Author's Note: This originally was just one long story, but for convenience
I've decided to split it into several parts, and post them within a few
days of each other. Thanks to darknightdestiny for the idea of splitting it
up, it IS more manageable this way. I'm not gonna lie, this is a very dark
demented fic. It has an 'R' rating due to its general twisted-ness, gore,
and Hojo's potty-mouth. You've been warned...
Part five is up, and six will be up by the time you read this. I just want to say thanks to everyone that's still reading this. It's been a long, weird trip, and it's not going to be over anytime soon.
~ Rene (seasonofthepumpkin)
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A few hours till dawn...how much longer would the rest of the team be in Midgar anyway? How much longer would he have the luxury of being able to do his dirty work out in the open without fear of espousal? How much longer before nosy co-workers would begin asking prying questions about why Vincent Valentine of the Turks had suddenly decided to go for the vampy gothic look, and was mumbling about dearly departed Lucrecia, and why there was blood all over the basement? They had taken Lucrecia's son down with them, leaving him here to pretty muchtie up all the loose ends, and to keep an eye on his ill wife.
And he had the biggest loose end of all sitting in front of him. He would have to do something with him; he couldn't just let him go back to Shin-Ra in this condition. Besides, he knew too much. But what could Hojo do with him? And he might be running out of time. He would have to make his decision soon, tomorrow at the latest.
"Not much more we can do here. JENOVA's taking rather good care of you I'd say. She likes you. No surprise there. Hmph. You're quite a mess though. Look like you crawled out of a fast-food dumpster or something. I'm sure I don't look so hot either. D'ya know you have blood caked all down the right side of your face? I've really let sanitation go straight to hell, haven't I? " He watched the man for any sign that he had been listening, but found none. Vincent was much too absorbed in his own thoughts to listen to Hojo's babbling.
Now that Lucrecia was gone, what purpose did he have in this world? Why should he keep on struggling when there was really nothing to struggle for? It was amazing in a way; he'd never really known how much he needed her until she had left. He'd known he loved her with all of his heart and soul, that he'd die for her in an instant, but he'd never realized exactly how much he loved her until now, and he couldn't even tell her now. He thought back to that evening, the last time he'd seen her.
That night she had looked so desperately ill, so utterly drained a week after giving birth. She had tried to hide her deplorable condition from him, denying any pain, refusing to admit she was dying. She had even tried to smile as she denied her pain, insisting she was just tired, that painful little smile burned into his mind for the rest of his life.
She had looked so small in her bed, so frail underneath all of those blankets concealing her tiny body, she had looked almost like a caricature of a little girl waiting to hear her bedtime story for the night. And she had been so pretty, even now, withered away to a mere shell of herself she had looked so pretty. It seemed tragic that one dying should be so beautiful, no one should look as pretty as she did while they were dying. She had attempted to sit up when he entered the room, and had to be coaxed into laying back down.
He had been so mad at Hojo for doing this to her, but when he had mentioned going down to the basement to settle up with him, Lucrecia's already colorless face paled, and she had grabbed his hand begging him not to confront Hojo. She refused to let go, growing more restless by the moment, even trying to rise from her bed until he gave in to her request if only to make her calm down. She had smiled again, he remembered, this time the smile was a tired one.
She had lain back at his insistence, and closed her eyes for what would be the last time. He had stood over her a long time, debating on whether to kiss her before leaving the room. She looked so tired, and so peaceful he hated to disturb her, but he hated to leave without kissing her.
Finally, he bent over her to gently brush her lips when he noticed that the blanket over her bosom was not rising and falling in time with her erratic breathing. He drew back, realizing how peaceful she looked, too peaceful in fact. He extended a trembling hand to check for her pulse, and found none. She had slipped away, left before he could even begin to tell her all the things he needed to tell her, before he could even kiss her.
He had shouted for help, but of course no one had responded, the place was empty save for Hojo, and he was down in the basement. He had desperately tried to resuscitate her, performing CPR for almost half an hour, the whole time knowing his labor was in vain, she was growing cold. He had cried, had pleaded with her not to leave, to say something, to say anything.
There had been so much he wanted to tell her, but now he would never be able to tell her.
"Crecia...I never got to tell her goodbye..." He murmured, cradling his face in his right palm and incomplete left wrist. "Never will...she's gone, she's gone..."
"Don't spazz out on me again, Valentine. Are you in there?" Hojo took hold of Vincent's shoulder, and shook him gently. "Snap out of it."
"I wanted to be there, Crecia...I..." He moaned, shaking his head vigorously, flinging blood-tinged tears onto Hojo's already stained labcoat. Once again he had become trapped in his nightmare, removed from reality and lost in illusion. What was more torturous, the past or the present? His present tormentor, Hojo had pushed his body to the limit, tortured him mercilessly, given him to JENOVA. His past tormentors were none other than the woman he had loved with a frightful passion, and his own guilty conscience which barraged him with memories, tainted with JENOVA's delusions. With the past and the presence so daunting, where could he escape the torment?
"Come on, Valentine. You're a mess. At least I should clean you up before I decide what to do with you. And I have a huge mess to clean up. Why'd you have to bleed everywhere? Geez, couldn't you have stayed over the rug or something?" Hojo attempted to lift his companion to his feet, with limited success. Vincent stumbled a few teetering steps in the direction he was being led in, still murmuring faintly, a distant look in his crimson eyes.
