It was very late when Even himself finally departed the counting house, his money all stowed away in the large metal safe he kept locked behind a corner bookcase.
As he stepped out onto the stoop, Even noticed the counting house sign, the top of which was frosted with snow. The bottom name was still visible, however, although it was slightly obscured by the large X that had been marked through it.
- and Highwind, the sign read.
"Ah, Master Dilan," Even sighed. "That man was classy and prosperous. Stole mortgage money from old ladies and food money from children, he did. Too bad the Heartless stole his heart…"
Reaching up with his cane, Even banged on the sign, knocking the frozen snow from the top of it. The sign now read Hisame and Highwind.
Whistling, Even marched down off the stoop, bowing slightly against the freezing wind. His tall boots made distinct tracks in the snow that had built up along the streets, their imprints clear-cut and sharply defined, black against the white.
It was a fifteen-minute walk from the counting house back to Even's own residence; a massive brick house that loomed above those on either side of it. Even had had the house built after he made his first hundred thousand in counting, to remind all those beneath him of exactly how capable he was of looking down on them.
The blond-haired man climbed the stairs slowly, head now bowed low against the wind that had grown to nearly a gale force. He gripped the freezing handrail tightly, feeling the ice melting and soaking into his glove. With one hand, he reached for the knocker that was actually the handle, a cleverly disguised lever that unlatched the lock inside the door.
Even grasped the knocker tightly, then jerked back in surprise as it moved under his hand and let out a loud cry of pain.
Peering closely at it, Even's eyes went wide with shock and horror. Instead of the leering gargoyle face of the knocker, the face that glared out at him, wrinkling its bronze nose, was that of his former partner, Dilan Highwind.
"H-Highwind?" Even gasped.
"Who do you think?" the knocker snapped, in Dilan's distinctly accented voice.
Even released a cry of terror, drew his emergency key from his pocket, and unlocked the door at the handle, throwing it open and stumbling into the house, then slamming it behind him. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, breathing hard. From outside, there was no sound but the forlorn whistling of the wind. Besides that, all was silent.
Slowly, Even relaxed. Rationally, he told himself, there was no way Dilan's face could have been on his door knocker. Dilan had been dead for five years now, ever since the Heartless had attacked him and stolen his heart.
"It was just my imagination," Even whispered into the silence. "It wasn't real."
Once he had calmed down enough to move, Even started up the grand staircase, the wood creaking slightly beneath the heels of his tall black boots. The house was dark and eerie beneath him, and Even's eyes darted nervously, straining to catch any sudden movement in the shadows below. His ears seemed strained nearly to their breaking point, listening intently for any noise behind him.
A loud creak caught his attention, and he froze, whirling in place. The creak sounded exactly like the creak made by the fourth step in the staircase if one did not remember to tread lightly upon the carpeted side portion of the step and not the wooden center. He expected to see someone there, standing behind him, weapon possibly raised for an assault.
There was no one there.
Wiping his brow, which had suddenly become damp with cold sweat, Even continued on up the stairs, now concentrating only on listening.
Another creak sounded, and this one seemed closer, somehow. Even spun again, expecting an assassin to rise slowly from the floor and plunge a blade into his chest.
Still, no one appeared.
Thoroughly strung-out, Even turned once more and began climbing, shaking as he did so. His cane trembled in his hand as he placed it on the next step up.
A loud creak came from just behind him.
This time, when he heard the noise, Even did not turn. Rather, he lifted his cane slowly, reversed it in his hand, and jabbed it suddenly backward in a violent thrust.
Someone exclaimed in pain, and Even felt the impact of the cane as it hit something soft and fleshy. When he looked behind him, however, there was no physical person standing there. The air behind him was empty, but the moonlight piercing through the round window above cast shadows onto the wall beside him. There was his shadow, the shadow of his cane sticking out… into the large shadow of another figure, which was clutching its sides and moaning.
Even shouted in alarm and ran full tilt the last bit of the way up the stairs, opening his bedroom door, dashing in, slamming the door and locking it securely behind him, bolting it with the many bolts he had installed over the years. He leaned against it, shivering and hyperventilating, his eyes wide and pupils dilated with fright.
A sudden rattling against the door elicited another cry of panic from the terrified man. Quickly, Even shoved himself off of the door and ran to the huge armchair by the fireplace, throwing himself into it and peering around the back of the chair like a timid child.
The door continued to rattle behind him, trembling and shaking violently. Wood creaked, hinges shuddered, and suddenly, the door blew completely off its hinges, falling forward into the room. The destruction was accompanied by an icy blast of wind, as well as a sound like a gunshot. Even screamed, cowering in the armchair, as a figure stepped into the room.
Tall and muscular, the figure stood a good six inches higher than Even's six foot height. He wore a long, pitch-black coat that blew around his ankles in the gusts of wind. Black dreadlocks whipped about his severe-looking face, which was encroached upon by massive triangular sideburns from either side. His dark eyes regarded Even with a mixture of distaste and what seemed like annoyance.
