Author's Note: Big thanks to all of my reviewers so far – I hope you'll keep reading and giving me your feedback! Despite no reviews last chapter, here is the next installment. Kudos/credit to my sister here, who wrote almost this entire chapter when I hit a little bit of a wall – and I love how it came out, even though it is a bit shorter than the majority of my chapters. Enjoy!
Chapter Eight:
Broken Memories
"Run away, run away;
one day we won't feel this pain anymore."
"We've sedated him, for your safety," the director explained as they made their way through the medical wing. Hart pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Did you need him awake for something?"
"Huh?" the professor uttered, snapped from his thoughts. "Oh – well, I guess no, not necessarily, although I had, er, hoped to speak with him about…about what's going on – I mean, if he can tell me some of the, er, things he's experiencing it might tell me more than the tests can," he said.
"If Reno's himself," Tseng pointed out.
"Er, yeah…It's likely that he has the same amount of, er, access to…Sephiroth's thoughts as Sephiroth has to his. If he can tell me anything, we might be able to figure out what triggers a, er, shift in control, and maybe suppress it," Hart explained.
"Doubtful," Cloud said bluntly. Fluorescent blue eyes studied the scientist, whose gaze flickered uneasily in his direction before darting away nervously.
"I also need him to tell me if he knows if the Cetra DNA worked or not…if I can't find a way to diffuse the Sephiroth genes, then I wonder if it might be possible to, er, use the power of the Cetra to suppress it."
"Diffuse the DNA?" Cloud repeated. "What do you mean?"
"Well, er, if I can identify how exactly the DNA was changed, I can try to test ways to diffuse it – er, essentially, change it back – or close to it," he elaborated. "Hojo's technology was still pretty early in development, but I think it'd be worth a shot."
"We've already had some blood samples taken recently," Tseng informed him. "And the results from the M.R.I. and C.T. scans you requested will be sent down once they're processed." They stopped outside of a door. "If he does happen to wake up, and is Reno, just try to avoid mentioning Sephiroth by name. It could be a trigger." Hart nodded, and there was a brief silence as he hesitated, uncomfortable with the idea of the duo accompanying him while he worked.
"Cloud, if you'll wait by the door, in case Professor Hart has any questions you might be able to answer?" Tseng suggested, and Cloud nodded, taking a seat nearby. The director knocked once on the door before slowly pushing it open, following the professor inside. They were greeted by a pair of glittering jade eyes. Hart stopped dead in his tracks, eye darting to the Turk beside him.
"Hey," Reno offered groggily. Tseng hesitated.
"…Reno?" he asked tentatively. The redhead smiled half-heartedly.
"Yes, Tseng, it's me," he replied, tone a little more exasperated than he'd intended.
"It's good to see you awake," the director offered quietly. When Reno didn't answer, he cleared his throat. "Professor Hart wanted to stop by and talk to you for a while, if you feel up to it?" He nodded, and Hart took a seat in a chair nearby, removing a notepad and pen from his bag. There was a tense, awkward silence, and Reno finally sighed.
"Don't feel like you have to stay, Tseng…I'm restrained, remember?" he said, a feigned humor that fell flat and bitter. The director exchanged glances with the scientist, who gave a faint nod.
"Right. I'll be outside if either of you need anything," Tseng replied, and the door closed behind him with a quiet click.
"Sorry…just hate the feeling like he's breathing down my neck," the redhead explained, and Hart chuckled meekly. "So, what do you want to know?"
"Anything that would be helpful," he responded, and green eyes suddenly found a loose string near his restrained hand very interesting. When Reno was quiet, he sighed. "Look, I know this…isn't easy. But the time to keep things to yourself is gone. I…I need you to talk to me. I want to help. I need to know what's going on – the things that the tests can't tell me." Fluorescent eyes met his gaze, and Hart willed himself not to look away. Finally Reno sighed.
"Alright," he conceded. "Where should I start?"