"Steady...gods, blood everywhere...ugh. It'll take me a while to clean this up, and I don't have the time. Maybe I can pass it off as an experiment gone awry...well, it wouldn't be lying, now would it? And then I have to decide exactly what I am going to do with you...I can't just let you wander around the mansion in this state, y'know." Hojo led his charge to a chair, and carefully seated him. Vincent's head hung lowly, his hair obscuring his blank face. He seemed to be off in another world, Hojo noted dispassionately, flicking a strand of blood-caked hair out of the Turk's face.
"Come on now, I need you here in the real world; you can't just run from your problems. You'll have to face them eventually, they won't just go away. Face it." Vincent blinked slowly, tears still flowing from his swollen eyes. He could hear Hojo; hear him in the background all distorted and fuzzy, but his own mental wailing was his primary focus at the moment. He was mourning Lucrecia's death, torn between respecting her last wish, and wanting to confront her husband in his sterile little lab, to show him exactly what he had done to the most perfect woman on the Planet. His reverie was ended abruptly, Hojo shaking him by the shoulders to snap him out of it.
"Uhn..." He wheezed, blood dribbling out of his parted lips spattering onto his lap making little dime-sized spots of crimson on the tattered, filthy navy-blue. He had bitten his tongue violently, Hojo realized, most likely while he had been mooning over his lost love.
"Ach, I fix you up, and what do you do? You try to ruin all of my hard work," He drew a restore materia from his pocket, and concentrated on activating it, focusing it's power on Vincent. "And you're very lucky I have the mental energy left to use it on you, I fear if I don't get some rest soon I think I will have a nervous breakdown of some sort. ..ah, you'll have to make do with a lower level spell, I just don't have the energy to cast a higher one. The things I do for you." A faint green light emanated from the emerald orb he cupped in his left hand, head bent almost as in prayer. He clasped his right hand over the left, eyes closed tightly in concentration. The misty light enveloped Vincent's battered body, settling upon him like a green blanket, seeming to sink into him, absorbed greedily by his body. The light faded, Hojo tucked the orb back into his pocket soberly.
"...my head..." Vincent clutched at his head weakly, eyes squeezed shut in pain. "...the voices...all the voices..." Nodding absentmindedly at Vincent's rambling, Hojo reached around for the cooled boiling water he had sterilized his surgical instruments in earlier; after all, some things just had to be done properly, no matter how bizarre the situation was. He dipped a cloth into it, wringing out most of the water he scrubbed the dried, caked blood from Vincent's face, the cool cloth soothing his fevered skin.
"You're hearing voices, hmmm? Not unusual at all. And if you pay close attention, you'll notice that the voices are not JENOVA. JENOVA has periods of dormancy, where she is relatively silent, but she's still in there, make no mistake. These voices will never shut up, and they'll be in there buzzing in the back of your head every waking moment. You'll gradually learn to tune them out, it'll take a while, but you will. But they will always be in there. I never could figure out exactly what they are, I guess it's sort of like always having a guilty conscience, one that will never let you be. " Hojo dipped the cloth into the pink-tinged water, continuing to scrub the blood from Vincent's face, uncovering ivory white under the crusty crimson mask. Now he could see Vincent's face much more clearly, unobscured by hair and blood. Two accusing red orbs settled on him, silently damning him for his sins, boring into him even now.
"It's Crecia...she hates me...ah, she'll never, ever forgive me...I'm damned, damned for sure." Vincent sighed sadly, his mood shifting from anger to one of gloomy self hatred. Hojo had really only seen three of his moods this entire time. Hate, fear, and sorrow. He was sure the Turk had an entirely different personality with Lucrecia; he had to have had done more than hiss, moan, and frown. Even as temperamental as he was now, he still wasn't a monster, he was just pathetic for lack of a better word. He hadn't taunted Hojo with the fact he had stolen his wife as he had expected, although he had taunted Vincent plenty, about everything. And yet, though Vincent was no saint, Hojo felt that he had to be a thousand times as evil as the man who sat before him. Vincent had continually damned himself, cursed himself, broken completely over Lucrecia. And what had Hojo done? He had blamed someone else for everything, accepting none of the blame, refusing to admit he had been wrong. He was sorry about Lucrecia, but would he do it again given the chance?
Yes. Yes he would, wouldn't hesitate to.
And was he sorry about making Valentine suffer?
Well...yes, on a lower degree. But he'd do it again. He'd not hesitate to shoot him, and give him over to his mistress all over again.
As for the blame, Why should he accept it? It was all Valentine and JENOVA's fault, certainly not his own. He had merely gone along with everything, granted he had done JENOVA's dirty work, he had done it on her insistence. So in his mind he therefore he was blameless, and Lucrecia was merely a victim of circumstance. He felt no guilt for Lucrecia's death, and probably never would.
Valentine was another matter. Hojo had begun with the intention of harming him, so it could not really be called an accident, he couldn't claim he did not know the consequences of what he had done. Nor could JENOVA be blamed entirely, she had not even come into play while he had originally entertained his thoughts of revenge. In fact, she had told him to let Valentine die, which he had refused to do, though looking back he realized this would be the wiser thing to do. She had in essence been punishing him for his disobedience by compelling him to inject her cells into Valentine; creating a very sticky situation, a formidable, unpredictable enemy, and gaining herself a new host to boot.
