Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Revelations ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter Three

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. It's the right thing to do."

"Maybe. But how can you be sure the same thing won't happen all over again?"

"I can't be sure. There's always that risk. I don't know what will happen. All I can do is try. He said it was all right. He said it should be done."

"...... ... ....His compassion is hard to understand."

"Sometimes, perhaps, but not in this case, I think. How can you not feel compassion for him? Look at his life, what was done to him. He deserves a second chance."

"I would think you, of all people, would have no room in your heart for forgiveness."

".... ....No. I have never hated him.... I had forgiven him from the start...."

Terese dreaded facing Vincent that morning. He knew. He knew about her now, about her strange connection with the planet. She had seen the shock on his face when she'd accidentally made that stupid comment about hearing the planet scream. She cursed herself. What was wrong with her? She'd always made sure never to mention it, and now, after knowing him for less than two days, she'd blurted it out like a brainless twit. He hadn't even been trying to get her to reveal any information to him. He'd just been standing there, listening to her ramble on like a fool.

She'd gone in there with the intention of starting a conversation with him. She'd realized that she would have to talk about things that weren't real personal, or she wouldn't be able to get him to speak at all. And she wanted to help him, so she'd decided the best way to start was to just get familiar with him. When he'd made the allusion to the destruction of Midgar, she'd seen an opening for discussion and had charged right in. Avalanche, Sephiroth, and everything about the near-destruction of the world had always been fascinating to her, and after a couple minutes she'd almost forgotten she was talking to Vincent. Her ability to sense what the planet was... thinking? was that even the right word? had given her a greater interest in that time period than most people had. But even then she had managed not to let anyone know what she was feeling. She was afraid they would think she was insane.

She frowned, thinking of Vincent's reaction after she'd told him about hearing the planet. He had looked stunned, surely, but not really surprised. It hadn't occurred to her before, but, now that she thought about it, he had not behaved as if her words were totally unfamiliar to him. It had almost seemed... like she had reminded him of something. He hadn't looked at her as if she were crazy. He hadn't scoffed in disbelief. It was as though what she'd said meant something to him, had some kind of significance.

She recalled how he'd apologized for frightening her before she'd run out of the room, crying. He clearly thought he'd caused her tears. But she hadn't really been frightened of him, she was more afraid of what she'd just confessed. She had been hopelessly angry with herself and nearly sick with worry about what his reaction would be. She had been somewhat startled when he'd gripped her wrist, especially with his prosthetic hand, and perhaps a bit unsettled, but not truly frightened. She'd been too busy cursing herself for her blunder, too horrified by her mistake to really be disturbed by his actions. She was truly terrified to let people know about her strange abilities. When she'd been younger, she hadn't been so wary, and at one point she'd actually been attacked by a group of older children. She realized now that they'd been afraid of her, but at the time she was too young to understand what she'd done wrong. Eventually she'd learned that everyone didn't have the same feelings she did, and that they didn't instinctively understand what other people were feeling or thinking. She'd learned not to talk about her abilities, especially after the murmurs of 'insane' had started. Her adoptive parents, worried about her, had decided to move to a different town, and she'd found she fit in well enough if she never said anything about it to anyone. But despite her outward cheerfulness, she was constantly afraid of discovery. Her childhood experiences had made her look on her talents almost as something to be ashamed of. She knew, intellectually, that her abilities weren't 'bad', but they made her different, and being different was frowned upon. The way people had looked at her as a child had made her feel horrible, as though there was something wrong with her. People didn't like what they didn't understand.

Terese suddenly paused from where she stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, brushing her hair, her hand halting in mid-stroke. People feared, sometimes hated, those who were different from them. She thought of Vincent's strange red eyes, his prosthetic hand, his ghostly pale skin. A sudden, painful sympathy and understanding welled up within her chest. He was different, too. And it was worse for him than it was for her. People couldn't just look at her and see that she was different. Wherever Vincent went, people would notice him. She remembered her reaction when she had first seen him, her shame doubling. She, of all people, should have been unaffected by his appearance.

She slowly began to brush her hair again. She and Vincent were alike, in a way. She wondered if he was ever lonely. He seemed so aloof, as though he had no desire to form attachments of any kind, but... maybe he had been hurt before. Maybe someone had rejected him. But somehow it didn't seem that simple. What could make him withdraw the way he obviously had? He didn't even have a telephone, as though he was doing everything he could to sever any human contact. She somehow felt that his problems were much greater than hers. She suddenly remembered her first impression of him, the feeling that he was dangerous. That had come from more than what he looked like. She wondered if he had ever hurt anyone. She wondered if he was afraid he might do it again. Somehow, the idea didn't seem that far-fetched.

