5. Dubiety

The rest of the search passed in a daze. Rude could only recall bits and pieces of it, like the disjointed fragments of a bad dream.

He remembered Reno hovering around him, urging him to explain. He remembered cold, strobing lights on dust-smothered floors. He remembered Cissnei asking questions. He couldn't recall his answers, or even whether he had answered out loud at all.

And just like a nightmare, all of it was fading from Rude's mind now that he stood on the foyer landing, bathed in the sunlight from the towering windows behind him. Reno, Cissnei and the decrepit Mrs. Gubbins had gathered in the middle of the landing a few feet away, right at the top of the stairs to the ground floor; facing away from him, chatting among themselves. Reno had reverted to his laid-back self and listened to the other two report with a faint smile on his lips, as if he had not a single care in the world.

Maybe he didn't. Come to think of it, he didn't seem to give much of a shit about anything.

Lucky bastard.

"Well, I did tell you no one's been here for decades." The Gubbins woman's voice, creaking like rusty hinges. "If anyone from town would have come here and made a mess, I would've heard about it and set them straight real quick... unless the house got them first, of course."

She smiled, showing just a sliver of teeth. Rude went cold, but Reno just chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah, all right." He held out his hand. "Appreciate the help, Gubbins."

"Y'all have a nice evening, now," she said as she shook it, then grinned and looked around at the rest of them. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

She said it just as her colorless eyes locked with Rude's, and the chill on his skin turned to ice.

"Gee," Reno said, "thanks for that thought."

He didn't know about the spiders – Rude just couldn't bring himself to describe what had happened – but his laughter rang in Rude's ears like mockery nonetheless. How could Reno laugh at a time like this, when Rude had come to him for help? How could he laugh with that woman? Couldn't he see what she was doing to his goddamned partner?

Bitterness simmered in Rude's veins. The guy just didn't give a damn, least of all about other people.

As Mrs. Gubbins descended the stairs with the jerking steps of a gangly bird, Reno unlatched the bottom pane of the middle window and tugged it open. By the time Gubbins had closed the front door behind her, he was sucking in air through a lit cigarette.

"So, Ciss..." He turned his head to blow smoke out the window. "What's the verdict?"

Cissnei had remained at the top of the stairs to watch the woman leave. She crossed her arms over her chest as she strolled over to Reno.

"She's... unusual," she said with a small smile. "Did you know she used to be a hunter? Big game, mostly. Bears, wolves, zuus–"

"Zuus? What're those?"

"Huge birds with teeth, apparently. Bigger than most bears."

Reno stared her down, narrowing his eyes, as he took another deep drag.

"You're shittin' me."

Cissnei shook her head. Her smile grew a fraction wider.

"Nope. Gubbins says they've been known to fly off with animals that stray too far from town. Cats, dogs, goats... One of the locals bought a small herd of cows once and let them loose to graze on the mountainside. Zuus nabbed them all, one by one."

His jaw dropped.

"Ifrit's balls," he sputtered. "Remind me never to go flyin' around these mountains, yo."

"Nibel wolves are almost the size of bears, too. Mrs. Gubbins told me she was out rifle-hunting by herself one particularly cold and miserable winter a few decades ago. On her way back, a lone wolf sprung on her. She managed to fire a couple of shots, but missed both times. She ended up clobbering it to death with her rifle."

"Holy shit." Reno's laugh echoed through the foyer. "No wonder she ain't flustered by a few Turks."

"Mm. Wasn't a small one, either. When she hung it up from the rafters to bleed it, the front paws rested the floor."

"Damn. That's one badass granny."

"That's pretty much what I said. She told me I'd get there too some day."

Reno snorted another delighted laugh.

"Y'know, creepy or not, I'm beginning to like the ol' bat." After another chuckle, he sobered up again. "So, you think she's clear? No bad vibes?"

"She says some odd things at times, but no, no bad vibes."

"All right. Good work, Ciss."

She gave them another small smile, then headed back toward the north wing. To check on Rayleigh, presumably.

Rude stared out the window, absently tracing the misshapen outlines of trees through the old, brittle glass. So, that was that. A whole day wasted on a search that proved absolutely nothing – except that maybe he was slowly going out of his mind.

Hell, maybe he was. Even here, out in the open and warmed by the evening sun, his skin still crawled. It must all have been in his head, and yet it felt so real. It still felt real.

