfect for Reeve's project. And as of yet, every case undertaken by Genus has been successfully closed. Plus, Reeve had recently built a university for the education of young agents wanting to make Genus their career.
Amid employing 12,400 people, running a crime solving organization, donating to charities, building schools, investing in companies, giving loans, and handling paperwork, Reeve consistently found time to sit back and reflect. A paper was never overlooked, never late. An employee was never pushed aside, a meeting was never not kept, a lunch conference never not attended… still Reeve had time to kill. So here he was, watching a pigeon, a rat with wings, build its nest.
Then there was a knock at the door. Reeve didn't bother to turn around. Libby, his personal assistant, was always coming in to drop off paperwork. He was watching the pigeon weave a strand of red thread into her nest.
"Sir, Agent Black here to report."
The voice was young, unable to hide the nervousness of the speaker.
The leather chair swung around to reveal a boy, barely fifteen years of age, with short black hair, which he spiked up on the top of his head (as was the trend with all teenagers… Reeve always joked with Cloud about it, accusing him of being a trendsetter). His eyes were blue, deeply set into his face, giving him a troubled appearance, which was enhanced by his tight jaw and fidgeting hands. Reeve remained seated, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped. He decided that he liked this agent. But that wasn't really a recommendation. Reeve had a tendency to like everyone, at first.
"You're from the academy?" Reeve asked, motioning for the boy to take a seat.
"No… no, sir, not from the academy. I'm an agent at Genus and I was, ummm, I ..."
Reeve couldn't suppress the smile spreading across his face. Black was too busy searching his pockets for something to notice. In any case, Reeve was glad for the distraction and concealed his emotions before Black found the folded piece of paper in his shirt pocket. He constantly finds humor in the younger agents… it always seems as if they're acting a part too big for them.
Black's sigh of relief was audible. "Sir, I was instructed to update you on the situation of case 0847209…"
Reeve reached his hand forward for the paper before Black could begin reading it. He always felt like an idiot when people read things to him. Black fidgeted in his chair while Reeve's eyes skimmed the paper. It was about a girl who killed a man… turned him into dust? There's an interesting theory for you… sometimes the Genus agents seemed to have an overactive imagination… in any case, the girl was apprehended and under high security. All in all, it was a standard, if just a bit unusual, form. That's when Reeve saw the signature on the bottom of the sheet. Reno. He should have known. Reeve put the paper down. It was a bunch of shit. Reno never wrote reports. He never followed procedure. Reeve was furious. Reno was using Genus for some personal business. If he thinks he can go behind my back… Reeve stood, ready to march himself down to headquarters and beat the shit out of the former Turk, but Black stood between Reeve and the door.
"Do you have anything else for me?" Reeve barked, anger oozing out of his voice.
"N-n-no, Sir." Beads of sweat trickled down the young man's face. He shifted his body from one leg to the other, standing face to face with Reeve.
Reeve sighed, mastering his emotions and turned from Black, taking a few steps toward the window. "Do you have a gun?" Reeve asked in a monotone voice.
"…yes, sir." Black hesitated before drawing the weapon from his side. For an instant, Black suspected that Reeve would shot him on the spot.
Reeve reached his hand out for the gun. It was light, cold to the touch. The shiny black surface was in perfect condition: it had never been used. He held the weapon out in front of him, his arm straight as an arrow. Reeve didn't open the window. He just cocked his head to one side, arm still extended, and fired.
Bang.
Black jumped at the sound, raising his hands to his ears. He hadn't even seen Reeve take the safety off. The window, of course, shattered upon impact. Glass coated the floor.
"That's better." Reeve tossed the gun back to Black. Black was still shaking from shock.
"… S-s-sir?"
"Oh," Reeve seemed slightly embarrassed, "I just remembered it was fall."
Black looked blankly at Reeve.
"Earlier, I was watching this rat, I mean pigeon, build a nest, you know?" Reeve tried to explain. "I had to get rid of it."
Black's face, clouded previously, began to crinkle with confused understanding, "You shot a bird because it's fall."
"Smart kid. Now, how did you get here? Car, bus, taxi?"
"I drove… was it diseased? Or some sort of robot sent to spy on Genus operations?"
"Didn't you hear me? It was building a nest in fall. I won't allow the stupidest bird in the city to procreate and spread its genes on to future generations. Besides it's just unnatural… I mean, my GOD, it's fall!"
Black opened his mouth to respond, but Reeve cut him off. "Then you can give me a ride down to Genus holding facility."
"Yes, sir, but Agent Reno…"
"I don't care what that asshole said, I'll talk to him myself when I get there."
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Tifa sat slumped over her knees, supporting her head in her hands. She shook involuntarily from head to toe, her breath short and painful. Crying had made her lungs sore and her mouth dry. Streams of tears drifted down her face, glistening in the florescent light from the hospital's waiting room ceiling. She felt as if someone had drained every bit of liquid out of her, and still the tears came. Tifa had been there for hours. And through it all, Barret had stayed beside her, holding her hand and fetching her numerous cups of coffee. Now he stoked her back, saying nothing. There was nothing to say. It was a game of waiting… agonizing for all involved.
Tifa took a deep breath, brushing her tears aside, and lifted her head to her surroundings. Vincent sat across from her, erect in his seat, with Yuffie sleeping on his shoulder. To her right was Barret, almost as worn out as she was, but still there to lend an encouraging smile as she glanced his way. On her other side was Cid, fidgeting nonstop and having loud outbursts of cursing fits every so often. His head was all bandaged up from the beating he was giving by Rude. Tifa knew Cid blamed himself for what had happened to Cloud. Oh, Cloud… she shivered even thinking of his name… Of course, Cloud had left a note… Tifa hated that note. It was the most horrible thing she had ever read. That he even needed to leave a note told her how hopeless his situation was… it was his goodbye, but what about her goodbye? It just made her sick. What Cloud had done was suicide. But he owned a piece of Tifa's soul. He had her entire heart… without him, she couldn't go on…
Tifa folded her hands, lowing her head with closed eyes. Her mouth moved, but not a drop of sound passed from her lips. She was praying. Praying to God, praying to the ancients, but most of all, praying to Aeris. What else could she do…
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