She set the brush down on the sink, walking out into the bedroom again and beginning to get dressed. Was she afraid of Vincent? Did she have a reason to be afraid of Vincent? Upon thinking about it, she found, perversely, that her instincts told her she did indeed have a reason to fear him, but that she herself was not afraid. She... felt sorry for him. And she didn't really know why. Just as she had last night, she simply felt that he was suffering.

When she finished dressing, she raked her fingers through her hair, again thinking of Vincent's reaction to her involuntary confession of the night before. She shook her head. No, he had not thought she was insane, or that she was lying. It was simply as though he could not believe what he was hearing, not because it was so ridiculous, but because... Because why? It had almost seemed like he was seeing, or rather, hearing, a ghost. Like she was saying something he had never expected to hear again. She frowned, what was going on here?

Well, the only way to find out was to talk to Vincent. She'd been stalling in her... or rather his bedroom long enough. And now that she'd thought it through, though she was a bit nervous, she wasn't really afraid of what he would say to her. He wouldn't look at her as if she had two heads. Her lips quirked slightly. Actually, she couldn't imagine Vincent looking at her like that for any reason, no matter what she told him. He seemed to have stoicism down to an art form. Her smile broadened. She shook her head at herself and then took a deep breath, walking out of the room.

Only to hear the front door close quietly. Vincent had left for work.

*****

When Vincent arrived at work that morning, he found a pile of commissions for specific guns waiting for him. It was not an unusual sight, nor had it been for the past several months. Shortly after he had begun working at the gunshop, people had started noticing his weapons. He knew guns, inside and out, and it showed up in his work. Soon, customers had began to order guns made specifically by him, although none of them ever met him. He did not want to interact with them, and all the paperwork was handled by other employees. He was there to forge guns, and that was what he did. He realized that his name was, among people familiar with guns, becoming synonymous with good craftsmanship, but he did not care. It was a fact that neither pleased nor displeased him. All that mattered was whether he was satisfied with his work. He didn't really forge guns for the customers, he forged them for himself. He'd found that his prosthetic hand was actually a useful tool when it came to making the weapons. He could use it as well as a normal hand, and he could also reach into the forge, or pick up a hot metal alloy with it without fear of burned flesh.

He walked back through the shop into the forge, the familiar heat and smells rushing out to greet him. There was no one inside but Daniel; the other employees hadn't arrived yet. The friendly, handsome man glanced up from his workbench as Vincent entered, giving him his typical welcoming grin.

"Hey, Vince, how's it going?" he asked, just as he always did. Vincent briefly met his eyes and nodded in response. Dan smiled good-naturedly, unoffended by the dark-haired man's silence. He was used to his reticence by now, and, to Vincent's gratitude, he didn't hassle him about it. He often just talked to him about what was going on in his life or in Midgar, usually when they were the only two in the forge, and Vincent simply listened quietly. Dan didn't expect him to reply, he just rambled on as though Vincent were actively engaged in the conversation.

Vincent made his way to his own bench and sat down, immediately beginning to work on one of the guns in the pile of orders for him. He didn't look up as the rest of the smiths slowly trickled into the forge, concentrating solely on producing the best gun he could. The hours swiftly passed by as he worked, hardly moving from his spot. He did not stop for lunch, or to go to the bathroom. The pile of letters was noticeably reduced when seven o' clock arrived, and he began to prepare to leave, putting away his tools and the parts of the gun he was working on.

Slipping into his trenchcoat, he left the shop, stepping out into the cool evening air. As he began to walk toward the trainstation, he finally let his thoughts turn to Terese and what she had told him. He would have to talk to her tonight. He had to find out what was going on at the laboratory she'd been held in. A weary sigh eased itself from his lips as he arrived at the station and boarded the train. He had a painful feeling that whatever he learned would only make him become deeper involved, and he didn't want to be. He didn't want his life to change, he didn't want the routine broken. It was dangerous. It was dangerous for him to get involved, dangerous for him to try and help her...

...It was dangerous for him to live again.

He should not talk to her. What did it matter if she was a Cetra? What impact did that have on his life? It would change nothing.

