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Renewal

      Vincent Valentine smiled as he made his latest kill. His heart beat along with the pulsating veins of his victim as they poured out the lifeblood of the woman. He licked the blood off of his knife, the one he had used to slit her throat, right after he had forced her to look at him, so that he could see her terror, her fear, as she realized that she was about to die; and clamped down to her wound, ferociously sucking on the red liquid that was still spilling out, using his claw to tear out her weakly beating heart at the same time. He hadn't known the woman, but why would he have had to? She was just the latest in a long sequence of rotting flesh.
      Later, as he jumped from building-top to building-top, Vincent laughed to himself at his sheer invulnerability, how he had transcended the normal, mundane ways of humans. I am Death, he told himself giddily as he made a particularly long jump, and these are my cattle, ready for the slaughter. He peered down the building's wall at a young man sitting in an alley, alone and obviously drunk. With a bloodcurdling shriek of bloodlust, he jumped down on the young man, knife at the ready, just as the drunk looked up...
      And he woke up. He held his splitting head in agony, and slightly moaned as he saw the blood stains all around the room. The dreams, not to mention the headaches, were getting worse. Where did all this blood come from? Vincent thought to himself as he got out of bed and looked at the mirror, noticing the blood stains around his mouth and all over his body. He had fallen asleep fully clothed, as he had every night the past few nights, and noticed a long, deep gash on his arm. He looked over at the bed, and saw his knife lying there. That must be it. I stabbed myself during the night, Vincent thought hopefully.
      Deciding not to worry about the matter, Vincent dressed in his normal outfit, trudged down the stairs, and fixed himself a cup of coffee. After Sephiroth had been defeated, and the Meteor crisis had been taken care of, Vincent had used the reward money given to him by Reeve, the new president of Shinra Inc., to buy himself a small house in the forests around Junon, where he could be alone and isolated, where he could dwell on his past. He liked the setup as well as he could like anything, spending his days walking under the dark eaves of the forests, or sitting at a cliff beside the ocean, or perhaps even going to Junon to try to feel the experience of being part of a society again. It didn't matter; nothing worked. His past crimes still hung on him like a shadowy beast about to strike.
      Taking a second groggy look at the cupboard, Vincent noticed that he was almost out of food. Time to go to Junon again, he thought, grimacing inwardly. He hated going there. Everybody recognized him as one of the "heroes" who had stopped the Meteor, that had saved their lives. He sighed; if they only knew what had happened in his past, they wouldn't have been so quick to hero-worship him.
      Vincent loaded one of his numerous guns, and packed it into his holster. He fixed his few materia, Cure2 and Bolt3, into his slots, and packed up a few elixirs before he went upstairs and sheathed his knife. Within a few minutes, he was on the back of a chocobo which, in a moment of self pity and hatred, he had named Lucrecia, and was on his way to Junon.