So he was to blame for anything that happened to Valentine now, whether he accepted it or not. As little as he liked it, Valentine was his responsibility until Valentine's death. So as the icing on the cake, he now had to look after his rival. JENOVA had really outdone herself this time, he had to admit it.
It was ironic he did not feel guilty over his own wife's death, but he was going insane with guilt over his biggest rival's situation. Hojo had never really felt guilty over anything before, he had always been able to blame it on JENOVA, blame it on his job, blame it on Valentine, blame it on Gast, blame it on anybody but himself. This time there was no one to blame but himself.
"That just sucks, doesn't it? For once you'll have to take responsibility for your own actions, dear. Mother tried to warn you, but of course you didn't want to listen because you thought you knew better than Mother. Well? He's alive, you got what you wanted, now what will you do with him? After all, it wouldn't do for him to just wander out of the basement right out into the open, and expose your little experiment, now would it?" JENOVA had returned, not that she had ever left. "In fact, that really wouldn't do at all. You know that little fool, he just gets 'ideas', almost like someone else planted them there." She sang mischievously, shifting herself about much to Hojo's discomfort.
"You wouldn't..." He retorted nervously, understanding perfectly what JENOVA had in mind. Gods, she was such a bitch, her spitefulness never failed to astound him. "If you do that, they'll take me away, and then who will be your drudge? As for Valentine, who knows what they will do with him, probably lock him up in a nut house or something. Maybe we'd be roommates." He finished bitterly, wishing JENOVA had a more tangible form so he could just strangle her, wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until she was breathless, and he was satisfied,. But even if that was possible he sure as hell wouldn't do it, not with JENOVA up there capable of creating a bastard of a headache, manipulating his own body, or gods know what. Was he her devoted servant, or a grudging slave? Who knew, or indeed who cared? He'd do as she asked,, no commanded either way.
"But it would be such fun," She twittered maliciously. "To see the look on everyone's face when that Turk bursts out of the basement with a loaded gun ready to kill all of them. To see the look on his face when he realizes Mother doesn't give a damn about him, and neither does Lucrecia. And most of all the look on your face when they drag you off to a nice quiet sanitarium where they take your shoelaces and belt and you walk around in a hospital gown all day and write home with a dull green crayon. Or maybe they'll send you off to prison. Such possibilities, and all of them would be so much fun to watch."
"But if you did that, who would do for you? You never answered that." He was sure he had an ace up his sleeve, maybe a stained, bent, filthy card, but an ace nonetheless.
"Have you forgotten the child?" Five chilling words ripped that card from him, tearing it into a thousand pieces and blowing the pieces into his disbelieving face. Dammit, she was right. "Anyway, who says Mother can't use you if she wants to? It doesn't matter to Mother where you are, if she wants to use you she'll do it. Think padded white walls will get you away from me? Think again."
"Don't do this..."
"Mother doesn't know, she might change her mind. If you're good..."
"Fine," He sighed, still sponging off the pale man with the now red cloth, as if it were an automatic action. "Just don't do that. Don't tell Valentine things like you have, he doesn't know what's going on. Your dark humor is lost on him, he doesn't know he's being controlled, he doesn't see through your illusions. The joke is wasted on him. So why bother?"
"Ah, Mr. Valentine is much brighter than you give him credit for. He understands. Sure, he's just a big stupid ape with a big scary gun in a blue suit, but he has an animal intelligence. That's not an entirely bad thing, sometimes more primitive things are the best. An angered beast is the ultimate killing machine, even more so than a Turk. No dull reason and no weak emotions to get in the way, just glorious, senseless mass slaughter. Like I've said, the man is little more than a beast, a filthy, smelly, idiotic animal that has to be restrained for his own good. But even the stupidest animal has some understanding. The game is simple, you kill him, he kills you. Either way I win. Even that moron could understand. Or are you just protecting him? Have you gone soft love?" JENOVA's wispy voice was playful, but it did not mask her cruel words. JENOVA thought little of either of them, they were just two meat puppets to play with till she tired of them, and then cut the strings that suspended them over a cavern of insanity.
"No, it's just the man is dangerous, and confusing him makes him all the more so. I hate the bastard, but he is not in the best condition right now, so I have to take that into account. At the least I have to keep an eye on him, even if no one is here I can't have him wandering around the place," He reasoned quietly, brushing the crusty, flaking blood out of the Turk's hair with his pale fingers. The Turk sighed heavily, hearing all of JENOVA's threats echo from Hojo's skull straight to his own. Wouldn't she ever leave him alone? What did she plan to make him do?
Would he do for her, be her obedient little killing machine, her stupid ape? Would she force him against his will, or even worse, twist his reasoning until he wanted to do as she asked? It was all so unnerving, so utterly frightening, that this...thing could have such power. Had the malicious voice tormented Lucrecia as well? He felt his anger grow at that; no one hurt his 'Crecia, be they a cold husband or a bitch of a space germ. What had she told 'Crecia?
