Big Investments

Squall had set the hotel alarm clock to six o'clock in the morning and at that precise time, the radio turned on and music filled the room. Squall lifted a heavy hand and squashed out the sounds with a mighty smack. He tossed a bit in the sheets for a while and decided on a warm shower. Business had to be taken care of early.

He stripped down in the bathroom and succumbed to the warm water. It woke him up slowly, not too brusquely and he was able to think clearly, though the steam soon etched itself across the glass. The first question on his mind was, "Why did Rinoa keep the end of her bargain?" Maybe she was a woman of her word. But that would still leave her betrayal unexplained for. "Why would she rid herself of me if it wasn't for the money she owed me? Was I a pain in the ass?" The situation blurred.

He turned off the water and wrapped a white towel around his waist. He stepped out of the steamy room and went for the television remote. He picked a news channel and listened for a split second before picking up his garments off the floor and pulling them back on. After zipping his jeans he reached for his t-shirt but stopped when a headline caught his attention, "There is still no news as to the escapees from the crashed jail bus. It is said that the three suspects are still at large and the police have had no leads on the identities of the men."

"Three?" Squall asked the television set. The Diabolos had bailed him and Rodrigo out. Who was the third person? And how did he escape? Squall rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully and began pulling on his t-shirt slowly. When he was done, he continued to stare at the television. The anchor had moved onto sports news. He clicked it off and returned to the bathroom where he brushed his teeth and shaved. Twenty minutes later he had his running shoes on and was just about to slip into his jacket to leave the room for good.

As a force of habit he looked around the hotel room, scanning for things he may have forgotten. It was a routine that he did when he had shared hotel rooms with Rinoa. She always managed to forget something, no matter how important or essential it was to have around. It was a blessing when they had finally gotten an apartment.

He wondered if she still had that apartment. Chances pointed to 'no'. If she didn't want him to know where he could find her so to avoid contact, she would have certainly sold the apartment and moved to a different district entirely. He ran his hand through his still dampish hair and opened the door into the hotel hallways. He shut it softly and made his way to the elevator.

He dropped his spare key down at the reception, paid his bill and left the hotel through the parking lot. His first stop was a BMW establishment. The salesman looked eager to sell in his checkered suit as he pointed at various, expensive, automobiles that they presently had in their collection, "And that one's a fine car." He pointed to a 645Ci, coupe model. "Top speed 155 miles per hour. Six speed gearbox, eight cylinders, 325 horsepower, leather interior, fully equipped!" Even though Squall had no idea what the man had just told him he nodded smiling, "Bargain price - $80,000!"

Squall continued nodding but his smile faded slightly, "With all do respect, I have the feeling you're screwing me." He declared to the 'honest' thief bluntly.

The salesman put on a big, toothy, fake smile, "No, no, sir. I assure you that this is a bargain price. There's no mileage on the car! It's brand, spanking new!" The pitchman tapped the hood of the car and winked, "You don't want to pass this up."

"Ok … let's bargain here." Squall's voice lowered and he leaned in closer, "I have more in my pocket than you probably make in an entire year. I'm offering you the chance to make your one-month salary right now. I'll buy the car for $65,000. I'll give you a thousand bucks to take my present wheels back to the rental shop. How's that?"

"Actually, I make $2490 a month. Not counting commission." The salesman smiled shaking his head, "No deal. Now you're screwing me."

Squall's eyebrows raised and he retorted quickly, "Yeah, well that divorce is going to be eating a hole in your pocket." The salesperson looked confused so Squall explained painstakingly, "There's lipstick on your fly … your zipper … yeah, there." The man cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Yeah … better not let your wife see that. So does my screwing you seem more inviting now?" The checkered one nodded curtly.

Squall paid in cash, signed the registration papers and slapped down another thousand dollars in cash to the dealer. He wrote down the address of the rental place, "It's already been paid for. So, just drop it off and say it's from Mr. Leonhart. It was nice doing business with you." Squall held out his hand to shake. The dealer reluctantly reached across the paper-littered desk and shook it firmly.

