Good Luck and Goodbye, 4/? by Lucky_Ladybug (Final Fantasy VII, Mosso)
Title: Good Luck and Goodbye, chapter four
Author: Lucky_Ladybug/insaneladybug
Theme: #16 - Mosso
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Warnings: Thematic elements, a hypodermic needle
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and the story is!
Summary/Comments: Sephiroth has gathered all the vials, but now must decide what to do with them. Meanwhile, the others follow up new leads.
Cross-posted to ladybug_tales and http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4243414/4/
Notes: Many thanks to Kaze for plot help! Also, a small part of this chapter was inspired by the 31 Days theme You know that ghost is me, even though this was not finished in enough time to be posted at the community.
Chapter Four
We'll Search For Tomorrow
It was not long afterwards when Zack and Angeal arrived with the officers who had been accompanying them. The dummy was still laying in the road, limp and broken. Yellow "Do Not Cross" tape was all around its perimeter, twisting and waving in the breeze. One officer was taking a picture of the creation as the van came to a stop.
Zack could only stare at the sight. Now he was chilled to the bone. From a distance the figure really did resemble Seph, sprawled and hurt and helpless. Only as he leaped out and drew closer could he really tell that it was and always had been inanimate.
His heart thumped in his chest. Never before had they dealt with a villain who operated with these cruel and unthinkable methods. Not even Dalton would stoop this low---though he was not sure that he could say the same for Gunju Rakesh. Gunju would likely delight in causing such anguish. But the person on the phone had not seemed to be either him or Azazel. The speech pattern did not fit. Nor the talk of being in prison. Gunju had killed himself before he would have arrived at such a fate, and Azazel had gone missing and had been presumed dead.
The officer snapping the picture straightened up, glancing in Zack's direction. "We're dealing with a real sicko," he said.
Zack shook his head. That was obvious without saying anything. "Isn't there any way to tell how long that's been setting out here?!" he burst out. "It couldn't have been long---Cloud was just talking to the guy before coming here! The neighbors should've seen something! They have all these rules here, don't they?! How could nobody notice something like that?!" He pointed at the wretched thing, his hand trembling.
The policeman could only shake his head. "No one called to report it," he said. Even so, the neighbors had been peering out their windows ever since the police had came. They had not realized anything was amiss, and now they were both curious and concerned. There had not been any crime in their subdivision before now, and judging from the sheer amount of cars and people, they knew that something was seriously wrong. But in case there was the danger of a criminal right in the area, no one was willing to venture out of their homes.
"Well, they're sure getting curious now!" Zack said, turning and looking right at someone staring out a window. Realizing he had been caught, the person vanished, the curtain swishing back into place. Zack crossed his arms in annoyance.
"What's happening inside?" Angeal asked, coming up beside Zack.
"I don't know," the officer said. "I was checking out the yard. I think they're all doing a thorough search of the inside of the house, checking for panels, that sort of thing. But this is a new place, so I don't think they'll find anything like that."
Zack turned, running to the stairs and the porch without another word. His raven spikes slapped against the back of his neck and his face as he bounded up the steps two at a time and dashed through the open door. As he skidded to a stop, his eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
The layout of the living room was exactly the same as the previous house, despite the larger space. Police were milling around, dusting for fingerprints and taking pictures, but no one seemed very hopeful. The sight of the identical floor plan was making all of them feel that they would not have any more luck here than at the first house.
Zack did not wait to find out what Angeal thought about this new bizarre twist. Instead he tore past the police, peering into the kitchen at more officers before finding the staircase and again leaping up to a second floor. In the other house, Seph's shirt had been on the bathroom linoleum. Would something else be up here? Or was the dummy the only sign that had been left by this madman? Not that it was not more than enough.
He blinked in surprise to find Cloud and Vincent gazing at a grandfather clock in the upstairs hall. Cloud's arms were crossed, a frustrated frown gracing his features. Vincent's expression was impassive.
"Hey!" Zack exclaimed. "What's going on?"
Cloud looked over at him. "I was just thinking about that message on Sephiroth's shirt again," he said, "that stupid 'tick-tock' thing. What if these clocks have something to do with figuring stuff out? This one looks just like the other one."
Vincent nodded. "They both look old," he said. "One of the police officers thinks they're antiques, made by a specific clock maker who used to live around here."
Zack stared, attempting to process this information. "So how would that help?" he frowned. "Is there some kind of secret code stuck in them?"
"It wouldn't hurt to check," Cloud said, reaching to pull back the glass door over the face of the clock.
By now Angeal was coming up the steps as well. His eyes narrowed in confusion as he watched Cloud pawing at the face of the timepiece, while Zack was bending down to open the door to the pendulum area and Vincent was tinkering with the back.
"And this will help, how?" he asked.
"Dunno!" Zack replied, holding the pendulum to one side with one hand while feeling around the floor and inside walls of the clock with the other.
"It probably won't," Cloud muttered.
Zack squinted into the space, attempting to look beyond the weights at something he could see engraved into the wood. "It almost looks like somebody autographed the thing," he announced. "'J - L - E'?"
"So we need to see if the other clock has that, too," Angeal deduced.
"There's a nameplate on the back," Vincent said. "'Jeremy Laurence Evans, Nineteen-Oh-One.'"
Zack blinked. "This town existed way back then?" he exclaimed.
Cloud shrugged. "It was a lot smaller then, but yeah," he said.
Angeal looked over the clock with appraising eyes. "If there's nothing hidden inside, how are these clocks going to be useful?" he frowned.
"We need to find out what places in this area have been selling these clocks," Vincent said.
Cloud stepped back, the frustration showing on his face. "So we get to go window-shopping for these things?" he muttered.
"If we could get a copy of the delivery invoice when the timepieces were purchased, it might help," Vincent told him. "He could have used another name, or there could be another address to investigate."
Zack straightened up, placing his hands on his hips. "It is pretty weird, that all the furniture looks new except these clocks," he observed. "If there is something to it, we need to find what it is!" Considering the message in blood, he was willing to try out the idea that the antique clocks could be a clue. But if it was another false lead, what were they going to do? Time was running out, and Seph might be laying somewhere, struggling to stay alive. . . . Zack looked away, the lump in his throat growing stronger.
He had been so panic-stricken when Seph had been hurt in that fire at Wutai. While Zack had been looking for him, the people had turned him away, refusing to help him because of hatred or superstitions. And once Zack had learned of it, he had feared almost constantly for Sephiroth's safety. The man had been half-dead then, struggling to walk and finally to crawl somewhere for help. Zack had not known how long he would last. He had not located Seph until hours later, when he had been found at the palace alive and warm and with his wounds mending. This time, with Seph being held somewhere by a madman, there was no hope that he would receive kindness unless he could get away. And that was not looking likely. They certainly could not afford to depend on it.
"We should be able to find out about the stores with an Internet search," Angeal said, breaking into Zack's memories. "I'll go talk to the police about it."
Zack gave a shaky nod. "Let's do that!" he agreed.
As Angeal turned to descend the stairs again, a sensation slammed into his heart. There are only a few hours left. It was strange, to have known and yet not fully comprehended what that would entail . . . until now. He had been aware, as all of them had, that Sephiroth might die. But now the responsibility was sinking onto his shoulders, despite his best efforts to stay detached for his sanity's sake. He and Sephiroth had only reestablished their friendship several months ago. And he had never thought that something might separate them again so soon.
He gripped the banister as he hurried down the steps. Was he starting to lose confidence that Sephiroth would be saved? They had just gotten a possible clue, however weak it looked. He should be hopeful about its resolution. But if this failed, too, then there might not be any hope left.
And that was something none of them could bear.
His eyes narrowed. The responsibility was on all of them, not him alone. He was starting to become like Sephiroth---accepting teamwork yet being and feeling isolated. Sephiroth almost always deliberately distanced himself. That was the only way he could keep himself sane, not burden the others, and satisfy his pride at the same time.
