Disclaimer: I don't own anything Trigun, so don't sue me please, thank you!
Myshkin: Hope no one got any cavities from the last chapter; here's a trip to the dentist for you if you did.
Tying Up Loose Ends
Chapter Fourteen
From the Mixed Up Memories of Ms. Edwina M. Gardener
Vash and Isaiah had left for the locksmith's and Wolfwood decided he needed to drop the jeep off where they found it, but not before he cleaned it up a little bit. Edy couldn't help it if her back was a little oozy and that was understandable, but she was pretty much solely responsible for the Knives mess on the back seat. With the boys out and about that meant the only three souls in the house were Edy, Knives, and Roscoe, who was still pouting about being left alone for so long the day before but was about two more snacks away from complete and utter forgiveness.
Edy stood outside Knives' room, unable to make herself enter. With an inquiring and far too adorable to ignore cock of his head to the side, the dog managed to relieve some of Edy's nerves. Knives didn't want to hurt her, although he probably didn't like her too much right then, she told herself
At least Roscoe would be there to help with back up if necessary, she laughed to herself; he was extremely good at backing up (and out of) scary situations as quickly as the circumstances called for. Besides, if she didn't tend to Knives soon, things wouldn't go so well for the petulant plant. Not that it would bother Edy too badly.
Lord only knows why, Edy knocked. This guy didn't deserve courtesy but Edy had just given it to him. Good habits die hard.
"Come in," the curt reply shot through the door.
Edy entered, her arms full of a tray piled high with necessary items for the task at hand. She double-checked the lock and then approached the bed, managing to balance the tray on one arm and her hip while using the other to pull back the comforter. Knives simply sat there in a clean t-shirt and old slacks cut off just above the knees, watching her as she worked.
Neither spoke, Knives occasionally gasping or gritting his teeth from the probing pains. Edy hadn't given anything to dull it but Knives' tolerance for pain had risen dramatically in the past few days. Most people would be crying like a small child under this kind of ministration, but he refused to give her that sort of satisfaction. Of course, all the self-control in the world couldn't stop him from crying out in a hail storm of curses when she set the splints around his shins.
After finishing the slow, dirty, tedious work, Edy wiped her bloodied hands off on a towel and then used a clean corner to dab the sweat of off Knives' brow. She did all this in a brusque manner, not at all like her usual, kindly, professional self. Handing him a ceramic cup with the same potent sleeping draught as before, Edy stood, collecting the rest of her things. Knives took the cup but refused to drink, staring at her.
"You'd better drink up; you'll need your rest if you want to heal."
"But don't you all want me to stay awake? To never get better? It seems that you and Vash have similar ideas; cripple a person and chain him to a bed, that's the humane way," Knives muttered and then laughed, short and harsh. "Don't kill their body, just their soul, and very slowly at that."
Edy felt a twinge of guilt. He had a point….
"Do you like to read? I'll bring you some books if you promise you'll go to sleep now."
"Books are fine and all, but after staring at them for seven months straight all one could ask for is a little companionship, some company," he admitted to Edy as if it were a big secret, trying not to sound too calculating. "Vash hardly had time to talk to me; there were times I thought I would go mad if I didn't hear a voice, my voice… any voice."
Knives had been staring at the cup folded in his hands, resting in his lap. Choosing what he felt to be the proper moment, he looked up and straight into Edy's eyes. Pity looked back at him; she had a heart softer than his brother's, despite the frigid exterior she had turned towards him. She sighed.
"Drink up. I come back when Vash returns and us three, we'll have a lovely little chat," she said as she headed towards the door. "There's plenty that I need to know that I don't yet, and you two seem to be the ones to fill in the gaps."
"What is it you want to know about," he asked her retreating form, getting her to stop.
"Plenty of things, starting with what exactly are we and ending miles away with things I can only answer myself. How much of that can you two can satisfy, I don't know."
"I'll try," Knives said, just before the door clicked shut and locked. In the half-light he smiled to himself. She was impressionable and blank, like a freshly-gessoed canvas; Isaiah too, he would bet. They had started out in an unfavorable position, but with some time he could change that.
He didn't have much time, but Knives knew patience was his most important virtue. Vash had taken away the strength he received from their kin, making things so difficult, but Knives refused to believe he had failed when there was still time, no matter how little there was of it. Knives would heal, regain what was rightfully his, and send the ships straight to Hell.
Edy and Isaiah would help him do this, too.
* * * * *
Edy stood there, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Waves of blonde and black rushed downwards, crowding her face, covering her shoulders, trailing down her tender back, her chest, ending at last just above her rear. She couldn't remember the last time she cut her hair. That's right, she never had; Mother had given her last haircut only a week before the woman passed away. Committed suicide in a way.
The more you use your abilities, the blacker your hair will become until there is no blonde left. Then your body dies, echoed Vash's quiet voice in her head.
It was late, or early, depending on your point of view. The conversation between the two brothers and Edy had lasted much of the afternoon and all of the evening. Left to fend for themselves, Wolfwood and Isaiah reheated leftovers for dinner and spent most of the time ignoring each other.
I thought you said plants are immortal, had been her reply.