Reno took one last drag and crushed the stub in a rusty tin on the windowsill. He studied Rude as the smoke slowly escaped through his nostrils.

"Somethin' still on your mind, buddy? You seem a bit wound up."

With a sigh, Rude shook his head. Reno gave him another searching look, then shrugged.

"If you say so." He glanced over his shoulder, down toward the kitchen, and pursed his lips in thought. "You know what? Fuck cookin' dinner. Why don't you take some time to relax in town, huh? Bring the Prof, have a drink or two. Take it easy, y'know, go with the flow for a bit."

Reno tried to play it casual, but Rude knew damned well what he was trying to do. It was all he'd been trying to do for days.

"No. Thanks."

"C'mon, man, do yourself a favor. I could bring Ciss along. Make it a double date, yo."

"If you're desperate for a date, that's your problem."

Despite Rude's curtness, Reno chuckled.

"It ain't for me, man, you know that. Why not give her a chance, huh? I think you guys could really hit it off."

"I don't think so."

"Oh, c'mon. She don't have a sense of humor, and you've forgotten how to laugh. You guys are practically made for each other, yo!"

Reno grinned up at him. Rude's tense shoulders stiffened some more.

"Leave it."

"Hey, I'm just tryin' to help ya out here!"

"Leave. It."

Rude turned on his heel and stomped downstairs. Maybe that would be clear enough to get through Reno's thick skull.

No such luck. Reno caught him by the foot of the stairs.

"Just give it a chance, will ya? Might loosen you up a bit. Man, I've been puttin' up with your blue-balls bullshit ever since that AVALANCHE bitch –"

Rude stopped in his tracks and rounded on him, and he fell out of the way with a satisfying yelp.

"Shut the hell up."

Rude loomed over him, glaring, but Reno didn't back down. He just stared back up with a frown of idiot concern that made Rude want to punch something.

"She's gone," he said, emphasizing each word. "You ain't gettin' her back."

"I don't want her back."

"Then why the hell have I been puttin' up with your mopey ass for over half a year!"

"I'm not moping. I'm..." Rude paused to draw in a deep breath. "Angry."

"Fuck, that's even worse," Reno groaned. "What's the big deal, huh? She's gone, she's over, none of it mattered! You should be throwin' a fuckin' party–"

His tirade ended in a pained grunt as Rude grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him into the wall.

"Fuckin' ow! What're ya–"

Rude shoved him into it a second time and pulled him up by his jacket, forcing him up on his toes, until their faces were level. Reno's eyes were huge and round as Rude leaned forward to stare him down.

"She mattered to me."

Rude let go abruptly, leaving Reno stumbling for balance. As he stormed out of the manor, he caught a glimpse of Reno in the old mirror. He was still wild-eyed, gingerly rubbing his shoulder as he stared after Rude with the crumbling face of a confused child. Rude scoffed and looked away, tightening his fists until the leather groaned in protest.

How could Reno understand any of it? He never got involved, never got attached. He discarded people without a second thought the moment he was done with them, or they with him. Come to think of it, Rude had yet to see him pursue anyone. Reno wore the Turk uniform to bars, not troubled in the least when those it pulled were more keen on the suit than on him. It was less hassle, he'd say, when those involved knew exactly what they were getting out of it.

The first time Rude had met Chelsea, he'd been wearing a windproof jacket, track pants and running shoes. So had she. It was a frigid morning, and the footpaths were deserted thanks to bitter winds, so it hadn't been odd that she would strike up a conversation with him.

It wasn't long before she'd seen him in dress pants and jeans, in tailored shirts and turtlenecks. The first time Rude had met up with her straight after work, she hadn't mentioned the Turk suit. She'd barely even glanced at it. He'd taken it as a good sign.

What a goddamned idiot.

Rude yanked at the gate, but it caught on something and got stuck, rattling in place. Another sharp tug jerked it free with a rusty creak, but the interruption was enough to jar Rude back into the present. What was he doing, exactly? Where was he even going?

Reno had gotten one thing right, he decided. Fuck cooking. Gritting his teeth, Rude stomped down the path toward the pub.

The pungent aroma of beer and fried meat washed over him the moment he opened the door. The barroom buzzed with dozens of voices, and every table was occupied. Was it weekend already? Rude had lost track of the days, cooped up in that despicable house.

Rude made his way to the same spot he'd sat in before, and ordered the same drink. It wasn't much of a routine, but it held enough familiarity to unwind his tautly-strung temper by a notch.

