6. Repercussion
As Rude stared at the dead end of Reno's trail in the beam of his flashlight, a faint whine rose and fell. It was gone before he could tell what it was or where it came from. He pricked his ears and kept perfectly still. His tongue was a thick slab, itchy and dry like his throat, but he didn't dare swallow. He might miss a repeat of that sound.
There it was again. High-pitched and thin, like the weak whistling of the wind. Rude listened, as stiff and unbreathing as a corpse, but couldn't pinpoint the direction. It was everywhere around him, all at once, hovering at the very edge of his hearing. Was it just in his head?
The sound ended. When it returned moments later, Rude could have sworn it had turned into a whimper, or a moan. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and in under the tie he still clutched in his rigid fist. It took every ounce of his willpower to stay still, to listen.
The feeble sound was abruptly smothered by another: a soft rustle, like shifting fabric.
Rude whipped his flashlight around, flooding one corner of the room in bright light. Something tall and thin stood there, draped in white. A person, screamed his fears at him as he stared at the shrouded shape. A lamp, the more rational part of his mind corrected. A coat rack. A man-made thing, propped up by the wrought-iron base he could see below the hem.
A person, the senseless panic still insisted. The wailing lady in white. Rude tensed and squinted at one corner of the sheet. Did it move?
The wailing lady in white... A story Teo had been fond of telling, but not one of his own. Rude's uncle had told it, too, and so had his grandmother. Everyone in Costa knew the story: the woman who had drowned her children to be with her new lover, only to discover that he had already found another. She hanged herself and returned as a ghost, cursed to wander the planet to the end of all days, grieving those whose lives were stolen from them too soon.
The shrouded figure shifted. Rude's face went icy cold.
No, not the figure itself; the fabric at the top of it rose and puckered. Something was moving beneath the sheet, slithering under the fabric like a snake.
Rude tried to swallow against the pressure on his throat, tugging on his limp tie.
He had to check. It was his damned job to check.
Step by step he crept toward the corner, keeping his light pinned on the wriggling fabric. When he was within reach, he grabbed hold of the sheet ever so carefully, well below the part that moved. With a whisk of his arm, he yanked it off.
Screeching madly, a black creature slunk down the lamp and scurried across the floor. Rude caught sight of the naked tail just as it vanished under the white hood of another covered piece of furniture. Decades-old dust plumed into the air as he scrunched up the sheet and threw it to the floor. He'd been spooked by a goddamned rat.
A shrill wail echoed through the rooms.
Rude froze. That had not been his imagination. That was definitely no rat.
It came again, louder this time. Was it closer? In front of him, behind him? The beam of his flashlight swerved across the room, lighting up white hoods and moldering walls in bright flashes. His limbs trembled with the need to fight or flee; his whole body thrummed with it.
Listen closely to the wailing woman's cry, Rude's grandmother would tell him, each time she repeated the tale. The wailing woman knows the names of those who will be taken. She calls to them in her laments.
Rude knew how to fight the living, not the dead. Another desolate howl sapped the last of his self-control, and he fled the way he'd come.
He didn't stop until he reached the end of the dark zone. In the safety of the warm incandescent light, he bent over and hacked up the dust he'd inhaled on his mad dash.
Reeeee-nooooo
Rude went still, desperately choking down the cough that scratched at his throat. He had heard it, he was sure of it. That disembodied voice, keening his partner's name.
The next cry was wordless, but he could pinpoint its direction: whatever it was was ahead of him now. Rude rushed along the corridor toward the foyer. At the junction he paused, listened. The wail he heard was quieter, but it came from the hallway straight ahead.
Only a dozen feet of hallway stretched out ahead of him before the turn. Anything could be around that bend. Rude hugged the wall, proceeding with caution despite the pounding in his chest. He sidled around the corner, crept toward the master suite at the other end. He had almost reached it when, muffled by the door, he heard a scream that ended in a drawn-out moan. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Rude stopped in his tracks.