Squall picked up the keys to his new wheels and smirked. He was out the door at the count of ten and speeding down the street.

WHILE SQUALL WAS having his little joy ride, Rinoa was only just waking up. A painful process for her to go through. First, she stretched and turned over. It was only on mornings where there were no interruptions that this long method was efficiently completed. She then groaned in utter repulsion at the fact that she was now awake and that there was no turning back. It was then time to open her eyes, just a slit so they could get used to the rays that managed to peak through her blinds. When she felt ready she opened them fully and engaged a staring contest with her alarm clock. This lasted about five minutes.

"Come on … blink me the wrong time … just for a split second. Just to fool me." She muttered to it in a tone of conspiracy, "Tell me it's only three a.m. and that I can go back to bed. Please?" The clock refused to yield her the results she yearned for. She cursed under her breath.

When she finally came to accept the fact that it was ten to nine and that she could not do anything about it, she stretched off her bed and sat on the edge, rubbing her eyes, scratching her head, yawning, mumbling and kicking around her slippers.

When she finally slipped into them, she walked groggily towards the bathroom. Naturally, she miscalculated the width of the doorway and slammed into the frame, "Mornings fucking suck." She declared in an incoherent mutter, and managed to enter the bathroom, close and lock the door without further injuring herself.

She managed to shed her clothing, even if she was semi-asleep, and turn on the shower. The warm water seemed to make her dizzy and she was afraid of passing out so, with all the willpower she possessed, she turned the cold tap on all the way. "Holy shit!" She screamed out when her commands took effect and she found herself twisting it down again.

When her shower was taken she dried her hair (the heat of the hairdryer nearly making her fall into a deep coma once again) and dressed insanely slowly. After her undergarments, she pulled on her jeans slowly. The times she had nearly fallen asleep while dressing that morning were uncountable.

It took her twenty minutes to find a shirt she wanted to wear and it was mostly due to the fact that she was staring at her open drawer blankly. It took her some good time to finally close the door entirely and search her closet for a baby blue blouse that took at least five minutes to button up entirely. She forgot she needed socks and stumbled out to the kitchen, this time tripping over a stair. Luckily she managed to catch herself before her jaw hit the ceramic tiles, though her knee ended up bruised.

When she attempted to make coffee, the pot broke and she cut her fingers. Now in an uncontrollable fit of swears, she slammed the remainder of the pot in the sink sending it exploding in shambles of glass that flew in all directions. She let water run over her cuts for a while and then wrapped her wounded hand in a dishcloth. The last remaining, functional phone in her house rang and she picked it up in the kitchen, "What? Who the fuck is this and what the fuck do you want?"

SQUALL DID NOT know his way around the city very well however, luck smiled upon him this morning as he easily found, with the help of a pedestrian, a real estate agent. He strode into the man's office. "I'm here to see Mr. Maxwell." A gentleman clad in cowboy boots and two gallon hat stepped up.

"That would be me, son. How can I help you on this fine day?" Maxwell held out a business handshake, which Squall took up firmly.

"I'm looking for a comfortable apartment. Preferably in the heart of the city where I can have easy access to everything, I want there to be one bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchen, one big living room and a smaller room for an office or something. Also, a garage … a private one. Actually, make that three garages, I might add a few cars to my collection. My prices range from $120,000 to $300,000." Squall took a seat in front of Maxwell's desk.

The real estate agent whistled, "Deling may be a city of prestige but you can get yourself a pretty big apartment with those price ranges. Sure you don't want to go a little lower? Those monthly payments could eat away your pockets and your pants with it."

"No worries, I just bought a $100,000 car and I paid in cash. Mr. Maxwell, I'm willing to double your commission if you find me a decent apartment meeting all the requirements before today at noon. I need to do an odd job for an acquaintance and then I'll be back here, where you'll be with my dream domain. Ok?"

"I can't work miracles, my boy … but I sure as Hell can find you a real nice place. I'm on your case." Maxwell shook Squall's hand once more and accompanied him to the door of his bureau, "Ciao, son."