"What did you tell my 'Crecia? Did you do this to her, did you torture her like this?" The Turk drew himself up, to stand and face the eerie voice, almost if he could challenge her face to face. "Did you fester in her brain, haunt her dreams, tear down the loveliest structure on this Planet? Answer me!"
"Just sit down, your arguing with her won't do anything, just sit down and shut up." Grasping his right arm he attempted to pull him down to the ground again succeeding only in making Vincent wobble a little. Despite the fuzziness in his head and the man's insistent tugging, he managed to stand his ground.
"Don't stop him, dear. Mother loves to talk with her toys. You ask what the woman heard, Vincent love? Why don't you see for yourself, see first hand."
Vincent immediately stumbled backwards, clutching his head, tears rolling out of his crimson eyes as JENOVA treated him with a demo of Lucrecia's agonies. The voices, mocking, accusing, sympathizing, angry, conspiratorial, representing a myriad of emotions pounded on him mercilessly, driving him down to the ground to shriek in suffering.
"Does he know? He knows, I know it, he knows! He's just waiting to call you down on it, run while you can! Run away, it's all you can do! Run, and don't look back!"
"You ungrateful wench, selfish little girl, just take everything and spit on it, go ahead! Leave your husband who has tried to help you and run to that Turk, he'll leave you, you watch, I know he will, that's his type. He'll leave you with that festering blob of tissues in your womb sucking you dry as we speak! Why would he want a monster such as yourself and that filthy cancer inside of you?!"
"What did you expect to happen? Who knows, you may have even infected your precious Turk...given him to me as well. Wouldn't that be lovely? Mother would love to possess him as well."
"Hojo never understood you; he doesn't love you. He only wanted to plant that wretched seed in you, and let it fester. Go with the Turk, he is your last chance for happiness, and for salvation from what you've done."
"And you know what 'Crecia m'love? After the baby is born, I'm gonna keep growing, keep spreading out until I have inhabited every wretched cell your pathetic body has to offer...I won't stop with this diseased mass of tissues you call a womb. I will keep growing, and then..."
"End it now, 'Crecia! Why bring a baby into the world only to have it ripped from you immediately after it's birth to be pricked and prodded by that quack you call a husband. Take the knife, and with your lifeblood blot out this transgression, this abomination you are nurturing inside of you. Leave this cold, cruel, unfair Planet and go on to the great green beyond. Why fight it? It has to be this way..."
"Lucrecia..."
"Lucrecia... my love..."
"'CRECIA!"
Then, silence. Vincent slowly rose to his knees, bloody tears streaking marbled white skin, steadily trickling down his cheeks to drip from his delicately pointed chin. This had been 'Crecia's torture, a whirling world of indecision, paranoia, fear, and illusions sired by her own guilt at what she was helping to bring about, and nurtured by the JENOVA in her. What had this gentle, caring woman, this fresh, pretty young creature done that was deserving of this unearthly torment? It was all so wrong!
"Why? Why did you do this? Why did you torment her to insanity, use her so cruelly, and then crush her like so much used tissue? I loved her...How could you do this?!" He cried bitterly, beseeching the cold, stone-hearted entity with his broken words. "I don't understand..."
JENOVA seemed to pause for a moment, contemplating this heart- breaking query delivered from her 'son's' bloodless lips. It was almost as if she were at a loss for words. Had this bitter lamentation melted her icy heart even in the least?
Apparently not. JENOVA's pause had been more for dramatic flair than penitent silence. Ah, she had Valentine right where she wanted him, she knew exactly where she must strike to find the chink in his armor. All humans had some chink or another, a place where they could be prodded slowly but surely into insanity, and a few good pokes was usually all it would take.
"Because you are a dumb beast. How could such as you ever hope to understand Mother's ways? And yes," she smirked cruelly, shifting her weight restlessly in Vincent's head, punctuating the ominous interjection with the ponderous motion. "Lucrecia...that wretched woman...she was no more than...a nut. Wouldn't you agree, Hojo?"
"I..." Hojo could not bring himself to answer her. God's she was so cold. He had wondered himself exactly what Vincent had asked, and he knew what was coming. Best to let her finish, and let the poor man see the truth. What good would lying to him do at this point? Besides, he would only find it out later.
"A nut...what a pun! See, a nut...holds a kernel. She was the shell...oho! I do love word plays, don't you? Quite a shell, too, by the end. Anyway, she was the shell that protected Mother's kernel. And everyone knows, once you've cracked your nut, and you have your kernel, you throw the broken shell away. So many metaphors, it's all quite rich. She was no more than an empty, babbling shell by the time Mother discarded her."
"...tell me one thing,' the dark man whispered brokenheartedly, torn into a thousand pieces over everything. "does she...hate me?"
"Oh, yes she certainly does! She curses you even now in the 'Lifestream'. I'll let you in on a secret, Turk. There is no refuge from the madness Mother brings, even in death. 'Crecia went straight to Hell. Not the fiery place with the red guy holding a pitchfork. No, there are no demons in this Hell." She smiled widely at the horror manifesting itself on Vincent's face, the horror she could see clearly from behind Hojo's brown eyes and feel keenly from her residence in Vincent's head. Ah, he was feeling this! She had made a very good poke indeed. A few more well placed ones would probably suffice in bending his mind into the insanity she wanted.
