CHAPTER 12: ON THE OTHER SIDE

It all happened so quietly that it didn't seem real.

Each and every one of Nibelheim's residents had gathered in the small graveyard that stood in a small clearing up the mountain path. The sky was a brilliant blue and the wind was blowing steadily. Cloud stood beside his mother with his eyes on the ground. Once in a while he'd try to glace towards the front of the crowd to try to see Tifa, but he was too short and there were too many people in the way. It was a lung disease that took her, Mom had told him. Pneumonia, it was called. The thought of his lungs getting sick enough to take his life frightened Cloud. He knew what it was like to have a hard time breathing, though his lungs seemed to be getting stronger as time went by. The sickness had killed Tifa's mother, and Cloud didn't know what to do. He supposed that he should know what it felt like, since his father had passed away and he was left with one parent as well. But he had been too little at the time to remember any of it, so it was difficult to try to know what to say or understand what Tifa was feeling. Normally, his presence seemed to go unnoticed by children and adults alike. Cloud hoped Tifa would notice that he was there for her as she navigated the hollow stillness of the first days adjusting to her mother's departure from this life.

He could hear the booming voice of Mr. Taylor as he led the mourners in the reading from the book civil rites, then said a few kind words about Mrs. Lockhart. Cloud peaked up at his mom, who held her jaw firm despite the moisture pooling in her eyes. Tifa's mother had been kind to both of them. The way Mom smiled and hummed and sashayed about the house after a visit from their gentle neighbor hadn't gone unnoticed by the young boy. Though he usually made himself scarce when the two women sat at the kitchen table, the happy chatter and his mother's laughter had brought a sense of peace upon him. Thinking of a future without Lia's visits to his mother or protection from Mr. Lockhart made him stiff with dread. In his hands, he held a single lily. Cloud knew he was to place it on the casket, but he really wanted to give it to Tifa. If it would help her feel even the slightest bit better, he'd pick her a thousand flowers! The mountainside was full of wildflowers this time of year—brilliant pinks, purples and yellows. Since the boy lacked the words to say to help his friend pick up the pieces of her broken heart, maybe a simple gesture would do. Cloud decided to pick one for her when they got back home.

After the formalities, the mourners were led forward to pay their final respects to Lia Lockhart before she was lowered into her final resting place. As he passed and put his flower upon the coffin, Cloud studied the casket and let the sight draw forth vague memories. Daddy's coffin had been wooden, too, but there had been only a handful of flowers atop it. Turning his head, he caught his first glimpse of his little friend. A pretty black hat with a mourner's veil sat upon Tifa's head, her face bent towards the ground. The wind pulled at her long, dark hair, which hung loosely over her shoulders. Her father held one of Tifa's hands; the other fisted the fabric of her lacy black frock. Cloud wanted to tell her he was here, embrace her, or just do something.

He felt his mother's hand on his back, prompting him to walk forward and follow the line as it headed back down the slope toward the village. There were few things he knew of that were more frustrating than helplessness.

… … …

Tifa wasn't sure how she had gotten back to her room. She didn't remember much after watching her mother being lowered into the earth. Her tears had blurred the world together into a molten mess of wavering color as she heard the dirt hitting the wooden casket, shovelful by shovelful. When she went to sleep that one night, Mama was there. When she woke up the next morning Mama was gone. She never had the chance to say goodbye. Nothing could fix this. Nothing would be okay again. She was the one who had gotten Mama sick; it was all her fault that she was dead. If only she had listened to her mother's warnings and had worn her stupid coat! It seemed like it was all some sort of nightmare—losing her Mama forever was too terrible to be real. Tifa wanted her here now. She wanted her to smooth back her hair and tell her that everything would be alright. She wanted to sit on Mama's lap as she plunked the piano keys. She wanted to fall asleep to the flowing lilt of her mother's lullabies.