"I'll see you soon." Squall promised and then informed Maxwell of his last requests, "Oh, and I prefer to be on a higher floor. Also, fully furnished. And the present resident had to be ready to move out today. I'm not staying homeless." He finished on a warning note, "Got that, Maxwell?"

"Your demands have been taking note of." Maxwell reassured him, "But don't you get any ideas that all your requests will be met on the bull's eye. Real estate isn't Barbie and Ken." Maxwell leaned on the wooden frame of his office.

"Neither is life. But a client's expectations should always be met if you want him to come again." Squall replied and walked towards his vehicle. Maxwell watched him get into his BMW and drive away.

"Damn fresh ass. Good kid though … any kid's good when he offers you double the commission, I can tell." Maxwell muttered some more to himself and returned inside his office to begin his search for his demanding client.

SQUALL WAS JUST beginning to throw his money around while Rinoa was listening to Irvine's penny-pinching lecture over the phone. He had been the caller at the wrong time. She clenched her jaw and stayed rooted on the spot, a minor setback that she suffered from having thrown the portable to the wall, "Now, as long as we have Seifer on our side, we should be ok for the cash situation but don't forget that we're protecting Dincht, we have to hire more men."

Rinoa rolled her eyes and was attempting to mop away her mess. Her temper was beginning to flare but she did her best to shut her mouth and listen to him ramble on, "That means buying more weapons. So I was thinking doing a little bribery around town. Or you know? Screw bribery. Let's go with the threats. We can watch the prices tumble off those rocket launchers and shotguns! Anyways, and that means no more shopping sprees for you."

"So that immediately insinuates no more whores for you! Or drugs or alcohol or strip joint V.I.P. memberships!" It was the final straw. He really hadn't picked the right morning to mess around with her, "Had fun at last night's party, eh Irvine? I'm glad your head isn't splitting in two from the hangovers but you've probably had so many fucking painkillers that you're not even sure where you are anymore!"

There was a short silence on the phone and Irvine cleared his throat to begin again, "Well, maybe cutting down on the shopping sprees is a little much. I mean, we each need to have our own little entertainment once in a while. I mean, life isn't all work, right? Rinoa? Right?"

She rolled her eyes on the other end, wishing he could see just how annoyed she was, "No, of course not." She drawled sarcastically, picking up a few shards of glass off of the ceramic kitchen floor, "Though I don't see how your life is any work."

"Hey, hey, I do work too!" Irvine defended himself, "Maybe I have more of a sex life than you do and henceforth, I'm not a crazy workaholic but that doesn't mean I do my share of the deal, Rinoa! I respectively do my part and I spend my pay the way I want to, it's none of your business. Both of us get a fair cut-"

"Alright, shut up!" Rinoa snapped irritably and threw another glass shard in the sink where she was accumulating them, "God, how long can you go on for? Oh, and like I want to know!" There was another silence on the phone and Rinoa finally spoke up again, "I spoke to father yesterday evening. Well, I say evening … it was more around midnight. Right after you called, actually … but you probably don't remember calling me at all."

"Oh yeah, he called?" Irvine asked curiously and he didn't need to tell her that he wanted to know about how the conversation went. This scenario was too familiar to him. Random calls from Caraways weren't common but when they occurred, it was big news.

"Yeah, he was amiable to do such a thing. Shocking, I know. Check outside, has the world begun spinning clockwise on its axis?" She joked sardonically and continued on, "So, basically, don't step onto DeGracia territory anymore unless you want bullets to whiz at your head. Well, the old man's full of empty threats but I guess we've got too much to lose."

"DeGracia? He's formed an alliance with DeGracia? Aren't they competitors or something?" Irvine asked and Rinoa could picture him scratching his head in thought.

"Yes, you could say that." She covered-up quickly, "Well, either way … just tell our men to stay away. He didn't seem too happy. Well, like that's news but, you know … sometimes when he's just formulated a plot to screw us off or something he's got a bit of cheer in his voice and-"

"Did you ask about my mother?" Irvine interrupted her anxiously, "He didn't mention her or anything? You didn't … ask?"

Rinoa remained silent for a moment and she cleared her throat, "No, I didn't ask about her." She bit her lower lip nervously trying to be comprehensive but failing, "Is there a particular reason why I should be asking?"

