Part IV
The scream rings out later, when we're all but swallowed b the desert beast. At first, I think it's an illusion of distance, or the cry of some desolate night bird, but Vash stops, stiff in his tracks, immediately. When it's followed with a second plea, I turn around to face him- but my uncle is gone, racing across the sands. Already, he is far ahead of me, a shadow on the sands, moving too fast. No one should be able to run like that. But I understand, and perhaps a measure of his speed is reflected in me- or perhaps I am so frightened, it only seems like I'm running on the wind. Moments or eons later, my feet burning from the whip of sands so recently gentle, I come to the house; the door off its hinges, a window broken, a few solitary lights burning upstairs. Picking up speed again, I run upstairs.
God- so much blood...
MOTHER!
The cry of my heart is echoed aloud; my uncle turns around from where he is knelt, Meryl's fingers entwined within his own. He didn't hear me until I shouted. I'm not sure he hears me now. I don't. All I know, consuming, is that my mother-
God. What has happened? I fall to my knees, much as Vash has; still looking at me, our eyes meet, equally blurred. He cradles Meryl; I my mother.
Why?
Mother. Why? Of all the people in the world, why you? I'd rather give my own life than see you dead- not like this, a twisted parody of eternal rest. To die in pain- God! I wouldn't wish that on anyone, no matter what my temper- why does it happen to you?
Vash is shaking, or perhaps it's only my own vision that trembles. Bent over her, he's nothing like the man I've known my whole life. Broken. Like me. And probably thinking the very same thoughts.
"Adam." His voice manages to emerge, half strangled, from the figure before me. It's far too calm, and that more than anything is what makes me look up. Standing before me, Vash is looking out the window. And suddenly I understand what happened here.
"It's time for us to go."
He made me leave first, after I'd said my goodbyes- I don't know whether he wanted the privacy, or meant to put them as much at rest as he could. It didn't matter to me. With nothing to do, I found my skin itching- sand, blood, and grief tangled over it, and the scent of death, in my nostrils, covered all. I felt the need to scrub my flesh clean. So, while Vash remained, I went to do just that.
Hot water is a marvelous thing when you're cold inside, but it didn't quite melt the core of the ice. I wasn't sure I wanted it to. Numbness can be a good thing. The water was tinged pink. I scoured my skin until it nearly matched the hue that drifted serenely around me. And then, crying out, I drained the blood-soaked stuff and poured a new bath, heedless of the waste of water. The more I rubbed, the better I felt, and yet...
Vash found me on the bed. I'd had nowhere else to go. Wrapped in a blanket, staring at the wall, dripping. My skin was still flushed and warm. He didn't say anything for a while; neither did I, for words deserted my tongue. Finally, the silence grew too heavy, and I turned to him, though the movement was resisted by the weight of grief. He was standing straight, and on his face was an unfamiliar expression- pure blankness. It looked practiced, natural. I wondered if I could match it; it must be nice to have a wall to hide the pain behind.
He was wearing the red coat. I'd seen it once before, wandering around exploring the attic as a child. And of course I knew it was what he'd worn for his long years as an outlaw. But to see it on him was something different, over the bodysuit of jet black. He looked every bit the reckless killer to me. My laughing uncle was utterly banished from his demeanor; in his place stood Vash the Stampede, destroyer of cities, a man worth sixty billion double dollars.
The shock was almost enough to make me forget, for a moment, why he'd done it. As I sat staring, he ran a hand back through his hair. He'd brushed it up, so it stood above him, glinting dully in the soft, predawn light. For a moment, I thought I had something to say; then the vision of my mother slipped across my eyes again, and I looked back at the wall, falling into myself.
"Wolfwood."
He called. I ignored.
"Wolfwood. Adam."
A spark of recognition- yes, that was me. It had been. Now I was void.
"Adam. Get up."
Why wouldn't he leave me alone? I was grieving. I was grief. I didn't want to confront anything as alive as that.
"Adam. Come on. We have to go."
The coolness in his voice had hardened to ice; it was a command. Numb, I obeyed, dragging on some clothing- yesterday's shirt, because it was the only one I had that wasn't covered in blood. Still numb, I stared at Vash. He waited for me to put on my shoes, and then turned. Although every fiber of my muscles screamed at me to sit down and fall away again, I knew I had to follow him. Down the hall, up the staircase into the storage space above. He ignored the first door- the one that led to Knives' room- knowing full well his brother would already be gone. I wasn't so sure, so I opened it up to look.
Tough break, kid. The words were scrawled on the far wall. I slammed the door, tremors renewed.
"You shouldn't have done that." Vash was standing ahead, looking away from me. I didn't bother to answer- it was the truth, and words still deserted me.
Vash waited a moment more, and a hand went to his throat. Briefly it cradled something, before the taut black-covered fingers clutched and pulled away; the faintest glimmer of silver trailed after them, the chain falling to hang limp and lifeless from his fingers. A key. Without looking at me, he fitted it to the door. Though I'd never known him to open it before, the hinges responded without a creak, and the room itself- as much as I could see past my uncle's shoulders- was clean. He moved forward, a bit of a glow within the shadows for a moment. I half-followed, but as I arrived behind him, Vash emerged, a black strap slung across one shoulder.
From it hung the Cross. It couldn't be anything else.
"If he'd known it would come to this... Well, God knows I've always hoped you'd never have to take it up." Vash sighed, letting the bottom of the cross hit the ground. It was heavy-sounding, somehow final. He took a step to the side and gave it a gentle sway- nearly falling onto me, I caught it with one shoulder, grunting at the impact. He waited; I tried to find a comfortable (or at least manageable) way to carry the thing- my arms aren't strong enough yet to drag it by the strap. Finally, balancing it precariously over one shoulder, I turned to find Vash walking down the hallway already, sidestepping to put more distance between he and his brother's room. I followed again- there was nothing more to do.
Outside, Vash stood watching the first sun rise. As it climbed, its fellow peeking over the horizon's edge, he put on a pair of sunglasses. The light flashed on golden lenses, almost as though my uncle's eyes had gone luminous. Squinting, I dug in my jacket's pockets for my own pair, trying not to overbalance. By the time I had them on, he'd moved, like a mirage, to stand beside the car. I walked around it, considering angles for a moment, and managed to fit the cross into the backseat. Vash was sitting by then, a silent passenger. I could nearly feel the strength of his will; my uncle was once more a man on a quest, and for a moment, I realized that this could be it. Vash would sacrifice everything, this time, because he had nothing left to guard.
Which meant I'd have to guard myself...