      His shopping done, Vincent was strolling the streets of Junon, wallowing in self-pity. As he passed by a TV store, he could hear the announcer of the news station that was on one of the TVs in the window blaring news that he had dreaded to hear. He stopped, and stood by a rather attractive young woman, listening to the news.
      "Another killing spree occurred last night in Junon, leaving five dead and one missing, presumed dead," the news announcer said gravely. "Victims were reported to have died of knife wounds, blood loss, and removal of vital organs. Citizens are advised to remain on the lookout for any suspicious characters, and to stay indoors at night. On a lighter note..."
      Vincent's mind reeled. His eyes darted down to his claw and his knife in horror. Was it possible? Had he been doing all of these murders? No, he decided. He couldn't have been. After all, he would have remembered such horrific acts, and surely there were other people in the world with knives. One of them was a psychotic murderer, that was all. Vincent sighed darkly as he completed this inner thought process.
      "Disgusting, isn't it," said the young woman beside him, turning to face Vincent. "It's astonishing that humans can do these types of things to each other." Vincent turned to face the woman. She was of light build, tall and slim, without being thin. Her hair was black, and reached down to her shoulders, but no further. Golden-rimmed spectacles covered her dark blue eyes. Vincent was shocked; this woman had something in her, something that reminded him... of Lucrecia.
      "Yes, it is," Vincent said, surprised to hear his own voice. He hadn't said a word in nearly a month. "All life should be heldsacred," he continued, feeling a momentary pang of self-loathing. He had done so much wrong in his life, and had still gone on without ever being censured for his acts, beyond the sleep he had slept in the basement of the Shinra Mansion for all those years; hardly enough to be counted as a punishment.
      "Exactly," the woman said, in her soft voice, which was oddly hard at the same time, as if she had some inner strength to call upon. "I'm Rena, by the way. Rena Fulrich," she told him. "Who are you?" she asked in the same tone. Vincent was amazed; he had actually found someone who didn't recognize him. "I'm Kael," he told her, not trusting that she hadn't heard of his name; for some reason, and against his better judgement, Vincent had begun to find himself being drawn to her. "Kael Vinion," he continued.
      "Pleased to meet you!" she said, as she began walking away.
      "Wait!" Vincent called, shocking himself, and paralyzing the woman. He cursed silently under his breath. What had he been thinking?
      "Yes?" asked Rena.
      "Would you... erm... I mean... Would you like to continue our conversation over lunch?" Vincent stammered out. Rena wasn't the only one astonished at his words; Vincent was cursing himself even more furiously for his impetuousness. Rena started to say something that sounded like "No," but then stopped, and considered it. She ran her eyes over Vincent; he seemed rather... mysterious, enigmatic... Not to mention handsome and, for that matter, new. "Sure," she said.
      "Erm..." Vincent said, extremely shocked that she had agreed. "Okay. I know just the place." As a matter of fact, he didn't, but he assumed that he could find some restaurant or cafe in Junon. Rena smiled at him, and they began walking; for the first time for years, Vincent found himself putting all of his worries behind him, from the most recent ones to the oldest ones, and smiled himself.

***

      Vincent's hand lingered over Rena's as they finished their meals at the little, romantic cafe they had found just off a little traveled road inside the Junon city limits. Vincent still couldn't believe how quickly the four months they had spent together had gone by. Vincent took a deep breath, inhaling her perfume. He wasn't sure what it was, but it reminded him of the ocean, the waves gently rolling, lulling him to sleep as he lay beside some half-forgotten lover on the beach, under the deep night sky.
      But as happy as he was, Vincent still felt uneasy. Despite his change in attitude, the dreams continued, and had in fact become even more vivid and stranger, if it was possible. Every morning, Vincent woke up with sore muscles, and a bad taste in his mouth. Since he had begun dating Rena, he had temporarily moved out of his house in the countryside, and had rented out a flat; this meant that he now had a television to watch, and the news was always on. Vincent was horrified to find that more murders occurred every night. Please, for God's sake, let them just be dreams... Vincent thought to himself.
      Let them be dreams, let them be dreams, let them be dreams, let them be dreams... It had become a litany in his mind. He repeated the words to himself every night before he went to bed, he awoke thinking them in the morning. He had considered for a time finding a way to convince the police, or mental workers, or somebody to lock him away for a few nights, just to make sure. But then, he always looked into Rena's eyes, and knew he couldn't do it. If only to keep Rena happy. Besides, Vincent reasoned to himself, even if they did lock me up, I could easily escape. And its probably not me... Surely the police would've caught me by now if it had been. These thoughts reassured him somewhat, but he felt a pang of the old guilt and self-loathing: If it was him, he was only demonstrating the same old selfishness that he had always shown. Only this time instead of Lucrecia's well-being, and his feelings, being in the balance, it was the lives of people.
      "Something wrong, Kael?" Rena asked. Vincent started, as he did every time she called him Kael. It had been the false identity that he had given her at the beginning of their relationship, and he was reluctant to change it, though he knew that if she hadn't recognized him by now, she probably never would. He adjusted his tie (Rena had attacked his wardrobe earlier in the relationship, and Vincent had, reluctantly at first, but later warming up to the idea, started dressing more the way he used to in the Turks, though less somber and business-like), and took a sip of his wine.
      "No, everything's perfect," he answered Rena, looking straight through her glasses into her eyes, lovingly. He always thought it amazing how the woman could read him, but still felt that there were things that she shouldn't know. He had done such... horrible things, and he didn't want to lose the first real relationship he had with anybody, female or otherwise, intimate or otherwise, in years. He took another long sip of his wine. The look Rena gave him confirmed his guess that she didn't quite believe him, but she dropped the matter. She had learned a long time ago that there were some things Vincent wasn't comfortable talking about... like his past.
      As the night drew on, and Vincent escorted Rena home, his mood lifted. The breeze from the ocean was gentle, and though clouds hid the starlight, Vincent knew they were there, shining on, and he took comfort from that. The breathless feeling of impending rain and the smell of Rena's perfume, not to mention the soft yet firm hand placed within his, made him feel more alive than he had in years. As the first raindrops began to pelt down, he let out a laugh of pure glee, half-surprised at his own light-hearted thoughts after the earlier gloom. As he began to jog through the streets, Rena in hand, he forgot all of his woes, and simply experienced.
      Wet and laughing, they arrived at Rena's apartment. Standing on the covered landing in front of the door of the building, Vincent steeled himself to accept the worse part of their dates - leaving Rena. As he leaned in to kiss her, she grabbed him, and pulled him close. Their lips touched, and Vincent felt half-drunk from giddiness. He had gone so long without intimate contact that a single kiss drove him wild. As he regretfully parted from her, she looked up at him, and smiled.
      "Do you have to hurry home?" she asked, softly.
      Vincent stared at her, startled. "No. Nothing pressing," he replied, heart beginning to beat faster.
      "Come inside," she said, grabbing his hand, opening the door, and pulling him in behind her. It seemed to take a silent eternity to climb the flight of stairs to the top floor apartment. Finally, the couple came to room "306," and Rena unlocked the door, once again opening it and pulling him in behind her.
      The apartment was dark, with the shades on the windows pulled, but Rena's hand guiding him forward stilled any insecurities that he might have had. The couple moved through the main room, down a hall, and into a side room that Vincent assumed to be the bedroom. Before he knew it, Rena had turned around, and flung herself into his arms, pulling his head down for another kiss. His pulse began to rise as he felt her hands moving towards the button of his suit pants, and he returned the kiss with equal ferocity. A deep, dark part of him rang out that he didn't deserve any of this, but he brutally put the thought down. Now was not the time for angst.