"The only demons," she continued, "are her hate-filled heart, her diseased mind, and of course Mother. She dwells inside of Mother now, rocked into tormented slumber by insanity. And the thing is, you helped break her, Valentine."
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(end part five)
Part five is up, and six will be up by the time you read this. I just want to say thanks to everyone that's still reading this. It's been a long, weird trip, and it's not going to be over anytime soon.
~ Rene (seasonofthepumpkin)
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A few hours till dawn...how much longer would the rest of the team be in Midgar anyway? How much longer would he have the luxury of being able to do his dirty work out in the open without fear of espousal? How much longer before nosy co-workers would begin asking prying questions about why Vincent Valentine of the Turks had suddenly decided to go for the vampy gothic look, and was mumbling about dearly departed Lucrecia, and why there was blood all over the basement? They had taken Lucrecia's son down with them, leaving him here to pretty muchtie up all the loose ends, and to keep an eye on his ill wife.
And he had the biggest loose end of all sitting in front of him. He would have to do something with him; he couldn't just let him go back to Shin-Ra in this condition. Besides, he knew too much. But what could Hojo do with him? And he might be running out of time. He would have to make his decision soon, tomorrow at the latest.
"Not much more we can do here. JENOVA's taking rather good care of you I'd say. She likes you. No surprise there. Hmph. You're quite a mess though. Look like you crawled out of a fast-food dumpster or something. I'm sure I don't look so hot either. D'ya know you have blood caked all down the right side of your face? I've really let sanitation go straight to hell, haven't I? " He watched the man for any sign that he had been listening, but found none. Vincent was much too absorbed in his own thoughts to listen to Hojo's babbling.
Now that Lucrecia was gone, what purpose did he have in this world? Why should he keep on struggling when there was really nothing to struggle for? It was amazing in a way; he'd never really known how much he needed her until she had left. He'd known he loved her with all of his heart and soul, that he'd die for her in an instant, but he'd never realized exactly how much he loved her until now, and he couldn't even tell her now. He thought back to that evening, the last time he'd seen her.
That night she had looked so desperately ill, so utterly drained a week after giving birth. She had tried to hide her deplorable condition from him, denying any pain, refusing to admit she was dying. She had even tried to smile as she denied her pain, insisting she was just tired, that painful little smile burned into his mind for the rest of his life.
She had looked so small in her bed, so frail underneath all of those blankets concealing her tiny body, she had looked almost like a caricature of a little girl waiting to hear her bedtime story for the night. And she had been so pretty, even now, withered away to a mere shell of herself she had looked so pretty. It seemed tragic that one dying should be so beautiful, no one should look as pretty as she did while they were dying. She had attempted to sit up when he entered the room, and had to be coaxed into laying back down.
He had been so mad at Hojo for doing this to her, but when he had mentioned going down to the basement to settle up with him, Lucrecia's already colorless face paled, and she had grabbed his hand begging him not to confront Hojo. She refused to let go, growing more restless by the moment, even trying to rise from her bed until he gave in to her request if only to make her calm down. She had smiled again, he remembered, this time the smile was a tired one.
She had lain back at his insistence, and closed her eyes for what would be the last time. He had stood over her a long time, debating on whether to kiss her before leaving the room. She looked so tired, and so peaceful he hated to disturb her, but he hated to leave without kissing her.
Finally, he bent over her to gently brush her lips when he noticed that the blanket over her bosom was not rising and falling in time with her erratic breathing. He drew back, realizing how peaceful she looked, too peaceful in fact. He extended a trembling hand to check for her pulse, and found none. She had slipped away, left before he could even begin to tell her all the things he needed to tell her, before he could even kiss her.
He had shouted for help, but of course no one had responded, the place was empty save for Hojo, and he was down in the basement. He had desperately tried to resuscitate her, performing CPR for almost half an hour, the whole time knowing his labor was in vain, she was growing cold. He had cried, had pleaded with her not to leave, to say something, to say anything.
There had been so much he wanted to tell her, but now he would never be able to tell her.
"Crecia...I never got to tell her goodbye..." He murmured, cradling his face in his right palm and incomplete left wrist. "Never will...she's gone, she's gone..."
"Don't spazz out on me again, Valentine. Are you in there?" Hojo took hold of Vincent's shoulder, and shook him gently. "Snap out of it."
"I wanted to be there, Crecia...I..." He moaned, shaking his head vigorously, flinging blood-tinged tears onto Hojo's already stained labcoat. Once again he had become trapped in his nightmare, removed from reality and lost in illusion. What was more torturous, the past or the present? His present tormentor, Hojo had pushed his body to the limit, tortured him mercilessly, given him to JENOVA. His past tormentors were none other than the woman he had loved with a frightful passion, and his own guilty conscience which barraged him with memories, tainted with JENOVA's delusions. With the past and the presence so daunting, where could he escape the torment?
"Come on, Valentine. You're a mess. At least I should clean you up before I decide what to do with you. And I have a huge mess to clean up. Why'd you have to bleed everywhere? Geez, couldn't you have stayed over the rug or something?" Hojo attempted to lift his companion to his feet, with limited success. Vincent stumbled a few teetering steps in the direction he was being led in, still murmuring faintly, a distant look in his crimson eyes.
