|
"Behind the Veil"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements,
Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark,
Mental Instability, Altered Mental States, Psychosis, Non-Graphic
Violence, Death Row, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Horror, Psychological
Drama, Angst, Tragedy Pairings: 3x4 Summary: In a world where the Gundam Wing universe exists only in one man's twisted mind, psychologist Dr. Sally Po soon realizes that she's also been living in a fool's paradise. AN: So...ahaha. I tried really hard to make this
a horror story, but I'm pretty sure I failed. Eep. I guess you guys
will be the judge. Thank you for reading and Happy Halloween! " Behind the Veil" Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality. ~Edgar Allan Poe ~***~ Embedded deep in the bowels of Sanq Kingdom's northern province, a maximum security penitentiary houses some of the world's most depraved criminals. Mafia bosses, human traffickers, and serial killers mill about in listless deference, at war with their natural proclivities and a resigned acceptance that indulging said proclivities is a price too heavy to pay. Among these men, there are those who have so little regard for life that they will indulge their whims on anyone who dares to get too close. They reside down a darkened corridor, hidden in solitary confinement where they await execution. Trowa Barton, convicted of multiple counts of first degree murder, is next in line for the chopping block. ~***~ They're going to kill you, you know. It's out of my hands, Quatre. They don't understand. They'll never understand us. They don't know what we went through, what we fought for. They believe only what they want to believe. Do you believe them? How can I? What they say makes no sense! None of it happened the way they say it did. I'm not a cold-blooded murderer. You know that. We both know that, but they don't listen. They never listen when I tell them what really happened. Discouraged, Trowa Barton closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall when his lover didn't respond. You don't believe me either, do you? Doesn't matter what I believe, Trowa. Doesn't matter what you believe either. In seventy two hours, you'll be dead and nothing will matter anymore. I won't matter anymore. He jerked his head up and snarled at the young blond man who sat on the edge of his cot, enraged that anyone would dare to make Quatre feel so lost and hopeless. "Don't you ever say that, you hear me? You matter. You have always mattered and you will continue to when I'm gone. Don't ever let them make you think otherwise." Quatre's eyes shifted down towards his feet where his white canvas tennis shoes were beginning to accumulate dirt from the floor, turning the soles an ashy black. The filth of this place wasn't something you could simply wash off. It clung like film to every part of your body and made your skin feel like it was crawling with vermin. "It's cold in here," he said, glancing over at Trowa's feet which were donned in nothing but a pair of prison-issued flip flops. "Your feet must be cold." "You're the one who constantly complains of cold feet. You're always cold. I remember how you used to steal the covers from me," Trowa told him fondly. "Because you would always turn the air conditioning up too high." "That's true. I'll give you that." He glanced up at the blond and his amusement faded, swallowed by a crushing sense of longing and regret. "Christ, I've missed you. I couldn't wait to see you again. You're still as beautiful as you were the first time I saw you. Remember? You were standing on the opened hatch of Sandrock with those ridiculous goggles on your head." "They were not ridiculous!" "They were," he argued good-naturedly. "But you looked so cute and when you smiled at me...oh, god. I knew I was fucked. I was supposed to kill you, but I knew right then and there, enemy or not, I would have let you kill me instead because there was no way I could kill you. Not ever." "I almost did." He smiled again. "Almost. I knew it wasn't your fault. I hope you realize that I never held it against you. I hated watching you beat yourself up over it." Quatre looked away and chewed his lip. Trowa recognized it as the blond's trademark expression whenever he was preparing to flagellate himself. "Sometimes I wish..." "What?" "Nothing." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Tell me, Quat. It's alright. Please don't shut me out." Quatre looked down at his lap where his hands fidgeted with the tails of his shirt. "Sometimes I wish I had killed you that day. If only -" he paused and took a shuddering breath - "if only to save you from all this." "But then I never would have had the time I did with you. I know you don't believe it, but...it was worth it. I would do this all over again if it meant I could have you. We had a wonderful five years together, didn't we? I wouldn't have given that up for anything." "We should have had our whole lives." "Yeah, we should have, but unfortunately life isn't always fair. These are the cards we were dealt, Quat, and we have to make the best of it." "Where is all this uncharacteristic optimism coming from? You never used to be this way." He grinned and pushed himself away from the wall, crawling on his hands and knees across the tiny four foot by four foot space of his cell until he reached his cot. He leaned forward and nuzzled his face against the blond's calf. "I learned from the best. Everything good in me comes from you. Before I met you, I was so dead inside. So dead, Quat." Quatre ran his fingers through his hair, the caress was so tender and so full of love, he wanted to weep. How starved he'd been for this. "I miss your touches so much. I miss holding you in my arms. I miss our home, our life. We had so many plans, didn't we?" Quatre hummed in agreement and continued to pet his hair, gently working the tangles out of it. "Your hair used to be so thick and full. So full of life and shine." He nodded and buried his face in Quatre's lap. "I know. This place sucks everything out of you. My hair is as filthy and lifeless as my soul," he said mournfully. "And it's contagious. Look at you. You get dirtier every time I see you. Why do you always wear white? I feel like I'm tarnishing an angel. Like I'm soiling the only beacon of goodness and light in this hellhole." Tears stung the backs of his eyes as he added, "I'm going to miss you when I'm gone." Quatre stroked the back of his head the way he always did whenever Trowa was distressed. It used to be so soothing, so comforting. Now, it just reminded him of everything he'd lost. "No, you won't. There won't be anything to miss." A sob rose up into the back of his throat and threatened to choke him. He swallowed