But actually, they were probably all behaving in that same way tonight---or at least Zack and Cloud as well as Angeal. They were all acting like Sephiroth. And all of them were in need of comfort.
Yet, what comfort could they have without it feeling unrealistic? They knew they might find Sephiroth alive. And they also knew they might not.
Angeal came to attention as he, with the others in tow, arrived at the bottom. The nearest police officer looked up, questions in her eyes.
"Have you found anything?" she asked. She bore a decided resemblance to the curt officer who had seemed to be the leader of the investigation. But unlike her, this woman seemed sympathetic and congenial.
Zack blinked at this but did not comment. There were other mysteries at hand.
"We need to use a laptop, if somebody's still got one around here!" he declared.
Angeal nodded. "We might have a break, but it's too soon to tell yet," he said. "We need to find all the dealers who sell antique longcase clocks made by Jeremy Laurence Evans."
A brief look of surprise passed over her face, but it vanished. "Oh, so he's the culprit who made them," she said, gesturing for them to follow her as she led them to a laptop sitting on the kitchen table. "I should have guessed it."
Cloud raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
She rolled her finger across the touchpad, bringing up the login screen. After typing in a username and password and accessing the desktop, she stepped aside to allow Angeal to take control. Then she looked back to Cloud.
"His clocks played a part in another case," she said. "It was so long ago I doubt it would have any bearing here, but it's odd, anyway."
"What was it?" Zack asked. The sound of Angeal's typing filled the background.
She frowned. "It was a series of serial murders," she said. "A clock was at the site of each one."
"Was there any point to it?" Cloud watched her, disturbed again.
"We wondered," she replied. "At first we couldn't find a connection. But then we realized that each of the victims had been involved with clocks in some way. One of them had repaired the clock in the bell tower of city hall. Another had owned a watch shop. A third had tried to find someone to fix an old table clock of his grandmother's."
"Did you catch the guy?!" Zack exclaimed.
She shook her head. "He committed suicide after the third murder," she said.
Angeal scanned over the results of his search query. "How long ago was this?" he asked.
"Five years," she told him.
Cloud's eyes narrowed. He had thought that after their own memories had been restored, the general Earth population's memories had been adjusted to realize that Jenova Corp had only been around for a few months, as opposed to the five years they had originally thought. It was all some kind of weird magic that he preferred to not question. Sephiroth, who had inadvertently caused their uprooting, did not understand it himself.
Still, Cloud could not help but wonder whether this psycho had appeared several months ago, around the same time as Jenova Corp, instead of what would really be five years ago. It did not seem like the events could possibly be connected, and yet the time period and the involvement of the clocks would fit with Jenova Corp and their current calamity. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, this past creep was dead. And the current creep just wanted Sephiroth, unless he was planning to go on to kill everyone connected with him, too.
"I'm only finding two places that sell those clocks," Angeal announced, pointing at the screen. "And one of them closes in about five minutes."
The policewoman pulled out her phone, tapping in the number. "I'm sure we can arrange for them to stay open a bit longer," she said.
Cloud nodded. They had better. It would be just their luck if that was the place they needed and they were not able to get in. Subconsciously a fist clenched.
The jangling of his cellphone drew him back to the present. Immediately he pulled it out and unfolded it. "Yeah?" he greeted, not even bothering with Hello.
"Yo! You found him yet?" Barret's gruff voice crackled over the speaker.
"No." Cloud tried to listen for any indication of what Barret's news was, if anything, but nothing was apparent. "What's going on there?"
"Nothin' much here." Barret cursed. "We did find somethin', though. It looks like his wallet."
Cloud gripped the phone tighter. "Where was that?!" he demanded. Zack and Angeal snapped to attention at his tone.
"Out by that first house, kickin' around by the alley in the back. It'd been hid among the weeds."
"Is anything missing from it?" Cloud asked.
"Dunno what he had in it," Barret retorted. "Money's still here . . . his ID card . . . bank card. . . ."
"That's weird that the police didn't find it," Cloud frowned.
"Yeah. Maybe some of you oughtta come up here."
"We were going to check out something else," Cloud said. "We'll split up."
Barret had been speaking so loud that already Zack and Angeal had heard. As Cloud hung up, they were debating between themselves and Vincent on who should go where.
"Why don't you go with Vincent, Angeal?" Zack suggested.
Angeal blinked in surprise. "That's fine," he said. "We'll go back to that house and look around again."
Vincent nodded his consent, not seeming surprised at all.
Zack grinned. "Great!" he said. "And me and Cloud'll check out the clock places."
"We'll call if we find out anything," Cloud said. He gave Zack a curious and suspicious look. Zack had deliberately wanted to set it up in this way. Maybe he wanted to talk to Cloud. If he had noticed that Cloud had been acting odd, then he would definitely want to. Even though he was so worried about Seph, he would also worry about Cloud. Especially since Cloud was terrible at hiding his feelings.
****
Sephiroth gripped the edge of the doorframe, his hands and arms trembling. It was almost impossible at this point to keep himself upright. The room was shifting and rocking again, more violent and insistent than before. He stared down at the floor, breathing heavily.
In his other hand he gripped the last two vials---the second red and blue. At least, he assumed they were the last. Maybe he was putting too much stock in the paintings. In case they were the clues to his salvation, he could not ignore them. The last painting, above the final vials' location, had shown the same scene from the first art, only with the dignitary leaning back in contentment and satisfaction. Either he had not drunk poison after all, or he had found the antidote. Or perhaps it had no meaning except to taunt Sephiroth.
What if he was supposed to combine the red and the blue labeled vials? That would explain the empty ones, and the mysterious purple gem in the first painting would make sense. But by now, was he even well enough to do that? It would be better to wait for the illness to pass, but this time it might not. He had started feeling this way again before reaching the drawer with the last containers, and it had only gotten worse instead of better. Even now, as he was struggling to support himself on the wall, he was only feeling more sick and weak.
"Oh poor Sephiroth," sneered the voice. "It's taken you all day to collect these vials. And now will you even be able to do anything with them? I wonder if I gave you the correct amount of time earlier. Maybe it was only eighteen hours or less."
Sephiroth's eyes narrowed more. It was certainly feeling as though time was growing short. But as the poison took further effect, he would surely become far more ill than he was right now. And since it was not going away, he was going to have to straighten up and force himself to go on in spite of it. Up ahead was another bedroom. He could try mixing the red and the blue on the desk and then maybe lay on the bed. There was no guarantee that this would even work. He might be falling into another trap, further destroying his life. But there was no choice.
He continued to clutch the doorframe as he rose to his full height. There was no need to continue conversing with the voice, either. That would take energy that he needed to conserve, and he would only be delighting the madman by playing another of his games.
He took a step forward, then another. The room was still rocking. But the path was clear. If he closed his eyes and kept walking straight, he should not bump into anything. The desk was just ahead of him in the room he was entering.
He shut his eyes, gathering his strength. He had to clear his thoughts and focus. It was a lesson that had been learned before he had ever entered the military. He had trained himself to block out all distractions and concentrate during his childhood, when he had been experimented on by Hojo. It was one of the things that had only made Hojo more fascinated. But it had also kept Sephiroth sane and strong for many years.
Here was the leg of the desk. He opened his eyes, shakily placing the vials on the smooth surface. There was not a chair he could use. Was that one other way to torment and mock him, forcing him to stand up while attempting to administer the antidote? He might lose his balance and spill the contents everywhere when trying to pour them into the empty containers. That might even be what his captor was hoping would happen.
He gritted his teeth. He would have to make certain it did not. Whether he felt like he could manage was irrelevant. He had to manage.
"Oh, you're ignoring me now? Such a rude general."
Sephiroth reached into his pockets, taking out the other vials plus the wrapped syringe he had discovered in another location. Setting them all on the desk, he picked up the nearest blue labeled container. It was closed by using a cork, as was the case with the others as well. Would he be able to pull it out without anything escaping from the top? He might have to use so much force that a spill would be unavoidable.