      After undressing, they had attempted to make love slowly, but it had been far too long for either of them. The act became quick and frenzied, and when it had finished, the two had sunk into the sheets completely exhausted. Vincent lay with one hand behind his head on the pillow, the other stroking Rena as she nestled against him. "I love you," Rena murmured in the dark, the rain creating a comforting rhythm against the windows of the room. A swell of emotion rose in Vincent, which he awkwardly named contentment. "I love you too," he replied, and knew it to be true. The warmth of the sheets and Rena, and the sound of the rain began to lull him to sleep. His eyes began to drift towards closing, and he remembered...

      ... He remembered the feel of the warm heart in his hands, the taste of blood and the fear of the woman in his mouth, the glee of the kill filling him. He remembered bloodlust, and the power and exultation of thrusting his knife into the drunk man in the alleyway. His eyelids jerked open, and he sprang from the bed, upsetting the pillows and nearly uncovering Rena in his passage. She sat up, clutching the sheets around her, looking bewildered. "What's wrong?" she asked, a tremor entering her voice.
      Vincent could feel his voice choking up as he tried to speak. "I have to go," he said, inwardly cursing himself. Self-hatred poured throughout his mind. How could he have been so stupid? He should have known that he could never have stayed the night, and that this would upset Rena, his lover that didn't even know his real name. "What? Why?!" Rena asked, nearly frantic. Thoughts of blood stains and sore muscles, waking up to a fleshy feel in the mouth and a knife beside him, flashed through Vincent's mind. The chance was too great.
      "I can't explain," he said, hating himself more and more as time dragged on. "Its not because of you." She stared in shock as he quickly began to dress, feeling for his clothing in the dark. As he finally headed towards the door of the bedroom, he could hear her first sobs. "Kael! Don't!"
      He paused. A tear of his own came out of his eye, and slowly trailed down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he said, stifling the sorrow, trying desperately to keep it out of his voice. "I love you," he whispered, then half ran through the house, trying to block the sound of Rena's crying. As he closed the door of the apartment behind him, he remembered all the stories Rena had told him, of failed relationships and abusive boyfriends, and knew for a certainty what he had always suspected of himself.