"Steady...gods, blood everywhere...ugh. It'll take me a while to clean this up, and I don't have the time. Maybe I can pass it off as an experiment gone awry...well, it wouldn't be lying, now would it? And then I have to decide exactly what I am going to do with you...I can't just let you wander around the mansion in this state, y'know." Hojo led his charge to a chair, and carefully seated him. Vincent's head hung lowly, his hair obscuring his blank face. He seemed to be off in another world, Hojo noted dispassionately, flicking a strand of blood-caked hair out of the Turk's face.
"Come on now, I need you here in the real world; you can't just run from your problems. You'll have to face them eventually, they won't just go away. Face it." Vincent blinked slowly, tears still flowing from his swollen eyes. He could hear Hojo; hear him in the background all distorted and fuzzy, but his own mental wailing was his primary focus at the moment. He was mourning Lucrecia's death, torn between respecting her last wish, and wanting to confront her husband in his sterile little lab, to show him exactly what he had done to the most perfect woman on the Planet. His reverie was ended abruptly, Hojo shaking him by the shoulders to snap him out of it.
"Uhn..." He wheezed, blood dribbling out of his parted lips spattering onto his lap making little dime-sized spots of crimson on the tattered, filthy navy-blue. He had bitten his tongue violently, Hojo realized, most likely while he had been mooning over his lost love.
"Ach, I fix you up, and what do you do? You try to ruin all of my hard work," He drew a restore materia from his pocket, and concentrated on activating it, focusing it's power on Vincent. "And you're very lucky I have the mental energy left to use it on you, I fear if I don't get some rest soon I think I will have a nervous breakdown of some sort. ..ah, you'll have to make do with a lower level spell, I just don't have the energy to cast a higher one. The things I do for you." A faint green light emanated from the emerald orb he cupped in his left hand, head bent almost as in prayer. He clasped his right hand over the left, eyes closed tightly in concentration. The misty light enveloped Vincent's battered body, settling upon him like a green blanket, seeming to sink into him, absorbed greedily by his body. The light faded, Hojo tucked the orb back into his pocket soberly.
"...my head..." Vincent clutched at his head weakly, eyes squeezed shut in pain. "...the voices...all the voices..." Nodding absentmindedly at Vincent's rambling, Hojo reached around for the cooled boiling water he had sterilized his surgical instruments in earlier; after all, some things just had to be done properly, no matter how bizarre the situation was. He dipped a cloth into it, wringing out most of the water he scrubbed the dried, caked blood from Vincent's face, the cool cloth soothing his fevered skin.
"You're hearing voices, hmmm? Not unusual at all. And if you pay close attention, you'll notice that the voices are not JENOVA. JENOVA has periods of dormancy, where she is relatively silent, but she's still in there, make no mistake. These voices will never shut up, and they'll be in there buzzing in the back of your head every waking moment. You'll gradually learn to tune them out, it'll take a while, but you will. But they will always be in there. I never could figure out exactly what they are, I guess it's sort of like always having a guilty conscience, one that will never let you be. " Hojo dipped the cloth into the pink-tinged water, continuing to scrub the blood from Vincent's face, uncovering ivory white under the crusty crimson mask. Now he could see Vincent's face much more clearly, unobscured by hair and blood. Two accusing red orbs settled on him, silently damning him for his sins, boring into him even now.
"It's Crecia...she hates me...ah, she'll never, ever forgive me...I'm damned, damned for sure." Vincent sighed sadly, his mood shifting from anger to one of gloomy self hatred. Hojo had really only seen three of his moods this entire time. Hate, fear, and sorrow. He was sure the Turk had an entirely different personality with Lucrecia; he had to have had done more than hiss, moan, and frown. Even as temperamental as he was now, he still wasn't a monster, he was just pathetic for lack of a better word. He hadn't taunted Hojo with the fact he had stolen his wife as he had expected, although he had taunted Vincent plenty, about everything. And yet, though Vincent was no saint, Hojo felt that he had to be a thousand times as evil as the man who sat before him. Vincent had continually damned himself, cursed himself, broken completely over Lucrecia. And what had Hojo done? He had blamed someone else for everything, accepting none of the blame, refusing to admit he had been wrong. He was sorry about Lucrecia, but would he do it again given the chance?
Yes. Yes he would, wouldn't hesitate to.
And was he sorry about making Valentine suffer?
Well...yes, on a lower degree. But he'd do it again. He'd not hesitate to shoot him, and give him over to his mistress all over again.
As for the blame, Why should he accept it? It was all Valentine and JENOVA's fault, certainly not his own. He had merely gone along with everything, granted he had done JENOVA's dirty work, he had done it on her insistence. So in his mind he therefore he was blameless, and Lucrecia was merely a victim of circumstance. He felt no guilt for Lucrecia's death, and probably never would.
Valentine was another matter. Hojo had begun with the intention of harming him, so it could not really be called an accident, he couldn't claim he did not know the consequences of what he had done. Nor could JENOVA be blamed entirely, she had not even come into play while he had originally entertained his thoughts of revenge. In fact, she had told him to let Valentine die, which he had refused to do, though looking back he realized this would be the wiser thing to do. She had in essence been punishing him for his disobedience by compelling him to inject her cells into Valentine; creating a very sticky situation, a formidable, unpredictable enemy, and gaining herself a new host to boot.