Though it would be wisest to open the empty ones first, since there was not a place to set the full ones upright. He set the blue labeled one down again, picking up the lighter vial.
Grasping the cork with his thumb and forefinger, he pulled. Either he was not as weakened as he felt or the cork had not been shoved in too tight, as it popped out with ease and a sound that echoed through the container. The process repeated for the other vacant one.
Now he picked up the blue labeled one again. How much was he supposed to mix, exactly? A half in an empty one, saving the other half in the original? Another irritating mystery on which he would only be able to guess. Why were there two reds and blues and two empty containers? Either one set of the colors was unnecessary, or one of the empty vials was only an extra. Or maybe he was supposed to mix both sets of red and blue. That would account for having two extra vials instead of one. But wouldn't using all of both reds and blues be too much?
His mind was clouding over further. Usually he was quite expert at math and it did not bother him, but now it was the utmost annoyance.
He looked back to the filled vial. To open this one he began to wiggle the cork back and forth, easing it out without causing commotion to the contents. And the strain was bothering his eyes. Now he was feeling all the more ill and dizzy. But he gritted his teeth. His hands were shaking again, yet he had to find some way to do this. He had to be extremely careful when he balanced the vials to pour. To lose any of the substance could be fatal. If the correct dosage was already available, then even a few drops less might still mean he would die.
Setting down the cork, he picked up the empty vial and held it next to the other. Slowly he began to tip the full container to the side while keeping the edges touching, watching as the liquid began to fall into the new vessel. It was almost impossible to hold his arms steady. But somehow he managed to keep them firm enough so that nothing spilled. He might not be as lucky the next time.
When each vial was half-full, he tipped the first one upright again. Now he had a problem. With no way to prop the glass containers upright on the desk, he would need to hold both of them in one hand while corking them with the other. And it was quite amazing that his equilibrium had lasted this long. Balancing them both in one hand would not be a dilemma at all if he was feeling well, but in his current state it was liable to be a disaster.
Setting his jaw, he slid the container in his left hand as far back as it would go while still holding on to it. Then he brought the other one over to where he could grasp it, too. His fingers took hold, but he could not feel relief yet. From the way his hand was trembling, if he managed to keep hold of them this time, he would not be able to chance it again. Maybe if he opened the desk drawer just enough to slip in a vial and place it upright, it would be suspended there for at least the moment he needed.
He grabbed up one of the corks, placing it in a vial's opening and pushing it down as hard as he dared. Then he took the sealed container from his dominant hand, laying it on the desk. It was much easier to cork the second vessel.
But there was still more he needed to do. Somehow he had to now pour the red in as well. And then he had to decide what to do about the second set of red and blue.
"It's so interesting to watch you try to save yourself, Sephiroth. You always were so logical, paying such attention to the smallest details. After all, that's how you solved our mystery before, when you determined my guilt in the incident."
His eyes narrowed. That did not help much in determining this person's identity. He always had solved the mysteries by observing what seemed to be the most unimportant clues.
He grabbed for the red. At the same moment an immense wave of vertigo swept over him. He shut his eyes, beginning to sink to one knee without his permission. He could not stand up any longer. If he did not rest, he would probably swoon again---if it was not already imminent. He shuddered, his shoulders shaking as he hunched over the top of the desk.
He could not give up yet. If he could not stand, maybe he could kneel to do the rest.
Green eyes opened. He would do that. It was his last hope.
This time he grabbed for one of the half-full vials. His hands and arms were still trembling, but using the desk as support did help somewhat. Pulling out the cork, he opened the drawer just enough so that he could slip in the container. It would stay held in place while he undid the seal on one of the red vessels. Then it would hopefully remain balanced while he poured in some of the other liquid. It did not look like he would be able to hold both of them at once anymore, even in different hands.
Carefully he wriggled it downward into position. The desk drawer slid open a minuscule amount of space at the action. Holding the vial, Sephiroth pushed the drawer back in again so that the grip would be tight. As he released his grasp, the vessel remained upright as he had wanted, never wavering from its position.
He reached over, taking up the red he had grabbed before. Its cork was determined to be stubborn. He gritted his teeth, tugging and pulling and wiggling the annoyance back and forth with all his might. Either it was too big for the container, or the pressure from inside was sucking it in for some reason. Maybe the other one would be more sensible.
Setting down the first, he looked over the remaining containers for the second red one. His vision was blurring again. The colors were doubling, shifting out of focus. He shut his eyes, leaning on the desk as he massaged them with three fingers. He might even mix the wrong thing if this continued.
Pulling back his hand, he dared to open his eyes halfway. Everything was still blurred, but at the moment nothing had a twin. It looked like the other red labeled vessel was to his right. He closed his fist around it, drawing it to him. Yes, there was the red mark.
He would have to steel himself for a possible battle with the cork. Gripping it, he began to pull. At first it would not budge. But then it popped without warning, sending several drops splashing on the black shirt. Green eyes narrowed in frustration. If he would need every drop for it to be a complete and useful antidote---providing it was one to begin with---then he was now out of luck. Still, he would have to keep doing the best he could.
Turning his attention back to the vial in the drawer, he brought the new one to its side and began to tilt it. The substance started to run into the other glass container. But now he was not able to see how high it was rising. He could only guess from the amount remaining in the one with which he was pouring. It looked like it had been about half now. He turned it upright again.
Though, how was he going to account for the missing drops? Should he put in a bit more than half? With the combined substances, already he would have two full vials. That seemed a preposterous amount, to say nothing of the other set. If he overdosed, then even something meant to help him would harm him. Was the madman counting on him being so unalert that he would do exactly that? Then he would still be able to make it look like Sephiroth had killed himself. Maybe that had been the plan all along.
He forced the cork back into the red container before reaching for the syringe. He would only use the contents of one vial, at least at first. If he started feeling better, yet could tell he was not fully recovering, he could finish combining the red and blue in the second vial. And if he began to feel worse after only the one vial, then who knows. He might not even be able to finish the second.
"Hmm. . . . Are you sure you want to do that? You might end up killing yourself with that concoction."
His eyes narrowed as he began to peel away the plastic wrapping. It could be true; it could be the green that was what he should use, if any. The painting clues had pointed to the act of mixing the blue and the red, but there was no guarantee they could be trusted. The clues may have been an elaborate set-up to cause him to make the wrong choice. He had wondered briefly about the possibility of the green, but had dismissed it.
He could not listen to this outlandish nonsense. He had to trust himself. And yet, how sound could his judgement be, when it was based on the clues around the house? Clues that his captor had invented?
Something caught out of the corner of his eye caused him to turn towards the left side of the desk. Then he could only stare, turning pale.
A boy was standing in front of him, his arms crossed and one eye closed in disdain. He was wearing a navy blue jacket, open to reveal a white shirt, and black pants. His hair went past his shoulders, but not by much. Long bangs framed his face. He did not speak. But it was not necessary; his expression was quite clear.
This was impossible. So now the delirium was coming on in full force. And it had picked something astonishing to signal its arrival. He had expected to see maybe Zack or Cloud or Angeal, or even a hated enemy such as Hojo or Jenova. But not this.
Perhaps it had been brought on by his own subconscious, telling him to stop doubting himself. He needed to stay with what he had determined was correct.
He looked back to the vial being supported by the desk drawer. Lowering the needle into the substance, he began to fill the syringe with it. There was not anything to sterilize his skin before plunging the needle through it, but he would have to deal with it. Hopefully it was the least of his concerns.
Now the syringe was full. Removing it from the now-empty vessel, he held it with the needle pointing upward, releasing the pressure just enough to allow any possible air bubbles to escape. His sleeves were already rolled back, as they had been when he had first awakened in this nightmare. And there was not a point in hesitating any longer. He pushed the needle into his arm, releasing the fluid into his system. If he had not made the correct choice, he would know soon.