Only if they don't use their powers.
How old are you two?
Old. Well over a hundred years old.
She wondered how old Mother had been. In retrospect, her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother were probably all one in the same. It must have taken quite a bit of work to pull that scam off.
Edy was only 28, although she looked exactly like she did 20 years ago. Mother's hair had been almost completely black during Edy's entire lifetime, but Edwina had worked twice as much in 8 years as Edy had in twenty. Edy's hair had changed so much faster, gaining speed in the past few months especially. The intensity of the healing sickness had increased threefold as well. Mother never had healing sickness, just a headache; sometimes she went and laid down, too drowsy to stay awake, but never as much pain as Edy.
Apparently the part of her that was human couldn't handle the strain. At least, that seemed like the most plausible explanation to Edy; she didn't share this idea with the brothers, and kept her father's identity secret as well. Never talk about yourself.
Why are we here, outside of the bulb, she asked.
Who knows?
Weren't you born, Knives had said.
Yes, Edy was born. Edy had been born and reared by her biological parents, and no one else. She never questioned her normalcy, never questioned her parents or their decisions, never questioned anything. Never questioned, that is, until the first time she met a child, a real human child.
Mamma, she had asked that day, can I go to the store with you? Mamma looked at her and smiled, nodding.
You know, Edy, you mustn't talk about yourself to others, though, Mamma had reminded her.
I know, Mamma. I'd be rude if I did, she had replied. Mamma always told her that now that Edy could leave the house. Every single time she told her. Edy knew it backwards and forwards, and never disobeyed Mamma. In her seven years, Edy understood so well everything Mamma and Papa had told her; they said it was because she had been born so smart, so precocious. They told her she was so special that if anyone knew, they would be so jealous that they would be mean to her, maybe even hurt her. So Edy never talked about herself. She had become such a good listener, and read so much that she didn't need to talk about herself; a vast wealth of information swam through her brain, all of it far more interesting than who she was inside.
The cold handles of a pair of shears bit into her palm; Edy didn't remember when she picked up the scissors, but there they were. She had no idea what she was going to do with them, but she had them in hand anyways.
The store was crowded that day; Edy had been too nervous to actually go in with Mamma. Too many people. So she sat on the stoop out front, reading. A little boy came up to her, blanketing her in his little shadow.
Whatcha reading? he had asked her. She told him Dostoyevsky. He looked at her funny and told her bless you. Edy couldn't understand why. He looked to be about four, by her personal reckonings, and she had already read The Idiot twice by then.
How old are you? she questioned on a whim. It bothered her that he hadn't heard of Dostoyevsky yet. Didn't everyone know about the Ancient Russian author? Hadn't everyone read the same books as she had, the ones mother insisted on her reading?
I'm ten, gonna be eleven in a week, he said.
Edy just smiled in reply, confused. She talked with Mamma and Papa a long time that night, trying to understand. They just told her she was special again and to never let anyone know it. It didn't help her feel any better like it always did before. She knew she wasn't special then, she was different. That didn't always mean the same thing.
Without even realizing it, she had gathered her hair up into one large pony tail, shears open and ready to snap down, separating the long tresses from their roots. Edy closed her hand, working again and again to cut through the masses of hair. At last the majority fell to the floor in a heap, the remainder hanging ragged at her shoulders. Edy repeated the process again and again, with smaller sections this time.
The day Mamma died had been cold and dark, unnaturally so. A woman had been brought in with labor difficulties. They believed the child to be dead already, but the infant's body had become lodged in the birth canal feet first. The midwife couldn't do a thing. Edy watched from the dim hallway as they carried the woman into the front room, her frantic cries filling the house that had been so quiet all morning.
Papa had watched them come in, standing next to Edy, but when Mamma had went to follow, he grabbed her by the arm, tears coursing down his red, rugged face. Edy couldn't hear most their conversation but could see how upset Papa was; Mamma was sad too, but not so angry.
I know what you're planning to do, Papa had said. What about Edy, he said. What about me, he said. Mamma shook her head and pulled away. Papa had gently touched the sparse blonde streaks in her long bangs, one on each side of her middle part, each no wider than a pinky. Mamma was crying then too.
This is our way, one of endless sacrifice and salvation, Mamma choked out, not too loud, but enough for them both to hear in the hallway. Papa was furious; he slapped Mamma, something he had never done before. Mamma just looked at him like she understood, and then went to tend to the screaming woman. Edy ran to the kitchen, out the back door, off into the empty wilderness. She cried and cried and cried, not knowing why, only knowing everything was wrong. So wrong. She didn't come home until long after dark, returning at last to find the baby had miraculously been revived but her Mamma's touch, but Mamma had died. Mamma didn't make it.
Mamma left us, was all Papa could say. Mamma went away for good. We're alone now, sweetie.
Edy sat there among the pile of hair that had once been her own. Not much remained on her head; she had cut frightfully close. Nothing was longer than an inch, a soft, fluffy cap of hair that encircled her head, the bottom two-thirds black, the top blonde. She didn't cry, she didn't say anything. She just sat there, thinking, until Isaiah found her in the morning.