Dilan Highwind stepped clear of the fallen door, the wind settling somewhat as he moved farther into the room, to stand before the armchair where Even huddled in a shivering heap.
"Even Hisame!" boomed the deep voice of the black-haired man.
"Please, go away!" Even shouted.
Dilan frowned. "Hisame, it's me, Dilan Highwind. I was your partner. Don't you recognize me?"
Trembling, Even reached for the candle and matchbook on the table beside the armchair, striking the match shakily and lighting the wick with an unsteady hand. He held the wavering flame up to more closely view his visitor's face, and his own face grew, if possible, even paler.
"Dilan," he whispered hoarsely. "It is you."
Dilan nodded. "Yes, though they call me Xaldin now." He crossed his arms, looking down the bridge of his nose at Even.
"W-what do you want with me?" Even stuttered.
Xaldin glared at the other man, rolling his eyes. "You're a heartless man, Hisame," he thundered. "Even more so than I, and I truly lack a heart."
Even's eyes grew big and round. "Lack a…" he whispered, unable to finish the sentence.
Xaldin nodded. "I was evil during my life, so as punishment for my sins, the Heartless relieved me of my heart, under the orders of Fate," he said. "You, Hisame, have been far more cruel than I."
Even began to shake even harder, the armchair vibrating visibly with his terror.
"No, please!" he begged. "I don't want to lose my heart!"
Xaldin regarded Even with disgust for a moment more, and then he replied, "You shall have another chance."
Even looked up hopefully. "I shall?"
"Tonight, you shall be visited by three spirits," Xaldin boomed. "Listen to them and follow their orders, or your heart shall be stolen from you and never returned, and you shall be forced to live emotionless for eternity, with no second chances!"
Even, a frightfully superstitious man, was alarmed and terrified by this news.
"Please!" he pleaded. "Is there no other way?"
Xaldin shook his head in utter contempt. "Farewell, Hisame," he replied curtly. A swirling portal of darkness appeared in the doorway behind him. With one last glare at Even, Xaldin stepped through the doorway and was lost from sight. The darkness dissolved behind him, and Even was left alone and frightened in the wavering candlelight.
Still shaken by his ordeal, Even prepared himself for bed, dressing in his woolen nightshirt and nightcap and slipping his warmest slippers over his feet. He climbed into his four-poster bed and lay there staring up at the canopy above, which yawned like the great, dark maw of some abyssal beast.
I must try to sleep, Even thought. Who knows how long it could be before those spirits—
He mentally slapped himself. There are no spirits. That was a dream, nothing more.
With a sigh, Even closed his eyes and turned over beneath the covers, feeling his drowsiness begin to take him as he lay still and quiet.
Just as the man was beginning to fall asleep, however, the chiming of his alarm clock wakened him from his dozing state. Even jerked awake, sitting up straight.
"Anything-forsaken device," he muttered resentfully, yanking on the cord to draw back the curtains of the canopied bed.
He gasped in surprise, his heart nearly jumping into his mouth. A small boy sat on the bedside table, flicking the alarm clock bells with his right index finger and thumb. The boy was dressed in simple winter breeches, tall boots and a long woolen coat, and his silvery-blue hair hung into his face.
"Ienzo?" Even breathed, his eyes turning soft for just a second. The day he had lost Ienzo to the Heartless had been one of the saddest days of Even's worldly life. The boy had meant nearly as much to him as his precious golden coins.
The boy turned to face Even, and in that instant, he changed. No longer was he Ienzo; now, standing, he was almost as tall as Even. His cobalt eyes shimmered in the moonlight coming through the window, and his hair, the same shade of silvery-blue, completely obscured his right eye.
"Greetings, Master Even," the boy said politely. The cadence of his voice was similar to Ienzo's, although it was pitched slightly deeper.
"My name is Zexion. I'm the spirit of Christmas Past."
Even's eyebrows shot up as he realized what was going on. Xaldin had told him the truth, after all.
"Christmas Past?" he repeated, without thinking about it.
Zexion nodded. "We're going to take a journey into your memories, Master Even," he said.
"My… my memories?" Even asked, his breath hitching slightly. "I'm not sure I want to go there…"
Zexion did not seem to hear him. Moving quickly, the slim boy walked to the window, unlatching it and throwing it open. Blasts of snowy air shot into the room, ruffling the canopies of Even's bed and chilling him quickly.
"Wait, Zexion!" Even cried, but it was too late. Zexion was back across the room, grasping Even by the hand and pulling him to the window.
"After you," the boy invited.
"Are you daft?" Even exclaimed. "I can't go out there; I'll fall!"
Zexion sighed, grabbing Even under both his arms. "Then I suggest you hold on tight."
And with that, the slate-haired boy leaped out of the window, carrying Even with him.
Even shrieked as he felt the cold winter air rushing past him, closing his eyes. He was expecting, at any moment, the pain of impact as they splattered onto the cold cobblestones below.
The impact didn't come.