Such as right now. His vision exploded into pandemonium, colors and stars replacing his view of the room. He sank backwards to the floor, the needle slipping from his grasp. It could just be the shock of the antidote entering his body. On the other hand, he may have just injected himself with more deadly poison. His heart was pounding in his ears.
He could not die. Even if his fate had been sealed from the beginning of this experience, he would have to defy it. He could not die. Not now, not like this. . . .
Maniacal laughter broke through the pounding in his head. "Goodbye, dear Sephiroth. Good luck and goodbye."
He could not even manage a grunt of displeasure and anger.
And before his vision faded altogether, he was able to observe one final thing.
The boy was gone.
****
The first thing Cloud noticed upon entering the shop was that everything was ticking. All around him, from every angle, it was just ticking and more ticking. And then the chiming started. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This was the last place he would ever want to work. He would go crazy before the end of the first day on the job.
And the conversation he and Zack had just had on the way over was still playing in his mind. For the first couple of minutes they had driven in silence. Once Zack had been assured that Cloud would not speak, he had spoken.
"Okay. Something's bothering you, buddy, and I don't think it's just what's bothering all of us. There's something else, too."
Cloud looked away. He had expected that question since Zack had set them up to investigate together. And it was still not something he wanted to discuss. They had taken their own car, following a police vehicle, but privacy was not part of the issue.
"I'm just worried about him," he mumbled.
"Cloud . . ." Zack's hand came down on the younger man's shoulder. "Did you think Seph wrote that note?"
Cloud stiffened. How did Zack do that? How did he always manage to see what was going on in his friends' heads? Did it have something to do with him having spent close to four years as a ghost? Or was it just a natural talent?
"No," he said, his tone still lowered, "not really." He looked over at Zack from the passenger seat. "I just . . . I panicked. I wondered if I just hadn't known him as well as I thought, and if he could have really tried to . . . t-to do that . . . and it would be my fault. . . ." Now he was just babbling. He looked away again, red beginning to spread across his cheeks.
"Oh wow. Hey . . ." Zack parked the car in front of the shop, then turned to look at Cloud again. His eyes were nothing but compassionate. "If Seph'd hid something like that from us, how could any of us have known? He's really good at it, you know. And really . . ." He gripped the steering wheel with one hand. "If that'd happened, I'd be blaming myself."
Cloud looked back to him, alarm in his eyes. "It wouldn't be your fault!" he cried.
"It wouldn't be yours, either!" Zack returned.
Cloud frowned again. ". . . Isn't it wrong, to even wonder it if you really know it isn't true?" he said. He stared out at the waning sun. "I mean . . . it just seems so unfair to Sephiroth. I know he and I are still getting to know each other, but I should already know him better than that!" He undid his seatbelt, thrusting it over his shoulder.
Zack took off his own seatbelt, then brought his hand to rest on the door handle. ". . . I couldn't help but wonder myself," he said quietly.
Now Cloud looked to him in shock, his eyes widening. Zack had wondered? Zack, Sephiroth's closest friend? He had not acted as though he had been in doubt. Cloud had not thought Zack would ever consider the idea that Sephiroth could have written the note.
"You've gotta wonder, really, even if it's just for a few minutes," Zack said, a sad smile passing over his features. "You don't wanna think that maybe he really was so tortured and you didn't know it . . . but the thought keeps coming back anyway."
Cloud swallowed hard. "I . . . I thought you'd figure you knew him better than that," he said, his voice dropping.
"We do, don't we? Even if we can't help worrying sometimes." Zack started to open the door. "Come on, let's see what we can do to save our pal." He managed an encouraging grin.
A faint smile passed over Cloud's features as he got out as well.
The police were already inside the clock shop. As Cloud watched, they spoke with the man at the counter, explaining in detail of the situation. Zack hurried over to listen, letting the officers do the talking as he leaned on the glass counter. Cloud walked up beside him, idly glancing at the timepieces inside the case.
"So you're thinking one of my customers ran off with this Mr. Sephiroth person?" the older man frowned, his bushy gray eyebrows knitting together. "And using Jeremy Evans' prize clocks in this madness?!"
"That's right!" Zack broke in. "The creep's been calling us, and we can't track down where he has Seph. We keep going to all these empty places where there's these clocks."
One of the officers nodded. "We've also been finding bloodied clothing belonging to the victim. This man is extremely dangerous. If you can show us the invoices of the people who have purchased these antique clocks recently, you would be doing us an immense service. And it could very well save a man's life."
"There's just one invoice," the shopkeeper grumped. "I thought it was strange at the time. He bought four longcase clocks from me. Four! And he didn't seem to really care about their artistry. He just insisted that they all had to be made by the same person, and something old and rare that'd stand out. So I had to recommend Mr. Evans' work in the interest of being a good businessman." He walked through a doorway leading to a back office, pulling open a drawer in a filing cabinet. "I can't stand to think of those clocks being desecrated by something like this." Finding the folder he wanted, he lifted it out and walked back into the store area.
Zack shifted in impatience as the folder was brought to the police. He peered over the nearest one's shoulder, trying to see.
"He used a different name, alright," grunted the first policeman. "Seki Isamu." He spit it out in disgust. "'Isamu' means courageous warrior or something like that. Who does this guy think he is?!"
"He's nothing but a coward," the second officer growled.
Zack's blood boiled at the new pseudonym. He had definitely gotten the impression on the phone that the creep believed himself to be doing a good thing. And that outraged Zack. Once they found him, he would be lucky if Zack would leave him alive and in one piece.
His gaze traveled to the addresses. Sure enough, there were four. Two of them were the ones they had been to already. The others were new. And he was already starting to memorize the other two. No sense wasting time. The police would probably keep the invoice, and Zack wanted to be able to get right to the places without having to ask them.
"One of these places is in the best part of town," Cloud remarked, studying the paper as well. "And the other one's out of the city, right up by the mountains."
"Seph's gotta be at one of them!" Zack cried. "Let's get out of here and go there right now!" His panic was again beginning to overwhelm him. Seph had to be at one or the other of the new addresses . . . but what if he was not? That could not be considered unless it happened. He turned, running to the door.
Cloud nodded to the shop owner as he moved to follow. Imaginary cotton, forming from his nervousness, began to take hold in his throat. Now they had new leads. And even though he knew he should not get up his hopes, it was already happening. This time they had to find Sephiroth. They had to!
"'Seki Isamu'?!" Zack abruptly yelped from the sidewalk. Through the glass door Cloud could see him skitter to a stop, turning to look back at the shop in growing horror. The blond man hurried to catch up to him.
"What's wrong?" he gasped, pushing open the door and stepping outside.
Zack shook his head. "I think I've just figured out who the guy is," he exclaimed, "but I don't know how to tell the police. I mean, how do I get around the fact that Seph and I knew him because we were on another world?!"
Then he turned again, running to the car. "Nevermind!" he said. "Cloud, get in! We've gotta get to these addresses right now!" He had it unlocked in a moment and was almost leaping inside. Something had struck him as wrong ever since he had heard the name, but at first he had been more occupied by the addresses. As he had left, however, the name had kept running through his mind until it clicked.
Cloud gawked at Zack's actions of half-flying into the car. But this was not a time to be wondering about that, either. He ran over, hauling open the passenger side door as he climbed inside.
Zack was already starting the engine. The vehicle suddenly shot forward, sending both occupants crashing back against the seats.
Cloud gripped the doorhandle for support, but not before making certain that the door was locked. "So who is the guy?!" he cried, daring to reach up for his seatbelt with his other hand. "You can tell me, right?"
"He's a real nasty creep Seph and I got locked away in prison," Zack said. "Get Angeal on the phone and put it on Speaker. I'll explain everything."
Cloud swallowed the cotton. Zack rarely used that tone.