"Keep it down, will ya?" Reno's voice, coming from the other side of the door. "Ain't like I mind you screamin' my name, but the others gotta be tryin' to sleep, yo."
"Shut up and get on with it." Commanding as it was, Professor Rayleigh's voice held an undeniable breathiness.
The blood rushed to Rude's face. He turned on his heel and marched down the corridor the way he'd come, spurred on by the moans and the steady thumping that resumed beyond the closed door.
On the landing in the foyer he stopped, and gripped the balustrade to keep from shaking. The adrenaline still coursed through his veins, churning up his insides into a kettle of rage and mortification. His fists clenched white around the wooden rail, itching to throttle something. But Reno was busy, and so Rude stomped onward down the stairs.
He intended to march straight out through the front door and down to the pub to pick whatever fight he could find, but as he crossed the foyer, a glimmer of light caught his eye. A door was open in the hallway to the ballroom, and a warm glow spilled out of it, dancing upon the floor. The telltale flickering of fire.
In an instant, Rude pushed his indignation aside. He dashed into the corridor with flames licking high in his mind's eye, but as he got nearer to the open door he slowed his steps, still wary from the night's events. He stopped beside the door and listened – but all he heard was the unmistakable crackle of fire.
As soon as he peeked inside, his worry dissipated. The light came from a roaring fireplace. Cissnei had planted herself in a tall chair in front of it, a half-full wine glass dangling in her hand. She stared into the fire, lost to the world – or so Rude thought. She looked up the second he stepped inside.
"Please, join me," she said, gesturing to the second chair on her right. "You strike me as a man who can appreciate a good vintage."
The chair's armrests were ornately carved from mahogany, but its lacquer finish had gone opaque in places and the blue velvet upholstery was frayed and dulled from decades of ground-in dust. Thankfully, it was much more comfortable than it looked. Rude hadn't realized how exhausted he was until he collapsed into it, throwing up a small whirlwind of dust that shimmered gold in the glow of the fire. With a groan, he stretched out his legs. Cissnei poured him a glass of wine and slid it across the small table between them.
"Thanks."
Rude held the glass up against the light, studying the tawny red liquid inside. A glance at the bottle told Rude the wine was likely even older than his threadbare seat.
"Where did you find this?"
"In one of the pantries. Forgotten in the farthest corner of a cupboard."
Hardly the place Rude would have chosen to store vintage wines. He raised the glass warily, prepared for a mouthful of vinegar, but the scent that rose up to greet him was potent, and his first sip rolled over his tongue in an avalanche of flavors. Burnt sugar, raisins, mushrooms, roasted luchile nuts, a touch of tobacco... The taste lingered and evolved long after he'd swallowed it all.
He'd had wines of this caliber before, courtesy of an aunt who had a vineyard just north of Costa del Sol. A master of her craft, that one, and willing to share the fruits of her labor – as long as you enjoyed them quietly, while she lectured you on the finer points of making and tasting wine. In a family of blatherskites, Rude had quickly become her favorite.
Rude took another sip and sank back in his plush seat. As he closed his eyes and savored the complexities of it unfolding on his tongue, his thoughts drifted to his aunt's vineyard. He'd spent many an evening in her kitchen, as part of the small circle she'd deemed worthy of her special vintages, while the whole extended family celebrated some grand occasion or other out in the yard.
Well, weddings. It was always weddings. Every summer brought a fistful of wedding invitations into his mailbox, from second cousins he'd only met at the weddings of other second cousins.
Rude flinched out of his memories as that dark room flashed again before his eyes; figures beneath dusty white sheets lining the walls like long forgotten rows of dead brides.
Rude glanced at Cissnei, hoping she was still watching the fire and losing her thoughts in the flames, but no such luck. She was watching him, her brow gently furrowed as her gaze trailed down from his face to the rest of him, and Rude became acutely aware of his unbuttoned collar and the damp tie that hung slack around his neck.
"You look like hell."
"...Had a few rough nights."
She snorted. "You and me both. This place doesn't exactly conjure sweet dreams." With a lopsided smile, she raised her glass. "Thought this might help knock me out."
