When Roxas awoke from his dreamless dark, the sun was shining brilliantly through Kairi's windows. Her sheets were pulled up and smoothed over with a light comforter. Kairi was gone. It was the first time Roxas had seen daylight since the battle. He went to the window and marveled at the details of summer, the intricate designs of leaves, the way the wind could run a finger through the grass and send a green wave over the top of the ridge. Though the curtains were moving, Roxas couldn't feel its cool touch. Though the room was streaked with sun, he couldn't feel the warmth. Cupcake could. The heartless was lying on a T-shirt of Kairi's tucked in a bright corner.
He greeted Roxas by opening one eye and purring a little. "Not much dirty laundry lying around here for you, is there?" he asked, thinking of the heartless's fondness for his smelliest socks and sweats. The stillness of the house made him speak quietly, though he knew he could shout loud enough to-well, loud enough to wake the dead, and only he could hear. The loneliness was intense. Roxas feared that he would always be alone this way, wandering and never seen, never heard, never known as Roxas. Why hadn't he seen the old lady from the hospital after she died? Where had she gone? Dead people went to cemeteries, he thought as he crossed the hall way to the stairs. Then he stopped in his tracks. He had a grave somewhere! He hurried down the steps, curious to see what they had done with his empty grave. Perhaps he'd find the old woman, or someone recently dead who could make sense of all this.
Roxas had visited Lost Sentiment Cemetery several times when he had first joined the Organization, when he was alive. It had never seemed like a sad place to him, perhaps because everyone said that nobodies couldn't feel. They had memories of emotions, and they got attached to people and things, sure, but the rumor was that they felt nothing. Back then, Roxas had run and broad-jumped the graves, using the cemetery as a kind of playground and obstacle course. But that seemed centuries ago. It was strange now to slip through the tall iron gates-gates he had swung on like a little monkey, Tifa always said-in search of his own grave. Whether he moved from memory or instinct, he wasn't sure, but he found his way quickly to the lower path and around the bend marked by three pines. He knew it was fifteen feet farther and prepared himself for the shock of reading his own name on the stone.
But he didn't even glance at it. He was too astonished by the presence of a girl who had stretched out and made herself quite at home on the freshly upturned dirt. "Excuse me," he said, knowing full well that people didn't hear him. "You're lying on my grave." She glanced upward then, which made him wonder if he was shimmering again. The girl was about his age, and looked vaguely familar to him. "You must be Roxas," she said. "I knew you'd show up sooner or later." Roxas stared at her. "You're him, right?" she said, indicating his name with a jab of her thumb. "Recently dead, right?" "Recently alive," he said, eyes narrowed at the girl. There was something about her attitude that made him want to argue with her. She shrugged. "Everybody has his own point of view." He couldn't get over the fact that she could hear him. "And you. . ." he said, studying her braid, and perky vibrant green eyes. "what are you?"
"Not so recently." "I see. Is that why your eyes are that color?" Her hand flew up to her eye. "Excuse me?" Her eyes were a vibrant, acidic green. Almost like Vexen's, he thought. "This is the color they were when I died." She frowned. "Oh. Sorry." "Have a seat," she said, patting the newly mounded earth. "After all, its your resting place. I was just crashing for a while." "So you're a. . .a ghost," he said. "Excuse me?" He wished she'd stop using that annoying tone. "Did you say 'ghost'? You are recent. We're not ghosts, sweetie." She tapped his arm several times with her finger. Again he wondered if this was from being "not recently" dead but was afraid she'd puncture him if he asked. Then he realized that her hand did not pass through his. They were indeed made of the same stuff. "We're angels, sweetie. That's right. Heaven's little helpers."
Her tone and tendency to exaggerate certain words were starting to grate on his nerves. She pointed toward the sky. "Someone's got a wicked sense of humor. Always chooses the least likely." "I don't believe it," Roxas said. "I don't believe it." "So this is the first time you've seen your new digs. Missed your own funeral, huh? That," she said, "was a very big mistake. I enjoyed every minute of mine." "Where are you buried?" Roxas asked, looking around. The stone on the other side of his had a carving of a lamb, which hardly seemed right for her, and on the other side, a serene-looking woman with hands folded over her breasts and eyes lifted toward heaven-an equally bad choice. "I'm not buried. That's why I'm subletting from you."
"I don't understand," said Roxas. "Don't you recognize me?" "Uh, no," he said, afraid she was going to tell him she was related to her somehow, or maybe that he had chased her in the sixth grade. "Look at me from this side." She showed him her profile. Roxas looked at her blankly. "Boy, you didn't have much of a life, did you, when you had a life," she remarked. "What do you mean?" "You didn't go out much." "All the time," Roxas argued. "Didn't hear of the Advent Children." ". . .Maybe." Roxas replied. "Bet you never heard of Aerith Gainsborough." "Sure I did. Everybody did, before she- You're Aerith Gainsborough?" She rolled her eyes upward. "I hope you're faster at figuring out your mission." He snorted and crossed his arms. "Maybe if I had remembered your eye color quicker."
