Tengoko: OOO! I liked writing this chapter. I think it is my favorite so far. The turning point. The big BAM! Okay, getting carried away. I do that sometimes. Anyway, I think you'll all like this chapter. Seeing a different side of a character you've figured was pretty static is always fun. At least, I think so. Still, while I like the chapter, I would love to know what you all think. So, please review. I'm not begging, just asking. I'd do the same for all of you. I'm sorry. I'll shut up now so you can read.
Disclaimer: It's here. That's should suffice for now.
Rated M for language and romance
Chapter 11: Kidnapped
Three pictures on the nightstand. The first; surrounded by a golden frame and concealed behind dusty glass, showed a day about two years ago. Wes remembered that day vividly. Lena had been two years old, and it had been her first trip to the beach. She was pictured sitting with her mother behind a sand castle that they'd built together. It was small, but the child seemed proud of it nonetheless, sporting an expression that could rival DaVinci's pride over the Mona Lisa or the Last Supper. It was her masterpiece, her tour de force. Wesley was right above the castle; his intent was to jump on it, something he thought would be hilarious. His father hadn't thought so, which is why Reno was holding him around the waist with a droll expression on his face, but wearing a smirk even so. Wes smiled as he looked at it. It had been the last family vacation they'd been on. They'd been a family then.
The second; Wesley couldn't have been more than six years old in the picture. It had been around Christmas, he remembered that much. He stood in the back yard in front of a snowman that he had built. His mother had helped him because he wanted it finished before his father got home. Reno had taken the picture; Wes wore a smile that spoke of every innocence a child was expected to possess. Behind him, crouched in the snow, was his mother who had her arms wrapped around him, smiling just as brilliantly. It was strange how happy they looked together- how well they looked together. They'd been so close back then.
The third; He was a baby, no more than a few months old. The picture was black and white which suited the picture better. It wouldn't have been the same had it been in color, and it was by far Wesley's favorite. He'd been wrapped in a blanket, a small one, and all that could be seen of him was his head and a single, tiny hand that protruded from the cloth. His small fingers were wrapped around a larger one, a finger that belonged to his father. Reno was holding him securely against his chest, staring down at him with more love than Wes could fathom. It had to have been great, for that love could still be seen when he looked at the picture. It had brought him so many comforts when he was afraid. All he had to do was look at the picture and know that no matter what happened, his father would always love him. But now, he'd probably ruined all that.
His father had more or less called him a mistake. Somebody he regretted. He might as well have just told him that he wished it had been him instead of Hayden that day all those years ago. It probably would have made it easier on everybody. Wesley wasn't in denial about that. He knew he was a pain, he knew that Hayden wouldn't have been.
Hayden had been a very agreeable child. He remembered that. He rarely cried, only got fussy when the occasion merited it; like when he was starving, thirsty or needed his diaper to be changed. He smiled a lot, enjoyed being held, enjoyed attention. He was also very smart for a child his age. He was walking well before any baby could have been expected to, was already beginning to string words together like 'want up' and 'want mommy,' 'want daddy.' By now, he'd be the model of a perfect child, smart, amiable, totally devoted to his mother and father, and the perfect role model for Lena Mae.
But, they'd never know now. Why? Because his baby brother got killed because of him. Because of him. For years, that truth echoed endlessly within his mind, tormented him before sleep, burdened him throughout the day. He'd carry that fact with him until his dying day, that his brother returned to the life stream because of him. If only he hadn't been whining that day, if only he had behaved, his father wouldn't have given Hayden over to Tifa, the person the bullet was aimed at. His mother would have lived. There would have been no doubt. He knew his mother was a survivor. But, had he not made his father give Hayden to her so he could pick him up instead, Hayden would have been spared the bullet, and he'd have a little brother.
