Chapter IX :: Interlude for Information
"I don't know how it happened! All I remember is sitting next to her, in the hospital, and then all of a sudden we were in her room, in Nibelheim—and Tifa was awake! She was talking to me. But…it couldn't have been her…she kept screaming and going on about how much she hated me, things that like that…" Such as threatening to kill me, for example, but I thought better of saying that out loud. I drifted off, thinking to myself, recollecting exactly what I had witnessed.
Barret stared at me, his face blank. He remained silent during and for a while after I described my enigmatic palaver with Tifa, or her conscience, whatever it had been.
On occasion I would catch a small red blur dart out of view through the corner of my vision.
"And?" He sounded skeptical.
"And? And I saw her! Tifa, she was angry for some reason. The moment she saw me she started yelling. And she said everything Aer—" I shut my mouth; he didn't know the things Aeris had elucidated for me during my short trip to Limbo, didn't know I'd seen her at all—and unless I wanted to be locked away with Tifa, I couldn't explain it to him.
He sighed. "Are you still sick? Do I need t'find a doctor for you too?"
"But Tifa…"
"Tifa nothin'! Why are y'making stuff up? You think I need y'tellin' me lies like this? Y'think I don't have enough on my mind already?" My heart sank: he didn't believe me…Why? Had I actually expected him to? "Cloud, listen, it was a dream, nothin' else…are you sure the mako or Jenova ain't manipulatin' you again or nothin'?"
I glared at him.
He averted his eyes from me, towards the floor. "Look, I been thinkin', y'know, about that proposal some of 'er doctors suggested." I felt my heart stop. "'Bout jes not doin' anything, y'know, if she were t'jes suddenly stop breathin'." A muffled squeal came from the hallway, though if Barret heard his daughter's sound of disapproval he hid the signs perfectly; I tried to remain calm, staring at him, difficult as it was to do so, and stayed put, my hands clenching and unclenching themselves in my lap.
"Wha…and you're calling me crazy?! When you're actually considering killing her?!" His head came up from being immersed in the floorboards, eyes old and resigned.
"This is hurtin' us all," he said softly. "There're cases where people stay that way forever, until they die of old age! I don' want Marlene growin' up with that. An'…an'," he struggled with the words, "wi' her schoolin' startin' up again this fall…I won't be able to afford it very soon." I could feel my face growing hot with anger.
"You're going to kill Tifa," I stated, words slow, "because you can't afford it?!" He opened his mouth to protest, but I couldn't let him speak; thinking made it hard to breathe. "Have you forgotten everything we went through, everything she's been through?! You're just going to ignore all of that because you don't want to find the money to pay a few doctors?" I knew instinctively my argument was a weak one—even I knew doctors didn't run cheap. But that wasn't the point. I couldn't very well explain to him my sudden haphazard idea on what had happened to the woman; how could I convince him that the encounter I'd had with her was what I had begun to believe it was—more than simply a dream I refused to forget? "You could bring her here, if that's it."
"Yer not listenin' to me," he countered. "I don' want Marlene growin' up with this…"
"In my opinion, I don't think she'd ever forgive you if you did go through with it," with a sideways glance at her shadow in the hallway. Even if he attempted to deny that, he knew deep down as well as I did it was true. "If money's the problem, I'll pay for it then. I've got enough, and when I run out, I'll get a job." I relaxed slightly, when the rebuttals ceased. "You don't want this anymore than I do," I said gently. "Just…hang in there for a while longer. I think…I think I might have this figured out." I didn't, really, not yet—pretending seemed appropriate, however; I was confident I would have it.
Barret shot me a disbelieving stare, but my words seemed enough to convince him, at least for now. I wasn't worried he would pick up the suggestion again too soon—somehow, I knew the main, if not the only, reason he'd brought it to my attention in the first place was because he wanted my condemnation, to put him back on track and keep him from wandering too far into doubt. Yet even so, I had to admit the truth of his words: it was difficult.
He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "I don' think I can handle much more o' this…" I nodded, silently; the shine of the glass suddenly took my interest and held.
"Don't worry. It won't be long now."
--
It wasn't until that evening did I notice the dark, misshapen stain on the ceiling of the parlor, looming haphazardly over my head while I slept—or lay trying to sleep. The summer night hummed with the buzzing of streetlamps and faint late-night television programs in the apartments above and below ours. Occasionally the motor of an automobile would pass down the street, then fade into the black. Minute beads of sweat had sprouted along my brow, and I made an effort to remain still in an attempt to create as little body heat as possible. July was nearly at its end; I'd been living with Barret and Marlene for just over a month, though it could have been only a few days or as much as several years and it would not have made a difference—Tifa was still in the hospital, and not one of us were ready to accept that the situation was hopeless.
