Chapter Fourteen: "Some Story, Right?"

***************

Rachael Arnon was a beautiful young woman at the age of sixteen back in those days: long black hair curled like ebony waves about her neck and shoulders, elegant and mysterious, fair-skinned despite her dark eyes. In short, a goddess to all the young boys of the peaceful Gongaga Village. Presently she awoke to a soft tapping on her bedroom window, and she curiously moved to investigate. Standing outside was a figure against the night, and he waved to her enthusiastically. She lifted the glass pane and leaned out. "Who’s there?"

"It’s Locke," the boy called back, smiling that same sly smile, as if the whole world were his to take if he cared to reach out his hand. He tossed her the end of a rope. "Tie that onto something."

"What?" She caught it and stared as if it were some strange artifact from another land. "Locke, what are you—"

"I’m coming up."

"You’re what?" she exclaimed, then quickly covered her mouth. In a more quiet tone she hissed, "Locke Cole, what’s come over you?"

"Just tie that to your bed and stand back," he insisted, twisting his end of the rope. "We have to talk."

Confused and a bit wary, Rachael finally obeyed. She’d known Locke since they were children due to the size of the town being what it was, but they’d never been close friends. He was a gang leader and trouble-maker, and he never stayed around for very long without flittering off on some insane quest of his own. She had noticed, however, that he often watched her, as most of the boys her age did. Until now she hadn’t thought of it much. But as he climbed rather clumsily up the rope and into her bedroom window she was forced to think about it. It was rather funny—he tumbled onto the floor in a heap. She hushed for quiet. "Do you know what my father would do if he found you here?" she hissed, trying to suppress her laughter. "He’d shoot you, you know. He keeps a loaded shotgun by his bed."

"Then I’ll be quick. Sit down." Locke indicated for her to sit on the bed, and she did so if only to humor him. He paced back and forth for a moment, glancing about her room and at all the things in it before finally pulling the small pack off his back. From it he removed a circle of carefully woven flowers, each pure white blossom the size of his thumbnail. This he placed on her head as a crown. Grinning with approval he dug back into his bag.

"What’s going on?" Rachael picked at the flowers, which he immediately admonished her for. "What is this?"

"On behalf of myself," he announced grandly, hiding several small trinkets behind his back, "I am honored to award you with the Supreme Empress Award, for excellence in beauty and majesty." He dropped down on one knee and took her hand, lightly kissing it. "I am your humble servant, most illustrious one."

She stared at him, finding it very difficult to stifle her laughter. Her face was already flushed red. "Locke," she whispered, "have you lost your mind?"

"Maybe." He met her eyes and winked. "But I also bring gifts." He slipped several tokens into her hand and waited for her to look them over.

Rachael glared at him warily a moment before lowering her eyes to his "gifts." She blinked several times in surprise. "Where did you get these?"

His face wore a look of false innocence. "Oh, around…"

"This is one of Fiona’s hair pins," she said with annoyance, holding it up. "And Dalton’s belt buckle, and—" She held her breath for a moment in disbelief. "Locke, this is my father’s gold watch!"

Locke grinned wickedly, curling the items back into her hand. "They’re all yours now," he replied. He stood and started back toward the window. "Enjoy."

Rachael laughed in exasperation, unknowing of what to make of this. "Father was right about you," she said accusingly. "You’re nothing but a mangy little thief."

"I’m not a thief," he retorted. "I hunt for treasure. I’m a treasure hunter."

"Treasure hunter indeed." She moved in his way, hands on her hips. "What exactly is going on here?" she demanded, though she didn’t have the heart to be angry with him. "Locke, tell me plainly."

"What’s going on," he answered, starting to climb out the window despite her, "is I’m in love with you."

"You’re…what?"

"I’m in love with you," Locke repeated, sitting on the window sill. His eyes glinted like reflections off a precious jewel. "Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Well, it is." His expression was so cute in its boyish excitement that she couldn’t help but smile back. "From now on I’m going to give you all my treasure—what good is treasure if you never use it, right?"

She rubbed her eyes. "Oh, I don’t believe this."

It was his turn to laugh. "Just consider, okay? You won’t be able to help but fall in love with me." As if to prove his point he took her hand, ever so carefully kissing it again. She blushed, unseen in the darkness. "See? I’ll come again later, so keep that rope ready." Without another word he began climbing down and dropped the last two feet. But before he could run off she called him back.