Sure, he could blame his mother and father until the day he died. But, he knew, even now as he blamed them, that he was only fooling himself, making excuses for a wrong he knew would condemn him after this life-that condemned him now. That's why he pushed himself away. It was much easier for him to make them shoulder the blame if he didn't like them. But, in truth, he knew this solution could only last a few more years before it finally would sink in and then he'd have nobody. His brother was dead. And it was all-all because of him.
Gods. Why did he have to think about it now? Whenever he did, his heart would start pounding and he'd feel as if a fire were spreading through his body beginning at his chest. Panic. There was no disguising the sensation. No avoiding the reality of what his past entailed. Oh, the walls were closing in on him. Visions of his brother's final moments, the gun shot, the blood- oh there was so much blood. He began to see crimson, the red that poured from his mother's shoulder, the red that soaked his brother. He jumped up. He needed to get out, to go out where the walls wouldn't trap him.
Shera looked up from the book she was reading. At first she was annoyed, but then she noticed something, a very strange gleam in the child's eyes- a familiar mannerism that she knew a child shouldn't be capable of. Fear, absolute and extreme. Fear like no other. She'd only seen it once, and it was as she was giving birth to Owen, when the midwife had told her that he wouldn't survive. Her husband had come up to be with her in those decisive moments before delivery, and she saw that fear in his eyes, a fear she hoped she'd never see again.
She closed her book and stood up. "Wesley?" she began, walking up to him. She looked over at Lena Mae, who had woken up from her slumber and had crawled to the edge of her bed. "Are you alright?"
"I've got to…" but he never finished. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an orb. "I'm sorry," he said, before she could even realize what it was. Sleepel. She was on the ground before she knew it was coming. She wasn't hurt, only asleep. Wesley looked over at Lena as he pocketed the materia.
"Wesley, what are you doing?" Lena asked,
"Lena, I'm sorry. Tell Shera that I if I hurt her, I didn't mean to. Promise me, okay."
"Why?" she asked, getting off the bed. "Where are you going?"
"Lena, just…just stay, please." Wesley walked over to the window, opened it, and wrapped his arms around the drain pipe.
"Wesley," Lena said again. He ignored her and proceeded to climb down.
As his feet found the pavement, he suddenly was struck with the thought that he had no idea what to do now. He was outside. That was a start. The walls couldn't close in on him here. But, he also knew that Lucius and his other so-called friends wouldn't be available right now, especially if their parents found out about their misadventure, and they most likely had. There was only one other choice. Walk and figure it out later.
But even as he started walking towards the street, he heard a clunking sound behind him. Turning around, he saw that Lena Mae had climbed down the drain pipe as well, even managing to do it whilst holding her Mog. Wes was beside himself. She stopped in front of him and stared up at him expectantly.
"You can't come," he told her.
"I'm going to anyway. Every time you sneak out, you always manage to get yourself into trouble. If I come with you, maybe I'll be able to keep you out of it."
"Lena, you're only four years old. If anything, you are going to be the trouble. If mom finds out I let you come with me, it'll be my neck."
"Wes. You're my big brother. I don't want anything to happen to you."
"You're not the one who's supposed to be protecting me. In fact, it's the other way around. And the best thing for you to do is go back and make sure that Shera's alright."
"I can't climb back up," she said truthfully. "The only way back in his through the front door, and then mom and dad will know that you've gone. That doesn't give you very much time to run does it? And then dad will find you and then you'll really get it. So, it seems you have no choice but to take me with you."
Wesley just stared at her for a second. "How is it that you are so devious and you're only four?"
"I learned it from you," she said, smiling.
"It's nothing to be proud about," he admitted, turning around to walk.
She walked behind him, smiling, excited to be going on her very first adventure with her brother, having him all to herself and not having to deal with his moronic friends. Sure, Lucius wasn't that bad. She even liked him a little. He treated her well when the others weren't around, bought her sodas and candy. He even talked to her whenever Wesley was off doing something or other, and she'd grown rather fond of him if truth be told. Of all his friends, Lucius was the best.