"We've already talked about my eyes," she said, scrambling to get up from the grave. It was odd to see her standing against the background of trees. The willow waved ropes of leaves in the breeze, but her hair lay as still as a girl's in a photograph. "I remember now," Roxas said. "You had been killed by Sephiroth." "Imagine how pleased I was to find myself with a sword wound in my gut." "That was a while ago, right?" At that, she ducked her head. "Yeah, well. . ." "I remember hearing about your funeral," Roxas said. "Lots of people close to you went." "I wish you could've seen my mother, weeping and wailing." Aerith struck a pose like the marble figure of a woman weeping in the next row over. "You would have thought she had lost someone she loved."
"Well, she did if you're her daughter." "You are naive, aren't you." It was a statement rather than a question. "You could have learned something about people if you had gone to your own funeral. Maybe you still can learn. There's a burial on the east side this morning. Let's go." she said. "Going to a burial? Isn't that knid of morbid?" She laughed at him over her shoulder. "Nothing can be morbid, Roxas, once your dead. Besides, I find them highly entertaining. And when they're not, I make them so, and you look like you could use some cheering up. Come on." "I think I'll pass." She turned and studied him for a minute, perplexed. "All right. How about this: I saw a group of girls come in earlier, headed for the ritzy side of town. Maybe you'd enjoy that more. Good audiences, you know, are hard to come by, especially you're dead, and most of them can't see you."
She started pacing around in a circle. "Yeah, that'll be much better." She seemed to be talking to herself as much as him. "It will score me some points." She glanced over at Roxas. "You see, fooling around with funeral parties doesn't really meet with approval. But with this, I'll be performing a service. Next time those girls will think twice about respect for the dead." Roxas had hoped that another person like him would clear things up a bit, but- "Oh, cheer up, Blondie!" She started down the road. Roxas followed slowly, and tried to remember if anyone said that Aerith Gainsborough was crazy. She led him to an older section of the cemetery where there were family plots owned by longtime, wealthier residents of Oblivion. On one side of the road, mausoleums with facades like miniature temples sank their backs into the hill.
On the other side were gardenlike squares with tall, polished monuments and a variety of marble statues. Roxas had been there before. At Xemnas's request, Terra had been buried in Aqua's family plot. "Swanky, huh?" "I'm surprised you sublet from me," Roxas remarked. "Oh, I could've chose anyone. You seemed like the sweetest one." she said, a light smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Roxas didn't bother to correct her. "So, what do you think those girls had in mind?" she asked, stopping to look around. There was no one in sight, just smooth stones, bright flowers, and a sea of lush grass. "I was wondering the same thing about you," he replied. "Oh, I'll just improvise. I doubt you'll be much help. You couldn't have any real skills yet. Probably all you can do is stand there and shimmer, like some kind of freakin' Christmas ornament-means only a believer or two will see you."
"Only a believer?" "You mean you still haven't figured out that?" She shook her head in disbelief. But he had figured it out; he just didn't want to admit it, just didn't want it to be true. The old lady had been a believer. So was Sora. Both of them had seen him shimmering. But Kairi had not. Kairi had stopped believing. "You can do something more than just shimmer?" Roxas asked hopefully. She looked at him as if he were utterly stupid. "What on earth do you think I've been doing for the past two years?" "I have no idea," Roxas said. "Don't tell me, puh-lease don't tell me I'm going to have to explain to you about missions." He ignored the melodramatics. "You mentioned that before. What missions?" "Your mission, my mission," she replied quickly. "We each have a mission. And we have to fulfill it if we want to get on to where everyone else has gone." She started walking again, rather quickly, and he had to hurry to catch up.
"But what is my mission?" "How should I know?" "Well, somebody has to tell me. How can I fulfill it if I have no idea what it is?" he said, frustrated. "Don't complain to me about it!" she snapped. "It's your job to find out." In a quieter voice she added, "It's usually some kind of unfinished business. Sometimes it's someone you know who needs your help." "So I have at least two years to-" "Well, no, that's not exactly how it works," she said, making that funny ducking motion with her head that he had seen before. She moved ahead of him, then passed through a black iron fence whose curled and rusted spikes made odd designs against the walls of an old stone chapel. "Let's find the kids." "Wait a minute," he said, reaching for her arm. She was the one thing he could grab hold of. "You've got to tell me. How exactly does this mission thing work?"
"Well. . . well, you're supposed to find out and complete your mission as soon as possible. Some angels take a few days, some angels take a few months." "And you've been at it for two years," he said. "How close are you to completing yours?" She ran her tounge over her teeth. "Don't know." "Great," he said. "Great! I don't know what I'm doing, and I've finally found myself a guide, and she's only taking eight times as long as everybody else." "Twice as long!" she said. "Once I met an angel who took a year. You see, Roxas, I get a little distracted. I'm going about my business, and I see these opportunities that are just too good to pass by. Some of them don't really meet with approval." "Some of them? Like what?" Roxas asked suspiciously. She shrugged. "Once I dropped a chandelier on my jerky killer, Sephiroth's, head-just missing, of course. That's what I mean by an opportunity just too good to pass by.