"Locke, why me?" she called down to him.

He grinned and shrugged. "Why not?" Then he turned and scampered off into the night, leaving her to stare from her bedroom window, utterly bewildered.

***************

"So let me get this straight," Lucca interrupted, unable to keep quiet. "You stole things from your neighbors and gave them to this Rachael girl?"

Locke nodded. "Yup. She enjoyed it, too, even if she returned them all later."

"Any girl would enjoy being treated like a queen," Celes remarked, her humor sparked by his amusing tale.

"Well, Rachael didn’t just enjoy it," he went on. "She reveled in it. I worshiped her and she drank up every moment. That, and I always made her laugh." He himself chuckled, as if reliving those old times. "Yeah, we had fun. Just a couple of crazy kids, right? We did some wild stuff back then…"

***************

Several days after Locke’s visit, Rachael awoke to find something that hadn’t been there before: Fiona’s hairpin, which she’d returned after it was given to her as "treasure", up in her hair. She rolled her eyes and sighed, pulling it out. "Locke, you fool," she muttered, though she couldn’t help but smile. "How am I supposed to explain to Fiona that I have her pin again?" But then she noticed a tiny sheet of paper tucked in it, addressed to empress. Glancing about in sudden paranoia, she opened the note.

God you’re old man’’s stingy, the note read. But he’ll never catch me on the other end of this.

"Oh god, here we go." Rachael quickly made sure that she was alone in the room—he wasn’t hiding under the bed or in her closet. She dressed quickly and left her room.

As she had anticipated, she found another note stuffed in the barrel of her father’s shotgun. Thus began the longest scavenger hunt of her memory; all morning she ran from house to house, pulling clues out of everything from flower pots to the mayors sock drawer. But despite how ridiculous it was, she was actually enjoying herself, and she couldn’t stop laughing. The last clue—which she found inside the jewelry maker’s glass display case, much to his exasperation—told her to look for her father’s tie on the river. Receiving many confused glances from the townspeople she started off into the forest.

"Locke?" She crept down to the bank slowly, but all she could hear was the gentle lapping of water, and all she could see was the layer of fallen leaves across the ground. "Locke Cole, I know you’re here. Come out so I can slap you, you little scoundrel."

No response. Rachael growled in frustration and turned in circles, finally catching sight of a patch of fabric on top of a leaf pile. She shook her head. "Boy," she muttered, crouching down and grabbing onto it, "you are in so much trouble—"

As soon as she tugged on the tie she found it was attached to a neck. Locke sat up, startling her so that she would have toppled backwards had he not snatched her arm. Before she had the chance to shriek he kissed her full on the lips and held her there for several moments. When finally he let go she lost her balance and fell onto her back.

Locke laughed, shaking his head; leaves fell out of his hair and off his cap. "Gee, it wasn’t that great, was it?"

Rachael pushed herself back into a sitting position, spitting leaves. "You little scamp!" she exclaimed, half accusing and half laughing. "You’ve had me running everywhere all morning! Who do you think you are?"

"Locke Cole, treasure hunter!" he replied exuberantly. "But the real question is: who are you? You’re the one that’s been following me all morning."

"Why you little—" She tossed a handful of leaves in his direction, and they bounced lightly off his chest. He made a face of disconcertment that forced a round of giggles from her. "I can’t believe you did this," she declared. "You’ve been waiting here for hours just so you could steal a kiss from me?"

He pointed a finger at her. "I’m not a thief."

"Oh, that’s right. You’re a treasure hunter." Rachael moved closer to him, her eyes sparking mischievously. "Well, Mr. Adventurer, you certainly have a lot to learn about women."

***************

"I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination," Locke said, winking. "I’m not very good at telling details."

Celes tapped her fingernails on her forehead. "Locke, do you really expect me to believe that it happened exactly that way?"

"What, you think I made it up?" he asked innocently.

"No; I think you’re exaggerating terribly."

He chuckled pleasantly, but he was surprised by her kind attitude toward him. She rarely spoke to him without a taint of contempt, let alone friendly humor. "Yeah, well, maybe just a little," he laughed, encouraged by her reactions. "But that is how I got my first kiss."

There was nothing she could do but accept the fact. "All right, go on. We’re still listening."