"At the beginning, I guess," the professor replied. "Did you know that something was off before you and Tseng went to the reactor?" Reno's eyes cut sharply to the door. "Don't worry about him," he added. "This is between us."
"…I…I'd had dreams…" the redhead started slowly, eyes closing, as if conjuring up snapshots within his memory. "About him."
"V-violent?" Hart queried uncertainly, and he nodded.
"Yeah…and there were times where…I would be thinking, and I'd hear responses. At first I thought I was just talking to myself, but…it didn't…it didn't feel like me."
"What do you mean?"
"Well…like it seemed like something inside me…felt like I should feel…betrayed, because I was missing for so long – because all of this happened…" Reno felt heat biting at the corners of his eyes.
"Do you?"
"Not at first, but – I mean, it sucks, but… they did everything they could, I know they did," he said, fighting the raw emotion strangling him.
"Is there anything else you've noticed that's different?" Hart asked quietly.
"Sometimes…sometimes I hear noise," Reno replied, and the professor blinked at him, clearly confused. He sighed. "I…I don't know how to describe it. White noise, like…like radio static – sometimes…sometimes it's like voices are trying to come through, but can't, you know?"
"Does it happen when you have dreams or see his memories?" Reno shook his head.
"Not all the time. It usually just sort of…happens…when it's quiet or when I'm by myself," he explained.
"Has he…said anything to you? Told you what he wants?" The redhead seemed lost in thought for a moment before shaking his head slowly.
"Nothing I really understand," he responded apologetically. "He…he can't take over all the time though – it's starting to take too much out of him, because he's not his full – " he broke off suddenly as a voice permeated his mind.
'I think that's enough of this, don't you?' He squeezed his eyes shut, and Reno felt his face contorting, sweat beading on his brow as he tried to overtake the presence.
"…Reno?" Hart called quietly. "Are…are you okay?" Mako eyes snapped open, green orbs slitted like a viper. They were fierce and unsettling, and the professor swallowed hard.
"I'm afraid not," the redhead answered, a smile slithering across his lips.
"Leave him alone," Hart managed brazenly, unable to think of anything else to say. His muscles ignored his repeated commands to flee. One strong, quick thrust of his arm and Reno had torn it free from its restraint, and Hart nearly stumbled backwards over the chair as he quickly removed the other. The notepad and pen clattered to the floor, and in one swift move, the scientist was pinned to the wall, feet dangling as he fought the hand pressing firmly against his throat.
"I'd like to see you make me," he smirked, grip tightening. Hart gasped, sweat soaking him as he struggled. Desperate, like an insect, like a rodent. "Did you really believe that you could save him? Why – to impress your little girlfriend?" he chuckled, a deep, guttural sound, a sound that mocked the professor, like being spat on. "You won't be able to save him, just like you couldn't save your sister." Briefly the professor froze, eye wide with terror, locked with that shocking Mako glow.
He watched it as though it were a film reel, unfocused and faded by years of replaying. Reliving. He had towel-dried her near-bare form hastily, the fluid still warm against the stone flooring as it dripped from her clothing. Eyes blinked at him, blue-gray now alive with the phosphorescent glow of Mako. Bony limbs were painted in muted hues of yellow and purple, and a small wing hung limply against her right shoulder, charcoal-gray feathers tattered against an ill-fitting tank top. He offered her a large blanket from a cabinet, and hesitantly, vaguely, she took it, wrapping it snugly around her frail frame. She let him guide her to the laboratory door, unsteady legs stumbling, broken glass biting her feet, tearing her knees and palms as she stumbled. They were halfway up the spiral staircase when the alarm sounded, and he half-dragged her hurriedly up the stairs, hoping to reach the top before they were found. There, they could hide until it was clear for them to escape.
They slipped passed the stone door, and he shoved her inside of a closet, closing the door behind him as he crouched beside her. His mess of blonde hair was soaked with sweat as he leaned the head of the ax he'd used to break her free against the back wall, hoping that the long coats would hide it, too. He held an index finger to his lips, quietly shushing her. She shook her head slowly, ash-brown locks tossing with the movement. He tilted his head, and she pointed to her throat. In his haste, he hadn't noticed the deep scar that ran across her neck, and a pang of guilt rose in his throat as he understood: she had already been silenced long before his arrival. He guided her back in the small closet as far from the door as he could, then held her close, eyes following the shadows under the doorway.