Tifa's whole body shook with the power of her sobs as she hid her face in her pillow. She hadn't slept the night before and fatigue and gloom quickly pulled her into an uneasy sleep. Tifa woke several times, her mind fogged with grief and lethargy. She had no way of knowing when her trio of friends had joined her in her room. Had they come to comfort her? They coaxed her out of bed, but she only moved to sit on the floor at the foot of her bed. Mama was dead. Mama was dead! If she hadn't gotten sick, Mama would still be alive. Misery washed over her and she pulled her knees to her chest. With her head feeling heavy and her body feeling listless, she dropped her forehead to rest on her knees. Downstairs, the murmur of many voices of the well-wishing visitors blended into one slurring tone. Next to her, the boys were talking amongst themselves but their voices sounded so far away.

"Hey, look! Cloud's coming," Jim said, peering out the front window. "Do you think he wants to come in?"

Jason and Thomas came over to look. The blonde was tentatively coming up the front path to the Lockhart house. He was no longer in his black mourner's clothes and had something in his hands.

"Don't worry, her dad hates him! Mr. Lockhart won't let him in!" Thomas said, brows furrowed and arms crossed.

Tifa didn't hear them. All she could hear was the beating of her heart in her ears. She wanted to see her mother. This couldn't be the end; she hadn't even said goodbye! But most of all, Tifa wanted to say she was sorry. There had to be a way. Slowly, she turned her head to peek at the piano. Mama had spent hours playing when she was homesick. Oh…

Her mother had wanted to go home. Her home was over the mountain and across the sea. Memories of conversations of years past flooded back into her brain.

On the other side of the mountain. Only ghosts can cross the mountain.

It hadn't been too long since she had died—there was still time. If Mama's spirit wanted to go home, it would have to pass over Mt. Nibel. She couldn't have gotten too far. Tifa stood up suddenly, stoically turning to face the boys.

"I want to see my mother," she whispered before running out of her bedroom and speeding down the stairs.

Startled, her friends followed close behind. Tifa weaved through the mourners crowding the foyer and stumbled to the front door. Cloud had his hand on the Lockhart's knob when the door flung open, pushing him to the side. He gasped with surprise and his eyes widened when he saw Tifa heading away from the house. Cloud was about to call out to her when the trio of bullies ran out next. Where were they going? Was Tifa alright? He needed to find out. Cloud followed at a distance, holding a daffodil in his hands.

Tifa didn't slow her pace as she headed up the mountain path. The wind was growing fierce, and whipped her hair and skirt this way and that. She fought for breath and her knees buckled from time to time, but her eyes were clear: there were no tears left to cry. Her wrinkled black frock bunched at her knees as she climbed and climbed, ignoring the calls from her friends. The path was winding and rockwork was jagged and sharp, but it didn't discourage her. Tifa had seen her Papa's maps. She knew where to go.

"Tifa, wait!" Jason called, "You can't go up there!"

"A lot of people died on that mountain! Don't be reckless!" cried Thomas.

The higher they climbed, the more uncomfortable Jim became. The grassy turf became more and more dry as they ascended the mountainside. The earthy greens and browns were turning to dusty grey as they ascended, and it made the brunette remember endless warnings he had received about the infamous mountain. There were ghosts and rock slides on Mt. Nibel, and he sensed trouble.

"K-keep going after Tifa!" he called to the others, "I'm gonna tell my Pop!" With that, Jim turned to descend the rocky path, barely noticing Cloud who lagged behind.

Cloud watched Jim run by, swallowing the anxious lump in his throat. What on earth was Tifa doing? He needed to get to her, fast! The stony path led to a rope bridge that crossed over a large chasm. Tifa's step didn't waver as she traversed onto the wooden planks. Blinded by grief and desperation, she pushed forward without acknowledging the groan of the ropes as the wind made the bridge sway. Thomas and Jason stood tentatively on the cliff face, too afraid to step onto the bridge in front of them. They tried one more time to call out to the girl, but their pleading fell on deaf ears. Panicked, they turned and ran back the way they came. Cloud had managed to catch up and saw Tifa slowly crossing the bridge.