"Sounds like you've been learning from Reno."
Her smile vanished. She brought the glass to her lips for a large sip and leaned back in her seat, staring at the fire again.
Rude followed her example. His body sank into the plush chair like lead, and his skin felt hot and tight, like he was running a fever. This wasn't the post-adrenaline fatigue that turned his muscles into jelly; nor was it the lethargy he felt after heavy materia use, that sapped every ounce of strength from his limbs. This... was something else.
Yet there had been no wailing woman in white; there had only been Rayleigh. He hadn't seen or heard anything that couldn't be dismissed as his rampant imagination. No matter how much he'd panicked, the fact was that he'd made it out of the dark zone without so much as a scratch.
Had it all been inside his head? Now that he was here, enjoying a glass of wine as he soaked up the warmth of a crackling fire, his fears seemed like the delusions of a madman.
But no matter many times he repeated that to himself, the prickling at the back of his neck would not go away.
"Think Reno would like a nightcap?"
Roused from his thoughts, he looked over at Cissnei. She'd sounded perfectly casual, but she kept her eyes locked on the fire.
"He's..." Rude cleared his throat. "Busy."
She checked her watch and frowned.
"At this hour? Doing what?"
"...The professor."
She looked up at him with narrowed eyes, perhaps suspecting he'd cracked a bad joke; but as she watched him her eyebrows shot up beneath her fringe.
"You're kidding me."
"Sadly, no."
She paused, her eyes suddenly alert as she studied his face. Rude caught himself as his hand began creeping up to fix his tie, but the slight motion didn't escape Cissnei's gaze.
"You don't approve?"
She asked the question in Costan. She would do that at times, switch between the languages when it was just the two of them. Maybe she thought speaking in his native tongue might lure more words out of him. Maybe she was right.
Well, on topics like food or explosives, at least. When it came to relationships, it didn't matter what language Rude was speaking.
"Not my business."
Cissnei gave a soft snort. "Well, let's hope it lets him wind down. He's been testing my patience lately."
What could he say to that? "I know" might reveal too much, but asking for clarification might start a conversation he was not equipped to handle.
Rude shifted his weight in his seat and remained silent.
"I thought he was setting you up with her, though," she added.
"He certainly tried."
Cissnei laughed again. "Didn't work, huh? Well, he's never been one to let an opportunity go to waste." She was silent a while, watching her wine as she swirled it around her glass. "Neither is she, from what I can tell," she added. "I wonder who made the first move?"
The memory of Rayleigh's breathy moans flashed through Rude's mind, tangled in several layers of embarrassment. Then he remembered the last time he had heard those kinds of sounds from her; had been the one to bring them out of her. The heat on his cheeks rushed from his face down to his groin.
Rude squirmed in his seat and gulped down enough vintage wine to drown those memories.
"Time for a change of topic?"
Rude nodded vehemently, and Cissnei responded with a small smile. She watched him as she raised her glass to her lips. It was an appraisal, but it wasn't like Rayleigh's cool scrutiny. It wasn't Reno's sly sizing up either. It was, perhaps, the quiet sort of curiosity that Rude himself liked to hide behind his dark lenses.
Cissnei took a sip and closed her eyes, savoring the mouthful of wine before she swallowed.
"So, here we are." Her eyes opened a smidgeon, just far enough to keep watching him. "Three Turks protecting a single scientist while she inspects an old manor house. Kind of overkill, isn't it? One of us would have been plenty."
Perhaps Rude had been too hasty in assuming her motives for speaking Costan with him. In a remote mountain town, what better way was there to ensure a private conversation? Reno was learning, but he was nowhere near fluent. He was also the senior agent on this mission... The one whom Tseng had briefed in private.
"Got a point?"
She was silent a while. Maybe she'd been gathering her thoughts, or continuing her assessment of him. Maybe both.
"Reno wanted a chat after dinner. He had some... concerns about my primary mission."
"Surveillance. The newest First Class."
Cissnei nodded. "Zack Fair. Do you know him?"
