Merrillian Part 3
Nearly a week later, the two of them stood in the center of the large, well-kept lawn. They stood there silently, sticking out like sore thumbs in the middle of all the darkness. Neither had worn dark clothing, at least not anything darker then what they usually wore. Faded blue jeans, a green T-shirt and a slightly darker jean jacket were simple enough clothing for him to wear to someone's grave. Especially someone who'd always made the comment of how he hated that people always wore black to graves. Trowa had never liked funeral scenes, so wearing black to his grave a year after he died just didn't feel right.
Catherine stood not too far from Heero, her hair pulled back in a simple short ponytail. She almost never wore her hair up, but it was a windy day. The fast moving air pulled at her loose shirt which hung past her waist over baggy jeans. She stood holding a bundle of flowers in one hand. Kneeling down, she placed the flowers on the grave, a larger rock set over their stems so they wouldn't blow away in the wind.
Neither said anything. They'd decided to visit his grave that day, on the anniversary of his death, without saying much of anything. Heero frowned softly because it had been a week and he still couldn't get that dream out of his head long enough to paint something for Trowa. He hated that he couldn't stop thinking about that dream, but in the end he'd just given up. There wasn't any way he could get that strange chained boy out of his mind. So Trowa didn't get a painting, least not this year. Promising himself that he'd paint one for next year didn't comfort him much, but it was the best he could do to soften the guilt.
He watched silently as Catherine kissed her fingers and touched the small stone, just as she always did to the door of Trowa's room when she thought no one else was looking. Heero closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the wind whisper across his skin. Smiling lightly, he imagined the wind carrying his thoughts and well wishes to his passed friend. He didn't feel right saying the words out loud, so he just imagined them dancing on the wind to where ever Trowa was.
Be well, my friend.
Heero opened his eyes and found that Catherine was standing up. She brushed off the knees of her jeans and glanced at him, sending the silent signal that she was done with whatever she wanted to say and do. He nodded once in response and both turned to head back home.
Walking across the supremely cut grass they were the only figures there on that windy day, or at least that's what Heero thought until he saw the other boy walking toward them. He paused for a moment in surprise and met the boy's eyes, which looked right back at him. Those aquamarine eyes seemed to hold a sort of recognition, as if the boy knew Heero... but Heero was quite sure that they'd never met before.
The blond boy gave them a short, quiet nod in greeting, then completely passed them, weaving his way among the gravestones to his destination. Heero, meanwhile, followed Catherine out of the graveyard and didn't look back, even though his mind kept telling him to do so.
Part of him wanted to know exactly what grave that boy was headed for, as if it would make some difference or answer some distantly unasked question. But he shrugged those feelings off, feeling silly. After all, he'd never met that blond before in his life, so what did it matter what grave he went to?
~*~
Heero couldn't quite figure it out, but somewhere along the line he'd actually started looking forward to the strange creepy visions that filled his non-waking hours. Something about that boy hanging from those chains -- the mystery about who he was and why he was there - made him almost eager to slip into bed at night.
It hadn't been like that the first few nights. Obviously and expectedly, the first few nights he'd been severely freaked by the images, but now they'd faded into something almost normal. They happened every night, always with that pulling feeling and always ending in a flash of angry red light with him falling. The pattern was obvious, but he still had no idea where the dreams originated or why he was having them.
With each dream he got a step closer to the boy, or so he thought. The boy was never able to talk to him, but he always felt he was getting closer to discovering the truth, just that it was an annoyingly long and slow process. Barely anything was accomplished between the time he was pulled there and the time the red light threw him back out, but when looked at as a whole he felt he was making progress... or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.
In any case, it gave him something to think about aside from the yearlong absence of his best friend and his mundane classes. His first year of college was drawing to a close and he was not looking forward to the summer one bit. It only meant one thing: long hours of nothing to do and far too much time to think. Sure he could spend a good amount of that time painting, but he knew he couldn't paint the whole time and his mind even wandered during painting.