Just as his ale arrived, a woman hopped onto the stool beside him. He glanced her way and greeted her with a nod. She smiled.

"I haven't seen you here before!" Her voice was bright and perky.

"Just visiting."

"Is that so?" She shifted around on the stool, turning toward him. "Where from?"

Her knees peeked out from under her skirt. They almost touched Rude's leg.

"Midgar."

"Oh!" Her red lips formed a perfect little o that drew his eye like a beacon. "I always wanted to see Midgar with my own eyes. It looks incredible on TV."

This time, Rude let his gaze linger. A petite face with a round, stubby nose and freckled cheeks that dimpled when she smiled. Long, curly brown hair held back by a simple white band. A red dress with small white polkadots, in some old-fashioned style that clung to her waist and bloomed out toward the knees.

Her coy smile grew wider.

"Maybe you could buy me a drink and tell me all about it."

Rude found himself staring at her red-painted lips. It was tempting, so tempting, to prove to Reno that Rude didn't need his "help".

But that was Reno's way, not his. What did he have to prove to Reno, anyway?

"No, thanks."

The woman's mouth flattened into a line and she pushed herself off the stool without a word. Rude watched her out of the corner of his eye as she made a beeline for a man at a table in the corner of the pub. Pale blue button-down shirt, cotton trousers, stylish haircut that Rude had seen more often in Midgar than here – one of the reactor engineers, maybe.

Rude turned back to his drink as she gave the man the same smile she'd given him. His leather gloves creaked as they stretched taut over his knuckles.

Chelsea had never cared much for Midgar. She'd talked about leaving, about going somewhere where you could see the sky and trees would grow. He'd thought about inviting her to Costa. He'd thought about it a lot, at one point.

He'd never done anything about it, though. He'd figured out what she was long before he'd mustered up the courage to ask. Long before her cover was blown. He'd kept his mouth shut about that, too. Maybe he'd been hoping that sometime, somehow he'd get the chance to show her Costa after all.

Rude's jaw was beginning to hurt. He downed his beer in one go, and immediately ordered another.

Rude woke up with a throbbing head and the taste of ashes in his mouth. He wasn't sure why. He'd only had a couple of beers at the pub.

Well, two that he could remember. It got a bit hazy after that. Judging from the dull thudding inside his skull, his memory wasn't all that reliable.

Just like the rest of his mind.

His PHS informed him that it was almost eleven in the morning. He stumbled out of bed and into the shower. He didn't check if his shoes were still by the door, or if his gun was where he'd left it. He didn't look under his bed. He didn't want to know.

The rooms beside his were quiet. Cissnei had said something about going into town. He had no idea where Reno was. He didn't care to find out.

Rude headed south down the hallway, away from the foyer and far past their rooms, until he came to the door at its end. He pulled it open, and just like the day before, brilliant sunlight flooded his senses. He shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. Closing his eyes, he slid down to sit on the floor.

In this sunny greenhouse, surrounded by tenacious life and the scent of warm soil, Rude was firmly anchored in reality. Spectral spiders and shadowy figures didn't exist here, in the real world. They were all in his head, waiting there, ready to come crawling out of their hiding places as soon as the lights were dimmed. They had to be. Reno hadn't seen them, nor had Cissnei. Somewhere along the line, Rude's head had just gotten horribly fucked up.

Although... there was another possibility. The dead sought retribution from their killers. Tradition was very clear on that point, according to his mother. Everyone back home knew it was the price you paid for taking a life. Always, the dead would come to claim a piece of you in return.

Could the dead claim your sanity? Because Rude was indeed a murderer, still waiting for his debt to be claimed.

It wasn't as if he'd signed up to be one. He'd known taking lives was a possibility, perhaps even a certainty. The first death to mar his conscience had come before the Turks, anyway. An opponent in the ring; an unfortunate accident, one that just happened to draw Veld's eye.

His first as a Turk was a middle-aged middle manager who'd tried to settle his grudge against President Shinra with a kitchen knife. Self-defense, pure and simple. Rude had received a bonus in his next paycheck.

By the time he'd received his first assassination assignment, death had lost some of its mystery. Reno had pulled the trigger on that job, not him. Reno was no stranger to taking lives. Yet another thing he didn't seem to give a rat's ass about, one way or another.