He closed his eyes, resting his head against the window. It was useless to try and fool himself. If she was a Cetra, then she was invaluable, not only to the planet, but to the scientists who had been experimenting on her. His jaw tightened in disgust. Nearly every scientist he had ever met had made him sick to his stomach, the lone exception being Aeris' father, Professor Gast. He knew his opinion was tainted by bad experiences, but he could not get past his instinctive distrust for people in that profession. It was one thing to use science to find a cure to diseases or a way to explore the universe; it was another entirely to use human test subjects to further your own twisted ambitions.

Hojo had wanted to use science to create a god. And he had very nearly succeeded. Vincent could not fathom the reasons behind such a goal. What was the point? What good did that do anyone? It seemed the twisted man had simply wanted to see if it were possible. He'd loved science simply for the sake of science. If he had an idea, he used whatever means necessary to see if it could be achieved, it did not matter whose lives were destroyed in the process. And there had been many.

Vincent shook his head, forcibly turning his thoughts away from Hojo and all he had done. He could not afford to dwell on that now. What he had done could not be undone. The past could not be changed.

When the train slowed to a stop at the station in sector six, he silently walked down the aisle and outside, ignoring the snickers of two teenagers as he passed. He quickly made his way through the familiar streets to his apartment, the cool breeze stirring his dark hair as he walked. When he arrived at his home, he paused outside the door, closing his eyes for a moment. Here he was. She was there. Terese... and all the complications that came with her. For a moment, he almost regretted ever having seen her stumble into that alleyway. Then he frowned at himself. If he had not helped her she would be a prisoner now, subject to the perverted whims of some demented scientist. He could not allow that. Not after all that had happened... before.

He could not back out now. And even as part of him wished to, another part of him was intensely interested. He wanted to deny the interest, deny that he still cared, but he couldn't and he cursed himself. He would not be able to let this go.

Shaking himself from his musings, he opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside. Wiping any mud off his boots, he moved quietly into the kitchen, sliding out of his trenchcoat and laying it across the back of a chair. He was removing his gun when Terese walked into the kitchen, humming to herself. Glancing up, her eyes landed on him and she gave a sharp yelp of surprise, stumbling backward a step and placing her hand over her heart.

"Vincent! Oh, you scared me!" She calmed down quickly, dropping her hand and advancing toward him a few feet. She smiled slightly. "You're so quiet. I didn't even hear you come in."

He said nothing, carefully laying his gun on the table, along with his holster.

"So," she said after a moment, "Did you have a good day at work?"

Vincent looked at her oddly, his eyebrows drawing together just slightly. He eventually responded with a non-committal grunt.

Undeterred, Terese came to sit at the table, walking around him so she was on the other side. "What do you do, anyway?"

He gazed at her silently. What was going on? He had thought he would have to draw her out, somehow; make her willing to speak with him. After last night, he had expected her to avoid him as much as she could. And yet here she was, sitting down across from him again, acting as if nothing had happened. He didn't understand her. One moment she was terrified of him, the next she was making small talk.

He realized that she was looking at him expectantly.

"I'm a gunsmith," he answered finally.

She smiled at him, looking unsurprised. She laughed lightly. "It fits you. Do you like it?"

He continued to gaze at her, unblinking. He actually found himself at a loss as to how to respond. After a moment he said bluntly, "Are you all right?"

She frowned slightly, puzzled. "I'm fine. Why, do I look funny?"

He felt a faint touch of embarrassment, glancing away from her. "Last night you seemed somewhat... distressed."

"Oh. That." She looked down at the tabletop, picking at a scratch in the wood with her fingernail. A few seconds later she returned her gaze to his. "Vincent, I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to act like that. I just... I just try not to say things like that around other people, and I felt so stupid and worried... It wasn't you."

He said nothing, still standing on the other side of the table. She met his red eyes directly. "You didn't frighten me. Not really. I frightened myself."

There was silence in the room for several long moments, neither of them quite sure what to say after that. Finally Vincent quietly drew back the chair on his side of the table and sat down, resting his right hand on the tabletop. The claw remained out of sight.

"Terese, I need to talk to you about what you said." He kept his voice steady and mild.

She nodded, lacing her fingers together and twiddling her thumbs as she gazed at her hands. "I thought you would. I don't know... Something about the way you reacted last night... You weren't..." She looked up at him. "Vincent, have you heard something like that before? It just... It seemed like you had."

He returned her gaze, silent for a moment. She seemed... hopeful. Almost pleading. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Yes."

