Yuffie sat up, rapidly blinking her eyes. She stood and dusted herself off. "Damn. I thought that one was going to work for sure."
Vincent helped Natalie to her feet. "Are you all right?"
Natalie smiled up at him with a nod before brushing the debris from her jeans and t-shirt. Their most recent attempt at natural power had failed, again. "Yes, but I agree with Yuffie. I thought we had it right that time."
Red shook the debris from his mane before looking at the rubble of the hopeful power source with disappointment. "I suppose we should start again, but so many failures has me a little depressed."
Yuffie nodded as she put her hands on her hips. "Damn straight."
Vincent watched Natalie's expressions. "What do you propose?"
She faced the small crater, her shoulders lifting with her deep breath. "In all honesty, I don't know. I need some time to think before we try again."
"Fine. You can think all you want. Red and me are going to go get some sleep." Yuffie pulled at Red's tail.
Natalie waved without shifting her gaze from the rubble. All her hard work, again, resulted in nothing but another contribution to the waste bin. Tears burned. "I would rather not try this again tonight."
Vincent continued to watch her. "You're close," he told her. "Each one has lasted a little longer. This one for nearly an hour."
"I know. But . . . I wanted to focus this time on your cure, Vincent, not the power source." She shook her head. "I simply cannot take another failure. The expectancy of success followed so closely with the devastation of disappointment . . . I-I just can't." Natalie turned to follow after Yuffie and Red. She stopped when Vincent didn't follow. "What's the matter?"
He watched her, intensely, for another moment before shaking his head and looking away. "Nothing. Good night."
Natalie pinched her lower lip, debating--Don't badger! "Good night," she said softly.
She turned away, tucking an auburn curl behind her ear as she did so. Natalie didn't blame him for being withdrawn and silent. Witnessing failure after failure, knowing that the next one could be the final hope or the final defeat of that hope? Natalie rubbed at her forehead. "Maybe the conversion rate is off . . . ? She wished she could have given him a better nightmare to go to that night.
TEN
NIGHTMARE ANGEL
. . ."Lucrecia" . . .
Her face faded in and out of his memory, dim and shadowed with each passing nightmare. A tickle of a past he never wanted . . . and then he heard a voice in a corner of his mind. A voice with a tremble. A voice with a touch of joy and a smile. That voice forbade the face of his past hell from coming.
Vincent beckoned to the darkness again, but it didn't come as completely as before. It was different. Finally, he conceded defeat and allowed the voice to create the nightmare.
It began with a shaded forest and a sunny, warm afternoon. The Sleeping Forest. Vincent hesitantly stepped forward, looking intently for the owner of the voice who continued to weave stories of history colored with fun and discovered mysteries. There was a melodious ring of laughter, and a shadow passed behind a tree. Vincent moved toward it without realizing he did so.
"Lucrecia?" he called.
The laughter stopped, and the warmth of the forest drifted to a sudden chill. The abrupt shift felt as a blow to his stomach. He stepped forward when the shadow passed behind another tree, reaching that tree just as the shadow passed behind another.
"Wait! Where are you going? What do you want from me?"
He heard a soft cry of sorrow and moved toward the sound. There was only emptiness and forest. Vincent searched, his movements quick and jerky. A deep, hidden part of him wanted this shadow, but he didn't know where to search. Or by what name to call to it, even though that 'something' had him by the very soul and refused to release its grip.
"Please. Forgive me," the shadow whispered on the breeze.
Vincent stepped out into the open, peering to the canopy of the trees in hopes he would find it. But it was gone, and only the murmur of its continued tears remained behind. The cold tears of mourning.
"Forgive you? Forgive you of what? Who are you?"
The forest scene faded to blackness and the silence began to eat at his sanity . . .