it down only for another to push its way into his trachea. "Why do you keep saying that?" "Because without you, there is no me. To be honest, I don't understand why I'm still here." "What do you mean?" "I'm already talking to a dead man, Trowa. You died so long ago. You've been a living corpse all this time and you don't even know it." It wasn't the first time Quatre had said such a thing, but Trowa still didn't understand what it meant. It was both painful and terrifying, yet every time he asked the blond to elaborate, Quatre would simply disappear for an indefinite amount of time. He'd given up asking for an explanation. He need Quatre too desperately to make him go away again and as the hours continued their steady countdown to zero, the last thing he wanted was to be left alone. "I wish you would tell me what that means, but I'm not going to ask. I don't care anymore. I just need you. Please don't leave me. Please." Quatre was silent for a few minutes and Trowa wasn't sure to make of it. He waited and prayed until the blond's arms lifted and curled around his shoulders, holding him close against him. "I won't. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. I promise." Feeling warm and safe was so rare nowadays and Trowa simply couldn't control the flood of relief. The tears came with a vengeance and he wept his sorrow, his grief, and his gratitude from within the protection of his love's embrace. "Thank you. I love you so much. So damn much, Quat. Thank you." ~***~ "Trowa? Is there anything else you'd like to talk about? This is our last session. If there's anything you'd like to say, now's the time." Trowa sat in his usual spot on the floor against the far wall with his knees drawn up to his chest. He glanced to the right where Quatre was curled up on his cot and waited for a nod, or shake of his head. When the blond dipped his chin, he turned bruised and clouded eyes towards the attractive young woman who was perched on a folding chair just outside the reinforced Plexiglass that kept him confined to his cell. When he finally spoke, his voice was raspy. A lethargic croak that sounded foreign to his own ears. "What's left to talk about, doc? I've already told you everything I know. None of you listened and now I'm going to die. That's it. The end." Doctor Sally Po, the forensic psychologist who'd been working with him for the last few years was scribbling something onto a notepad that was clasped to a clipboard on her lap. "And how do you feel about that?" He scowled and glanced at Quatre who sat quietly on the cot, watching him with an expression that was difficult to read. "Don't patronize me, doctor. The least you can do is talk to me like an equal, or is that not in the handbook?" "Fair enough," Dr. Po told him. "But I'm not trying to patronize you, Trowa. I'm asking genuinely." "How do you think I feel?" Fury lit like sparks from one nerve to the next, raising his body temperature to feverish levels. Was she seriously asking him this? "I've been telling you -" he waved his hands around frantically - "all of you - doctors, detectives, prosecutors, you name it. I've told you all exactly what happened over and over and over again, but none of you believe me and now you're going to kill me! How the fuck do think I feel?" Dr. Po. tapped the tip of her pen against her clipboard. "Trowa, you murdered as many as seventy people. In cold blood. Maybe more, but as we already know, some of your victims were never found." Christ, he was so sick of hearing these same lies again and again. Anger boiling over, he clenched his teeth and spat, "They were not victims! It was not murder, goddamn it! They were enemy soldiers. Casualties of war!" "Trowa, as we've all told you repeatedly, there was no war. There hasn't been a war in over sixty years. The people you killed...they were civilians. Mothers, fathers, people with families, careers, lives..." "They were not!" He roared, his voice cracking on the last word. "What the fuck is wrong with you people, huh? You think this is some kind of joke? Are you fucking with me, is that it? You think this is funny? How can you tell me there was no war when I lived it every fucking day for over two years! I remember everything like it happened yesterday. I remember working at the circus and meeting Catherine -" "Trowa -" "I remember meeting Heero, Duo, and Wufei. My comrades. My brothers. They were my friends. I remember meeting Quatre who became so much more than that after the war ended. I remember our lives together. I remember - I can still feel the warmth of our sheets after lying in bed all weekend. I can still feel his legs tangled with mine. I can feel his body in my arms, every kiss and touch. It's the only thing I can feel anymore. How can you tell me none of that was real? It was real!" "Trowa, okay! Please calm down." Dr. Po held up a hand in an attempt to placate his outburst before it got completely out of control. "No one is denying that what you experienced felt very real to you." "It was real," he said defeatedly, knowing this conversation would go nowhere. It never did and it wouldn't change anything either way. He was still going to die in less than forty eight hours and he would be damned if he ever admitted to something he never did. He would be damned if he let these people convince him that he was an evil monster who murdered innocents for kicks. After losing his freedom, his dignity, and worst of all, the life he'd had with his love, the only thing he had left was the truth and by god, they would not take that from him, too. He would die with it on his lips. "We've talked about this many times, Trowa. There was no war. There are no space colonies. There is no such thing as a Gundam. There never was. Your sister is not a circus performer. She's an attorney, remember? She was part of your defense team. She tried everything she could to keep you off death row and she's still trying to grant you a stay of execution long enough for her to build an insanity defense." "Fuck you," he muttered. "I am not insane. Just fuck off and let me die in peace." "It might even work if you weren't so adamant that you aren't ill." He shot up, quick as lightning and threw himself against the Plexiglass, wanting so badly to shatter it so he could wrap his hands around that delicate neck and snap it like a twig. "I am not ill, you fucking bitch and so help me, if you tell me I am one more time, I'm going to tear your heart out and shove it down your throat." "Careful, Trowa," Quatre warned from his place on the cot. He turned to the blond, his expression pinched with despair. "But they won't stop saying I'm -" "None of that matters now." "You're talking to Quatre now, aren't you? Is he in there with you?" Fear stopped his heart for a