She stared at him, saying nothing, for what seemed a ridiculously long amount of time. Terese had, on some level, expected him to say yes, but to actually hear it spoken aloud was a shock to her. She was literally stunned speechless. All of her life she had dreamt and prayed of finding someone like her, and now this man, Vincent, was telling her that it might be a reality. She wasn't alone, she couldn't be! How else would Vincent have known about the abilities she had other than to have learned about them from another like her?

His low voice broke through her thoughts. "Then you had these... feelings of connection with the planet before Meteor was called."

"Wha- ah, yes. I've- I've had them all of my life. I just kind of know when things are all right and when they're not. And I-I'm sensitive to others. I've always had this desire to help people and t-to make them feel better. Ever since I was a child I've had a kind of empathy for all living things and I never knew why." She realized she was babbling, was pouring her heart out to a man she barely knew, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "I always thought I was a kind of freak, you know, like I wasn't supposed to be this way. I mean, no one else was, right? I was different from all the other kids. I-I never talked about my feelings because people would think I was crazy. I've really kept them a secret from everyone, once I learned how people reacted when they found out. But now... Oh, Vincent! Could there be... I mean, do you know someone else like me?"

Vincent listened to her long, emotional outpouring, no emotion registering on his face.

Inwardly, though, he felt a strange pain building in his chest. She thought she had found a connection to others like her. She thought she might finally belong somewhere. She thought she might have a home.

He had to look away from her. The expression on her face tore at him; it would shatter in a moment. She looked so desperately hopeful, so alive with the promise, with the illusion of happiness. He closed his eyes briefly. He had not anticipated this, he hadn't prepared for it. He had given her this hope, only to take it away and spit on it. He drew in a slow breath, opening his eyes and turning his red gaze to her face again. Her shining eyes met his, and he almost winced, but controlled the expression.

"Let me explain this to you, Terese," he said carefully, measuring his words. "I will do the best I can, but you should understand that I am no authority on the subject."

She nodded, her gaze fixed on him.

"If I am correct, and by now I am very nearly certain that I am, then you are not a human being like 'everyone else'." Her jaw dropped, and she looked like she would speak, but he silenced her with a slight motion of his hand. "You are a member of another race, called the Cetra. They are also sometimes called the Ancients. The Cetra are the guardians of the planet. They have a connection to it that no one else has, and they can sense when it is in danger. And, as you have described, I believe it is also in the nature of the Cetra to help those who are in need. They have lived on this planet for thousands of years, and it was they who originally imprisoned Jenova, at great cost to themselves."

Terese was staring at him, her throat working slightly. Finally she whispered, "How do you know all this? Did you...?"

Vincent hesitated, wishing he did not have to continue but knowing that she needed to know the truth about herself and her people. "Yes. I knew another who was like you."

He saw the bright flash of joy in her eyes and his right hand unconsciously curled into a fist where it rested on the table. He took a deep breath. He would have to tell her now. About all of it. But he would have to start with the fact that Aeris was dead, and Terese was the last living Cetra. He was fairly certain there would be no more surprises. It would be beyond cruel to start the story without telling her first.

"Terese..." His voice was quiet, subdued. "The woman I knew, her name was Aeris; she is dead. She died three years ago."

Terese did not respond for a moment. A strange, tense look had appeared on her face. "Oh. We-Well surely she must have told you about... about the others. She wouldn't've just-"

"Terese." Vincent found it oddly hard to form the words he needed to say. "Aeris believed she was the last of her kind. She was sure of it. All of us believed her. It appears she was wrong, but I do not think she could have been that wrong. There are no others." He paused for a moment. "You are the last of the Cetra."

Terese was looking at him, not moving, seemingly frozen. The color had drained from her face, leaving her white to the lips. Her hands, still laced together on the table, were gripping each other so tightly the blood had fled from her knuckles. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed, only to open again, as though she could not form a rational thought. Finally a violent shiver swept her and she took a tearing breath. Her head bowed and a wrenching sob escaped her. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly in the chair as the sounds were ripped from her throat.

Vincent watched as the tears that had pooled in her eyes slid down her cheeks and splashed onto the wooden table to lay glistening in the light. After a moment he looked away, uncomfortable with her grief. He did not know what he should do. He noticed her movement as she slowly sank down and buried her face in her folded arms, her shoulders shaking. He wondered if he should leave her alone, but decided against it. When she was calm, she might have questions for him, and he had things to tell her, in any case.