There had been a few more assassinations since. Rude had dealt the killing blow exactly once. He had no excuses for that one; no accident, no self-defense. Cold-blooded murder, that was all it was. Four sloppy shots to the chest with a cheap black market pistol to make it look like a mugging gone wrong. The guy had bled to death long before he was found. Rude had picked up some Wutainese takeout with Reno and spent the rest of the evening watching action movies.

Rude tried to remember the mark. It startled him to find that he couldn't. It had been some upstart rival of the Shinra company over in Junon, but he couldn't recall a face, much less a name. He couldn't even remember exactly why the guy had to die.

Maybe it wasn't retribution the dead were after. Maybe they just wanted some goddamned acknowledgement.

A dark chuckle rumbled in Rude's chest. The bastards should go after Reno, then. Once all of his victims had taken their chunk out of him, there'd be nothing left.

He heard a distant tapping behind him. He turned his head, pricking his ears. There it was again; three distinct taps. Rude shut his eyes again and ignored it.

One, two, three. Louder this time.

Rude frowned. That didn't sound like the pipes. Seconds ticked by as he held his breath.

Tap, tap, tap.

Rude rolled onto the balls of his feet. He straightened up, slowly, and turned to face the door. It groaned softly as he nudged it open. Rude grimaced, and waited.

One, two, three. It sounded more like knocking, now, like bony knuckles on the lid of a coffin.

Rude squeezed his eyes shut and took a moment to banish that mental image.

The hallway seemed to have grown darker. It must simply have been the after-effects of basking in the sun, but Rude felt his resolve dwindle with every heavy thud of his heart.

He pulled out his PHS, dialed Reno's number. No reception. He shoved it back into his pocket with a frustrated groan.

Tap, tap, tap. Definitely louder. Closer.

If it was real, wouldn't the others hear it, too? Come out and investigate? And if it was all in his head, wouldn't he be better off with someone who could tell the difference between reality and the glitching figments of his mind?

Rude crept through the door and into the hallway.

Stealth wasn't his strong suit. Reno was the one who darted from shadow to shadow on quick, silent feet. The best Rude could hope for, as he skulked on to the foyer, was to miss the creakiest of the floorboards.

Doors stretched on ahead of him on either side, and the turn at the end of the corridor seemed awfully far away. A few of the doors lay open, gaping into the corridor like mouths stretched wide in soundless screams. Each one that he passed deepened the sick feeling in his gut. Rude didn't peek into any of them.

He was around the corner at last, and clear, and his breathing immediately became easier. The foyer landing was within sight, just beyond the doors to their rooms.

Rude tried Cissnei's door, then Reno's. Locked, both of them. He gave Reno's a careful tap.

Something knocked back – tap, tap, tap – and he flinched. It didn't come from the other side of the door. Rude peered over his shoulder back the way he'd come, staring hard into every shadow. Was it behind him now? Was it toying with him?

He couldn't stay here and wait. He needed to get downstairs, to find Reno or Cissnei, before whatever it was decided it was done playing. Rude scampered down the steps to the landing and sprung out of the hallway – and came face-to-face with a skull-like grin.

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Gubbins. "You really have to stop doing that, mister Turk!"

Rude stared at her, frozen to the spot. Where had she come from?

"I knocked," she said. "Several times, I might add."

The stairs from the first floor creaked with every other step. The landing had been empty. Where had she come from?

She held out the container she'd cradled to her chest. A deep, oval oven dish with a white lid, painted with dainty flowers.

"I just made a big pot of my... harvest stew. There's plenty left over, and I figured y'all might be willing to help finish it."

Rude blinked at the dish. His eyes were all he could move; the rest of him was locked tight, paralyzed by a dread he could not name.

The Gubbins woman cackled.

"Believe you me, the dead would rise from their graves just to get another taste of my stew."

Rude sucked in a harsh breath.

"Who are you?" he growled.

Her head fell to the side as she peered at him, eyes unblinking and pale beyond a nameable color.

"Are you all right, young man?" Her lips inched apart into a grin that was all teeth. "You know who I am."

The slam of a door boomed through the foyer. Rude jumped back, heart thundering in his chest. Looking down, he saw Reno by the front doors, squinting up at them.

"Yo, Mrs. Gubbins," he hollered, strolling over to the foot of the stairs. "What brings you here?"

"Supper, Mr. Turk!" She raised the dish in her bony hands.

Reno's face brightened.

"No shit?" He waved her over. "Come on down here, then. Let's see what you got."

