A/N: Sorry about the delay. I have way too much crap going on. But I just had my dance recital so I've got one less thing to worry about. And my last track meet is on Wednesday. Yeah, I'm really broken up about that. Boo- hoo. Lol. Then I'll have so much more time for ficcy! Anyway, back to the fic. :-)

Smoke and Mirrors Part Four

Vaughn's POV

Don't look back
Keep your head held high
Don't ask them why
Because life is short

"It's this one," I told Sydney as I came to a stop in front of a large cream colored colonial home. Or what used to be a large cream colored colonial home. Now it stood tall and eerie, some of the wooden frame works peeking out through the gaping scorch holes in the wall.

A few feet to the left of it, the place where the sun room and garage had been were almost completely gone, and the ground surrounding the blackened corner was blanketed with a thick layer of gray- white ash.

Stepping out if the car and slamming the door, I felt a chill run down my back. This was my home. This was where I grew up. This place, this yard... half of it was gone. This is my mother's tombstone.

"Vaughn?" I heard Sydney's voice calling me back to reality.

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure you want to do this? I mean we can... we can come back if this is too..."

"No Syd, it's okay. I have to do this.

And so we made our descent into the funhouse, unaware of the truth altering oddly shaped looking glasses and deceiving special effects that awaited us. 

And before you know
You're feeling old
And your heart is breaking
Don't hold on to the past
Well that's too much to ask

We started in the first room, the living room.

I slowly placed the two boxes I'd brought from the stock of about fifteen in the car on the floor, and Sydney did the same.

I looked around the room, what used to be my childhood adobe. It was filled with far off memories, everything somehow unaffected by the fire. I walked over to the fireplace and gingerly touched a framed photo on the mantle.

It was me, sitting on a bench at a zoo my parents had taken me to in Paris when I was seven. A year before my father died, a half a year before we'd moved to LA. In the picture, I was smiling widely and pointing at the gorilla in his cage behind me.

Sydney came up behind me and spoke in a soft voice. "Cute kid."

I smiled a little. "Thanks." Pause. "...Want to get started?"

She nodded and I grasped the picture by the copper frame and laid it in the first box.

We continued working this way for a while, wrapping the delicate items in tissue paper before packing them. Everything we picked up had a reminiscence attached, and it was all I could do to keep the warm tears from glazing over my sight.

This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to
Whenever I was in need
Of a friend

Eventually, after about an hour and a half and two trips back to the car for more boxes, we worked our way to the sun room.

The place that had clamed my mother's life.

Finally, I felt one of the tears I'd been holding in swell in the corner of my eye, causing Sydney to blur. I wiped it away before it slipped down my cheek and hoped she wouldn't notice. Too much to hope for, though.

"Vaughn... let's not do this room now..." she said slowly, taking my hand.

I didn't answer, but squeezed her hand quickly and guided her forward, straight into the rubble.

My mother loved this room. She'd sit in here for hours reading or singing. After my father died, I'd sometimes find her there crying, sobbing silently into the cuff of her sleeve. I'd climb onto the couch next to her and she's hug me until she fell asleep. This room was like her sanctuary, her escape from everything harmful and wrong.

Funny how something you love and trust so much can become your enemy in an instant.

No regrets
But I wish that you
Were here with me
Well then there's hope yet
I can see your face
In our secret place
You're not just a memory
Say goodbye to yesterday
Those are words I'll never say

We got back on our knees and started clearing things again in silence. After about ten minutes, I heard Sydney whisper, "Oh my God..."

I turned to see her holding a small box, the lid partially singed. In Sydney's hand was a yellowed, curling piece of paper. Fingers trembling, she handed it to me. Black Cyrillic letters screamed out at me from the rough, crumbling surface.

"Carrie:

Prodoljayete k treteemoo shatoo.

- I.D."

"Carrie- proceed to phase three- I.D.," I whispered, translating the letters.

"I.D...." Sydney muttered softly. "Irina Derevko."

This used to be my playground
This used to be our pride and joy
This used to be the place we ran to
That no one in the world could dare destroy

TBC...

***

A/N: Ok yeah um... sorry about the weak attempt to spell the Russian words. My Ukrainian friend taught me the Cyrillic letter, but I'm not really the best at actually writing out in English letters (or saying) the words. I just kinda sounded it out. Lol. That was my best shot. :-)