"We've met."
She took a few more moments, watching the wine swirling around her glass.
"Seems Reno knows him better than that."
"He does."
She looked up once she realized that was all he was going to say. Rude kept his face blank and waited in silence.
"Reno and I go back years," she finally said. "We met in high school, actually. He's always had this... protective streak. So, I wasn't exactly surprised that he'd go all big brother on me the second he thought I had a crush on Fair."
"Do you?"
Cissnei pursed her lips and gave him another one of her appraising stares.
"I though you wanted me to stick to the point."
"I asked if you had one. Never said you had to stick to it."
"You also said Reno's little fling with the professor is 'none of your business'."
She had a point there. This wasn't idle gossip anymore, though. It was reconnaissance.
"He knows not to risk the mission," he said.
"And I don't?"
"Not sure yet."
He met her gaze, though she could likely only see flames reflected in his dark lenses. Her eyes narrowed before she turned toward the fireplace again.
"You seem awfully sure of what he will or won't do."
He responded with a non-committal grunt. Reno may have developed a knack for reading Rude's state of mind from measured silences and body language, but he was an exception. Rude was curious to see Cissnei would react to them.
He didn't have to wait long.
"Maybe he's the one with the crush. He's been getting pretty friendly with that... Aerith, hasn't he?" She said the girl's name much the way he'd heard her say "spinach" and "vermin".
"Not that friendly. Tseng would skin him."
"He might still have the hots for her. Doesn't everyone?" Cissnei scoffed. "Or maybe he's got a thing for Zack. You never know with Reno. Could be anyone."
"Could be you."
Cissnei went still. Then she turned her head away, from both him and the fire.
"Yeah, right," she muttered.
She had hid her face from Rude behind her curtain of wavy copper hair. He returned his attention to the fireplace and stared into the flames, absently tilting his glass back and forth as he weighed up her reactions. The companionable silence they'd shared earlier had thickened into something wary and tense. It made it difficult for him to concentrate. Maybe it had been a mistake to resort to the methods he used on the job. Cissnei was a colleague, not an informant.
No, needs must. His hand still trembled on the armrest, a physical reminder of everything he'd faced in the past hours – in the past days. Right now, Rude needed to know who he had on his side. He didn't trust her, couldn't trust her, until he knew what she was hiding under her chameleon colors. How would he ever find out, unless he peeled them off for a peek?
Cissnei cleared her throat.
"To return to my point... I get Reno having a bit of a fit. But that he'd do so here, on this bullshit excuse of a mission that pulled me off Fair's surveillance... that makes me think the chief or Tseng were worried I'd jeopardize the mission by having some 'romantic entanglement' with a target. And that really pisses me off."
She growled out the last sentence; a warning, perhaps, not to slight her again with his doubts. Rude could respect that.
As for what she was saying with her words...
"Still waiting for the point."
"Well... I guess I'm curious. If I'm right, that I'm here just so Reno can have a little chat with me off the record... That'd explain two Turks, but there's three of us here."
Rude's fingers tightened around the delicate glass in his hand. Reno's sudden interest in his private life since the incident with Chelsea. His constant attempts to fix Rude up with the professor, starting the minute they boarded the helicopter in Midgar. The conclusion, when he came to it, sank like lead to the pit of Rude's belly.
"I am getting pissed off, too."
"Does that mean I should run," Cissnei said with half a smile, "or that you think my theory has merit?"
"The latter."
Regret washed over Rude as soon as he'd said it. The admission hung heavy between them, trapped in the manor's stifling air.
"Turks and feelings," Cissnei mused, staring into her glass. "Never a good combination. Or so the chief keeps saying."
She knew, of course. Reno was the only one who would bring it up to his face, but they all knew. The whole damned department knew of his failure as a Turk.
The way she said it, though, with that sad smile on her face... She knew, all right. She knew in a way Reno and the others didn't.
Rude grunted his acknowledgement.
Cissnei sighed and drained her glass.
"On that cheery note," she said as she placed it on the table, "time for me to get some sleep."