split second. The terror of anyone finding out about Quatre's presence froze his tongue to the roof of his mouth. If they knew Quatre was here, they might make him leave and then he'd be all alone again. "Trowa? I asked you a question." "No, he's not here." "Then who were you talking to?" "No one." Dr Po's voice was infuriatingly calm, professionally unruffled just like the rest of her head-shrinking ilk. "Do you really believe that?" "Why do you care?" He snapped, defensive and more than ready to spill blood if it came down to it. "You know Quatre is not real, don't you? I think deep down you know that." "Shut the fuck up, you fucking whore! Don't you dare tell me he's not real. He's every bit as real as you and me. You are not even worthy of speaking his name. You can't even say it right, you stupid bitch, so don't you ever say his name again. Better yet, don't talk about him, don't even think about him. He's too good for your blasphemous tongue." Dr. Po leaned back into her chair and crossed one long leg over the other. "If he's real, then why can't I see him? Why can't I speak to him?" "Because you are not worthy of him. He would never show himself to the likes of you. You make him sick." "So he is in there with you." Trowa pressed his lips together when he realized he'd just given himself away. Panic made his blood race and his muscles coil like springs under pressure. Don't you dare take him from me, you fucking bitch. I'll kill you. I swear to god, I'll fucking cut you down where you stand. He jumped when something touched his arm and glanced over to see Quatre kneeling on the cot. The blond was close enough for Trowa to feel his warm breath and look into the mesmerizing depths of his baby blue eyes. "It's okay, Trowa. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. She can't do anything to me." He gazed back, his chin beginning to quiver as he wondered how such a beautiful creature could possibly love someone like him. He felt so lost, so confused. "I don't know what to do." "About what?" He turned and pinned the doctor with a dark look. "I wasn't asking you, bitch." "It's alright, Trowa," Quatre whispered into his ear. "Just answer her questions, okay? She's not trying to harm you, or me. It doesn't matter what she says about me. You and I both know none of it is true. I'm right here, but you have to stay calm." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders to ease the cramps in his muscles. With a clear directive, he could focus on the task at hand. Quatre would never lead him astray. There was a reason his love had called the shots during the war. Trust me, Trowa. Please. I do. You know I do. You're the only one I do trust. He turned back to Dr. Po and sat down on the foot of his cot. "Nothing. Never mind." Dr. Po's eyes darted to the left and he visibly tensed again. The reaction was automatic, an instinctive drive to protect the only one who cared. She can't see me, Trowa, remember? "Yes, I remember. I'm sorry." It's fine. Just talk to her now. "Sorry for what, Trowa? What are you sorry about?" He turned back to her and cleared his throat. "I was sorry about doubting him." Dr. Po tilted her head in curiosity. "What does he tell you?" "He tells me he loves me," Trowa answered with a proud lift of his chin. "He tells me he wishes we could be together the way we used to be. He believes me. He believes me because he knows I'm telling the truth. Because he was there, too." "In the war," Dr. Po said pointedly by way of confirmation. "That's right. He was there. He was a soldier, too. He gave up everything to fight for the colonies, even at the expense of losing his family. He's the most amazing, selfless, bravest person I've ever met and I'm so lucky to have him in my life." Dr. Po nodded and sifted through her notes. "And if I remember correctly, he was the son of a wealthy businessman, was he not?" "Don't talk about him like he's dead," Trowa snapped, deeply upset by the mere suggestion. Quatre's arms closed around him from behind, anchoring him with achingly familiar unconditional love and support. "Don't talk about him in the past tense," he amended in a softer voice. "Please." "I'm sorry, Trowa. That was not my intention," Dr. Po assured him in a tone that was surprisingly sincere. "He is the son of a wealthy businessman, yes?" "Yes, he is." "And he lost his family, correct?" He glanced over at Quatre again, not sure if the blond wanted his personal information shared. Quatre gave him a nod and he turned back to the doctor. "He was disowned. He's the only male out of thirty children -" "Goodness! His poor mother." "Actually, he was the only one his mother gave birth to and unfortunately, it killed her. His sisters were all created artificially." "Test tube babies, eh?" Dr. Po mused as she brought her pen to her mouth and bit down on the end. "Interesting." "It was necessary because his family has a - well, it's like some kind of genetic abnormality because they've been in space for so long. Quatre was an accident, but his mother refused to terminate the pregnancy despite his father's attempts to convince her." "I see. So why would he disown his only son after all that?" "Quatre wanted to defend his colony, his home, but his father was a pacifist. He wanted Quatre to take over the family business -" "Resource satellites, wasn't it?" "Yeah. Quat felt that if someone didn't do something about the oppressive system that was hurting the colonies, there wouldn't be a business left to salvage. Nothing would be left. So he went to war anyway and he became a Gundam pilot like I was." "Ah, I see," Dr. Po said, scribbling in her notebook again. "There were five of you, correct?" "Yeah. Heero Yuy. He piloted Wing and then later, Wing Zero. Actually, Heero was his codename. I don't know what his real name was. He was named that after the pacifist colony leader who was assassinated by the people who wanted an Earth-controlled totalitarian regime. He became very popular among the colonies because his message was so inspiring. After whispers began to spread that the colonies were going to stage an uprising, they realized he posed a serious threat. Heero, the pilot, represented and fought for the L1 colony cluster." "And the others?" "The second pilot was Duo Maxwell. He was an orphan who became a pilot after he caught the attention of Professor G who was the engineer behind Duo's Gundam, Deathscythe. I was the third. I piloted Heavyarms. Quatre was the fourth who piloted Sandrock, and Chang Wufei was the fifth who piloted Shenlong." "So you fought together?" "Not at first. We didn't even know about each other in the beginning, but when we all first came into contact, accidentally, we figured it out pretty quickly. It was actually Quatre who brought us all