And that's how it usually goes for me. I'm two points closer, then something comes up, and I'm three points back and never quite getting to figuring out my mission. But don't worry-you probably have more discipline than me. For you, it'll be a snap." I'm going to wake up, Roxas thought, and this nightmare will be over. Kairi will be lying in my arms- "How much do you want to bet that those girls are in the chapel?" Roxas eyed the gray stone building. Its doors had been bound with heavy chains since he had first joined the Organization. "Is there a way in?" "For us, there is always a way in. For them, a broken window in the back. Any special requests?" "What?" "Anything you'd like me to do?" Wake me up, thought Roxas. "Uh, no." "You know, I don't know what's on your mind, Rox, but you're acting deader than dead."
Then she slipped through the wall. Roxas followed. The chapel was dark except for one square luminescent green where the window was broken in the back. Dry leaves and crumbling plaster were scattered over its floor, along with broken bottles and cigarettes. Wooden benches were carved with initials and blackened symbols that Roxas couldn't decipher. The girls, whom he judged to be about eleven or twelve, were seated in a circle in the altar area and giggling with nervousness. "Okay, who are we going to call back?" one of them asked. They glanced at one another, then over their shoulders. "Ansem," said a girl with a brown ponytail. "Master Eraqus," another suggested. "Master Xehanort." "Vanitas." "I know!" said a tiny, freckle-faced blonde. "How about Roxas?" Roxas blinked. "Too bloody," said the leader. "Yeah, said the brunette, pulling her pony tail up into two long pieces. "He'd probably have a claw gash through his gut."
"Ew, gross!" Aerith snickered. "My sister had the biggest crush on him," the freckled blonde said. Aerith batted her eyelashes at Roxas. "One time, like, when we were fooling around at the pool, he, like, blew the whistle at us. It was cool." "He was a hunk!" Aerith stuck her finger down her throat and rolled her eyes. "Still, he might be bloody," said a red-head, that reminded Roxas of a younger Kairi. "Who else can we call for?" "Aerith Gainsborough." The girls looked around at each other. Which one of them had said it? "I remember her. She had something to do with the Avent Children." "Advent Children." It was Aerith's voice, Roxas realized, sounding the same but different, the way a televised voice was the same but different than a live voice. Somehow she was producing it in a way that they all could hear. The girls looked around, a little spooked.
"Let's join hands," the leader said. "We're calling back Aerith Gainsborough. If you're here, Aerith, give us a sign." "I never liked Aerith Gainsborough." Roxas saw Aerith's eyes spark. "Shhhh. The spirits are around us now." "I see them!" said the little blonde. "I see their light! Two of them." "So do I!" "I don't," said the girl with the brown ponytail. "Let's get somebody other than Aerith Gainsborough." "Yeah, she was too nice." It was Roxas's turn to snicker. "Well, we're calling Aerith Gainsborough." said the leader. "If you're here, Aerith, give us a sign." It began with a slow whirling of dust. Roxas saw that Aerith herself became faint as the dust whirled upward. Then the dust drifted off and she was there again, running around the circle, pulling hair.
The girls shrieked and held their heads. She pinched two of them, then picked up their sweaters, and hurled them this way and that. By this time the girls were on their feet, still screaming, and running for the open window. Empty bottles flew over their heads and smashed against the chapel wall. In a moment the girls were gone, their screams trailing behind them like thin, birdlike calls. "Well," said Roxas when it was quiet again, "I guess everyone should be glad that there wasn't a chandelier in here. Feeling better?" "Little snips!" "How did you do that?" he asked. "Too nice? Too nice?" she seethed. "Well, you're not now," said Roxas, "you were pulling and throwing. How did you do all that? I can't use my hands at all." "Figure it out yourself!" She was still fuming. She glared back at Roxas. "You don't think I'm too nice, do you?" He held his hands up in defense. "No, No, not at all." "As for how I use my hands," she said, "do you really think I'd take up my precious time to teach you?"
Roxas nodded. "Good audiences are hard to come by," he reminded her, "especially when you're dead and most of them can't see you." Then he left her sulking in the chapel. He figured she'd know how to locate him and would when she was ready. Out in the noonday sun again, Roxas blinked. When he did not feel changes in tempertature, he did seem very sensitive to light and darkness. In the darkened chapel he had seen auras around the girls, and now, in the tree-shaded landscape, splotches of sunlight seemed to be dazzlingly bright. Perhaps that was why he mistook the visitor for Tifa. The way she moved, and the shape of her head convinced Roxas that Tifa was walking away from Aqua's family plot. Then the visitor, as if she sensed someone watching him, turned around. She was much older than Tifa, and her face was twisted with grief. Roxas reached out a hand to her, but the woman turned away and continued on.
So did Roxas, but not before he noticed, on the fresh green belly of Terra's grave, a long-stemmed red rose.