"Good night."
Rude didn't mention the slight wobble in her step. As Cissnei had pointed out, there were three of them, when one was plenty. There was no need for them all to remain sober. Besides, if she was right, then the only Turk with a real mission in Shinra Manor was getting his rocks off upstairs.
Grinding his teeth together, Rude reached for the bottle.
Rude groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Half a bottle of wine should not have been enough to turn his head into an anvil. He dragged the blanket aside and let his hot, heavy legs slide off the edge of the bed.
As soon as his feet touched the floorboards, Rude remembered the previous morning and jerked them back up again. Sitting cross-legged on the mattress, he peered around the room with bleary eyes. He hadn't been drunk, exactly, but woozy enough to forget to take evening shots of his room. Woozy enough to forget what state it had been in when he crashed into bed. Not that he much cared, right at that moment. The dull pounding in his skull saw to that.
He gingerly lowered his legs again. Thankfully, nothing tried to grab his ankles as he got out of bed, nor did any boogeymen leap out at him from the closet as he dressed. The manor was quiet as he lumbered down the stairs, but in the kitchen he found Cissnei by the coffeemaker with a steaming mug in her hands.
"Plenty left for you." She nodded toward a white bottle of pills next to the coffee machine. "Figured you might need these, too. Looks like I was right."
Rude grunted some half-hearted reply and reached for the pills.
"I'll take that as a 'thanks'," Cissnei said, a slight smile on her lips. "That wine was a doozy, huh?"
Her eyes were a bit red, a bit puffy, but otherwise she looked no worse for wear and her tone was chatty. Rude scowled and swallowed a couple of pills.
"It seems we're both late for breakfast," she continued. "There's a note on the fridge."
He looked over to see a piece of paper filled with uneven lines of spidery letters. He scoffed and turned his attention to the coffee instead. He was far too caffeine-deprived to tackle Reno's scrawl.
"As far as I can make out, the professor wants me to..." Cissnei squinted at the note, then snorted. "I'd better ask her to be on the safe side, Reno's spelling is rather... creative. I'm pretty sure he didn't mean–"
They both flinched as the kitchen door burst open.
"There you are, buddy! Whoa, rough night?"
Reno's face split into a knowing grin. Rude scowled deeper and turned his back on him to grab the coffee pot.
"You could say that," Cissnei replied in his stead. "Rude caught you two... in flagrante delicto."
"Infla-what?"
Rude hadn't realized how mercifully quiet Cissnei had been. Next to Reno's hollering, her voice was a dulcet melody. It had turned several degrees cooler since the redhead's arrival, though.
"He heard you two doing the deed last night," she explained.
A few blissful seconds, that was all it shut him up for.
"Didn't know you were that kinda perv, man."
Rude sent a dirty look over his shoulder, but Reno's grin only grew wider. Rude turned his back on the conversation for good this time, hunching over the counter as he gulped down mouthfuls of hot coffee.
"He didn't go looking for it, dumbass. He couldn't miss it."
"Heh, yeah. Sorry about that. I asked her to keep it down, but y'know." An awful pause. "Screamers, yo."
Cissnei set down her mug on the countertop with a loud clink.
"Oh-kay, on that note of way too much information, I think I'll go see what the professor wants."
"Hey, I can tell ya what she–"
"Shut it, Red!"
The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Rude alone with a snickering Reno.
"What?" he brayed after her. "I was talkin' about the note on the fridge, yo!"
Rude's fingers curled into claws, digging into the countertop.
Still sniggering to himself, Reno grabbed Cissnei's cup and poured the last of the coffee into it.
"You look like shit, man. Still waitin' for the black stuff to kick in, huh?"
By now, Rude's shoulders nearly touched his ears. The headache had gone nowhere, the coffee had scalded his tongue, and there was nary a chance in hell that this blabbermouth would ever–
A jaunty melody scattered his thoughts. Reno pulled out his PHS and raised his eyebrows as he looked at the caller ID.
"Yeah?" he said by way of greeting.