"T-Tifa!" he called. "Come back!"

The howling wind carried his voice away as soon as the words left his mouth. He paused to look at the gorge below. It was a long, long way down. The bridge was swaying in the cross winds and he saw Tifa stumble. Be brave, Cloud. Be brave! You have to help her! If he could just get to her, he could take her hand and lead her back home to safety. If anything happened to harm Tifa while he was present, he'd never forgive himself. His grip tightened on the daffodil stem and Cloud sucked in a deep breath as he took his first step on the swaying bridge. He held onto the rope railing until his knuckles turned white, calling out to his friend as he inched forward.

"I'm coming! Don't worry, I'm coming to get you!"

Cloud had almost caught up to her! A sharp gust of with rocked the bridge and Tifa missed her step, sliding between the strands of rope that held the boards to the railing. With a cry of surprise, she found herself frantically clawing at the wooden planks. Cloud gasped and reached to grab her wrist. Tifa's garnet eyes widened as reality finally set in and she saw her friend reaching toward her. Their fingers brushed for a fleeting moment before hers slipped from the worn wooden walkway. Cloud cried out as the bridge swayed back the way it came, momentum pushing him forward and over the edge.

Together, they plummeted into the gorge below.

… … …

It hurt. He gasped as air came rushing into his lungs. Why did it hurt to breathe? Consciousness came flooding in quickly as stinging pain spread through his legs. Something soft and warm was pillowing his head. What happened? Where am I?

Slowly, Cloud opened his eyes. He was lying face down on a lump of dark fabric. Black lace? Realization hit him and he gasped, reeling backwards and scrambling a few feet backward. In an instant, it all came rushing back. He was too late. He had failed. He let Tifa fall and now she's lying there so very still. Cloud's breathing came in short huffs and he tried to stand, but searing pain in his knees made him buckle and he cried out in agony. The world spun. Disoriented and sick with fear and trauma, he collapsed to the ground and retched onto the earth until his stomach was long empty. Tifa was dead. His only friend was dead.

Why didn't I die, too?

Cloud swallowed and turned to look at his fallen friend. A thin layer of dust coated Tifa's black dress, which was now torn in several places from the jagged earth. One little shoe had somehow been tossed from her foot and lay in the gravel a small distance away. Her dark eyelashes were closed against her pale cheeks which were marred with shallow scratches. Dark soil clung to her tear tracks in thick lines down the sides of her face. Cloud's eyes widened when he saw a pool of blood slowly seeping into the dry earth from a wound that must've been where her head rested on the ground. Strands of dark hair draped over Tifa's mouth, moving slightly with each of her ragged breaths. For a short moment, relief washed over him. She was alive!

"T-Tifa?" he whispered.

She didn't move. Immediately, fear and a sense of urgency turned his insides to ice. He needed to do something, quick. He couldn't let her die—he needed to get help! Cloud tried to rise but his knees were mangled and he stumbled when he tried to take a step. Choking on a sob, he fell back onto his rear, whimpering miserably. He was useless, completely worthless. How could he save her if he couldn't run for help? Cloud drew in a deep breath into his frail lungs and shouted as loud as he could, again and again. His forlorn cries echoed through the canyon in lonely waves. Someone had to hear him, right?

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

Small sounds of woe flowed freely from his throat and he crawled back to Tifa's side. Cloud curled beside her, protectively putting one arm over the girl and nursing his bleeding knees with the other. Tifa was always a happy, vibrant spirit. Her jovial nature and kind heart had always wrapped his around his wounded soul like a warm blanket. How could he possibly live one day without her in his life? If she died, what was there that made life worth living? Cloud was used to feeling like an outcast; most of his time had always been spent by himself. But it wasn't until the only friend he'd ever known lay lifeless at his side did he realize what it truly meant to feel alone.

Nearby, the lone daffodil had fallen—a splash of yellow amongst the grey gravel.