Slowly, Even cracked one eye open, then the other. Then, both eyes opened fully wide, and Even gasped. They were flying smoothly above the snow-covered rooftops of the town, which seemed miniature and faraway from such a height. Unconsciously, Even clamped his arms tighter across Zexion's, to ensure that the boy didn't lose his hold.
"Oh, what's the matter, Master Even?" Zexion asked him casually. "It was my impression that you enjoyed looking down on the world."
Even glared at the boy but did not answer, fearing that if he opened his mouth for one second, the rooftops and Zexion's face would be covered in the dinner he hadn't eaten.
Finally, just when Even was beginning to think he would vomit no matter what, Zexion turned sharply downward, descending until he touched lightly down onto a small street in front of a shop with lighted windows. He hooked an arm around Even's shoulders, propelling the older man toward the windows until he was forced to look in.
Within the shop, a scene of absolute merriment could be viewed. People dressed in gaily colored holiday finery danced about over a wooden dance floor, while the sound of music wafted gently out through the door from the several fiddlers and flute players stationed on wooden crates around the dance floor.
"Why… it's Takezaki's," Even breathed. "It's the old tearoom! I remember this place! I worked here for most of the first half of my life!" He grabbed Zexion's arm, pointing. "Look! There's Master Takezaki! And there's Darian Inazuma, and Dilan, and Rould, and all of my wonderful companions! And there." Even sighed happily, leaning on his hands. "There is Yumi." His face reddened slightly as he caught sight of another figure standing beside the petite, black-haired girl.
"And there I am," he said quietly.
As the two outsiders watched, Yumi approached the young Even shyly, saying something that made the blond young man blush violently. The older Even found his own cheeks warming as he recalled her bell-chime voice.
"Even, won't you come dance with me?" Yumi pleaded softly.
Even's cheeks flamed hotly. "Oh, Yumi," he squeaked nervously, running a hand around his collar. "I… er…"
"Please?" she begged, her eyes blinking up at him.
Even felt himself melting inside, like an ice cube left too long in the sun, or placed beside a fire.
"All right," he agreed with a smile, rising and taking her hands.
"Oh, we were so happy," Even sighed, his own smile soft and nostalgic. "I loved her so very much…"
Zexion crossed his arms, looking at Even with distaste. "Not enough to remain faithful forever," he said quietly.
"What—" Even began, but suddenly, the scene around them changed. Even stared at the dreary walls, listening to the rain pounding down outside.
"Why… it's the counting house," he said disbelievingly.
A slightly older Even was seated behind the counting desk, partially obscured by a huge mound of golden coins, which he was slowly moving from one side to the other.
"Three thousand, four hundred seventy-two," droned Even's voice from behind the gold. "Three thousand, four h—"
The door opened suddenly, and a slight young woman entered the room, folding shut her umbrella as she did so. Her black hair gleamed dully in the dim light, and her dark eyes were full of hurt and sadness.
"Even," she said softly. "Even, dear."
Younger Even's fingers paused in his counting, and older Even felt his heart sinking slowly into his toes. He remembered this day all too well.
"Yes, what?" Younger Even sounded annoyed, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor below the counting desk.
The young woman—Yumi—held up a rolled scroll tied with an elegant ice-blue ribbon.
"For years, I've held the deed to this little cottage," she said, in her sweet, barely-there voice. "I've been waiting for you to keep your vow to marry me; now I must be certain. What is your decision?"
"My decision is made," younger Even said, and for one instant, Yumi's eyes lit with hope. Older Even sighed heavily, knowing what was coming.
"Your final payment on the cottage was an hour overdue," younger Even snapped crisply. "I'm foreclosing the mortgage!"
It was almost as if the older Even could physically hear Yumi's heart cracking in two in the silence that followed. Slowly, she dropped the deed scroll onto the counting desk; then, with crystalline tears pooling in her eyes and rolling slowly down her cheeks, she turned and walked out of the counting house, slamming the door so hard behind her that all of the piled gold coins on the counting desk shook loose and rolled onto the floor. With a long drawn-out and exasperated sigh, younger Even dropped the coin he had been holding and bent down to begin gathering his money.
Older Even closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the memory settling there like lead behind his eyelids.
"Please, Zexion," he whispered hoarsely. "I… I cannot bear these memories any longer. Take us away from here."
Zexion's expression was impassive, and he stared down at Even intently, making the older man wilt further beneath his penetrating gaze. Finally, however, the counting house walls melted away, and the both of them were standing in Even's bedroom.
"Those awful memories…" Even murmured, putting a hand to his forehead. "Why would you take me there, Zexion?"
Zexion turned a final withering stare on Even.
"Do not forget, Master Even," he said, and although his voice was quiet, it seemed to echo around the darkened chamber.
"You crafted those memories yourself."
Before Even could reply to the young man's curt statement, there was a gust of wind through the open window. The air around Zexion seemed to shimmer and ripple, as if a giant had reached down and dipped his finger into it. Then, just like that, the boy was gone.