Chapter Thirteen - Memento
Sephiroth stood outside the door of a small, slightly run down apartment, the lighting from the nearby lamppost illuminating only enough to see the black numbers painted on the door: 314B. Aralyn stirred and let out a quiet sigh, but just when he thought she would wake she fell still again.
"You're home," he said.
She didn't reply. He hadn't expected her to.
Carefully balancing her weight on one arm, he fished a hand into her pocket, making a small, satisfied noise when he grasped a key ring. There were only two keys, and, as luck would have it, the first slid effortlessly into the door. Once the lock was free, he kicked the door open, putting his other arm back around her to support her better.
There was a night-light in the corner, revealing a small patch of worn turquoise and sea green print wallpaper. He shook his head; she had always been terrified of the dark, a fear he found irrational and childish. From its small light, however, he could find the switch to turn on the lights. He took a moment to examine the meager furniture and décor, then tossed the keys onto a small table that was the room's centerpiece.
The walls were a continuation of the blue and green pattern, though some areas the wallpaper were peeling or even absent. Some of these holes were covered by framed paintings, but there were no photos. The floor was covered in cheap, thin, tanish colored carpet. The furniture consisted of a small, old television propped up on a wood shelf and a couch in the corner next to the table he had thrown the keys on. A ceramic vase was the centerpiece, but the flowers inside were wilting, some petals having fallen to the table. The window remained uncovered, letting the moonlight spill in.
He moved the table to the side with one foot, clearing a space large enough for him to lay her comfortably in. He laid her down as gently as he could, but he couldn't tell if she was comfortable; she had not moved. He put an ear near her mouth, listening for her breath. It came, but the intervals were random and the breaths were shallow and raspy. The pulse in her cold wrist was slowing.
Sephiroth began the quest for medical supplies, throwing open cabinets in search of anything that might help. His first instinct was to use his cloak, but it was rough and weathered leather, not exactly ideal for bandages. He found pots, pans, and silverware and simple ceramic dishes, but nothing that would stem the flow of blood or prevent further infection. At one point he came across a ten pack of rainbow colored adhesive bandages, but they were meant for paper cuts, and wouldn't even begin to cover the gashes across her body. He tossed them aside, frustrated by the meager and useless findings.
As the kitchen yielded nothing, he then moved to the bathroom. He found a towel and a few washrags, but even if they were torn into strips they wouldn't be enough. He threw them over his shoulder so they wouldn't hinder his hands, which continued to rummage through every drawer and cabinet he could find.
He pulled back the small mirror, which served as a door for another cabinet. There were small orange bottles filled with multicolored pills in surprising quantities, and they came in all colors, shapes, and sizes. Drawing his brows together in an odd mix of curiosity and (though he would never admit to it) worry, he grabbed one and examined the label. Not satisfied, he grabbed more, and found that they all had been prescribed by a doctor's name that he did not recognize. Among them were at least three varieties of pain medication, and the rest were substances that even he didn't recognize.
He scoured the labels, but could find no clue as to what these medicines were meant to treat.
Turning his mind back to the more immediate problem, he finished his search of the bathroom and turned to the last room in the house: Aralyn's bedroom. Not even hesitating, he opened the door and stepped into her innermost sanctuary.
Sephiroth was taken aback by the simplicity of the room. The sheets were plain and white, not even a bit of lace to elaborate. The curtains were white with a pattern of pale green vines, and on the table was a small table holding a clock and a picture.
He didn't need to see the picture to know what it was. His frown turned to a dark scowl, and his eyes turned flat and dangerous. Surprised by the ferocity of the emotion, he pulled back and leaned against a wall, taking a moment to compose himself. Without looking at anything more than the most vague of details, he gently laid the photo face down, and then withdrew his hand like the picture had burned him.
He moved to the closet, looking for more bandage worthy material. A black skirt caught his eye; it was long, meant to pool gently at the ankles, which meant that it would make a lot of bandages. He nodded in approval and added it to the towels. He snagged a few more shirts before he made his way to the back of the wardrobe. The last item, tucked away safely in the darkest corner, was very large and bulky, covered in plastic to preserve it. He raised an eyebrow. If this was worthy material, he wouldn't need the towels or her clothes. He removed the hanger and ripped the plastic from the dress, dropping it in shock when the garment was revealed.
It was a wedding dress.
He scoffed and turned away, shutting the door firmly and angrily behind him. He ran to Aralyn and grabbed her wrist. True to his prediction, a simple gold wedding ring adorned her finger, the small diamond painted ruby with her blood.
He let out his breath slowly, making a harsh hissing sound. He was aware that his hands were shaking. The metal band around his own finger felt hot and heavy. Looking for the last but of evidence to prove himself wrong, he eased the ring off Aralyn's finger, looking on the inside of the band.
He wiped away the drops of blood to reveal the carving that he had feared he'd find.
My Angel.
Something was tugging at his glove weakly but persistently. Aralyn, in perhaps her final reserves of energy, had gripped the fingers of his leather gloves and pulled until his pale hand was unveiled. He looked at her face, waiting to see her reaction.
"You still…have yours," she gasped, fingering his gold ring. "Do you…remember…or did you…forget?"
Sephiroth did not answer, but pushed her back to the ground firmly. Fluidly ripping the towels with his bare hands, he began to work on her wounds.
"You do…" She breathed, her eyes shining. "And you came…just like…you promised…."
Sephiroth was not affected. He was, however, relieved when she fell back into unconsciousness. He didn't like the way she had looked at him, her eyes pleading with him endlessly.
"Nothing's changed," he said to her as he tied the makeshift bandage firmly around her bleeding side. "And you're a fool if you expected it to."
When she was bound to a point where at least she wouldn't bleed to death, he stood up and took the phone on the wall, calling for an ambulance. They asked for an awful lot of information, which Sephiroth found particularly irritating.
"What's her name?" the lady on the line asked.
"Aralyn."
"Aralyn who?"
"Just Aralyn."
"How was she hurt?"
Sephiroth let the silence speak his reply.
"Well, is she conscious?"
"No."
"Is she on any medication?"
"About fifteen of them."
"What are they for?"
"You tell me, you're the one with her records."
Soon the lady became just as irate with him as he was with her.
"Does she have a pulse? Or is she breathing?"
"I wouldn't bother calling if she wasn't. Just send someone, preferably as quick as you can."
He hung up the phone, silently fuming at both the lady and the unnecessary delay.
There was one more number he dialed, remembering it from a poorly made advertisement he had seen on a street lamp…
"Strife Delivery Service," a woman's voice answered. "You name it, we deliver it."
"314B Shire Gardens, Tifa," Sephiroth said. "Try not to be late. Bring Strife if you must."
That was all the information he gave. With one last glance at Aralyn, he opened the door and disappeared into the night.
A/N: So we have Sephy officially in the present time now. He was always in the flashbacks. Thanks again for the support! More coming soon, maybe Thursday but Sunday at the very latest.