"That's right – I know all about that," the redhead purred darkly, words pulling at his mind distantly, coldly. "How she was kidnapped when the two of you were playing; how you failed to save her from her fate." His quivering gaze was locked with phosphorescent, hypnotic jade; the scene was playing in his mind, in those eyes, and he couldn't make himself look away, blink free, move.
A pair of shadows paused in front of the doorway, and his heart leapt as he heard the doorknob turn. The door squawked in protest as it opened slowly, and the blonde held his breath. He listened, ears pricked, searching for the faintest sign of voices. More footsteps approached; he knew it was over a moment before it happened. Before he could reach for the ax a hand had already grabbed his wrist, yanking him out of the closet. The blonde screamed, throwing unaimed punches and flailing kicks as they dragged him away. They all wore the same white lab coats and dark suits, faceless in the shadows cast by the dim lights. He told her to run when she emerged from the closet doorway, ax in hand, looking more terrified than terrifying.
She charged one of the men, but hesitated when she swung; he grabbed her wrist and easily twisted it. Her grip faltered and the ax clattered to the floor, and the man kicked it to the side. A silent scream tore from her throat as she suddenly doubled over, and the man released her, letting her crumple to the floor. They backed away, the scent of terror permeating the room. The blonde stopped fighting, hazel eyes widening in horror as the scene unfolded before him. Hands morphed, fingers growing long and gnarled, and talons budding from the end of each digit. The fragile wing on her back extended, charcoal feathers marbled with shades of grey and white; silent, horrifically beautiful. Eyes snapped open, no longer the luminous slate from before; now they burned crimson. Crimson like garnets, rubies, like the blood of the scientist who reached to restrain her as she ripped at his throat. Sounds like a rabid animal, breathy and guttural, echoed among the horrified shouts as she leapt to the door, claws tearing through flesh with ease, and another worker fell.
Now discarded on the worn-out rug, he scrambled backwards, huddling against the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch the carnage as the scientists tried in vain to restrain her or escape. The deafening screams of terror, the hiss of talons as they sliced deep into clothing and flesh, the occasional scrape and crack of bones. Footsteps pounded past, fading – someone had escaped! Hazel eyes snapped open, and his stomach turned.
White lab coats and crisp suits were now shredded and stained a deep violet-red in the dim light. A man coughed weakly, blood seeping from his mouth; it trickled down his chin, clinging briefly to pale, clammy skin before dripping to the floral pattern rug. Blood glittered as it pooled around the corpses, so much of it that it could no longer be absorbed. The blonde stood dumbly, legs frozen and weak, not really knowing what to do. Clothing rustled softly, and wild eyes searched blindly for the source. The man raised a hand, reaching in the blonde's direction. Blood stained it like the juice of wild berries, like those he had picked with his sister in summers that seemed like centuries ago. Hesitantly the blonde stepped forward, hazel eyes locked with a frantic gaze that seemed to stare at nothing in his direction. He coughed again, muscles giving in to the heavy darkness. A hoarse, gurgling sound escaped him hesitantly and he fell still.
The blonde swallowed hard, and recovered the ax, still discarded on the floor. As swiftly and silently as he could, he stole through the mansion, heart rising in his throat as he attempted to maneuver through the maze of rooms. Quietly he stepped through a hallway; the sound of movement in a room at the far end sent him diving around a corner into the nearest room.
"After all, it's written all over your face," he spat, the words burning against his mind like crimson eyes and blood.