Wes kept turning around, making sure that Lena was still there and hadn't wandered off. After they'd been walking for a while, he stopped and held his hand out for her. She just stared at it, not knowing what he wanted her to do. "Take my hand, Lena," he said tenderly. "I don't know what kind of people come out at this time, and I've got to protect you if anything happens."
She could have cried. He really did care. Smiling, she ran up to take his hand, and began walking again, this time with a bounce in her step. Wesley noticed, and he smiled to himself. Was it possible that she actually looked up to him? After the way he'd treated her, she still wanted to be close to him? What a sweet girl.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"I don't know. I just had to get out of the house for a little while." He was silent for a moment. "Lena, I want you to make me a promise. When you grow up, I don't want you to be like me."
"There's nothing wrong with you, Wes," she said, her smile vanishing. "You just convinced yourself that there is. See, mom and dad don't see that. They just see what you show them. But I know better. They see your body. I see your heart. You've got a good heart. It's just been confused."
"How is it that you got to be so wise?" he asked, awed by his sister's perception.
"I learned that from you too," she said, beaming. "Wesley, whatever it is that you think you did, you can't let it destroy you anymore. I never met Hayden. But, from what I can tell, everybody blames themselves for what happened. Mom blames herself for not stopping the bullet, dad blames himself for not protecting them, and you blame yourself too. But I don't know why."
Wesley frowned. "It doesn't matter. It's over with, like you said."
"It does matter," she protested. "It matters because your guilt is what's pushing you away from mom. I know you love her. She loves you too. I just wish that you both could work it out."
"We will. One day."
"I know you will," she said, confidence ever present in that chipper voice of hers.
Wes smiled again, but suddenly, a man, a rather funny looking man, stepped out of the shadows and stopped in front of the two children. Instinctively, Wesley moved Lena behind him and looked up at the man.
He had green eyes, not bright green, not even a beautiful green. It was an olive green, the kind that you would related to a murky ocean or a sick complexion. His eyes alone let Wesley know that this man was no friendly character. But, it didn't stop there. His smirk gave him away too. Only half his mouth was curved upward, giving him a deranged look. A look that Wesley didn't trust by half. He looked disheveled, his black hair was a mess, and his skin was so pallid, it was if the man hadn't seen the sun for years.
"Don't I know you?" the man asked with glee. "You're eyes look oh sofamiliar, as do hers." He looked around at Lena who was cowering behind her brother. "Oh…yes. I remember now. Mr. Storm. Yes, yes. Who doesn't know him? I suspect that you are his children."
"That's right!" Wesley shouted. "So don't even think about pulling anything funny."
"Oh no. I wouldn't dream of it," he said strangely, giving Wesley the impression that it's exactly what he was dreaming of. "I respect your father. Of course, he doesn't know that. In fact, he's quiet hell bent on killing me."
That did it. If his father wanted this man dead, than he definitely wasn't to be trusted. He gripped Lena's hand tighter and turned to run. But the man's hand clasped around his shoulder and held him to his spot. "I'm not going to hurt you, boy," he said. "I knew your father, you see. And, I knew your mother too. You look like her. That's why you're appearance struck me. It was like going back thirteen years."
"Listen, sir," Wesley began. "I don't know who you are or what you want. But if it this is all about catching up with my parents, than you've got the wrong person. I won't lie. I don't trust you a bit. In fact, you didn't even have to talk to give me that notion. So, let go of me now, sir or my father will hear about this."
"No," he said slowly. "I don't think he will." Suddenly, his arms came around Wesley, gripped him around his neck actually, and pulled him firmly against him.
Wesley cried out, struggled a bit but knew that he wasn't going anywhere. He released Lena's hand and screamed, "RUN! LENA, RUN!" And she did. But, it was too late. The man had henchmen, two of them. And they chased her down. Wesley saw them picking her up and roughly tossing her over one of the men's shoulder. Hearing her scream was the worst sound he'd ever heard in his life. Worse than the gunshot. Then, something came over his head, a bag of sorts, and that was the last he saw.