She continued to weep for long minutes, Vincent sitting silently opposite her, his gaze focused blankly on the plain white walls. She slowly began to quiet, her sobs reduced to an occasional sniffle or shuddering sigh. He looked over at her. After a while she raised her head, wiping her face and dragging a shaky hand through her hair. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin red and blotchy. She looked up at him.

"Vi.... Vincent... Are you sure?" Her voice was low and strained.

His gaze flickered away briefly, then back to her face. "I am very nearly certain, Terese. It is not reasonable to think that Aeris would have been so entirely mistaken. There is, perhaps, a very slight chance that there is another of your kind still alive, but I doubt it. I don't think it would be wise for you to place any hope in that. I would be extremely surprised to find another like you."

She closed her eyes, taking a deep, unsteady breath before nodding. Another tear slowly oozed down her cheek. "S-So I'm not human? I'm an alien, or something?"

Vincent frowned a little. "I do not think you could really be called an alien. Your kind has, after all, been living on this planet for centuries. However, I don't believe this was your original home, no."

Terese covered her face for a moment, then roughly rubbed her eyes.

After a moment he said softly, "Would you like to hear about her?"

She returned her gaze to his, at first not responding. Finally, she nodded, her eyes weary.

"Very well. I think," he sighed, realizing she would have to know sooner or later. "I think you should know that I was involved with Avalanche."

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as his statement momentarily shocked her out of her depression. "You- You were one of the nine people in Avalanche? I mean, you fought with them, you know all of them...? Cid, and Tifa and... and Cloud Strife?!"

Vincent nodded, his face impassive.

"Oh my God... But I've never heard about anyone named Vincent being part of their group," she said, wiping her face again with the back of her hand.

"No. I did not wish to be known."

She nodded slightly. "Yeah... I guess everyone knows that there were nine people in the group, but only seven of them are well-known. Besides those ones, there was the Flower Girl and... someone else." She looked up at him, the ghost of a smile crossing her face. "Vincent Valentine. The missing piece..."

She sat back in her chair. After a moment she suddenly released a strange, nearly hysterical laugh. "Well. In one night, I find out that I'm not human, that my race is, for the most part, extinct, and that the man I've been staying with was a member of Avalanche, the most celebrated group of people alive." She laughed again. "What a day."

There was a moment of silence before Vincent said quietly. "I'm sorry, Terese."

She waved her hands in the air. "Why should you be sorry? It's not your fault. I'm finally learning the truth about myself because of you. It's great. I'm just great."

"Terese," he said, his voice low, "It is all right for you to be upset. It's a perfectly natural reaction, given the information you've just received. I don't expect you to be happy."

She sighed, seeming to deflate before his eyes. Several more tears trickled down her cheeks and she absently wiped them away again. She rested her head on her hand. "So...," she whispered, "tell me about Aeris. Please."

Vincent took a slow breath before beginning. "As you might have guessed by now, Aeris was the other member of Avalanche, the "flower girl", as you called her. I was not a part of the group when she first joined. I understand, though, that she met Cloud in the old Midgar slums. She was, coincidentally, selling flowers. She had been pursued by the Shinra for most of her life, and Cloud agreed to be something like her bodyguard, I believe. I don't know a great deal about what happened after that, but Aeris joined Avalanche, whatever her reasons. No one knew at this point that Sephiroth was still alive, so Shinra was their main target. After being captured, however, and then escaping, with Sephiroth's help, strangely enough, Clou-"

"Wait, wait." Terese was frowning. "With Sephiroth's help?"

He nodded. "Yes. Cloud told me about it at one point. After being placed in a cell, Cloud eventually fell asleep, and when he woke, the door was standing open. The only reasonable conclusion was that Sephiroth opened it on his way to kill president Shinra."

"Weird," she said after a moment.

"Indeed," Vincent muttered, more to himself than to her. "When Cloud and the others discovered Sephiroth was still alive, they realized that he was the major threat to the planet, along with Jenova, whom they believed was his mother. It was after they started on their quest to stop him that I... met up with them in Nibelheim. After persuing Sephiroth to the Temple of the Ancients, which housed the Black Materia, Aeris decided to try and stop Sephiroth on her own. ...I assume she wished to keep us, and Cloud in particular, from any danger, and really believed she could stop him."

Vincent realized in irritation that a faintly mocking tone had crept into his normally flat voice. He had had nothing against Aeris, but at the time, and even still, her actions had struck him as illogical. If she had felt she had to journey to the City of the Ancients and pray for Holy, she should have asked them to come with her. She had been naive to think she could defeat Sephiroth on her own. With a slight frown, he pushed away his thoughts and continued.