together." He paused and smiled fondly. "I think that was when I knew for sure that I was in love with him." "Well, I have to say, Trowa, that is quite a story. I know we've discussed this at length before. I'm quite impressed by the depth and detail of it." "Why wouldn't it be like that? Nothing is ever simple, and certainly not war. Like I said, I remember all of it, vividly." "I'm sure you do." "But..." he added, knowing it was useless. "You still don't believe me." "Trowa..." Dr. Po sighed and scooted forward in her chair. "You have to understand that while this is real to you, it's real only to you. You are the only one who has any recollection of this. To the rest of the world, none of this ever happened. None of the people you talk about ever existed." He could feel the hopeless anguish sink like a lead weight in his gut. "Why are you so determined to convince me that what I know happened didn't happen? Why?" Dr. Po's professional detachment faded and Trowa could clearly see her emotion begin to emerge. "Why? Because you murdered nearly seventy people, that's why." He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. "I told you, they were enemy -" "I know what you told me, Trowa. I'm telling you that they were not. They weren't even soldiers, much less enemies of yours, or anyone else's." "That's bullshit." "You know, I've actually done extensive research on this. I've spent hours on the internet, pouring through page after page of war and political websites. I've looked through endless conspiracy theory blogs and chatrooms. I've tried to track down the people you've been talking about. I've talked to experts and chased every lead I could find. You know where it led me?" "Where?" "Dead ends. Every single time, Trowa. The events you describe, the people you talk about...they don't exist. They never did. Quatre, Heero, Duo, and Wufei? They're not real. There is no trace of them anywhere, no evidence that they ever existed. I understand completely that it was real to you, but it never happened out here in reality. None of it ever happened except inside your head. Do you understand?" Trowa shook his head, inevitable denial already on the tip of his tongue. "That's not possible. It's not -" "What's more plausible here? That all of this is just an elaborate delusion that your mind conjured up to appease the guilt you feel about killing so many innocent people -" "They were not innocent -" "Or that the whole world decided to cover up an entire war and erase those you knew from existence, all...just to mess with you? You, personally? Why?" He lifted bloodshot eyes and met her gaze, feeling more lucid than he had in years. The irony was not lost on him. "I don't care how crazy I sound. I don't care how ludicrous what I'm saying sounds. Dr. Po, I know what the truth is and I'm telling you it. It was real. It is real. It's not inside my head, I swear. If I could find a way to prove it to you, god knows I would." Dr. Po watched him silently for several minutes and Trowa could have sworn there was sympathy in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Trowa. I truly believe that what you're saying is sincere. I know when people are lying and I see that you are not. I don't doubt that you believe every word you're saying, but it isn't real. I wish I could tell you it is, but it's not." He nodded and pushed himself back to lay down on the cot. This was just the way it was and he had to accept it. He pulled Quatre down into his arms and turned them onto their sides with their backs to the doctor. He buried his face in Quatre's hair and murmured, "Then I die in two days if Heero, Duo, and Wufei can't get us out by then." "I'm sorry, Trowa. Truly I am. I wish there was more I could do, but...it's out my hands now." "I know. You did your best and I thank you for that. I'm sorry for what I said to you earlier." Dr. Po laughed and he could hear the genuine humor in it. "Believe it, or not, I've had patients who've said worse. Occupational hazard. I don't take it personally." He turned to look at her over his shoulder and smiled. "I have many regrets, doctor, but this is not one of them. I know what's true and I will die with it. I think I can accept that now." Dr. Po stood up, stepped closer to the glass, and pressed her hand against it. "I hope you find peace, Trowa. I mean that. I hope, whatever is waiting for you in the next life, it's what you're looking for." He held her gaze one last time before turning away and pulling Quatre close against his chest. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the blond's familiar scent, the sweet notes of cherry blossom with a hint of Quatre's favorite detergent. It smelled heavenly, like home, happiness, and love. When he lost himself in it, he could almost believe they were back at their cottage in Scotland, warm and drowsy after a round of languid Sunday morning sex. "Thanks, doc. Been nice knowing you. I think I'll be alright now. I'm not alone. I have everything I need right here." By the time Dr. Po spoke again, he was already drifting off to the sound of bluebirds singing outside the window, the warming rays of sunshine on his face, and the refreshing breeze that smelled of grass and dew. "I'm glad. Thank you for letting me get to know you these past few years. I wish you all the best, Trowa." You did well, my love. I'm so proud of you. Only because you were here to guide me. I'm so lost without you, Quat. Please don't tell me you'll be gone when I die. I can't take it. I need to know you'll be okay. Quatre turned his head and lifted his chin, seeking kisses that Trowa was all too happy to give. I'm with you all the way. You know that. I'll be right here until the end and I'll be right there for a new beginning. Promise? Cross my heart. ~***~ Sally Po wiped a stray tear from her cheek as the curtain which hung from the window of the execution chamber slid closed. It wasn't the first execution she'd watched and it wouldn't be the last, but she was certain it was the most painful one she would ever witness. Trowa had been silent during the walk to the chamber, escorted in chains by two guards on either side with Sally following behind. No one said a word. There were no tears, no whimpers, no last minute pleading. Just the echoing rattle of Trowa's chains that still rang inside Sally's head. Despite the heaviness that hung about the chamber and viewing room, he'd seemed strangely at peace. It was the first time Sally had ever seen him so serene. He'd given Catherine a sad, apologetic smile before he turned away and was lead to the gurney where he would take his final breath. After that, he refused to look at anyone in the chamber, or viewing room and instead closed his eyes, waiting patiently for the inevitable kiss of