Mrs. Gubbins turned on her heel and stalked down the stairs. With a ragged breath, Rude fell out of his daze and fumbled for the railing. He'd stared down brawlers, gangsters, murderers, even Mako-touched monsters. Never before had his knees felt this weak.

The Gubbins woman didn't stay to share their meal. Rude was wound too tight to appreciate that small mercy.

The Turks and the professor had gathered around the kitchen table. Cissnei had found a tablecloth that morning, checkered in red and white. It should have made the kitchen feel cozier. Rude felt anything but. He stared at his stew, silently stirring the reddish-brown broth. The scent was mouth-watering, but he couldn't bring himself to try a single spoonful.

Reno frowned into his bowl. He picked up his fork and stabbed it into his stew. What he pulled out was about as long as the fork itself, maybe half an inch wide at one end and tapering to a point at the other. The surface was an uneven dark gray, plastered with slimy filaments.

"The fuck is this?"

"It's a carrot," Rayleigh replied, with barely a glance.

"A fuckin' zombie carrot, maybe." He held it up and shook it, dripping broth all over the tablecloth. "Look at this thing! This is carrot that dug itself out of a shallow grave, yo."

Rude gritted his teeth.

"Carrots grow in shallow graves, you know," Cissnei said, her voice brimming with amusement. "And for the record, it didn't dig itself up. That was done by Mrs. Gubbins's nephew."

Using his index finger, Reno reluctantly poked his carrot down the fork until the slimy-looking thing splashed back into his bowl.

"Of course they'd grow black zombie carrots in Creeperheim," he grumbled.

"Technically, they're purple."

"Still evil."

"Would you like me to eat your evil purple zombie carrots?"

"Hell no." With a mock scowl, Reno yanked his bowl out of her reach. "If it's on my plate, it's mine. Even if it looks like it might gnaw its way outta my stomach later."

What little appetite Rude had left turned to ash. All he could think of were the skittering legs and tiny jaws digging into his flesh.

When the others had finished their bowls, Rude's was still untouched. Reno asked if he was planning to finish it.

Without a word, Rude pushed his bowl across the table.

Rayleigh left. Cissnei stayed, and helped Rude with the dishes. Reno just stuffed his face. When the two of them headed out, Rude told them he'd finish cleaning up.

Reno hadn't even dumped his bowl in the sink. Rude snatched it off the table, along with his spoon and fork. The guy was such a fucking slob. The laziest asshole that Rude had ever seen, and an idiot to boot. Did he never stop to think how the things he said might–

Rude went still, halfway to the sink, and blinked repeatedly. What the hell was he thinking? Reno might not always think too hard about what came out of his motor-mouth, but he was a capable agent, crafty and clever in the field. Of all people, Rude would be the one to know that. He did know that. They were partners. They had each other's backs.

Rude dumped the bowl in the sink and headed for the door. He needed to speak with Reno, tell him everything. Together they could figure this out.

As Rude approached the entrance hall he picked up voices, engaged in conversation. He slowed, and came to a halt in the doorway to the foyer. In the antique mirror a few feet away he could see two dark-clad figures at the top of the landing. Reno was leaning against the wall between two of the ornate windows, a lit cigarette between his fingers. Cissnei stood in front of the window, the outline of her hair glowing like a copper halo in the warm rays of the setting sun. From what Rude could make out, they were chatting about the stew.

Rude decided to wait for his turn where he was. They were Turks, after all. If they'd wanted a private conversation, they wouldn't have stopped to talk out in the open.

"So, to what do I owe the honor? You have something on your mind, I take it?"

Cissnei's voice had changed. Rude couldn't put his finger on it, but it made his scalp prickle, much like the smile Reno would show a mark as he ingratiated himself.

"Yeah," Reno said as he handed the smoke to Cissnei. "I got somethin' on my mind."

He must have picked up on the change in her too, but his tone and posture remained the same. Rude frowned at the mirror. Its tarnished silver made the reflection too blurry for detail; he needed a better vantage point if he wanted to read their faces.

Reno looked down as he reached into an inner pocket of his jacket. Cissnei had her eyes on him. While they were both preoccupied, Rude took the chance to sneak around the corner into the little storage room next to the front doors and settled into the shadows behind a couple of stacked crates. Through the open doorway, he had the perfect view of the pair on the landing.

Reno brought out a piece of paper and looked it over.

"Nice pic, this. Signed and everythin'. From PR, is it?"