The limp arm of a corpse caught his foot, and before he could catch himself, a shoe slid across hardwood floor, smearing it red as he clattered to the floor. He cursed frantically under his breath, scrambling to his feet. The blonde turned to find the ax again, and pain tore into his skull, sudden and white-hot. He crumpled to the floor, screams biting at his lungs and throat, unable to escape. A hand reflexively clamped across the side of his face, hot, sticky fluids seeping between his fingers. Wildly he sought the source of the pain, the ax to fend it off; she was on him again before his vision found her, long talons slicing his right arm, dragging to his chest and back as she tried to grab him.
"Sephora!" he screamed. "Sephora – it's me! Please!" But his pleas fell on deaf ears; he elbowed her in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs, then scrambled to find the ax. A glimmer caught his eye through clouded vision several feet away as light reflected across the head of the ax. Trembling, unsteady hands found the icy metal handle of the ax, the blade clanking as he weakly lifted it from unpolished floorboards. Pain tore through his leg suddenly, claws digging into flesh and bone, and he was sure he heard the chilling crack of the joint.
"Se…Se…" he tried again, desperately wishing his voice would break through whatever demon's mind had possessed her, but the words caught in his throat like inhaled water. He squinted, a shock of pain searing through his eye at the motion. His mouth was dry, sticky and for a moment the blonde hesitated. He could die here; just let her do her worst, rip his windpipe from his throat, shred his flesh and tear his organs from his lifeless corpse…
Knuckles whitened as fingers tightened over the handle; he could die here. But then…Sephora… He wouldn't let ShinRa have her! He swung blindly and there was a dull thud. Talons released him, and he opened his eye, stomach lurching as the clouded vision of his eye found her; the mutated figure clutched a bloody stump, the shoulder weeping a rusty shade of red. But adrenaline shot through his body, wounds suddenly ached less and his mind tunneled as he forced himself to stand. Tennis shoe slipped, sliding in blood – his or hers – but he could see it; the illuminated window, shaded with tattered, uneven blinds, and framed with moth eaten drapes. Scrambling, he dashed for the window, unbalanced but determined. He could make out the twilight peering through the cracks, signaling the looming dawn; but that didn't matter.
His heart panged, louder than the hollow footsteps that drew him closer to his escape, louder than the throbs that resonated from every vein in his body. Finally, feet left the ground as he threw himself into glass, and the world shattered around him.
The Turk tossed him across the room with ease, and he crashed like a doll against a small bed table. It slammed against the wall behind him before clattering to the floor, sending the uneaten contents of the evening's meal splattering across the floor. In a daze he wiped mashed potatoes and gravy from his face. Something screamed in his mind; his own voice? Rhythmic, like his frantic heartbeat. He blinked, slowly standing as the Turk's approaching form came into focus.
"How does it feel, to be working for the same company that destroyed her?" he mocked. As he spoke, the door suddenly flew open, and Tseng already had his gun drawn. Reno laughed, a cold, bellowing laughter that sent chills down their spines.
"Looks like playtime's over," he said coldly, eyes not flinching from the scientist. Without warning, Cloud emerged from behind the half-drawn room curtain by the door, moving just fast enough that the redhead couldn't react in time. He pulled him to the floor, struggling to pin him.
"Anytime, Tseng," he uttered impatiently, fighting to keep the form under control. Tseng was already moving in, and injected him with two syringes of clear substance. Slowly Reno stopped moving, body immobilized by the sedatives. He handcuffed his friend for good measure, then nodded to the blonde. Cloud rose carefully as hospital staff arrived.
"Are you alright?" Tseng asked, turning to the professor, but he was gone.
*~*~*0*~*~*
Elena was bordering on frantic. She had been combing the building for the professor since the moment Tseng had called her. He hadn't answered his phone, and seemed to have evaporated rather than run away. It had crossed her mind that maybe he'd left ShinRa completely; hopefully Tseng and Cloud would turn up something soon. Her pain medicine was starting to wear off. She didn't care. She had to find him. She had to find him. Halfway down the hall she stopped at a water fountain. When she looked up, her eyes caught the corner of the closet door just a little ways down the hall, standing the slightest bit ajar. It hadn't occurred to her…
Cursing her stupidity, she retraced her route, checking each closet door as she passed. Several minutes left her just as empty-handed, and the blonde began to lose hope. Her pace slowed, the pain finally kicking in full-swing. She stopped by a water fountain, trying to pry the stubborn lid from the medicine bottle. In the stillness of the hall, she heard something. Ears pricked, listening for the sound. Soft, faint – almost nonexistent. She searched for the source, finally halting outside of a closet door.