      He was a monster.

***

      After leaving Rena's apartment building, Vincent scuttled through the alleyways of Junon, drenched from the rain, which was coming down in thicker sheets. Vincent plowed through the downpour without feeling the cold precipitation, hating the familiar dead, empty feeling that had lodged in his stomach. He thought of blood and Rena's tears of anguish, and repeated his new refrain through his head in an infinite number of loops, knowing it to be true. "I'm a monster," he said out loud, barely whispering the phrase as though it would bring mobs of enraged and fearful citizens of Junon descending on him. How long until I kill again? Vincent thought bitterly. How long until I ruin another person's life?
      Vincent meandered throughout the dark streets aimlessly. Bright neon red signs that pierced the night time with messages such as "XXX" and "GIRLS LIVE" soon gave way to advertisements for weaponry and medicines, and eventually he found himself in the town center. The large clock tower positioned in the square chimed out the time: 3:00 A.M. Quite a chunk of time since the witching hour, Vincent thought with a twinge of hatred towards himself. He found his path taking him towards a building he recognized - the police station.
      As he reached the first few steps that ascended towards the police building, he stopped. He could end it all now - all the drama and uncertainty. A full-fledged confession would bring a quick death sentence on him. The immensity of the killings had made it so that not even a world-saving hero would be given a second consideration, and the police were desperate for a suspect, whether genuine or scapegoat, that they could pin the crimes on, and close the case. All of his pain could be gone, without the stigma of suicide.
      Vincent began ascending the stairs, and then stopped. No, he thought to himself. I know I'm a monster, but these crimes... I can't give myself over to a punishment I'm not sure I warrant. The real killer would still be around. He turned around, and went back down the steps. He needed proof. People who might have recognized him in the vicinity of the killings before or after the murders.
      After a few hours of wandering back through the alleyways, dodging in and out of streets that were almost crevices in between various buildings, Vincent became aware of something - he was being followed. His rekindled self-loathing rose, and he found the urge to simply allow the person to overtake him. But his sense for the necessity of survival that had always taken hold of him in critical situations kicked in, and he found himself pressing his body against the corner of the building that lay to the right of the alley he had just come from. He remained still, trying to breathe as little as possible.
      Sure enough, a tall figure, a few inches shorter than Vincent, emerged from the alley. The figure was dressed in black, complete with a black ski mask that hid his features. The well-polished and sharpened knife poised in the figure's hand left no doubt as to his intentions. Vincent jumped him as he came out of the alley, knocking him to the ground, and pinning the arms of the figure so that the knife was no longer a concern. With a subtle flick of his wrist, Vincent sent the blade spinning from the figure's grasp.
      "Who are you?" Vincent asked, firmly but shocked. He had gone looking for proof that he was a killer, and had found something much different instead. "Fuck you," the voice snarled back, the eyes looking oddly glazed. Vincent mentally recoiled. The voice was incredibly familiar, and yet tinged with something bestial.
      With surprising strength, the figure rolled on the concrete, knocking Vincent onto his back, and pinning him. The figure smashed his head into Vincent's face, and launched off of his body, grasping the knife. Vincent gasped with the pain, and felt blood rushing from his nose, but knew that time was of the essence. He quickly got to his feet, and rushed at the figure, who was still struggling to stand, grabbing the wrist of the now re-armed assailant.
      The brief struggle ended with the figure bringing his other fist into Vincent's kidney. Vincent doubled up, and the figure took the opportunity to bring the knife careening towards his chest. Just in time, Vincent twisted, and the knife sunk into his shoulder instead, hitting the bone, and almost immobilizing it. The nerves of his arm flared, as if on fire, and he gasped with the pain.
      Keeping his wits about him, Vincent crashed his head into the solar plexus of the assailant. As the assailant retreated a few steps, Vincent swept his feet under the figure, bringing him crashing to the cement onto his head. The figure groaned, and rolled off of his stomach onto his back. Vincent winced, gritted his teeth, and pulled the knife out of the wound. Blood spurted out of the fresh laceration, and Vincent knew that if the engagement wasn't ended quickly, he was in great danger of blood loss. Just as he brought the knife crashing down into the figure's chest, piercing flesh, the eyes, which earlier had seemed so distant, snapped into focus. The achingly familiar voice cried out again, this time without the bestial edge that had made it seem so deep and primitive, and the new feminine tone, as well as the outcry, let Vincent know who it was.
      "Kael!" Rena cried out, as the knife sunk to the hilt into the woman's flesh. Vincent felt as if his heart had snapped in two. He dropped to his knees on the cement, ignoring the accompanying pain of the scrape, as well as the agonizing throbbing in his shoulder, and ripped the ski mask from the woman's face, uncovering the features that had come to mean so much to him over the months.
      "Rena!" his voice choked. "How... Why?!" Rena looked back at him, fear evident on her face, with her voice strangely calm. "I'm sorry Kael..." she whispered. "I've been hiding it this entire time," she started off, haltingly. It was obvious that speaking was painful for the dying woman. "A few years ago, I was admitted to a mental hospital for schizophrenia. I would black out, and go berserk. When I came to, everything seemed... like a dream. After a while, it seemed to go away, and I went home, with medication. I guess the medication doesn't work so well anymore." She smiled, pausing to wince. Vincent held back tears and the desire to hold her in his arms, knowing that movement would just make the wound hurt that much more.
      "I thought it was me this entire time," Vincent said, voice thick with emotion. "I thought... in my sleep..." Rena shook her head. "The first victim wasn't as badly mutilated as the others. They showed her on the news. It was the same person as in the dream I had the night before." Rena smiled sadly. "I had hoped... It would all go away... That I could be with you... But after you left..." Another wince. Her breath started to come, shallow and quickly.
      Vincent felt numb. He had never thought to seek images of the victims. Had never compared to them to the people in his own dreams. He leaned in, and kissed Rena. "I'm sorry..." He said, tears coming thick down his face. "I love you..." he said, feeling dead, but once again knowing the words to be true. "I know," Rena said. "I love you too." She grunted. "Hold me, Kael."
      Vincent lifted her torso from the ground, holding her head against his chest, and crying into her hair. He stayed that way for a long time, even after she died.