So he was to blame for anything that happened to Valentine now, whether he accepted it or not. As little as he liked it, Valentine was his responsibility until Valentine's death. So as the icing on the cake, he now had to look after his rival. JENOVA had really outdone herself this time, he had to admit it.
It was ironic he did not feel guilty over his own wife's death, but he was going insane with guilt over his biggest rival's situation. Hojo had never really felt guilty over anything before, he had always been able to blame it on JENOVA, blame it on his job, blame it on Valentine, blame it on Gast, blame it on anybody but himself. This time there was no one to blame but himself.
"That just sucks, doesn't it? For once you'll have to take responsibility for your own actions, dear. Mother tried to warn you, but of course you didn't want to listen because you thought you knew better than Mother. Well? He's alive, you got what you wanted, now what will you do with him? After all, it wouldn't do for him to just wander out of the basement right out into the open, and expose your little experiment, now would it?" JENOVA had returned, not that she had ever left. "In fact, that really wouldn't do at all. You know that little fool, he just gets 'ideas', almost like someone else planted them there." She sang mischievously, shifting herself about much to Hojo's discomfort.
"You wouldn't..." He retorted nervously, understanding perfectly what JENOVA had in mind. Gods, she was such a bitch, her spitefulness never failed to astound him. "If you do that, they'll take me away, and then who will be your drudge? As for Valentine, who knows what they will do with him, probably lock him up in a nut house or something. Maybe we'd be roommates." He finished bitterly, wishing JENOVA had a more tangible form so he could just strangle her, wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until she was breathless, and he was satisfied,. But even if that was possible he sure as hell wouldn't do it, not with JENOVA up there capable of creating a bastard of a headache, manipulating his own body, or gods know what. Was he her devoted servant, or a grudging slave? Who knew, or indeed who cared? He'd do as she asked,, no commanded either way.
"But it would be such fun," She twittered maliciously. "To see the look on everyone's face when that Turk bursts out of the basement with a loaded gun ready to kill all of them. To see the look on his face when he realizes Mother doesn't give a damn about him, and neither does Lucrecia. And most of all the look on your face when they drag you off to a nice quiet sanitarium where they take your shoelaces and belt and you walk around in a hospital gown all day and write home with a dull green crayon. Or maybe they'll send you off to prison. Such possibilities, and all of them would be so much fun to watch."
"But if you did that, who would do for you? You never answered that." He was sure he had an ace up his sleeve, maybe a stained, bent, filthy card, but an ace nonetheless.
"Have you forgotten the child?" Five chilling words ripped that card from him, tearing it into a thousand pieces and blowing the pieces into his disbelieving face. Dammit, she was right. "Anyway, who says Mother can't use you if she wants to? It doesn't matter to Mother where you are, if she wants to use you she'll do it. Think padded white walls will get you away from me? Think again."
"Don't do this..."
"Mother doesn't know, she might change her mind. If you're good..."
"Fine," He sighed, still sponging off the pale man with the now red cloth, as if it were an automatic action. "Just don't do that. Don't tell Valentine things like you have, he doesn't know what's going on. Your dark humor is lost on him, he doesn't know he's being controlled, he doesn't see through your illusions. The joke is wasted on him. So why bother?"
"Ah, Mr. Valentine is much brighter than you give him credit for. He understands. Sure, he's just a big stupid ape with a big scary gun in a blue suit, but he has an animal intelligence. That's not an entirely bad thing, sometimes more primitive things are the best. An angered beast is the ultimate killing machine, even more so than a Turk. No dull reason and no weak emotions to get in the way, just glorious, senseless mass slaughter. Like I've said, the man is little more than a beast, a filthy, smelly, idiotic animal that has to be restrained for his own good. But even the stupidest animal has some understanding. The game is simple, you kill him, he kills you. Either way I win. Even that moron could understand. Or are you just protecting him? Have you gone soft love?" JENOVA's wispy voice was playful, but it did not mask her cruel words. JENOVA thought little of either of them, they were just two meat puppets to play with till she tired of them, and then cut the strings that suspended them over a cavern of insanity.
"No, it's just the man is dangerous, and confusing him makes him all the more so. I hate the bastard, but he is not in the best condition right now, so I have to take that into account. At the least I have to keep an eye on him, even if no one is here I can't have him wandering around the place," He reasoned quietly, brushing the crusty, flaking blood out of the Turk's hair with his pale fingers. The Turk sighed heavily, hearing all of JENOVA's threats echo from Hojo's skull straight to his own. Wouldn't she ever leave him alone? What did she plan to make him do?
Would he do for her, be her obedient little killing machine, her stupid ape? Would she force him against his will, or even worse, twist his reasoning until he wanted to do as she asked? It was all so unnerving, so utterly frightening, that this...thing could have such power. Had the malicious voice tormented Lucrecia as well? He felt his anger grow at that; no one hurt his 'Crecia, be they a cold husband or a bitch of a space germ. What had she told 'Crecia?
"What did you tell my 'Crecia? Did you do this to her, did you torture her like this?" The Turk drew himself up, to stand and face the eerie voice, almost if he could challenge her face to face. "Did you fester in her brain, haunt her dreams, tear down the loveliest structure on this Planet? Answer me!"