Even his summer job of helping his father at the museum wouldn't keep him completely occupied, so he looked forward in disgust. Summer was looming not too far from him, boring and full of far too much free time and it seemed that classes had barely started to end when he was already counting the days until they would begin again.
Moving between classes, he took the time to duck silently into the hallway of the art building, leading to the studio rooms. After making sure that the hallway was mostly deserted, he slipped into a dark classroom and shut the door securely behind him.
He'd spent most of his life painting, especially after his mother's death. And just because he never showed his paintings to anyone didn't mean he didn't entertain the idea often. His father had always told him that his mother had loved paintings. She hadn't painted herself, but given her heritage she'd actually had a hobby of doing Japanese and Chinese calligraphy, which was close enough in Odin's mind. Heero's father always said that Heero got his talents from his mother's side of the family.
The room around him was full of easels, all with partially finished paintings drying out in the darkness. He turned one of the light switches, only enough so that he could see, and glanced around. Lucky for him the room was installed with dimming lights, so the little amount he used would never be noticed by anyone passing by in the hallways or near the windows outside. Technically, only art students from the class were allowed in the room when the paintings were drying and class wasn't in session, but that had never stopped Heero before.
He moved from painting to painting, looking over the various styles as if he were at an art museum. They were so varied that it amazed him, especially since they were all paintings of the same subject. This time, the professor had chosen a still life of various glass bottles and vases with a couple glass prism paperweights thrown in for a challenge of colors. The paintings around him each had the same subject from a slightly different angle and slightly different lighting.
One in particular caught his eye and Heero stopped to look at it, chancing a step closer than he usually went. This particular painting had caught the objects just as the sunlight was hitting the prism, just as the streams of light were sparkling outward in thin lines. The effect caused the painting to be incredibly colorful despite the lack of color in the original objects. In fact, the pattern of the rainbow lights radiating from the prism echoed the spider web of chains that Heero was becoming so familiar with.
Heero's eyes drifted from the painting to the subjects again when he noticed movement across the room. Blinking, he noticed for the first time a large mirror reaching from floor to ceiling, covering one small section of the wall. His own reflection stared back at him, echoing the quizzical look, which must have been painted across his own face. Funny, he'd never noticed a mirror in this room before. Why would a painting classroom need such a huge mirror?
But he knew the answer to that one, to do self-portraits of course.
He shook his head slightly, completely intending to go back to looking at the paintings when something else about the reflection caught his eye. This time, Heero froze and a small chill slithered down his spine.
Forgetting the paintings, he wove his way through the room, heading for the mirror and never taking his eyes off his reflection as he walked. He couldn't tear his eyes from his own reflection as he moved closer, because with each step he took he found that it was less and less a reflection of him. But rather his reflection had longer hair, nearly brushing the back of his knees and deep blue eyes, bordering on violet.
Heero came to a stop in front of the mirror, his eyes wide and his breath coming out in shuddered gasps as he tried to remind himself to breathe. In the mirror, staring back at him and breathing in the same fashion, wasn't a reflection of himself, but rather a perfect picture of the boy from his dreams.
He wanted to blink, he wanted to blink and see if the image would still be there, see if it was real or not. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. What if the image disappeared? What if he blinked and then only found his own reflection staring back? He didn't want that to happen, but he also wanted to know if the reflection was real. So instead he settled on the next best course of action that popped into his head.
He spoke to it.
"Who are you?"
Those three words drifted from his lips nearly every night when he met the boy in his dreams and every night the boy struggled to answer back. But this time, he didn't move his lips in an attempt to speak with his non-existent voice. No, this time Heero watched the image in the mirror slowly raise his hand and close his hand, leaving only two fingers out. Two?
"I don't understand," Heero said softly.