I don't want you here. Go away.
I lay atop the thin sheets, staring at the spot and thinking of Tifa.
I wasn't confused. I merely couldn't find any reasonable rationalization on what had happened—aside from accepting the fact that it was a dream and nothing more, which it hadn't been. Nothing made sense as I saw it now, and that realization came in perfect clarity, not in the incoherent mass of uncertainty. I knew it hadn't been a dream, simply knew from the denial that had lodged itself in my chest, near my heart, that what I had seen—and heard—had in fact been real, or something very close to being real. Of course, I'd stopped trying to explain this to Barret—how could I convince him of this sureness when all I had to go by was gut instinct?
And I could also see how much strain all this was having on myself and my friends; I acknowledged Barret's plea for relief. The only one who seemed to hold a constant faith was Marlene, with a child's untiring sense of trust.
My mind fluttered from one idea to the next without settling, in the organized ignorance of what small bits I knew. At least she knows I'm alive…
…are you sure the mako or Jenova ain't manipulatin' you again or nothin'?
Thus began the process. My train of thought brought me back to when I had been controlled by the belligerent alien; where my sanity was forgotten, when killing Aeris and helping Sephiroth had seemed like the right thing to do. I shuddered involuntarily, repressing the guilt. I had threatened Aeris' life at least twice, and both times Tifa had been there to stop me from leaping over the edge. I stopped myself from imagining a life without her, whether she was alive or not. Jenova's domination on my conscience had made such feelings insignificant—trust, friendship, love—but now I was free to experience them. All that I had been able to reach were hate and the hunger for power, the sadistic infatuation with causing pain. No: what had happened today was not from the influence of any creature other than myself.
Then what was it?
I closed my eyes, unable to prevent the course that I was failing, failing Tifa and Barret and the rest of Avalanche and myself. I couldn't stand the idea, that here I was, lying helpless and doing nothing but reflecting. After all, Tifa had done this before—saved my own conscience from the false memories and overwhelming urge to simply give up. She went inside, pushing her own life aside to set mine straight. Why couldn't I do that for her now?
…are you sure the mako or Jenova ain't manipulatin' you again or nothin'?
I blinked, tracing the oblong shape above my head with my eyes and seeing the mako surrounding me, catching the piano and the walls in her bedroom quiver and solidify in the corners of my vision.
I sat up. That was it.
That was it. I was doing what Tifa had two years ago. What I had met was Tifa's conscience, her emotions and beliefs as opposed to the memories she's used to piece me back together; only instead of falling into the Lifestream…
I swung my legs onto the floor, the prospects burning holes in my sight. It made sense, didn't it—meeting bits and pieces, one attitude at a time instead of being overpowered by the entire picture? The rest of puzzle began to fit into place. It hadn't been a dream—everything had been very, very real.
Good thing I hadn't snapped back at her.
In a moment I found myself in the kitchen, immediately heading down the hall. I stopped outside Tifa's room, catching my breath and quieting my heartbeat. Barret snored no more than a few feet in front of me, and yet I stayed where I was, trembling with excitement. The round clock over the sink had read one thirty-two in the morning. Should I wake him to describe my new sudden revelation?
I chose life.
Regardless of the darkness, I refused to switch any light on in Tifa's abandoned bedroom. I instead found myself at her dresser, fumbling with the litter adorning it. Among the many vials of mysteriously-scented perfume and random slips of paper, my eyes caught the only light penetrating the darkness, the tiny red bulb of her PHS shedding away some of the disorientation. Naturally, I didn't need to see the buttons, familiar as I was with the design. And only until someone answered did I realize whose number I'd dialed.
"Cloud? Is that you? What's wrong? What's happened?" His voice fuzzed for a second as I sat myself down on the bed.
"Nothing's wrong, Red. I need your help with something," I said quietly, fearing the consequences if the man next door awoke. "I think I may have figured this out."
"What time is it over there? Shouldn't you be sleeping?" I'd forgotten about the time difference; I stretched, stifling a yawn as I forced myself to concentrate my original reason for calling—with no clock in the room, I could only guess.
"Almost two. But listen, I think I know how to help Tifa!"
He jumped at the statement. "Really? Is she alright? Has she shown signs of waking up?"