Suddenly he was even more afraid for Sephiroth.
And he had not thought it possible.
Author: Lucky_Ladybug/insaneladybug
Theme: #16 - Mosso
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Warnings: Thematic elements, a hypodermic needle
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and the story is!
Summary/Comments: Sephiroth has gathered all the vials, but now must decide what to do with them. Meanwhile, the others follow up new leads.
Cross-posted to ladybug_tales and http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4243414/4/
Notes: Many thanks to Kaze for plot help! Also, a small part of this chapter was inspired by the 31 Days theme You know that ghost is me, even though this was not finished in enough time to be posted at the community.
Chapter Four
We'll Search For Tomorrow
It was not long afterwards when Zack and Angeal arrived with the officers who had been accompanying them. The dummy was still laying in the road, limp and broken. Yellow "Do Not Cross" tape was all around its perimeter, twisting and waving in the breeze. One officer was taking a picture of the creation as the van came to a stop.
Zack could only stare at the sight. Now he was chilled to the bone. From a distance the figure really did resemble Seph, sprawled and hurt and helpless. Only as he leaped out and drew closer could he really tell that it was and always had been inanimate.
His heart thumped in his chest. Never before had they dealt with a villain who operated with these cruel and unthinkable methods. Not even Dalton would stoop this low---though he was not sure that he could say the same for Gunju Rakesh. Gunju would likely delight in causing such anguish. But the person on the phone had not seemed to be either him or Azazel. The speech pattern did not fit. Nor the talk of being in prison. Gunju had killed himself before he would have arrived at such a fate, and Azazel had gone missing and had been presumed dead.
The officer snapping the picture straightened up, glancing in Zack's direction. "We're dealing with a real sicko," he said.
Zack shook his head. That was obvious without saying anything. "Isn't there any way to tell how long that's been setting out here?!" he burst out. "It couldn't have been long---Cloud was just talking to the guy before coming here! The neighbors should've seen something! They have all these rules here, don't they?! How could nobody notice something like that?!" He pointed at the wretched thing, his hand trembling.
The policeman could only shake his head. "No one called to report it," he said. Even so, the neighbors had been peering out their windows ever since the police had came. They had not realized anything was amiss, and now they were both curious and concerned. There had not been any crime in their subdivision before now, and judging from the sheer amount of cars and people, they knew that something was seriously wrong. But in case there was the danger of a criminal right in the area, no one was willing to venture out of their homes.
"Well, they're sure getting curious now!" Zack said, turning and looking right at someone staring out a window. Realizing he had been caught, the person vanished, the curtain swishing back into place. Zack crossed his arms in annoyance.
"What's happening inside?" Angeal asked, coming up beside Zack.
"I don't know," the officer said. "I was checking out the yard. I think they're all doing a thorough search of the inside of the house, checking for panels, that sort of thing. But this is a new place, so I don't think they'll find anything like that."
Zack turned, running to the stairs and the porch without another word. His raven spikes slapped against the back of his neck and his face as he bounded up the steps two at a time and dashed through the open door. As he skidded to a stop, his eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
The layout of the living room was exactly the same as the previous house, despite the larger space. Police were milling around, dusting for fingerprints and taking pictures, but no one seemed very hopeful. The sight of the identical floor plan was making all of them feel that they would not have any more luck here than at the first house.
Zack did not wait to find out what Angeal thought about this new bizarre twist. Instead he tore past the police, peering into the kitchen at more officers before finding the staircase and again leaping up to a second floor. In the other house, Seph's shirt had been on the bathroom linoleum. Would something else be up here? Or was the dummy the only sign that had been left by this madman? Not that it was not more than enough.
He blinked in surprise to find Cloud and Vincent gazing at a grandfather clock in the upstairs hall. Cloud's arms were crossed, a frustrated frown gracing his features. Vincent's expression was impassive.
"Hey!" Zack exclaimed. "What's going on?"
Cloud looked over at him. "I was just thinking about that message on Sephiroth's shirt again," he said, "that stupid 'tick-tock' thing. What if these clocks have something to do with figuring stuff out? This one looks just like the other one."
Vincent nodded. "They both look old," he said. "One of the police officers thinks they're antiques, made by a specific clock maker who used to live around here."
Zack stared, attempting to process this information. "So how would that help?" he frowned. "Is there some kind of secret code stuck in them?"
"It wouldn't hurt to check," Cloud said, reaching to pull back the glass door over the face of the clock.
By now Angeal was coming up the steps as well. His eyes narrowed in confusion as he watched Cloud pawing at the face of the timepiece, while Zack was bending down to open the door to the pendulum area and Vincent was tinkering with the back.
"And this will help, how?" he asked.
"Dunno!" Zack replied, holding the pendulum to one side with one hand while feeling around the floor and inside walls of the clock with the other.
"It probably won't," Cloud muttered.
Zack squinted into the space, attempting to look beyond the weights at something he could see engraved into the wood. "It almost looks like somebody autographed the thing," he announced. "'J - L - E'?"
"So we need to see if the other clock has that, too," Angeal deduced.
"There's a nameplate on the back," Vincent said. "'Jeremy Laurence Evans, Nineteen-Oh-One.'"
Zack blinked. "This town existed way back then?" he exclaimed.
Cloud shrugged. "It was a lot smaller then, but yeah," he said.
Angeal looked over the clock with appraising eyes. "If there's nothing hidden inside, how are these clocks going to be useful?" he frowned.
"We need to find out what places in this area have been selling these clocks," Vincent said.
Cloud stepped back, the frustration showing on his face. "So we get to go window-shopping for these things?" he muttered.
"If we could get a copy of the delivery invoice when the timepieces were purchased, it might help," Vincent told him. "He could have used another name, or there could be another address to investigate."
Zack straightened up, placing his hands on his hips. "It is pretty weird, that all the furniture looks new except these clocks," he observed. "If there is something to it, we need to find what it is!" Considering the message in blood, he was willing to try out the idea that the antique clocks could be a clue. But if it was another false lead, what were they going to do? Time was running out, and Seph might be laying somewhere, struggling to stay alive. . . . Zack looked away, the lump in his throat growing stronger.
He had been so panic-stricken when Seph had been hurt in that fire at Wutai. While Zack had been looking for him, the people had turned him away, refusing to help him because of hatred or superstitions. And once Zack had learned of it, he had feared almost constantly for Sephiroth's safety. The man had been half-dead then, struggling to walk and finally to crawl somewhere for help. Zack had not known how long he would last. He had not located Seph until hours later, when he had been found at the palace alive and warm and with his wounds mending. This time, with Seph being held somewhere by a madman, there was no hope that he would receive kindness unless he could get away. And that was not looking likely. They certainly could not afford to depend on it.
"We should be able to find out about the stores with an Internet search," Angeal said, breaking into Zack's memories. "I'll go talk to the police about it."
Zack gave a shaky nod. "Let's do that!" he agreed.
As Angeal turned to descend the stairs again, a sensation slammed into his heart. There are only a few hours left. It was strange, to have known and yet not fully comprehended what that would entail . . . until now. He had been aware, as all of them had, that Sephiroth might die. But now the responsibility was sinking onto his shoulders, despite his best efforts to stay detached for his sanity's sake. He and Sephiroth had only reestablished their friendship several months ago. And he had never thought that something might separate them again so soon.
He gripped the banister as he hurried down the steps. Was he starting to lose confidence that Sephiroth would be saved? They had just gotten a possible clue, however weak it looked. He should be hopeful about its resolution. But if this failed, too, then there might not be any hope left.
And that was something none of them could bear.
His eyes narrowed. The responsibility was on all of them, not him alone. He was starting to become like Sephiroth---accepting teamwork yet being and feeling isolated. Sephiroth almost always deliberately distanced himself. That was the only way he could keep himself sane, not burden the others, and satisfy his pride at the same time.