death. He'd been so still, so quiet that Sally wasn't even sure of the exact moment his heart stopped beating. It was only when Catherine burst into tears that she'd glanced at the monitor beside Trowa's body and knew it was over. "Ms. Bloom? I just want to tell you how sorry I am. For your loss and...I know what he did wasn't easy to take either." "Thank you, Dr. Po." Catherine sniffled and blotted her damp eyes with a crumpled tissue. "It's been hard on all of us, of course. I begged him to take the deal. He would have been in prison for the rest of his life, but at least he'd still..." She broke off and began to weep again. "I'm sorry." "It's alright, really." "At least he'd still be alive." "He maintained his innocence until the end. He was convinced that everything he said was the truth." Catherine nodded and blew her nose. "I know. I did some research into our family line shortly after he was charged. I guess our father was institutionalized a few times before he passed away. Trowa was only two when he died and our mother never told either of us about his mental problems." "These things often run in families," Sally agreed. "Are you going to be alright? Do you have anywhere to go, or someone to be with you? I'd hate for you to be alone right now." "I'll be okay. I'm staying with a friend for a while. She's going to help me with the funeral plans. We'll be taking him back to the Ukraine to be buried next to our father. It's a very beautiful cemetery with a fountain and morning glories everywhere. Those were always Trowa's favorite. Maybe...maybe he'll finally find some peace there." "That sounds like a lovely idea." "I want to thank you for all your help. For working with him for so long and...getting to know him. As a person, I mean. I know the rest of the world thinks he's some kind of monster and...maybe he was, but it's comforting to know that there's someone out there besides me who saw him as a human being. He did some terrible things, Dr. Po, but he was still my little brother and I loved him." Sally held her hand and squeezed it. "I know you did and there's nothing wrong with that. Don't feel guilty for loving him and trying to help him. You did everything you could, but...in the end, he was just too ill." "Yeah. Well, if there's a silver lining to all this, at least there's some closure. For me and the victims' families." Catherine hesitated and then asked, "How many of them came?" "There were relatives of about thirty of the victims that came to watch, most of them fathers, or brothers of the victims and about fifteen family representatives. They watched from one of the out buildings on a closed-circuit television." Catherine nodded and pulled another tissue out of her purse. "It feels odd to know that there are people who came, willingly, to watch my brother die. I mean, I understand it, but..." "It's hard, I know." "Did he tell you anything else? Anything I might not be aware of?" Sally thought about it for a moment, but couldn't think of anything Trowa might have told her that he hadn't told his sister. "I don't think so. I think you know as much as I do about what he believed." "He got so angry at me once while he was still on trial," Catherine confessed with a bitter laugh. "He was so convinced that he'd spent the previous five years in some whirlwind romance with a young blond man." "Quatre," Sally said with a nod. "Yes, that was his name. He maintained that they had a cottage somewhere outside of Glasgow. I even searched for a deed, or lease agreement, in both of their names, but nothing turned up of course. He told me they'd fought in that war together. He would get so angry with me when I tried to tell him this Quatre didn't exist. I eventually just gave up trying." "Look, Ms. Bloom. I don't know if this will comfort you, or not, but the last time I talked with him, he believed Quatre was there with him. It was so strange the way he spoke to him, the expression on his face when he was looking at him, and the way he seemed to physically touch and hold him, I don't know, it's just - I would have thought there was someone actually there if I hadn't already known there wasn't. I guess what I'm trying to say is that he wasn't alone, at least not in his mind. And I don't doubt that his Quatre was right beside him in the chamber, too." Catherine's eyes brimmed with tears, but she was also smiling. "Thank you for telling me that. It does help. Just knowing that someone he loved and who loved him was with him and comforted him until the end, even if he was only in his head. That puts me at ease." "Good. It's times like these that we must take all the comfort we can get." Sally glanced at her watch and gave Catherine a look of regret. "I have to go, unfortunately. Will you be alright getting to where you're going?" "Yes. I have a cab waiting outside the complex and it's going to take me right to my friend's house." "Alright. Take care of yourself, okay? Get plenty of rest, don't forget to eat, and you have my number if you need anything. You can call me anytime, day, or night if you need to talk." "Thank you, doctor," Catherine said, stepping closer to give Sally a hug. "For everything." Sally returned the embrace and rubbed her hand up and down the woman's back. "You don't have to thank me. Despite the circumstances, I enjoyed getting to know your brother and I think maybe...in a different life, he would have been an amazing, successful man." Catherine stepped back and smiled sadly. "Sometimes I think he did live a different life, as strange as that sounds." "Not so strange. As outlandish as his story was, sometimes it was difficult not to believe it. Typically these men drop the ball at some point. Their story falters, they lose their sincerity. You can see it in their eyes that they don't really believe the things they're telling you. That was never the case with Trowa. He never rescinded anything, never doubted himself, never lost that light in his eyes. He was the most stubborn and tenacious, yet guileless inmate I've ever worked with. I'm almost certain he never once lied to me." "I'm glad I have someone who can second what I've been feeling. There were times I thought maybe I was the insane one." Sally nodded and pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "There are some things that cannot be explained, Ms. Bloom and I think this qualifies. I don't know if either of us will ever understand what your brother experienced and maybe that's for the best." On second thought, she shrugged and added, "Maybe it's not." Catherine nodded as she turned to leave. "Like my mother always used to say, the Lord works in mysterious ways." ~***~ Three weeks later... "Dr. Po? Dr. Po!" Sally jerked awake and lifted her head off her desk, half-asleep and disoriented. She