The boy frowned for a moment, then his hand was moving again. This time, all the fingers closed, so that they created a tunnel through the fingers with only the index finger pointing in the air. The boy held his hand like that for a moment then changed it again, this time to his fingers against his palm and his index and middle sticking up, right next to each other. Then all his fingers moved to form a tunnel shape.
Those violet eyes glanced up to meet Heero's in a silent question. Heero realized the boy was asking him if he understood, but he didn't. He had no idea what those hand signals meant. Was the boy trying to do a form of charades? Was he actually spelling something out? (1)
Heero blinked in confusion and that turned out to be a mistake. For immediately, the boy's eyes widened and chains snapped out of the darkness behind him in the mirror. Heero watched in horror as the chains flew out and wrapped tightly around the boy's body, then the boy was yanked backward by an unseen force. Heero took a step forward and his hand rested up against the mirror, as if trying to reach for the boy's hand, but by the time he reached the mirror he was only able to touch his own reflection and the boy was gone.
"Damn it," He hissed angrily. He'd been so close!
Frowning, he took a step back from the mirror and looked down at his own hand. Slowly but carefully, he began to mimic the movements the boy had made.
Apparently that wasn't a good idea either, because the mirror in front of him flashed with a bright red light, surprising him so much that he stumbled backward in surprise and knocked over one of the easels. Heero's eyes widened as he heard it crash to the ground and noise from outside the room.
Shit!
Turning on his heels, he bolted out of the room as fast as he could, careful to turn his face as he passed the confused students in the hall. He ran as fast as he could, not wanting to get caught as soon as they discovered that he'd accidentally knocked over one of the paintings. Without hesitation, he ducked around the building and jumped over the chain, taking the old concrete stairs two at a time until he'd reached the bottom shore near the river and a spot where he knew others couldn't see him.
Flattening himself against one of the trees, he held his breath as he listened to the woods around him. His ears strained to hear the sound of footsteps or voices. Had he been followed? But no, he didn't hear anyone. He hadn't given anyone enough time to follow and he doubted they'd seen his face in his mad dash for the stairs, which was fine by him.
Sliding down the tree trunk he finally allowed himself to breathe and closed his eyes, commanding his heart to stop beating so fast.
He half expected, when he opened his eyes, to see the boy standing there or for the world around him to flash red. That's when he realized that all these dreams and strange occurrences had gone too far. The boy, the mirror, the movement in the painting, the things he could have sworn he'd seen out of the corner of his eyes for the last few days...
It wasn't just a dream anymore.
He was losing it.
And he was losing it fast.
~*~
That night, a knock sounded on the door while Heero and his father were cleaning up the dishes from dinner. Heero looked up in surprise at the sound and Mimir raced to the door, hoping to be able to sneak a peek of the outside world when the door was answered. Heero set down the plate in his hand and moved to the door, gently nudging the tabby cat out of the way. He was surprised to find Catherine standing at the door.
She almost never knocked. In the past, she'd always strolled into the house like she lived there... so why...
"Hey," she said in a soft tone, a forced smile crossing her lips. Heero immediately sensed that something was wrong. He took a step back to allow her room to enter then turned to his dad.
"I'll get the rest of the dishes," Odin said without skipping a beat. He didn't even look up from the plate he was scrubbing the food off of. Years of the twins or Catherine stopping by their door gave him a pattern of what to expect from them. If they arrived at the door and were quiet, then that meant something was up, least that's what Heero knew. But apparently, his father had also picked up on the pattern as well. Heero nodded his thanks and picked up Mimir into his arms, then walked silently with Catherine up to his room.
As he walked up the stairs, his mind centered on the expression he'd seen on Catherine's face. The last time he remembered seeing a look like that was when she'd ditched him and Trowa to hang out with a group of boys. She'd come back late that night smelling a bit like smoke and had explained to them that those boys definitely weren't the crowd of people she would ever hang out with again. Then they'd all had a good laugh about the situation.