But actually, they were probably all behaving in that same way tonight---or at least Zack and Cloud as well as Angeal. They were all acting like Sephiroth. And all of them were in need of comfort.
Yet, what comfort could they have without it feeling unrealistic? They knew they might find Sephiroth alive. And they also knew they might not.
Angeal came to attention as he, with the others in tow, arrived at the bottom. The nearest police officer looked up, questions in her eyes.
"Have you found anything?" she asked. She bore a decided resemblance to the curt officer who had seemed to be the leader of the investigation. But unlike her, this woman seemed sympathetic and congenial.
Zack blinked at this but did not comment. There were other mysteries at hand.
"We need to use a laptop, if somebody's still got one around here!" he declared.
Angeal nodded. "We might have a break, but it's too soon to tell yet," he said. "We need to find all the dealers who sell antique longcase clocks made by Jeremy Laurence Evans."
A brief look of surprise passed over her face, but it vanished. "Oh, so he's the culprit who made them," she said, gesturing for them to follow her as she led them to a laptop sitting on the kitchen table. "I should have guessed it."
Cloud raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
She rolled her finger across the touchpad, bringing up the login screen. After typing in a username and password and accessing the desktop, she stepped aside to allow Angeal to take control. Then she looked back to Cloud.
"His clocks played a part in another case," she said. "It was so long ago I doubt it would have any bearing here, but it's odd, anyway."
"What was it?" Zack asked. The sound of Angeal's typing filled the background.
She frowned. "It was a series of serial murders," she said. "A clock was at the site of each one."
"Was there any point to it?" Cloud watched her, disturbed again.
"We wondered," she replied. "At first we couldn't find a connection. But then we realized that each of the victims had been involved with clocks in some way. One of them had repaired the clock in the bell tower of city hall. Another had owned a watch shop. A third had tried to find someone to fix an old table clock of his grandmother's."
"Did you catch the guy?!" Zack exclaimed.
She shook her head. "He committed suicide after the third murder," she said.
Angeal scanned over the results of his search query. "How long ago was this?" he asked.
"Five years," she told him.
Cloud's eyes narrowed. He had thought that after their own memories had been restored, the general Earth population's memories had been adjusted to realize that Jenova Corp had only been around for a few months, as opposed to the five years they had originally thought. It was all some kind of weird magic that he preferred to not question. Sephiroth, who had inadvertently caused their uprooting, did not understand it himself.
Still, Cloud could not help but wonder whether this psycho had appeared several months ago, around the same time as Jenova Corp, instead of what would really be five years ago. It did not seem like the events could possibly be connected, and yet the time period and the involvement of the clocks would fit with Jenova Corp and their current calamity. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, this past creep was dead. And the current creep just wanted Sephiroth, unless he was planning to go on to kill everyone connected with him, too.
"I'm only finding two places that sell those clocks," Angeal announced, pointing at the screen. "And one of them closes in about five minutes."
The policewoman pulled out her phone, tapping in the number. "I'm sure we can arrange for them to stay open a bit longer," she said.
Cloud nodded. They had better. It would be just their luck if that was the place they needed and they were not able to get in. Subconsciously a fist clenched.
The jangling of his cellphone drew him back to the present. Immediately he pulled it out and unfolded it. "Yeah?" he greeted, not even bothering with Hello.
"Yo! You found him yet?" Barret's gruff voice crackled over the speaker.
"No." Cloud tried to listen for any indication of what Barret's news was, if anything, but nothing was apparent. "What's going on there?"
"Nothin' much here." Barret cursed. "We did find somethin', though. It looks like his wallet."
Cloud gripped the phone tighter. "Where was that?!" he demanded. Zack and Angeal snapped to attention at his tone.
"Out by that first house, kickin' around by the alley in the back. It'd been hid among the weeds."
"Is anything missing from it?" Cloud asked.
"Dunno what he had in it," Barret retorted. "Money's still here . . . his ID card . . . bank card. . . ."
"That's weird that the police didn't find it," Cloud frowned.
"Yeah. Maybe some of you oughtta come up here."
"We were going to check out something else," Cloud said. "We'll split up."
Barret had been speaking so loud that already Zack and Angeal had heard. As Cloud hung up, they were debating between themselves and Vincent on who should go where.
"Why don't you go with Vincent, Angeal?" Zack suggested.
Angeal blinked in surprise. "That's fine," he said. "We'll go back to that house and look around again."
Vincent nodded his consent, not seeming surprised at all.
Zack grinned. "Great!" he said. "And me and Cloud'll check out the clock places."
"We'll call if we find out anything," Cloud said. He gave Zack a curious and suspicious look. Zack had deliberately wanted to set it up in this way. Maybe he wanted to talk to Cloud. If he had noticed that Cloud had been acting odd, then he would definitely want to. Even though he was so worried about Seph, he would also worry about Cloud. Especially since Cloud was terrible at hiding his feelings.
****
Sephiroth gripped the edge of the doorframe, his hands and arms trembling. It was almost impossible at this point to keep himself upright. The room was shifting and rocking again, more violent and insistent than before. He stared down at the floor, breathing heavily.
In his other hand he gripped the last two vials---the second red and blue. At least, he assumed they were the last. Maybe he was putting too much stock in the paintings. In case they were the clues to his salvation, he could not ignore them. The last painting, above the final vials' location, had shown the same scene from the first art, only with the dignitary leaning back in contentment and satisfaction. Either he had not drunk poison after all, or he had found the antidote. Or perhaps it had no meaning except to taunt Sephiroth.
What if he was supposed to combine the red and the blue labeled vials? That would explain the empty ones, and the mysterious purple gem in the first painting would make sense. But by now, was he even well enough to do that? It would be better to wait for the illness to pass, but this time it might not. He had started feeling this way again before reaching the drawer with the last containers, and it had only gotten worse instead of better. Even now, as he was struggling to support himself on the wall, he was only feeling more sick and weak.
"Oh poor Sephiroth," sneered the voice. "It's taken you all day to collect these vials. And now will you even be able to do anything with them? I wonder if I gave you the correct amount of time earlier. Maybe it was only eighteen hours or less."
Sephiroth's eyes narrowed more. It was certainly feeling as though time was growing short. But as the poison took further effect, he would surely become far more ill than he was right now. And since it was not going away, he was going to have to straighten up and force himself to go on in spite of it. Up ahead was another bedroom. He could try mixing the red and the blue on the desk and then maybe lay on the bed. There was no guarantee that this would even work. He might be falling into another trap, further destroying his life. But there was no choice.
He continued to clutch the doorframe as he rose to his full height. There was no need to continue conversing with the voice, either. That would take energy that he needed to conserve, and he would only be delighting the madman by playing another of his games.
He took a step forward, then another. The room was still rocking. But the path was clear. If he closed his eyes and kept walking straight, he should not bump into anything. The desk was just ahead of him in the room he was entering.
He shut his eyes, gathering his strength. He had to clear his thoughts and focus. It was a lesson that had been learned before he had ever entered the military. He had trained himself to block out all distractions and concentrate during his childhood, when he had been experimented on by Hojo. It was one of the things that had only made Hojo more fascinated. But it had also kept Sephiroth sane and strong for many years.
Here was the leg of the desk. He opened his eyes, shakily placing the vials on the smooth surface. There was not a chair he could use. Was that one other way to torment and mock him, forcing him to stand up while attempting to administer the antidote? He might lose his balance and spill the contents everywhere when trying to pour them into the empty containers. That might even be what his captor was hoping would happen.
He gritted his teeth. He would have to make certain it did not. Whether he felt like he could manage was irrelevant. He had to manage.
"Oh, you're ignoring me now? Such a rude general."
Sephiroth reached into his pockets, taking out the other vials plus the wrapped syringe he had discovered in another location. Setting them all on the desk, he picked up the nearest blue labeled container. It was closed by using a cork, as was the case with the others as well. Would he be able to pull it out without anything escaping from the top? He might have to use so much force that a spill would be unavoidable.