wiped spittle from her chin and glanced towards the open door of her office. "Huh? What is it?" Her assistant bustled in and handed her a manila package. "This just came for you. The delivery guy said it was urgent." She turned it over and noticed there was no postmark, or return address. She squeezed it between her fingers and felt a hard, rectangular object inside. "Who's it from?" Her assistant shrugged. "I don't know. There's no return address on it and the delivery guy said he had no idea." "Well, only one way to find out, isn't there?" She pulled her desk drawer open and fished out her letter opener with a half-joking, "Hope it's not a bomb." Her assistant laughed. "Too light to be a bomb, I think. Could be anthrax, though." "It feels like a videotape, or something," she said, tearing the envelope open. She reached inside and pulled out an object wrapped in several layers of bubble paper. Through the translucent plastic, she could see that it was black with the telltale white reels located on the back. "Yeah, it's a tape." Her assistant stepped closer and peered down at it. "Does it say anything?" She shook her head. "No. It's blank." "Here, I'll put it in the player." Sally handed her the tape and then spun her chair around to close the window blinds. Her assistant pulled the portable stand that held her television and VCR away from the corner of the room. She positioned it in front of Sally's desk and turned both machines on before sliding the tape inside the player. "Thank you, Helen. Lights, please?" "I'm on it," Helen told her, flipping the switch as she made her way out the door and closed it behind her. Sally rested her elbows on her desk and stared intently at the screen. For three, or four minutes, there was nothing but static and she reached for the remote control to fast forward the tape. She froze with her hand in mid-air when the screen blipped and a shape vaguely resembling a person flashed briefly in between the frames of static. "What the hell is that?" The loud, fuzzy sound of cosmic background radiation filled the room, interrupted occasionally by a voice, though it was faint and kept cutting out. She cursed, hoping this wasn't how the whole recording was. She pressed the tracking buttons on the remote and the flickering finally began to slow until the image of a young blond man gradually became clearer. "...Po? ...hear me? Dr. Po? Do...read ...?" There was a sinking feeling in her gut, a feeling of dread that uncurled and spread like warm molasses. Her skin was ice cold, but clammy and her heart skipped, then began to race. That face...there was no way...no way in hell it could be who she thought it was. "Jesus," she whispered in a barely audible wheeze as her throat began to constrict with fear. "No, this isn't possible." She reached into her desk drawer where Trowa's case file was located and pulled the folder out with trembling hands. She flipped it open and sifted blindly through the documents. Her eyes never left the screen, unable to look away from the face that she'd seen so many times, but always believed was the figment of a madman's imagination. Her fingers found what they were looking for and she slid the paper out, finally looking down to confirm that her mind was just playing tricks on her. Unfortunately, it wasn't. "Oh, god..." She didn't want to believe it. How could she? There was no way this was even possible. Her heart pounded frantically inside her chest while her mind repeated an endless mantra of, 'Not possible. It's not possible...' Her natural inclination towards logic and reason, coupled with years of psychological training were desperately trying to convince her that the young man on the screen could not possibly be the same one she'd seen plastered all over the walls of Trowa's cell, drawn so beautifully - and accurately - by a hand that knew and loved that face with every atom in his body. It couldn't have been him...but it was. She couldn't deny it any more than she could deny the sun that streamed in through the slats of her blinds. In the blink of an eye, everything she'd ever believed was flipped this way and that, spinning like a gyroscope until she no longer knew which way was up, or down. Her breath stuck in her throat as the young man spoke again and she listened intently, fascinated by the smooth, melodic resonance of his voice and how his English was laced with a strong, Middle Eastern accent. Strong, but fluid, rolling off his tongue with the elegant sophistication of someone who was raised in a well-educated, upper class environment. "Hello, Dr. Po. I do apologize for the poor quality of this message, but I'm afraid there isn't much that can be done with your primitive technology. I hope you can hear me clearly now." Sally's breath was shallow and her heart beat like a frightened rabbit that had been cornered by a predator. "How...who are you?" "Oh, come on, doctor. Let's not play these games. You already know who I am." "Quatre? What - but how? What do you want?" "It's complicated." "Tell me," she whispered. "Are you really real? Where did you come from?" "Of course I'm real," the blond told her. "I'm right here. In this room with you." "But how? What are you? A spirit?" "I'm no spirit, doctor. I'm everything you see, hear, smell, taste, and touch. I'm all around you. The air you breathe, the blood that pumps through your veins, the stars in the sky, the sands of the desert, and the waves of the ocean. You see me every day and you don't even know it. When you look in the mirror, it's me that you see." "I - I don't understand." "Of course you don't. Your myopic human mind could never comprehend the scope of what exists around you, in front of you own face, right under your nose." "So you're not human? What are you then?" "I have many forms, doctor. I suppose, knowing what I do about your kind, that most of you might think of me as a demon. Who you're seeing now is the form I adopted for your now tragically former patient." "A shapeshifter? Is that what you are?" "Sure, we'll go with that, but I must say, your human imaginations are a paltry substitution for the real thing." Sally's breath hitched as she remembered the way Trowa had spoken to this creature, loved and revered it as if it were some kind of god. "You were there, weren't you? With Trowa." "I was." "What did you to do him?" "I gave him what no one else would." "You tricked him! You used him. You made him believe all kinds of things that weren't true. You convinced a sick man that you had a life together! Why would you do that?" "I bring comfort to those who are lost. I am a rock for the poor, wretched souls who stray from their paths and need someone to lean on. Those who are abandoned, those who have no purpose. I give them hope, strength, and