Chapter three: Home is Where the Hurt Is

Oh, just forget the five review rule..

"Okay, so how does it work?" Wormmon asked. He scratched an antenna with a single one of his many purple-tipped legs.

Scarecrowmon ran his gloved hands along the gold of the weapon in his hands and smiled softly, as if he was remembering some of the best times of his life. I thought my might have even seen a single crystal tear forming at the edge of his green triangular left eye.

My friend straightened up and directed his eyes to an empty ally to the right of the busy street, away from prying eyes. Again, I wondered if maybe his ability to read minds was something he failed to remember others could not do. I shivered about it, too. Great power is its own suicide button, Ken and Myotismon, my former master (Wizardmon never called him that), were great examples of that.

Once in the dark, decrepit alleyway, Kari, Ken, Wormmon, and I stared at the little red mage. What wheels were turning beneath that mask and beneath that beautiful blond hair? That scythe, Demi-Silence Scythe, I later found out it was called, didn't look like a way for us to get anywhere but a sack of fresh grain.

"It is that kind of thinking," Scarecrowmon laughed, "that almost got you killed. The failure to see what's below the surface, the unobvious as well as the obvious, you should work on that, as you will be farther from wherever 'home' is then you have ever been. Ever."

Before I could demand an explanation, Scarecrowmon thrust the scythe into thin air and dragged it down, slashing a gash *in midair*! Scarecrowmon turned around and gave us a sly smile, and stepped gracefully into the open portal. My partner and our friends fallowed my friend's lead, and wished we hadn't.

The place that Sarabi, possibly Scarecrowmon as well, called home was the single most depressive place aside from Hades. There was no color, aside from Kari's pink sweater and blue jeans, Ken's white shirt and blue jeans, Wormmon's green and purple body, my brown and green gloves and the purple on my tail and ears, and Scarecrowmon was a streak of red. Everything else was black and dismal. A heavy fog moved beneath our feet, so dense that we actually would have broken the knife, not that we could have seen to cut it. It was dark, darker then Myotismon's castle.

I have heard some very bizarre things come out of Wizardmon's mouth before. I have heard him say that he was unafraid of Myotismon. I have heard him say he was in no pain after Mytotismon beat him senseless for a day and left him to die in the slaves' quarters (that was Myotismon's idea of being nice: beat them every other day until they are near death, then give 'em a day to rest, as opposed to beating them to death, slowly over the period of a week). "Way back when", I heard him say he did not obey Myotismon, he followed me because I am his friend. However, nothing prepared me for what he said next.

He smiled, purist ecstasy lighting up his expressive green eyes in a way that tugged at my heart, "Welcome to the Gates of Oblivion. Welcome home."

Ken gaped, "You call *this* home?"

Scarecrowmon had his eyes closed, silent tears of joy (and maybe, loss?) ran down his unseen cheeks, "Not even the Sky has felt this close to home since the Primary Village."

Kari smiled gently, "You must have loved Trista and Sarabi very much!"

For a second, I thought I saw Scarecrowmon playing tag with a laughing girl who looked just as much like a bat-winged tiger as a human and a dark- haired woman who had an impression of great age.

"Very much, indeed."

Wormmon eyed Scarecrowmon very cautiously, as if he was afraid of hurting the boy's feelings (if anything, Scarecrwomon was no older the rest of us, but had gained more experience by training with Sarabi the way I gained more by surviving Myothismon's torture, however, Scarecrowmon still had the mind of a nine-year-old, since as far as he was concerned, the past five years had not happened, save for when he showed himself as a ghost and BlackWarGreymon).

Note to self: ask Scarecrowmon about that.

Scarecrowmon pointed off to the general left and said, "Let's go this way, I need to get something."

We walked for about twenty minutes with total silence. Scarecrowmon was off in dreamland re-living happier times and the rest of us were simply too scared to ask any more questions. The place was creepy and foreboding. We didn't like it, nor could we see how Scarecrowmon could call such a dismal place "home".

Finally, we reached a change in environment. It was little more then a set of curtains surrounding a bathroom that was only makeshift because I couldn't tell where the pipes ran to, two beds, a side-turned trunk that served as a closet, and a dresser, all made out of a beautiful, rich, red mahogany.

Scarecrowmon ran to the dresser and started digging through all kinds of miscellaneous items. I started to watch from Kari's shoulder. I saw him pick up a small diamond-shaped necklace and stuff it his pocket, mutter something about having the sense to leave it, and continue rummaging. Finally, he grabbed a wood and silver music box with tigers and panthers of all sorts of colors and held it up triumphantly.

"What's that?" I asked.

He opened the box and revealed a small supply of tiny, silver and green, glimmering microchips.

"These," he said, "Translate. Swallow them and they attach to your brainstem and connect to your brain."

Ken shifted, "I don't think I want anything else stuck to my brain."

Scarecrowmon laughed, "I've got one already. They're safe."

Ken smirked, "You have one? Now I'm worried." All the same, the former genius picked up a chip and swallowed it. He choked for a bit, but that didn't last long. Then he shivered a little, like he'd just swallowed bad catnip and a cold pill at the same time. Kari, Wormmon, and I each picked one up and swallowed it. After a few seconds, I could feel tiny electric impulses running to my brain. It felt *really* cool.

"Aren't you going to take one?" Kari inquired.

Wizardmon shook his head, "Got one."

From his perch on Ken's shoulder, Wormmon noticed a bunch of pictures. Some featured the same dark-haired girl or woman with a sad, wistful smile, a smile of loneliness. In the pictures of her and Sarabi and/or Scarecrowmon, her smile was much more.. warm and happy.

"So," Wormmon picked up the conversation, "If this 'Trista' person is supposed to be adopted mother to you and Sarabi both, where is she?"

Scarecrowmon stared at his soft leather-encased feet and softly muttered so low that it was hard to here, "I have been afraid to ask that question."

Kari protectively put a hand on my friend's shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Wiz--Scarecrowmon--my friend, swallowed hard, "Trista Meioh gave life and love to all she touched. She never wanted to hurt anyone, but it was her destiny, and mine, and Sarabi's. And yours, Gatomon.." the boy wan almost too choked up to talk further, but not quite, "And I'm afraid it killed her."