Work-related, Rude surmised, and took another large gulp of coffee.
"Nah, through the side door by the kitchen. Huh? What, like in the middle of everythin'? 'Kay, we're comin'."
Rude sighed at the "we" and emptied his mug in one swig. When he set it down, Reno was already by the door.
"C'mon, partner. Ciss has got somethin' to show us."
Reno loped off, and Rude trailed after him at a pace he could stomach. Once he rounded the hallway corner, he spotted his fellow Turks just a few steps into the foyer. Cissnei was speaking to Reno, but Rude couldn't make out what she was saying. As Rude emerged from the corridor, Reno looked up toward the landing – then frowned and tilted his head.
"Huh."
Rude followed his gaze up to the second floor, and came to a halt.
In the middle of the landing stood a simple, wooden chair. The perfect vantage point for someone to sit and watch the comings and goings through the front doors – except the chair was empty.
Just an empty chair, perched right at the top of the stairs.
Rude felt goosebumps crawl up the back of his neck.
"Did you put that there?" Reno asked him.
Rude shook his head vehemently.
"It wasn't there a few minutes ago."
"Huh," Reno said again, frowning up at the chair. "Weird. The Prof, maybe?"
As he glanced around, Cissnei studied him with narrowed eyes.
"Why would she do that?"
"Hell if I know. Maybe it's a science thing."
"A 'science thing'? That's the best you can come up with?"
"It's the best I can do from down here," Reno said thoughtfully as his gaze roamed from one end of the landing to the other. "Rude, keep an eye out. Ciss, you're with me."
Rude scanned the room; apart from the chair, nothing seemed amiss. Nevertheless, his scalp prickled with the stares of unseen eyes.
The landing had been empty; Rude was sure of that, if nothing else. He could not remember seeing any chair – or any soul – on his way to the kitchen, not that he'd been looking. The light was still too bright for his eyes, even with his shades firmly in place, and his whole head thumped in time with his pulse.
His fellow Turks had checked each end of the landing and were now standing around the chair. Reno frowned at it. Cissnei frowned at Reno.
When Reno straightened up and motioned to Rude to join them, he realized he'd been frowning up at them too.
"Go check on Rayleigh," Reno told Cissnei. "We'll deal with the creepy chair."
She gave him another long stare, then nodded and flitted off.
"Any ideas about this fuckin' thing?" he asked Rude, once they stood side by side.
Rude stared at the chair. Where had it come from? The kitchen? No, the wood was too dark. This one was more like the one in... his room. Had something been in his room again?
No, it wasn't his chair. It couldn't be. The spindles in the back were fewer and fatter on this one. He was sure of it... almost. Common sense told him to take a closer look, to check and confirm, but he couldn't force himself any closer. Just looking at the damned thing made his skin prick with goosebumps.
It was a chair he was looking at, wasn't it? The others had called it a chair... Hadn't they?
"It's..." He licked his lips. "It's just a chair." He held his breath, desperate to hear a confirmation.
Reno rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, I can see that much. What's it doin' here?"
Just a chair – but placed there by whom? Whose trail had Rude been following in the dark?
"Someone's toying with us." His voice wavered. A part of him wanted to say something.
Reno snorted.
"You might be on to somethin' there, buddy."
He looked over his shoulder toward the north wing, his brow creasing. Moments later Rude picked up on it, too. Echoing from the corridor, he could hear Cissnei's voice, calling the professor's name; and behind it, the faint sound of... knocking.
"Should we–"
Reno held up a hand, and as Rude fell silent he realized that the noise had stopped. He listened again, holding his breath. As they both stood there watching the north wing entrance, he thought of trails smudged through dust, shimmering in the beam of a flashlight.
Cissnei came into view, still wearing her frown.
"She isn't answering," she called. "Got your lock picks?"
"Yeah, but don't need 'em." Reno grinned and flourished a crooked iron key, as if performing some magic trick. "Got the master key, yo."
Rude gave Reno a sharp look, but he was already striding across the landing to where Cissnei stood. She crossed her arms and stared at him as he approached.