"No, but listen, I saw her—I talked to her! I think I know how to wake her!" And with that I began to describe to Red my adventure, the fury and hatred that had possessed her, the abrupt change in her demeanor after several minutes of attempting to break through; I elucidated for him my theory: it wasn't a dream—somehow, I had found Tifa's conscience through the mako in my blood. He listened attentively, taken in thought until at last I finished, breaking to notice any waking sounds from the other rooms of the apartment.
"It could…" He paused, and I inquired more information, furthering my claim.
"I don't remember much, when me and Tifa fell into the Lifestream," I told him in a hushed voice. "She asked a lot of questions, make me answer every one of them. And then, all of a sudden, I understood, like a tunnel was opened or something. I knew which memories were mine and which weren't. But the specifics—what she said, what questions she asked exactly—I don't know." My heart skipped a beat. "I never thanked her for it, either."
"It makes sense. I can see where your idea could work, Cloud. It's strange, yes, but perfectly possible." Another pause. "I can't tell you exactly what happened—only Tifa herself can do that. All the rest of us knew was that you two had fallen into the Lifestream after the attack on Mideel, and then you washed up on shore, conscious…for the most part. For the record you know more than any of us do." I heard him chuckle slightly on the other end of the line. "Why don't you ask her, the next time you talk to her?"
"See, Red? That's just the thing—I don't know what I did! I don't know how I can go back and talk to her—I don't know how I entered the Lifestream from the hospital in Junon in the first place…"
"Maybe you didn't enter the Lifestream at all," he suggested quietly. "Maybe the Lifestream is only a medium through which you can go into other people's conscience?" I could tell from the hushed excitement in his voice that he was suffering the same thoughtful inspiration I was. And, like the visions, questions arose and swelled in waves, once again threatening to subdue me back into naivety.
"Then…where did the Lifestream come from?"
Silence. For a brief, tensed second I thought I heard groaning coming from the room next door.
This was it. "In your years with the Shinra, or, rather, after the destruction of Nibelheim, you were imprisoned along with your comrade and…experimented on, yes?" I nodded into the darkness, at the same time giving him a small sound of affirmation for him to continue. "Perhaps…the mako in your blood transpired into…something—a palpable will, let's say. The Lifestream is composed mostly of mako, along with the spirits of those passed and what else. Your mako could have substituted for the lacking of the Lifestream where you were. There were most likely other aspects involved, naturally, but that would have to be the majority of it. It would let you reach her, for the first thing. I'm sure it was the rest of your conscience from there…" My heart was thundering in my chest so loudly, if nothing else had woken Barret, I feared the sound of it would. I found I couldn't stop thanking Red—of course it was just a theory; no one would ever have been able to be certain as to what had really happened. But still…it was better than having nothing at all. It was undoubtedly better than being completely ignorant. I smiled to the darkness. "So," Red spoke up again, "I suppose you'll just have to go back to her and imitate what you did before. As for her anger…I'm not so sure I can give you an answer on that one. My guess was that it was the immediate emotion you triggered when she saw you. Or it was the one emotion that had been oppressed the most." Probably both.
"Thank you so much, Red. I'm going to go see her first thing tomorrow." I could feel his grin pressing against my ear.
"Glad I could be of service. But Cloud, I'm sure you should be getting some sleep before you try anything tomorrow. It might not work if you're not completely focused." I agreed, though I wasn't too sure I'd been able to fall asleep at all tonight. "Make sure you call me if there's any change—I want to be the first one to know."
"All right. Good night, Red." He laughed.
"Good afternoon to you too, Cloud." We both hung up—how he managed to accomplish this I couldn't say—and I fell back on the bed, once again sinking into its plush softness. Unlike the parlor, her ceiling was a spotless white, grayed from the darkness. I wondered absently whether or not she would care that I was about to have slept in her bed twice during her absence. Reality told me she couldn't have cared, yet my dream was that she eventually would.
This is the chapter I've been dreading—and now it's finished! What a relief. I wanted to post it before I went off to Otakon to blow my money on FF7 paraphernalia. And so here's the explanation. As I said in previous A/Ns (or at least I hope I did), I'll leave it as a theory in the story for now, or maybe for the rest of the story—how can you prove something like that without going into another long banter? But I would really love some of your feedback on why or why not this could work. It's really appreciated! I think I somehow wrote this so that it made some kind of sense (at least to me, anyway), but it wouldn't surprise me if I left some gaps along the way. Otherwise, if this all works out, it's smooth sailing from here! Thank you! Raine