"She traveled to the City of the Ancients, which is on the Northern Continent, through the Sleeping Forest, to pray for the aid of Holy. We naturally persued her. When we arrived, Aeris was in the center of the city, just finishing her prayer. Cloud approached her, but when he got near her, he pulled out his sword, as though he was going to kill her. We managed to get through to him... to break Sephiroth's hold, but by then it was too late. When Sephiroth saw that Cloud would not destroy her, he did it himself. Cloud put her to rest in a lake outside of the city."

Finished, Vincent fell silent. Terese said nothing for a long time, occasionally wiping at the tears that continued to make slow trails down her cheeks. Finally, she said, "So it was Sephiroth. Again."

He glanced away for a moment. "Yes. It was Sephiroth."

"That son of a bitch." There was lonely, bitter anger in her voice.

The muscles in Vincent's jaw tightened, but he did not speak.

A few seconds later Terese glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "You said Cloud and the others believed Jenova was Sephiroth's mother. Do you mean she wasn't?"

A strange little smile twisted Vincent's lips, made more disturbing by the fact that she had never seen him smile at all before.

"No," he said, "Jenova was not his mother."

After a moment of silence she asked, "Who was, then?"

Vincent lightly brushed his fingers across the tabletop, his red eyes distant. "That is a story best saved for another time."

Something about his voice told Terese that it would be smart not to push the issue, and she was too shocked and weary by all he had told her to really care for the time being.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

Suddenly she said, "Then I suppose that's why the scientists were interested in me."

Vincent's gaze snapped to her face, the look in his eyes intense. "Undoubtedly. Aeris was persued for the same reason all of her life. They are looking for, among other things, the Promised Land."

Terese started slightly, a chill sweeping her. "The... promised land? I... When I was in the laboratory, the professor was always asking me about... that." She noticed Vincent give a slight nod, his expression hardening. "What... What is the 'promised land'?"

Vincent sighed quietly. "No one is absolutely certain. However, it is generally believed that the Cetra have a connection to this place as well. It is supposedly rich with Mako energy, holds an almost unlimited supply. Naturally, then, the Shinra corporation of the past, and the scientists who are persuing you now, it seems, had a great interest in finding such a place. I personally believe it does not exist on this planet. It seems more like a heaven, of sorts, a place where the... good... go after death."

"Oh," Terese said, looking down at her lap. "They... They really wanted to find it."

The way she said that made Vincent look at her sharply, wondering exactly what methods they had used to try and make her tell them where the Promised Land was.

"Terese," he said after a moment. "Do you remember the professor who held you captive? Remember him well?"

She frowned, gazing at him in confusion. "Well enough, I guess. Why?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself against her answer. "Was he a short, hunched-over man with long, thinning black hair and glasses?"

Her brows drew together. "No. He was probably about average height with short brown hair, no glasses. He wasn't hunched-over."

Vincent nearly sagged against the back of his chair in relief, silently giving thanks. It was not Hojo. It was someone else. Then he frowned slightly. Unless Hojo was in charge and simply hadn't had any direct contact with Terese. But that didn't sound like him. Hojo... liked to work closely with his subjects.

They sat at the table without speaking for several more minutes. After a while, Terese gave a long sigh, rubbing her eyes. She looked tired, and very depressed.

"You should go to bed, Terese," Vincent said quietly.

She looked over at him. "Yeah... I guess."

She slowly rose to her feet, about to exit the room, then paused and looked down at him. "Vincent, I've been meaning to ask you, but I forgot. I'm sleeping in your bedroom, so where are you sleeping? I mean, you don't have a couch or anything..."

He shook his head slightly. "I will be fine."

She didn't leave, instead taking a step toward him. "Have you slept at all? I don't have to sleep in there, Vincent. If you're tired you should go to bed. I can sleep while you're at work, or something, I-"

"Terese." He cut her off. "Go to bed. I am all right, I promise you. I get enough sleep. You need the rest more than I do."

She gazed at him silently for a long moment. Finally she said softly, "All right. Good night, Vincent."

He nodded to her and she turned and left the room. Once she was gone, he got to his feet and walked into the darkened living room, staring out the window. He was fairly sure that her professor was not Hojo, but he would have to find out what was going on. He needed to locate the laboratory where she was being held. It was time to start investigating.