love." "You fuck with their minds," Sally spat. "And you kill them," Quatre retorted. "So tell me, which is worse?" Her shoulders tensed as she was overcome with an uncharacteristic sense of defensiveness. "We had to. He murdered seventy innocent people. There was no choice." "Wasn't there, doctor?" Tears burned the backs of her eyes and the urge to lash out took precedence despite her better judgment. "We have an obligation to protect the public!" "And you were, weren't you? He was locked away, for your safety as well as his own. But you didn't keep him safe, did you? No...you killed him." "There was nothing I could do," she shouted, jumping to her feet as tears spilled down her cheeks. "There are people I have to answer to, people who are responsible for decisions I am not!" "Yet, you cry. You cry because you do feel responsible. The guilt is eating you up inside." "There was nothing I could do," she repeated brokenly, sinking back down into her chair. "I did the best I could in the time I had with him." "You did what you could," Quatre agreed. "And so did I. I became what he wanted, what he needed. I gave him the love he craved, the life he wished he could have had. He died feeling loved, cherished...whole." "But did you return it? Did you honestly love him, or did you just pretend to?" "Does it really matter what I felt as long as he believed it?" She sniffled and reached for a tissue from the box on her desk. "No, I suppose not." "I've been doing this for a very long time, doctor. Your patients, the ones you escort down that dark hallway towards their ultimate demise time and again, they die believing someone cares. Believing someone understands them. I give them that." "You validate people who have committed unspeakable acts." "I help them cross over as less-tortured souls. I guide the lost and floundering home. I give them the peace in death they never had in life. You may see me as a monster who helps monsters, but understand that you are seeing it merely from your subjective perception." She grudgingly accepted that. "So everything he believed was real. It was all in his head, but it didn't come from his mind, did it? It came from you." "I alter reality depending on each individual's needs. It's a reality that is no less real to them than this one is to you. I become the one they feel closest to, or need to feel the closest to. I'm the one they lean on, protect, or fall in love with. For some, I may be a wife, or a daughter. For others, a father, or son. A teacher, a friend, a mentor. For Trowa, I was what you see right now. A young soldier, a comrade to someone who needed to be cared for and understood." "But he also fell in love with you," Sally pointed out. Quatre shrugged. "It happens. If that's what they need, I provide that, too." "That's...interesting. At first, I thought you were calling the shots, but it almost seems like you're changing yourself according to their whims." "It's merely an illusion, doctor." "So why are you telling me this?" Quatre's mouth curled up at the corners and it sent an icy chill down her spine. "I think you know the answer to that." There was a prickly feeling in the pit of her belly. Something dark and ominous uncurling like a drop of ink placed in water. Her blood, cold as ice, raced through her veins as it frantically tried to keep up with the sudden spike of her heartbeat. "I - I don't...understand." "Yes, you do. I know you're not stupid." Terror gripped her like a vice and held her prisoner, throwing her grasp of the world and everything she knew into a spiraling tailspin. "No. No, you -" "There is only one reason a human will see me, doctor. Only one." "No," she repeated, horror squeezing her windpipe until she felt like she couldn't breathe. "No, you - I - this is not happening. You're tricking me! You're messing with my mind just like you did Trowa's!" "I won't deny that." "You can't - oh, my god. Oh, my god! No! No, I won't believe it. I am not crazy!" The blond smiled and rested his chin on his fist. "Crazy is as crazy does, Dr. Po. It's all in the eye of the beholder." "I am not crazy, goddamn you! I am a doctor! A psychologist, for Christ's sake!" "Are you? Are you really sure about that? Or do you simply believe you are the same way Trowa believed he was a soldier?" She shook her head as delirious panic overrode her ability to think clearly. "No. No, he was sick. He didn't know what was real. I do. I know this is real," she insisted, but stopped cold a moment later, shock rendering her paralyzed. "What's the matter, doctor? Are you experiencing a moment of deja vu?" She stumbled backwards and dropped bonelessly into her chair, on the verge of hyperventilating. "Fuck you," she hissed. "This is the real world, not some fictional fantasy you've conjured up inside a madman's brain. I know I'm in reality. I know what I've seen and lived. I'm - I'm -" "What is reality? Can you explain it to me? Objectively?" "It's - it's this!" She waved her arms around. "It's this world, this planet, this life. It's everything we can see, hear, smell, taste, and touch." "You wouldn't know reality if it pole danced across your face," Quatre snorted. "The world Trowa lived in, that was his reality. This world you live in...this is your reality. Everything, everyone you see around you? I put them there." "But I'm not lost! I know where I'm going!" "You're all lost. That's the reality." "So what? We're all just...pawns on a chessboard to you? Some kind of experiment?" "Why so offended, doctor? Did you feel this same sense of outrage on behalf of your own test subjects? Or is your morality so skewed that you only care when you become the unwitting guinea pig?" Her mouth worked to form a reply, but nothing that wouldn't paint her as a complete hypocrite came to mind. She'd always known that humans were insignificant little specks crawling around on a tiny rock at the edge of a massive, swirling disk of stars and dust. She'd always believed there were things out there much bigger, more powerful and intelligent than she could ever hope to be, but somehow the confirmation was a bitter pill to swallow. "You're realizing now that despite how enlightened and smart you thought you were, your human ego is just as inflated as the rest of your blissfully ignorant brethren. Humility is a bitch, isn't it?" "So that's why you're doing this? To knock us off the pedestals we've built for ourselves?" "I've already told you what my purpose is and I am not in the habit of repeating myself." "So that's it, then? You just build these alternate worlds for us? We don't get to live in the real world at all?" "You're still not getting it, doctor. There is no "real world". There is no objective existence outside of what I create for you. Since the moment of your