***

      Vincent sat in his small house, deep in the forests of Junon, leaning his chair against the wall and propping his feet against the table. His months with Rena had generated this habit, as he learned to be more at ease. Less stiff. Images flickered across the TV in front of him.
      Rena had turned out to not have any friends or family in Junon. There was nobody to connect him with her in any way. Vincent watched her funeral from high atop an adjoining building, staring into the window at the open coffin during the viewing. Just the latest killing in the long string of murders by the Junon Stalker.
      It turned out to be the last. A few months went by without any incident. Police reports were hopeful that, though there continued to be no leads in finding the culprit, the rash of killings had ended for good. During that time, Vincent stayed in the flat that he had occupied during his time with Rena. He had wrestled with his emotions for days, and finally decided to live. Its what Rena would have wanted, he thought at the time.
      When the police finally closed the case, Vincent knew it was time to go. He informed the landlord of his intention, packed his belongings, and took one final stroll through the city of Junon, passing by what had become all too familiar sights. Rena's apartment building. The window where they had first met. Their favorite cafe. Finally, he had departed the city, but not before making the purchase of a small television...
      As Vincent sat in his house, watching the television, he felt oddly at peace. His dreams had stopped, and his old guilt and self-hatred came only in short bursts now. Overall was the memory of Rena - their months together, and their one night of shared love. But Vincent dealt with it, and lived on. For Rena.
      Suddenly, Vincent came to a conclusion. He had to go. But where? he thought. Cloud and Tifa, in Nibelheim? To see Barret and Reeve in Midgar as they continued to build up the new Shinra? The steadily rebuilding company was sure to be needing experienced espionage workers... somebody like an ex-Turk.
      An hour later, Vincent burst out of the door of his house, a pack of supplies on his back. He walked across the grass to the chocobo pen, where he saddled Lucrecia, and mounted. As his mount took him towards the horizon, he felt a surge of joy. The sun was bright, and there was a whole day ahead of him.