Her look was a mix of guilt and sadness, almost like she was keeping a secret and was about ready to burst because of it. Heero closed his bedroom door and turned to her as she took a seat on the bed, her eyes darting to the floor. Yes, now he knew she was keeping a secret. She never did keep them well.
"What happened?" He asked quietly.
Catherine took a deep breath and knitted her fingers together. "I should have told you sooner," she murmured softly.
Heero frowned and let the cat jump to the ground from his arms where it proceeded to walk over and rub itself against Catherine's legs. Slowly, he took his chair from the desk and pulled it closer to her, straddling it and leaning against the back.
"Tell me what?"
Catherine lifted her eyes to look at him and he stared in shock as he saw that tears were moving down her face. She was crying?! It was a rare thing to see Catherine Barton cry and all of a sudden he felt a little helpless. He'd never really seen her cry before, what was he suppose to do? Should he comfort her? Should he embrace her and tell her everything was fine? But he ended up just sitting there and staring, completely at a loss for what else he should do.
She didn't really seem to notice his reaction, because her head dropped back down and she began staring at the floor again. Her hands knit tighter together and she took another deep breath. "I heard them yelling at each other that night. I should have run in and stopped it but I was so surprised... he wasn't the type to lose his temper, Heero. But I'd never heard him so angry in my life."
Heero's eyes widened slightly. "You mean... Trowa?"
She nodded. "I should have run into the room. I should have said something to them, to any of them. But I couldn't. All I could do was stay out in the hall and listen as they yelled. But if I'd done something, anything, maybe he wouldn't... wouldn't have... I was too scared."
Heero's body went cold as the pieces clicked together in his mind. Catherine in the hallway listening to her twin brother screaming back at their parents. The night before it all happened. And then he'd stopped by in the morning and discovered...
"You know why he did it." Heero said softly. It wasn't an accusation, but rather a realization of what she was trying to tell him.
In front of him, Catherine wrapped her arms around herself as her body began to tremble slightly and she gave the smallest of nods. "I didn't want to tell you," she whispered, barely even audible. "I didn't want to tell you because maybe if I'd rushed in there... maybe if I hadn't been so afraid... maybe I could have stopped him..."
Heero closed his eyes and clutched the back of the chair tightly. In his mind, the scene played out like it had just happened. Every detail was perfect and clear, scarred into his mind for the rest of his life. Going down the stairs. Turning the corner. Seeing the body. Catherine's screaming. Everything. He could still see it all so perfectly. Swallowing hard, he tried to relax. The last thing Catherine needed right now was for him to break down too.
"Why?" He asked, his voice choked.
"Maybe I could have talked him out of it. Maybe I could have stood up with him against them. It was such a silly thing to be yelling about."
"Why?" Heero repeated slightly louder.
Catherine went silent, her babbling cut off. Then she spoke again in a very soft and almost wistful voice.
"He was in love."
Heero's eyes snapped open and he stared at her in disbelief. Trowa? In love? What did that have to do with anything?
"In love?" He echoed, watching her closely.
She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. A sad smile now crossed her face as she looked at Heero. "He hid it from us Heero, he didn't even tell us. But he was in love. All those times when he was late meeting us, all those times he stayed after school to study... He just never told us what was really going on."
"But what does that have to do with anything? So Trowa was in love. If he was in love, then why did he do it? If he was in love, why would he even consider killing himself?"
"I heard them threaten him. Threaten that they were going to pull him out of school. That we were going to move. Before graduation even, before he could finish high school. They hated the idea that much. That their son could... that he could..." Her voice hitched on a sob and she met Heero's eyes, her own tinged with sadness and regret.
"He was in love with another boy."
And those words brought Heero's world to a grinding, shuddering halt.
TBC...
(1) So sue me, hand signals are really hard to describe. But pocky to all those who understood... and if you didn't then don't worry, you'll find out what they mean soon as Heero does.
Back to Snow Tigra's Fanfictions Page