"I didn't know you had a master key."
"You didn't need to," Reno said with a shrug, and swept past her.
Cissnei looked at Rude. He shrugged his shoulders and followed them both into the corridor.
Just as they made a right-hand turn at the junction, a piercing metallic screech stopped the three of them in their tracks.
"The fuck was that?" Reno asked, alarmed.
"No idea," Cissnei sighed. "I've heard it before, but nothing's ever come of it. Just another one of the creepy noises this place makes, I guess."
It sounded again; a series of creaks, like the protestations of a rusty hinge. Rude realized that he'd heard something very similar.
"The weathervanes."
She gave him an odd look. "Weathervanes?"
"Shit, that's right," Reno cut in. "There's a bunch of rusty weathervanes on the roof." He looked up at the ceiling. "That weird one oughta be right above us, huh?"
Rude nodded.
"That's one loud weathervane," Cissnei remarked as they continued toward Rayleigh's suite.
"Yeah, we could hear it all the way down in the yard. Guess ol' Gubbins don't get paid to oil stuff around here, either."
Once they were all gathered around the master suite, Reno pounded on the door with his fist. Rude winced.
"Yo, Prof!" Reno yelled. "You in there?"
A second passed, followed by another. Then the door jerked inward.
"What?" Rayleigh snapped.
She'd only cracked the door open part of the way, just enough to reveal her face. She glared at them through the gap, cheeks pink and chest heaving.
"You okay in there? Took you a while to open the door, yo."
"I was working. Something you lot should be doing, too."
She pushed at the door, but Reno slapped his palm against it and held it open.
"We are. Somethin' funny is goin' on out here. Wondered if you might know anythin' about it?"
Rayleigh looked over at Rude and Cissnei, then back at Reno.
"Define 'funny'."
"Someone put a chair on the stairs in the foyer. Was it you?"
She scoffed. "I don't have time to play with furniture."
Again she tried to close the door, but Reno pushed back. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and blew it out in a huff. Flush with irritation... or out of breath? Rude glanced down. One of her feet was visible, propped up against the half-open door. Clumps of dust clung to the blue suede of her shoe, and a dark streak ran across the toes.
"So maybe you heard somethin'?" Reno asked.
"I haven't heard a thing. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
"You might wanna let one of us stay in there with ya. Someone moved that chair, and if it wasn't us..."
"Then guard my door out here," she spat. "Security is your problem, not mine!"
This time she put her whole body into it and slammed the door shut. The lock gave a defiant snick behind her. Reno snorted and turned around to face them, his mouth cocked in a wry smile.
"So... Whaddya think, guys?"
Rude mulled over all he'd seen, trying to fit it into the big picture. She might have tracked dust on her shoes while fetching a chair from the dark zone... But why would she still be short of breath from it? Why would she risk suspicion by not answering her door?
Beyond that, why would a professor with no perceptible sense of humor play stupid pranks with chairs?
"I think we should stick together until we figure this out," Cissnei said slowly, watching Reno. "Not let each other out of sight for one minute."
"That might make doin' our jobs a lil' tricky."
Her eyes narrowed, fixed on his face.
"Isn't our job already done? We've checked the house and the grounds. We're twiddling our thumbs waiting for the professor now, and she just sits in her room all day."
"Ain't our call to say when the job's done."
"Fine, but let's be smart about how we do it. It's pretty clear to me we don't need three damn Turks to watch one door. Hell, Rude and I may as well go back to Midgar."
"Only got one chopper, yo."
Rude struggled to make sense of their arguments. First they should stay together, then half of them should go home? Yet Cissnei didn't seem to be grasping at straws. Her gaze was steady, her jaw set, her whole body poised. Poised for what, though – that's what Rude couldn't figure out.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. It didn't help; his thoughts still crawled at a snail's pace.
"So, the job is done when Rayleigh is done?" he heard her say. "Well, she's already seen what she needs to see in this place, so I say now she's just wasting time. Our time. She can convince Hojo to bring the whole science crew here if she wants to stay that badly."