He held it up for her. A photo, maybe, or a postcard; but Rude was too far from them to see what it pictured. Cissnei eyed it as she blew out a slow stream of smoke, then looked up at Reno.

"That was in my room."

"Your room wasn't locked."

"The drawer I kept that in was." She snatched the picture out of his hand and wedged the cigarette between his fingers in its place.

"Yeah, well, it was a shitty lock," he mumbled as he raised the smoke to his lips.

"Should've known better, huh?"

"Well duh, Lil' Miss Turk." He watched the lit end of the cigarette as the smoke he'd inhaled escaped in lazy tendrils through his nostrils. "Somethin' goin' on between the two of ya?"

"He's my mark. You know that."

"You've been keepin' an eye on him for a year. If you can't remember what the guy looks like, maybe surveillance ain't your thing."

She laughed and looked away. "Screw you, Red."

"Ciss... C'mon."

"Am I too cheerful again? Want me to cry on your shoulder instead, so you get to feel like the nice guy?"

"For fuck's sake," Reno scoffed as he offered her the smoke again. "I'm just sayin' that if you've kept eyes on him like you're meant to, you gotta know he's deep into that flower girl down in –"

"Back off, okay? It's none of your business."

Rude hadn't realized how subtly she weaved a smile into her voice when she spoke; the sudden absence of it was startling. She gave Reno a scornful stare, then plucked the cigarette from his fingers.

She turned away, but Reno kept watching her, a frown on his face. He pushed a hand through his hair, let it linger on the back of his neck. Opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again.

"Look... Zack's a fun guy, sure, but he'll flirt with just about anyone. Far as I know, it don't mean nothin' to him."

"You don't know when to quit, do you?"

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea, is all."

"And listening to the guy who'll stick his dick in 'just about anyone' will give me the right idea?"

Cissnei shoved the cigarette between her lips for a deep drag. She hadn't so much as glanced at Reno, who had gone absolutely still.

"Yeah, you're right. Who the hell would wanna listen to me, huh?"

As he pushed himself off the wall and stuffed his hands into his pockets, Cissnei looked at him at last. He was halfway across the landing when she called out to him.

"Wait."

He stopped and tilted his head toward her. The silence was so thick Rude could taste it in his mouth, like the dust that smothered everything in this house.

"You forgot this," she said and held out the cigarette.

Reno raised his head just enough to see what she meant. His lips curled into his trademark smirk.

"You finish it. I'm done."

He skulked off toward the north wing and melted into the darkness like a shadow. Cissnei stared after him, rolling the cigarette between her fingers. Her face was blank. Not a single muscle on it moved as she pinched out the glowing end of the smoke and let it fall to the floor. Rude wondered if this was her true face. He felt a chill.

Rude could no longer hear the creak of floorboards under Reno's feet. Cissnei turned to leave, but hesitated before taking the first step. She bent down, picked up the snuffed cigarette, and slid it into her breast pocket. Staring straight ahead, she marched onward to her room.

Rude waited a minute before he moved. At the top of the stairs, he pulled the window shut. The groan of grating wood echoed in the stillness, but none of the others came to investigate. He looked down the dim hallway to their bedrooms, then over at the opposite wing where Reno had gone. The north side was even darker; of course Reno would choose the gloomiest part of the mansion to sulk. With a sigh, Rude followed his partner.

At the top of the steps, Rude took the right-hand fork toward the front of the house. The door was closed tight to the master suite that Rayleigh occupied; Rude heard nothing from it. The other two rooms off the hallway were empty. Reno must have gone left instead, into the dark zone.

Back at the junction, Rude stopped and pricked his ears as he stared into the darkness at the end of the hallway. The flashlights they had used the day before were still lined up at the foot of the wall. All four of them. Reno seemed to have better night vision than most people, but would he venture in there without a flashlight? All Rude could see was pitch black. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to take his eyes off the dark. His skin was prickling... or was that just his imagination?

...How would he be able to tell?

His business wasn't that urgent. He could always talk to Reno in the morning.

Assuming Reno showed up in the morning at all.

That needling worry wasn't rooted in rational thought. Officially, they had swept the dark zone and found nothing – yet Rude couldn't make himself leave. Maybe they hadn't found anything – but had something found him?

A sudden irritation welled up in him, drowning out his anxieties. What kind of a man was he, cowering from the dark like a child spooked by silly ghost stories? If it was all in his head, he had nothing to fear. If it wasn't... he had every reason to get Reno out of there.