Though it would be wisest to open the empty ones first, since there was not a place to set the full ones upright. He set the blue labeled one down again, picking up the lighter vial.
Grasping the cork with his thumb and forefinger, he pulled. Either he was not as weakened as he felt or the cork had not been shoved in too tight, as it popped out with ease and a sound that echoed through the container. The process repeated for the other vacant one.
Now he picked up the blue labeled one again. How much was he supposed to mix, exactly? A half in an empty one, saving the other half in the original? Another irritating mystery on which he would only be able to guess. Why were there two reds and blues and two empty containers? Either one set of the colors was unnecessary, or one of the empty vials was only an extra. Or maybe he was supposed to mix both sets of red and blue. That would account for having two extra vials instead of one. But wouldn't using all of both reds and blues be too much?
His mind was clouding over further. Usually he was quite expert at math and it did not bother him, but now it was the utmost annoyance.
He looked back to the filled vial. To open this one he began to wiggle the cork back and forth, easing it out without causing commotion to the contents. And the strain was bothering his eyes. Now he was feeling all the more ill and dizzy. But he gritted his teeth. His hands were shaking again, yet he had to find some way to do this. He had to be extremely careful when he balanced the vials to pour. To lose any of the substance could be fatal. If the correct dosage was already available, then even a few drops less might still mean he would die.
Setting down the cork, he picked up the empty vial and held it next to the other. Slowly he began to tip the full container to the side while keeping the edges touching, watching as the liquid began to fall into the new vessel. It was almost impossible to hold his arms steady. But somehow he managed to keep them firm enough so that nothing spilled. He might not be as lucky the next time.
When each vial was half-full, he tipped the first one upright again. Now he had a problem. With no way to prop the glass containers upright on the desk, he would need to hold both of them in one hand while corking them with the other. And it was quite amazing that his equilibrium had lasted this long. Balancing them both in one hand would not be a dilemma at all if he was feeling well, but in his current state it was liable to be a disaster.
Setting his jaw, he slid the container in his left hand as far back as it would go while still holding on to it. Then he brought the other one over to where he could grasp it, too. His fingers took hold, but he could not feel relief yet. From the way his hand was trembling, if he managed to keep hold of them this time, he would not be able to chance it again. Maybe if he opened the desk drawer just enough to slip in a vial and place it upright, it would be suspended there for at least the moment he needed.
He grabbed up one of the corks, placing it in a vial's opening and pushing it down as hard as he dared. Then he took the sealed container from his dominant hand, laying it on the desk. It was much easier to cork the second vessel.
But there was still more he needed to do. Somehow he had to now pour the red in as well. And then he had to decide what to do about the second set of red and blue.
"It's so interesting to watch you try to save yourself, Sephiroth. You always were so logical, paying such attention to the smallest details. After all, that's how you solved our mystery before, when you determined my guilt in the incident."
His eyes narrowed. That did not help much in determining this person's identity. He always had solved the mysteries by observing what seemed to be the most unimportant clues.
He grabbed for the red. At the same moment an immense wave of vertigo swept over him. He shut his eyes, beginning to sink to one knee without his permission. He could not stand up any longer. If he did not rest, he would probably swoon again---if it was not already imminent. He shuddered, his shoulders shaking as he hunched over the top of the desk.
He could not give up yet. If he could not stand, maybe he could kneel to do the rest.
Green eyes opened. He would do that. It was his last hope.
This time he grabbed for one of the half-full vials. His hands and arms were still trembling, but using the desk as support did help somewhat. Pulling out the cork, he opened the drawer just enough so that he could slip in the container. It would stay held in place while he undid the seal on one of the red vessels. Then it would hopefully remain balanced while he poured in some of the other liquid. It did not look like he would be able to hold both of them at once anymore, even in different hands.
Carefully he wriggled it downward into position. The desk drawer slid open a minuscule amount of space at the action. Holding the vial, Sephiroth pushed the drawer back in again so that the grip would be tight. As he released his grasp, the vessel remained upright as he had wanted, never wavering from its position.
He reached over, taking up the red he had grabbed before. Its cork was determined to be stubborn. He gritted his teeth, tugging and pulling and wiggling the annoyance back and forth with all his might. Either it was too big for the container, or the pressure from inside was sucking it in for some reason. Maybe the other one would be more sensible.
Setting down the first, he looked over the remaining containers for the second red one. His vision was blurring again. The colors were doubling, shifting out of focus. He shut his eyes, leaning on the desk as he massaged them with three fingers. He might even mix the wrong thing if this continued.
Pulling back his hand, he dared to open his eyes halfway. Everything was still blurred, but at the moment nothing had a twin. It looked like the other red labeled vessel was to his right. He closed his fist around it, drawing it to him. Yes, there was the red mark.
He would have to steel himself for a possible battle with the cork. Gripping it, he began to pull. At first it would not budge. But then it popped without warning, sending several drops splashing on the black shirt. Green eyes narrowed in frustration. If he would need every drop for it to be a complete and useful antidote---providing it was one to begin with---then he was now out of luck. Still, he would have to keep doing the best he could.
Turning his attention back to the vial in the drawer, he brought the new one to its side and began to tilt it. The substance started to run into the other glass container. But now he was not able to see how high it was rising. He could only guess from the amount remaining in the one with which he was pouring. It looked like it had been about half now. He turned it upright again.
Though, how was he going to account for the missing drops? Should he put in a bit more than half? With the combined substances, already he would have two full vials. That seemed a preposterous amount, to say nothing of the other set. If he overdosed, then even something meant to help him would harm him. Was the madman counting on him being so unalert that he would do exactly that? Then he would still be able to make it look like Sephiroth had killed himself. Maybe that had been the plan all along.
He forced the cork back into the red container before reaching for the syringe. He would only use the contents of one vial, at least at first. If he started feeling better, yet could tell he was not fully recovering, he could finish combining the red and blue in the second vial. And if he began to feel worse after only the one vial, then who knows. He might not even be able to finish the second.
"Hmm. . . . Are you sure you want to do that? You might end up killing yourself with that concoction."
His eyes narrowed as he began to peel away the plastic wrapping. It could be true; it could be the green that was what he should use, if any. The painting clues had pointed to the act of mixing the blue and the red, but there was no guarantee they could be trusted. The clues may have been an elaborate set-up to cause him to make the wrong choice. He had wondered briefly about the possibility of the green, but had dismissed it.
He could not listen to this outlandish nonsense. He had to trust himself. And yet, how sound could his judgement be, when it was based on the clues around the house? Clues that his captor had invented?
Something caught out of the corner of his eye caused him to turn towards the left side of the desk. Then he could only stare, turning pale.
A boy was standing in front of him, his arms crossed and one eye closed in disdain. He was wearing a navy blue jacket, open to reveal a white shirt, and black pants. His hair went past his shoulders, but not by much. Long bangs framed his face. He did not speak. But it was not necessary; his expression was quite clear.
This was impossible. So now the delirium was coming on in full force. And it had picked something astonishing to signal its arrival. He had expected to see maybe Zack or Cloud or Angeal, or even a hated enemy such as Hojo or Jenova. But not this.
Perhaps it had been brought on by his own subconscious, telling him to stop doubting himself. He needed to stay with what he had determined was correct.
He looked back to the vial being supported by the desk drawer. Lowering the needle into the substance, he began to fill the syringe with it. There was not anything to sterilize his skin before plunging the needle through it, but he would have to deal with it. Hopefully it was the least of his concerns.
Now the syringe was full. Removing it from the now-empty vessel, he held it with the needle pointing upward, releasing the pressure just enough to allow any possible air bubbles to escape. His sleeves were already rolled back, as they had been when he had first awakened in this nightmare. And there was not a point in hesitating any longer. He pushed the needle into his arm, releasing the fluid into his system. If he had not made the correct choice, he would know soon.