"Well... We could break into her room, kidnap her and drag her kickin' and screamin' to the chopper. Wouldn't look that great on the report, tho'."
When Rude opened his eyes, the smirk he'd heard in Reno's voice was still there on his face. Cissnei wasn't smiling.
"Then why don't you turn on your irresistible charm and lure her out yourself? You could always promise her a replay of last night."
Reno just chuckled.
"Pretty sure my charm only works once on the likes of her, yo."
"Then what the hell is it good for?"
He gave her a sharp look.
"What's up with you today?"
"Maybe I don't like the games you're playing."
"The hell's that s'posed to mean?"
"That maybe you should try leading by example for a change."
Reno pushed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head, taking a moment to study her.
"This about Rayleigh, or somethin' else?"
Cissnei didn't reply, just met his hooded gaze with narrowed eyes.
"I'll do a sweep downstairs," she finally muttered. "Check doors and windows."
She turned on her heel and left.
"What happened to stickin' together?" Reno called after her, but she rounded the corner without looking back.
Watching her leave made Rude think back on the argument he'd witnessed between them, and the tracks he'd been following in the dark. If it hadn't been Reno...
"I'll go with her," Rude said, and strode off after her without waiting for a reply.
He caught up with her just as she reached the steps to the foyer.
"Cissnei, I need a hand."
"With what?"
"Need to check the dark zone again. Could do with backup."
She arched an eyebrow, but nodded and followed him all the same.
At the edge of the dark zone, Rude crouched down and peered at the floor. In the faint light from the windows he could make out the smooth prints from Cissnei's loafers, next to a larger set that had to belong to the custodian. He saw the tracks he'd left himself; a tidy trail of prints heading in, and smudged ones, far apart, coming out.
What he didn't see was a pair of streaky lines in the dust, leading into the darkness.
Three of the flashlights were still lined up by the wall; the missing one was back in his bedroom. Rude grabbed the closest one and shot up. Despite the composure he tried to keep in front of Cissnei, his footsteps sped up as he approached the end of the corridor. The bright beam of the flashlight lit up a dirty white blanket of dust in the next room, marred by two sets of diagonal prints: one heading in, one coming out. His own. Only his own.
Rude fumbled for the doorframe. He dug his fingers into it, scraping off large flakes of old paint. The wood was solid, real in his hand.
"Rude?"
"Look in there." His voice was hoarse, but at least it was steady. "What do you see?"
She poked her head inside and squinted at the floor.
"Shit, someone's been through here. Running toward us in a hurry, but slow when going back in."
"No. That was me. Walking in, running out."
"When? What happened?"
"Last night," he said, ignoring her second question. "What else do you see?"
She scanned the floor again, but soon she looked up and shrugged.
"What are you getting at?"
The dust he'd kicked up on his way in tickled his throat and scraped beneath his eyelids like grit. His head throbbed, his muscles ached with tension. Rude closed his eyes and slumped against the doorframe. The leather of his glove felt cool against his forehead; or maybe it was his skin that was too hot.
"Rude? Are you okay?"
"Just tired," he rasped. With a deep breath that only worsened the itching in his lungs, he slowly straightened up. "We're done here."
Rude tottered after Cissnei, feeling lightheaded. He needed rest, he told himself. He was overworked, overstressed. He had been for months. He'd be fine as soon as he got a decent night's sleep.
They stepped into the foyer. Rude froze and stared.
The chair was flush against the wall. Upside down.
Rude squeezed his eyes shut. It's not real, he told himself. You're stressed. Tired.
He opened them again, gingerly. The chair was still by the wall, upside down, several feet from where they'd left it. Rude's legs felt unsteady, like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into nothing. Was he looking at the chair, or was he watching himself as he looked at the chair? For a terrible second he wasn't sure.
Beside him, Cissnei wheeled around, whipping her head to and fro as she tried to have eyes on everything at once. She stopped to stare at the chair again. When she looked up at him, her eyes were blazing in a furious scowl.
"What the hell is going on here?"