Rude clenched his jaw, snatched up a flashlight, and headed in. In the cold cone of his torch, he saw the footprints they had trod in the dust the day before. As he advanced deeper into the darkness, he recognized a new trail: a pair of uneven, roughly parallel lines smudged into the thick, gray layer on the floor. The tracks of a sulking so-and-so who dragged their feet, Rude supposed. Hopefully that meant Reno didn't have much of a head start on him.

The trail brought him into a series of parlors linked together by open archways. These were the chambers Cissnei had covered with the custodian. Normally Rude would have thought it worse to tread on unfamiliar ground in the dark, alone; instead it was a relief to avoid the ominous rooms he'd searched the day before.

The lounges were sparsely furnished; a few bookshelves and round tables, a couple of fireplaces framed by columns and swirls of molded plaster. Occasionally Rude's flashlight would sweep along broad windows that threw his own image back at him, like black mirrors blocking out the world outside. The darkness in here was nothing like the starry nights on a Costan island, or the humdrum dim of his unlit bedroom in Midgar, where the fluorescent gloom of a Mako reactor trickled in through the gaps in the blinds. The manor's darkness smothered and muted. It crept closer and closer, until it wrapped itself around its victims and ate them whole.

Beads of sweat pooled on Rude's temples. They ran down his face until they trickled under the collar of his shirt.

He clamped his clammy fingers tighter around the flashlight. They had cleared the area, he told himself. They had found nothing. There was nothing.

Behind him, something scratched in the dark.

Or did it? It was faint, like an echo in his ear, and when he flicked his flashlight in its direction, he caught nothing in its beam but moldering furniture and dust.

So Rude crept onward, and as he crept the memories from the past days gnawed at him, growing vast and vivid as they fed in the dark. Something had been going on. His pillow hadn't slipped itself under his feet. His phone hadn't spirited itself away. Those flashes of movement he had seen beneath his bed... The more he thought about it, the more foolish he felt for not bringing the others. If it had been more than his imagination, then it was a risk. A threat.

A threat that might be tempted to go for a lone Turk stumbling through the dark.

Gritting his teeth, Rude followed the dusty trail on through the next doorway, and the next. Of all the nooks in this giant manor, Reno just had to pick the dark zone. Always such a bloody–

Rude's flashlight fell upon a line of looming figures in white. He flinched back with a yelp – and swore at himself for doing so. Chairs... that's all they were. Chairs beneath white sheets, stacked up along the walls like a parade of ghostly caricatures. Muttering another curse, Rude followed the tracks inside.

This chamber was far grander than the parlors he'd braved to get here. Another ballroom perhaps, or a dining room sized for Costan weddings.

...Like the one in his uncle's place. Rude cursed himself again. It was too late; as he crept into the room, scraps of Teo's ghost stories flitted through his mind unbidden, one by one. The ghost children with holes instead of eyes. The wailing lady. The murdered man searching for a warm heart to replace the one he'd lost.

The damp collar of Rude's shirt stuck to his skin and seemed to shrink around his neck like a coiling snake. He reached up to loosen his tie, to reassure himself that it was still just a piece of fabric; a lifeless slip of cloth, unable to suddenly pull itself tight of its own accord.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rude kept catching the whiteness of the shrouded stacks. Some of them seemed to loom taller while he had the light aimed elsewhere. Others seemed to stir and shift, ever so slightly, just enough to make him doubt his eyes. In the beam of the flashlight they shone so bright they almost blinded him, and left spots dancing in his eyes.

Rude yanked off his shades and squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them with the back of his hand. The fabric around his neck pressed against his windpipe again. Rude loosened his tie some more. As soon as he let go, he could feel it constricting around his neck, tightening.

This isn't one of Teo's stories.

That thought burned in his head as he hurried after the trail, one hand latched onto his tie to keep it from moving. The thought didn't help, not one bit. If it wasn't one of Teo's stories, then Rude wasn't just fighting figments of his imagination anymore. Then it was real.

Rude stumbled through another gaping doorway, the beam of his flashlight dancing wildly across the room. Reno had to be close by now. Rude had to find him, fast. After catching his balance, Rude panned his flashlight over the floor to pick up the trail again.

He stopped dead, and stared.

Before him, the dust was undisturbed. Reno's tracks ended in the middle of an empty room.