Such as right now. His vision exploded into pandemonium, colors and stars replacing his view of the room. He sank backwards to the floor, the needle slipping from his grasp. It could just be the shock of the antidote entering his body. On the other hand, he may have just injected himself with more deadly poison. His heart was pounding in his ears.
He could not die. Even if his fate had been sealed from the beginning of this experience, he would have to defy it. He could not die. Not now, not like this. . . .
Maniacal laughter broke through the pounding in his head. "Goodbye, dear Sephiroth. Good luck and goodbye."
He could not even manage a grunt of displeasure and anger.
And before his vision faded altogether, he was able to observe one final thing.
The boy was gone.
****
The first thing Cloud noticed upon entering the shop was that everything was ticking. All around him, from every angle, it was just ticking and more ticking. And then the chiming started. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This was the last place he would ever want to work. He would go crazy before the end of the first day on the job.
And the conversation he and Zack had just had on the way over was still playing in his mind. For the first couple of minutes they had driven in silence. Once Zack had been assured that Cloud would not speak, he had spoken.
"Okay. Something's bothering you, buddy, and I don't think it's just what's bothering all of us. There's something else, too."
Cloud looked away. He had expected that question since Zack had set them up to investigate together. And it was still not something he wanted to discuss. They had taken their own car, following a police vehicle, but privacy was not part of the issue.
"I'm just worried about him," he mumbled.
"Cloud . . ." Zack's hand came down on the younger man's shoulder. "Did you think Seph wrote that note?"
Cloud stiffened. How did Zack do that? How did he always manage to see what was going on in his friends' heads? Did it have something to do with him having spent close to four years as a ghost? Or was it just a natural talent?
"No," he said, his tone still lowered, "not really." He looked over at Zack from the passenger seat. "I just . . . I panicked. I wondered if I just hadn't known him as well as I thought, and if he could have really tried to . . . t-to do that . . . and it would be my fault. . . ." Now he was just babbling. He looked away again, red beginning to spread across his cheeks.
"Oh wow. Hey . . ." Zack parked the car in front of the shop, then turned to look at Cloud again. His eyes were nothing but compassionate. "If Seph'd hid something like that from us, how could any of us have known? He's really good at it, you know. And really . . ." He gripped the steering wheel with one hand. "If that'd happened, I'd be blaming myself."
Cloud looked back to him, alarm in his eyes. "It wouldn't be your fault!" he cried.
"It wouldn't be yours, either!" Zack returned.
Cloud frowned again. ". . . Isn't it wrong, to even wonder it if you really know it isn't true?" he said. He stared out at the waning sun. "I mean . . . it just seems so unfair to Sephiroth. I know he and I are still getting to know each other, but I should already know him better than that!" He undid his seatbelt, thrusting it over his shoulder.
Zack took off his own seatbelt, then brought his hand to rest on the door handle. ". . . I couldn't help but wonder myself," he said quietly.
Now Cloud looked to him in shock, his eyes widening. Zack had wondered? Zack, Sephiroth's closest friend? He had not acted as though he had been in doubt. Cloud had not thought Zack would ever consider the idea that Sephiroth could have written the note.
"You've gotta wonder, really, even if it's just for a few minutes," Zack said, a sad smile passing over his features. "You don't wanna think that maybe he really was so tortured and you didn't know it . . . but the thought keeps coming back anyway."
Cloud swallowed hard. "I . . . I thought you'd figure you knew him better than that," he said, his voice dropping.
"We do, don't we? Even if we can't help worrying sometimes." Zack started to open the door. "Come on, let's see what we can do to save our pal." He managed an encouraging grin.
A faint smile passed over Cloud's features as he got out as well.
The police were already inside the clock shop. As Cloud watched, they spoke with the man at the counter, explaining in detail of the situation. Zack hurried over to listen, letting the officers do the talking as he leaned on the glass counter. Cloud walked up beside him, idly glancing at the timepieces inside the case.
"So you're thinking one of my customers ran off with this Mr. Sephiroth person?" the older man frowned, his bushy gray eyebrows knitting together. "And using Jeremy Evans' prize clocks in this madness?!"
"That's right!" Zack broke in. "The creep's been calling us, and we can't track down where he has Seph. We keep going to all these empty places where there's these clocks."
One of the officers nodded. "We've also been finding bloodied clothing belonging to the victim. This man is extremely dangerous. If you can show us the invoices of the people who have purchased these antique clocks recently, you would be doing us an immense service. And it could very well save a man's life."
"There's just one invoice," the shopkeeper grumped. "I thought it was strange at the time. He bought four longcase clocks from me. Four! And he didn't seem to really care about their artistry. He just insisted that they all had to be made by the same person, and something old and rare that'd stand out. So I had to recommend Mr. Evans' work in the interest of being a good businessman." He walked through a doorway leading to a back office, pulling open a drawer in a filing cabinet. "I can't stand to think of those clocks being desecrated by something like this." Finding the folder he wanted, he lifted it out and walked back into the store area.
Zack shifted in impatience as the folder was brought to the police. He peered over the nearest one's shoulder, trying to see.
"He used a different name, alright," grunted the first policeman. "Seki Isamu." He spit it out in disgust. "'Isamu' means courageous warrior or something like that. Who does this guy think he is?!"
"He's nothing but a coward," the second officer growled.
Zack's blood boiled at the new pseudonym. He had definitely gotten the impression on the phone that the creep believed himself to be doing a good thing. And that outraged Zack. Once they found him, he would be lucky if Zack would leave him alive and in one piece.
His gaze traveled to the addresses. Sure enough, there were four. Two of them were the ones they had been to already. The others were new. And he was already starting to memorize the other two. No sense wasting time. The police would probably keep the invoice, and Zack wanted to be able to get right to the places without having to ask them.
"One of these places is in the best part of town," Cloud remarked, studying the paper as well. "And the other one's out of the city, right up by the mountains."
"Seph's gotta be at one of them!" Zack cried. "Let's get out of here and go there right now!" His panic was again beginning to overwhelm him. Seph had to be at one or the other of the new addresses . . . but what if he was not? That could not be considered unless it happened. He turned, running to the door.
Cloud nodded to the shop owner as he moved to follow. Imaginary cotton, forming from his nervousness, began to take hold in his throat. Now they had new leads. And even though he knew he should not get up his hopes, it was already happening. This time they had to find Sephiroth. They had to!
"'Seki Isamu'?!" Zack abruptly yelped from the sidewalk. Through the glass door Cloud could see him skitter to a stop, turning to look back at the shop in growing horror. The blond man hurried to catch up to him.
"What's wrong?" he gasped, pushing open the door and stepping outside.
Zack shook his head. "I think I've just figured out who the guy is," he exclaimed, "but I don't know how to tell the police. I mean, how do I get around the fact that Seph and I knew him because we were on another world?!"
Then he turned again, running to the car. "Nevermind!" he said. "Cloud, get in! We've gotta get to these addresses right now!" He had it unlocked in a moment and was almost leaping inside. Something had struck him as wrong ever since he had heard the name, but at first he had been more occupied by the addresses. As he had left, however, the name had kept running through his mind until it clicked.
Cloud gawked at Zack's actions of half-flying into the car. But this was not a time to be wondering about that, either. He ran over, hauling open the passenger side door as he climbed inside.
Zack was already starting the engine. The vehicle suddenly shot forward, sending both occupants crashing back against the seats.
Cloud gripped the doorhandle for support, but not before making certain that the door was locked. "So who is the guy?!" he cried, daring to reach up for his seatbelt with his other hand. "You can tell me, right?"
"He's a real nasty creep Seph and I got locked away in prison," Zack said. "Get Angeal on the phone and put it on Speaker. I'll explain everything."
Cloud swallowed the cotton. Zack rarely used that tone.
Suddenly he was even more afraid for Sephiroth.
And he had not thought it possible.