"Could you stop thinking of yourself for just a moment here?" Irvine scowled angrily and Rinoa couldn't help but feel a little remorseful at her attitude. "So, I'm guessing you have no news of her whatsoever?"

"No, I don't." Rinoa admitted bluntly and gave her excuses, "One, I do not care. Two, I'm not your messenger. Three, I do not care. Four, it would have looked oddly suspicious that I inquired about my step-mother." She spoke the final words with utter repulsion, "And five, I really don't care!"

Irvine snapped back irritably, "I care! And you know I can't muster the nausea when I call your father! So I usually have to get the news from you! I don't like your dad either, but if he died I'd be at his funeral at least pretending to cry!"

"Now that's odd, I wouldn't even bother to show up at the funeral at all. And you're even ready to act your grief? Phew, you're a good guy, Irvine." Rinoa quipped scathingly and rolled her eyes, "Anyways, why don't you check up on your own goddamn mother? I don't ask you to visit mine in the cemetery every fucking month!" Suddenly, rage overcame her and she slammed the receiver back down onto the cradle of the phone.

It was a demon that Rinoa Heartilly had not yet overcome. She never had closure to her mother's untimely death. Still today, her passing loomed over her every move. Each shadow on the wall seemed to be her. Though Julia, Caraway's first wife, was beneath seven feet of cold dirt, she was still unburied to her daughter. Rage still bubbled in her veins when her mother's demise was mentioned. "It's not fair, it's just not fair!" Her fifteen-year-old-self in her nightmares proclaimed.

A mother's death is the first tragedy one must face without her. Rinoa had not been able to deal with it well. Ever since the tender age of five, she had resented her father and taken comfort and safety within her mother's arms. Once the maternal figure was gone, there was no one to turn to. There was no safety, nor comfort anywhere. She was a lost little soul, grievously dancing in and out of the watchful eyes of the hired sitters.

Pure hatred had spawned from her when she had met her father's 'new girlfriend', Linda Kinneas. A divorced woman that wore floral perfume to a point of distaste and had bore one son to her previous husband. The boy's name was Irvine and he was roughly a year older than Rinoa was. As soon as her picky gaze had fallen upon the tall, slim young man she had taken it as her personal mission to make his life a living Hell.

She had done everything to drive away Miss Linda and her son, to prevail the image of her mother in the household. To save her dignity as her father had simply thrown it away. Though in the end, it had been in vain as an engagement ring was bought, and not even with her consent, was given to Linda Kinneas. That night she had been enraged to a point of insanity. Her temper flaring, she had thrown breakables at the wall and tyrannously ripped curtains. In her fit she had even slammed her fist against Irvine's nose when he had attempted to comfort her.

After she was worn out, feeling worse than before and now crying openly she had stopped and curled up in a desolate corner of her ransacked room. She had hugged her knees tightly to her chest and let the tears stream down her already moist cheeks. No one had come to comfort her. No one had come to tell her that things would get better. Simply because she had no one left.

She had jerked herself from reality and refused anyone's help. Rinoa Heartilly suffered alone and wished no one to be near her for months. She ate her dinner in her room and only stepped out to go to school. Her private bathroom was linked to her bedroom and the room itself contained everything to relieve a young girl's boredom. As the years passed, she occasionally went out with friends but she left the house by her bedroom window. Never had she asked her father for permission to go anywhere.

A certain night during her seventeenth year, she had clambered up her window after a night on the town in a state of intoxication. Various chemicals had been injected into her bloodstream and she had drunk an entire bottle of vodka to herself. As she heaved herself through the window, dizziness caught hold and she suddenly felt nauseous. Stumbling across her wooden floor she made her way to the bathroom and violently threw up in the toilet.

The bright light was rudely flicked on and she cringed as her eyes desperately tried adapting. A sneering voice spoke out quietly so not to wake the other habitants in the household, "Had a fun night?" She wished to reply, to muster the strength to hit him or at least to stand on her two feet to face him. "Oh, don't get up for me." She heard his footsteps leave the bathroom.