A pair of shadows paused in front of the doorway, and his heart leapt as he heard the doorknob turn. The door squawked in protest as it opened slowly, and the blonde held his breath.
She turned the knob hesitantly, and the door opened stiffly. The fluorescent light spilled into the walk-in utility closet. Squinting, she unsuccessfully searched for a light switch, then carefully felt her way around the space. She could see shelves stacked with cleaning supplies, linens, rolls and rolls of toilet paper and paper towels. Mops and brooms and vacuums and dusters. A metal shelving unit sat several feet from the back wall, creating a small alcove. Elena pulled out her cell phone, its glow illuminating the space. A puffy, wide hazel eye stared back at her wildly. The professor lurched back, and the shelving unit rocked threateningly.
"…Derik?" she called softly, but the scientist didn't seem interested in her attempts at calming him. Slowly, she sank to the floor, trembling knees grateful for the relief as she knelt. A pale hand reached for his, her gaze never leaving the glassy, childlike eye that lost focus somewhere between her and the moldy air of the supply closet.
The man raised a hand, reaching in the blonde's direction. Blood stained it like the juice of wild berries, like those he had picked with his sister in summers that seemed like centuries ago. He coughed again, muscles giving in to the heavy darkness. A hoarse, gurgling sound escaped him hesitantly and he fell still.
Those fingers brushed his, and he reeled away. The shelf moaned in protest, but he didn't care; he backed further away, dug into the wall, the concrete – anything to get away. The hand retracted, recoiled sharply at his reaction, retreating into the shadows of the closet. The blonde hoped the shelving, supplies, and shroud of the unlit cupboard would conceal him, hide him from the predator that sought him. A sharp breath pierced him, the air heavy with the scent of cleaner and mold, but the recognition was fleeting. Vaguely, he heard his name, the timid, hesitant sound no more than a tinkling chime in the distance.
No longer able to support him, the flimsy joints screamed as the shelf toppled, spilling plastic containers of cleaners over them. Arms shielded his head, and she fell backwards with the avalanche. For a moment, silence settled over them, heavy like a humid summer evening, only shallow, nervous breaths tearing through it. Weight lifted from him as she clumsily removed the metal shelf, nearly dropping it as she maneuvered with her injured hand.
A shuddering peridot eye met hers, wide with uncertainty. It was dilated, unfocused, as trembling fingers reached slowly for a bottle of cleaner, pushing it away from his half-buried form. But the blonde didn't move, barely breathed for fear of startling the skittish scientist; a deer now warily aware of a lurking threat. He blinked, vision blurring as he focused, mind slowly relocating to the real world. The Turk shifted, reaching to help him, and he flinched at the sudden motion, catching himself before another shelf decided to fall.
"Derik?" she offered quietly, but he didn't answer; he was vaguely aware of the blonde, what she wanted, and though he couldn't pry stubborn words from his throat, he wouldn't let her make that suggestion. He couldn't. Heat bit at his eye, and he blinked it back, willed the sensation away. He picked up another bottle, absently distracting himself. She knelt to help him, stopping short when he jerked again.
Hesitantly, as slowly as she could muster, she stood to her full height; a brief flicker of fear, of dread, of some unreadable horror flashed over his eye, and she sighed quietly to herself. And slowly, as slowly as she could muster, she backed away, one foot at a time, each step planned, careful, until she had to blink in the fluorescent light of the hallway. Cobalt eyes studied the closet, she could almost see the light reflecting over his glassy eye, but she sighed; she wouldn't push him. Not again.
She would be there when he was ready.
"Take it all away; the shadows of you…
'Cause they won't let me go until I have nothing left."