conception, you have been living in the world I built for you and that is the world you will die in. Your decisions are your own. You have free will. I provide the scenery, the circumstances that are specifically engineered to guide the choices you make so that you can find your path again." "And if I don't?" "Then I will alter your world as necessary." "You'll take on another form? Someone I know?" "I'll be whatever you need me to be." "You think I'll buy it now, knowing what I know?" Quatre laughed softly and shook his head. "Silly human. If and when it comes to that, whichever form I take will be as real to you as it was to Trowa. You will not know the difference." "Oh, god." She clutched the edge of her desk as a wave of nausea twisted her belly. "This isn't happening. I'm just stuck in one hell of a dream after I fell asleep on my desk. That's all." "I assure you this is no dream," Quatre told her. "There's always something bigger, doctor. I know you know that. From your perspective, you may be at the top of the food chain, but to me and so many others, you are way down at the bottom." "Do we mean so little to you? You seem to be responsible for what happens to us. Do you feel nothing towards us aside from your duties? Do you feel nothing at all? Anger, sadness, fear? Are you not capable of love?" "Don't flatter yourself, doctor. Emotion is not something unique to your kind." She huffed and folded her arms over her chest. "So what happens now?" "You continue on with your life." "What if I tell people about this?" "You can try. The tabloids may buy your story, but I doubt anyone else will." "I have this tape," Sally reminded him smugly. "I can prove it." "Assuming that tape will even exist long enough for you to give it to anyone else. Do you have any idea how many tricks I've pulled right under your nose? Don't try to outsmart me, Dr. Po. You'll never win." She tried not to sulk. She really did, but she failed miserably. "You still haven't told me why you're telling me this." "I like to throw you cretins a bone once in awhile. We'll just chalk it up to my...generous nature." She narrowed her eyes. "You actually think I'm going to fall for that? That you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart? Don't make me laugh. I get the feeling that this 'generous nature' of yours is nothing more than a veil to hide your true self." "Perhaps. I'm sure you're familiar with the phrase, 'Wolf in sheep's clothing'?" "Uh...yes." "It wouldn't behoove you to remember that phrase, Dr. Po. I can be your salvation, or I can be your worst nightmare. Angel, or Devil. The choice is yours." "Doesn't seem like much of a choice." "Yet, they're the only ones you have." "And if I refuse to play ball?" "Then you will suffer the consequences. Choose wisely, and I can make this existence bearable. Don't, and I'll make your life a living Hell, over and over and over again...until you get it right. You should be thankful. Not everyone gets this opportunity." "Then why don't I feel thankful?" "You've been given something most of your kind will never have. Accept it, or don't. It does not affect me either way. But it will affect you, depending on what you choose. I would not advise squandering what you've learned today, but ultimately, it's up to you. Do you want me to work with you, or against you?" She took a deep, calming breath and rolled her shoulders to ease the tension in them. As much as she wanted to rebel, she knew it was fruitless and would only harm her in the end. She'd always known she was at the mercy of nature, of her fellow man, even the universe. The only difference now was knowing that the force which controlled her life, her fate, was sentient. It was a consciousness much greater than her own and it had chosen her to share a little of its insight. No matter how resentful she was, this was not something to be taken for granted. Perhaps it could help her with her future patients, maybe even humanity. You have the knowledge, doctor. As much as I am willing to share with you. What it can do for you depends on what you do with it. You were chosen because of the care you show your patients. The sacrifices you make to help people like Trowa. I'm feeling generous enough to return the favor, but do not think for one moment that if you throw it away, you will have a second chance. You will not. I understand. I hope so. I can wipe your kind out quicker than you can say 'armageddon'. Snuff humanity from existence if I so will it. Cross me, and I'll show you Hell the likes of which no human would ever dare to imagine. She looked up sharply when the television screen abruptly turned off, her mouth falling open in surprise. "Quatre?" No response. She blew out a breath and glanced down at Trowa's opened file. The sheets of paper that the troubled inmate had so painstakingly used to create the visage of his love were nothing more than blank canvases now. "The hell?" She sifted through the file, searching for the rest of the drawings only to find pristine, untouched paper. There was no sign of Quatre anywhere. She stood up and walked around the desk, squatting down in front of the video player and pressing the 'eject' button. When nothing emerged, she pressed it again, and again, finally flipping open the door to look inside. Nothing. The player was empty. Quatre had effectively erased himself from existence once again. Whoever he would be when he turned up the next time was anyone's guess. She stood and dragged her fingers through her hair, feeling frazzled, on edge, and exhausted at the same time. Did that really just happen, or am I having some kind of sleep-deprived hallucination? She yelped as the phone on her desk rang, nearly jumping out of her skin. With an embarrassed laugh, she pressed a hand over her racing heart and reached for the receiver. "Dr. Sally Po, here." "Dr. Po? It's me, Catherine Bloom. Trowa Barton's sister?" "Ms. Bloom, yes. Hello, what can I do for you?" "Well...I was wondering if you're not busy, would you mind meeting me for a drink?" She glanced at her watch. There was still another hour before the end of her shift. Screw it. I've earned this. "Yes, that would be great. Is everything alright?" "Yes. Sort of, I don't know. I just...had this really strange dream and I don't know who else to talk to about it." "Did you?" "Yes, it's...I don't know what to make of it. It sounds absolutely insane, but I could have sworn that Quatre person whom Trowa saw and talked to all the time...I could have sworn he spoke to me in my dream." She laughed and added, "I'm so sorry. God, this is absurd. You must think I'm nuts." "Oh, no," Sally assured her. "No, absolutely not. I would love to meet you somewhere. If we're being honest, I could use a drink, or ten myself."
~ * ~ |