With the remaining strength and functional brain services, she managed to pull the flush and get up on two shaky legs to rinse her mouth and wash her face. The cold water seemed to help her attain a certain level of sobriety and calmed her erratic nerves. Irvine came back into the bathroom and placed a cup of coffee on the bathroom counter.

"Listen, that's the last thing I need if I want to sleep tonight." She spoke quickly like a hyperactive child on Christmas morning, "It's called speed for a reason."


Irvine nodded sneeringly as he understood and dumped the coffee down the drain. She watched the hot liquid whirl down the sink and shook her head and blinked furiously. Her hands were shaking and she felt as if the energy was about to make her body erupt into flames. She had never felt so worse or guilty in her entire life. And now, a jury was before her about to declare a verdict. She suddenly became suspicious of Irvine. Would he dare snitch on her?

She watched her 'step-brother'; though she refused to refer him as that, strike a match and light a cigarette. It was when she realized that he was no cleaner than she. But her mind was working too fast, trying to formulate anxious conclusions. She rubbed her temples as she picked up warning signs of a migraine heading in her general direction. She was anything but calm at that present moment.

"So … tell me, why speed?" Irvine took a puff of his cigarette and threw the match in the nearby garbage can, "Why not try and attain euphoria or a general feeling of well-being? See, you jam that shit up your nose or in your veins and you hop more than a fucking rabbit on steroids."

"The dealer had nothing else, ok?" Rinoa snapped back, increasing her grip on the edge of the counter to make her shaking less apparent. It wasn't working. Her knuckles were turning white and the tremors were still very visible to Irvine. She couldn't get her wild nerves under control.


Irvine shook his head and his look turned to one of sympathy, "Don't do that to yourself. You can seriously see that your body can't handle it." He took another long drag of his cancer stick; "You'll probably end up setting your neurons on fire."

"Don't fucking tell me what I should or shouldn't do!" She hissed, her tone of voice was quick as she couldn't control any other pace of speech, "Who the fuck asked you anyway? Go back to where ever the Hell you came from! Take your fucking mother with you." If humanely possible, her grip tightened in a rush of fury.

"I would if I could." Irvine threw the butt of his cigarette in the toilet and turned to the door, "Good night." She did not watch him leave but she heard his footsteps creeping quietly out of her room and into the hallway. They faded away to where she didn't care. When she felt ready she flicked off the light and blessed the calming darkness. She managed undress, pull on a t-shirt and pajama pants and climb into bed but that was all she accomplished. Her eyes darted back and forth on the black ceiling as insomnia settle in. "Never again …" She swore to herself, "Never …"

She couldn't bear it anymore. Rinoa spent the entire night wide-awake, slowly driving herself insane, being tormented by the side effects of the drugs. Her heart beat so hard in her chest that she feared it would explode or that her veins could not stand this rapid pumping of blood and that they would collapse. Rinoa feared dying that night. She lay there until the amphetamines wore off. It was then that she was finally able to drift in an uneasy sleep, agonized by nightmares of being alone. She woke, to find that it was a reality.

Life went on as usual. Irvine never told Caraway or his mother of the little midnight event that had occurred with his 'step-sister' and Rinoa was secretly grateful. The last thing she needed was to have her father on her back. As much as she was beginning to detest loneliness, his company was even less appreciated. Seasons passed. Rinoa and Irvine were forced into exile together, in the southern part of Galbadia, to Winhill for entire summer vacations. Both hated it there. There was nothing to do.



Eventually, as they both became certified adults, Rinoa had completely kicked the drugs though Irvine meddled with them on occasion. The two stepsiblings formed a unique bond of trust that none ever spoke of with the other. It was a mutual, silent agreement and it was simply of no use getting emotional by discussing it. An understanding that would later prove to be profiting for the both of them, almost like a lucky investment.

VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: If I don't get anymore reviews, it means there is a lack of interest. A lack of interest means I won't bother writing something that is judged to be uninteresting.

Random Question: If I were to write original fiction, not relating to FF8 and posted it on Fictionpress.Com … would any of you read it?