"Just sit down, your arguing with her won't do anything, just sit down and shut up." Grasping his right arm he attempted to pull him down to the ground again succeeding only in making Vincent wobble a little. Despite the fuzziness in his head and the man's insistent tugging, he managed to stand his ground.
"Don't stop him, dear. Mother loves to talk with her toys. You ask what the woman heard, Vincent love? Why don't you see for yourself, see first hand."
Vincent immediately stumbled backwards, clutching his head, tears rolling out of his crimson eyes as JENOVA treated him with a demo of Lucrecia's agonies. The voices, mocking, accusing, sympathizing, angry, conspiratorial, representing a myriad of emotions pounded on him mercilessly, driving him down to the ground to shriek in suffering.
"Does he know? He knows, I know it, he knows! He's just waiting to call you down on it, run while you can! Run away, it's all you can do! Run, and don't look back!"
"You ungrateful wench, selfish little girl, just take everything and spit on it, go ahead! Leave your husband who has tried to help you and run to that Turk, he'll leave you, you watch, I know he will, that's his type. He'll leave you with that festering blob of tissues in your womb sucking you dry as we speak! Why would he want a monster such as yourself and that filthy cancer inside of you?!"
"What did you expect to happen? Who knows, you may have even infected your precious Turk...given him to me as well. Wouldn't that be lovely? Mother would love to possess him as well."
"Hojo never understood you; he doesn't love you. He only wanted to plant that wretched seed in you, and let it fester. Go with the Turk, he is your last chance for happiness, and for salvation from what you've done."
"And you know what 'Crecia m'love? After the baby is born, I'm gonna keep growing, keep spreading out until I have inhabited every wretched cell your pathetic body has to offer...I won't stop with this diseased mass of tissues you call a womb. I will keep growing, and then..."
"End it now, 'Crecia! Why bring a baby into the world only to have it ripped from you immediately after it's birth to be pricked and prodded by that quack you call a husband. Take the knife, and with your lifeblood blot out this transgression, this abomination you are nurturing inside of you. Leave this cold, cruel, unfair Planet and go on to the great green beyond. Why fight it? It has to be this way..."
"Lucrecia..."
"Lucrecia... my love..."
"'CRECIA!"
Then, silence. Vincent slowly rose to his knees, bloody tears streaking marbled white skin, steadily trickling down his cheeks to drip from his delicately pointed chin. This had been 'Crecia's torture, a whirling world of indecision, paranoia, fear, and illusions sired by her own guilt at what she was helping to bring about, and nurtured by the JENOVA in her. What had this gentle, caring woman, this fresh, pretty young creature done that was deserving of this unearthly torment? It was all so wrong!
"Why? Why did you do this? Why did you torment her to insanity, use her so cruelly, and then crush her like so much used tissue? I loved her...How could you do this?!" He cried bitterly, beseeching the cold, stone-hearted entity with his broken words. "I don't understand..."
JENOVA seemed to pause for a moment, contemplating this heart- breaking query delivered from her 'son's' bloodless lips. It was almost as if she were at a loss for words. Had this bitter lamentation melted her icy heart even in the least?
Apparently not. JENOVA's pause had been more for dramatic flair than penitent silence. Ah, she had Valentine right where she wanted him, she knew exactly where she must strike to find the chink in his armor. All humans had some chink or another, a place where they could be prodded slowly but surely into insanity, and a few good pokes was usually all it would take.
"Because you are a dumb beast. How could such as you ever hope to understand Mother's ways? And yes," she smirked cruelly, shifting her weight restlessly in Vincent's head, punctuating the ominous interjection with the ponderous motion. "Lucrecia...that wretched woman...she was no more than...a nut. Wouldn't you agree, Hojo?"
"I..." Hojo could not bring himself to answer her. God's she was so cold. He had wondered himself exactly what Vincent had asked, and he knew what was coming. Best to let her finish, and let the poor man see the truth. What good would lying to him do at this point? Besides, he would only find it out later.
"A nut...what a pun! See, a nut...holds a kernel. She was the shell...oho! I do love word plays, don't you? Quite a shell, too, by the end. Anyway, she was the shell that protected Mother's kernel. And everyone knows, once you've cracked your nut, and you have your kernel, you throw the broken shell away. So many metaphors, it's all quite rich. She was no more than an empty, babbling shell by the time Mother discarded her."
"...tell me one thing,' the dark man whispered brokenheartedly, torn into a thousand pieces over everything. "does she...hate me?"
"Oh, yes she certainly does! She curses you even now in the 'Lifestream'. I'll let you in on a secret, Turk. There is no refuge from the madness Mother brings, even in death. 'Crecia went straight to Hell. Not the fiery place with the red guy holding a pitchfork. No, there are no demons in this Hell." She smiled widely at the horror manifesting itself on Vincent's face, the horror she could see clearly from behind Hojo's brown eyes and feel keenly from her residence in Vincent's head. Ah, he was feeling this! She had made a very good poke indeed. A few more well placed ones would probably suffice in bending his mind into the insanity she wanted.
"The only demons," she continued, "are her hate-filled heart, her diseased mind, and of course Mother. She dwells inside of Mother now, rocked into tormented slumber by insanity. And the thing is, you helped break her, Valentine."
* * *
(end part five)