"Well, a couple years went by," Locke continued. "We were certainly the wildest couple at the time, and to be honest, we kept getting worse." He scratched his head. "The more time we spent together the more she changed—she really started getting into being treated like a queen, I guess. She started hanging out with me and my gang, and she loved hunting for treasure. But Stephen—her father—always hated me, and sometimes things got…complicated.

***************

By the time the bedroom door burst open, Stephen’s ogre-like footsteps had long since advertised his approach. Locke, still intoxicated with the recent memories of that evening’s "affairs", had just struggled into his pants when the double-barreled shot gun was aimed at his head. With a curse he ducked. The shot echoed explosively in the small room, ripping a chunk out of the window sill and severing the rope he’d used to climb in on. Without waiting for another he beat a hasty retreat, snatching his bundle of clothes on the way.

"You son of a bitch!" the father bellowed, aiming another shot. But Rachael grabbed his arm and pushed him away, laughing at the sight her lover made as he scrambled out the window. "You stay away from my daughter!" Stephen continued to yell, forcing his way to the opening as Locke dropped ungracefully to the bed of flowers below. "You worthless, dirty little—"

He fired the second shot, and suddenly everything fell silent. Still giggling, Rachael moved to the window and leaned out. "Locke!" she called, grinning broadly. "It was fun tonight! I’ll see you later!" When he didn’t answer, however, her tone dropped. "Locke?" Her eyes scanned the shadows outside the house, but she couldn’t see him or any movement. "Locke, it’s not funny." She began to grow panicked. "Locke? Locke!"

Stephen lowered his gun. A moment passed, and then a figure leapt out of the flowers. "Sorry about that!" he called. "Didn’t mean to scare’ya. Here!" He tossed a pair of women’s underwear at the open window that, as he’d planned, landed in Stephen’s grasp. "Guess they got mixed in with mine. Sorry."

"You little bastard!" Rachael exclaimed through peals of laughter as her father threw the panties aside and struggled to reload his gun. "You had me scared shit-less, Locke. Don’t do that again."

"Deal!" He started to leave but then paused as if remembering something. He turned back. "Hey, Rachael?"

She casually knocked the shell out of her father’s hand so that it went rolling across the floor. He cursed and shoved her aside, but she returned to the window quickly. "Yeah?"

"Will you marry me?"

She covered her mouth with her hands. By now her father was raging, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. "Of course I will!" she shouted back, waving to him excitedly. "I’ll be the sexiest bride ever!"

Locke nodded, grinning so widely that she thought his mouth would tumble off his face. He turned and, with a final wave, scampered off, the thunder of Stephen’s shot gun following him into the night.

For a week Rachael’s parents wouldn’t let her leave the house. They boarded up her window and kept her locked in her room at night. Her mother often protested, but Stephen constantly insisted that it was for her own good. What amazed him—and enraged him—was the fact that, despite all his precautions, Locke still managed to leave her gifts. They’d find his baubles all about: in their boots and grocery bags, cupboards and everywhere else. They couldn’t stop him and they couldn’t bring in the law, as they could never prove his guilt. One night Rachael found a way to sneak out, which was enough. After leaving a vague note she met Locke and they simply left, hitching rides with truck drivers and sometimes going on foot. "We’ll go to Cosmo Canyon," Locke told her, and his confidence was enough for them both. "I’ve been saving some money, and I want to buy you something really special. Then we’ll come back and get married, right?"

She nodded, leaning against him as they walked. "Do you think my father will ever forgive me?" she asked quietly.

"He may be a little unstable, but he’s a good man. He’ll come around."

"I hope."

Those days were the closest they’d ever been; talking as they traveled, love under the stars—the adventure kept their spirits high as they took the time to learn everything about each other. But after several days of travel the terrain became rough, full of mountains and steep gorges, the only way through being rocky passes and old wooden bridges. It was at such a crossing that they paused, checking the stability of the seemingly ancient planks. Locke went first, testing his weight. It creaked but held, even as he bounced up and down. "It’s okay," he assured, "but let me go first, just in case." With a smile he started on, trying to not let the bridge swing back and forth. "So far so good."

Rachael watched from the end, smiling to herself. A bit of movement caught her attention then—several small rodents were also traversing the bridge, their tiny claws digging into the ropes as they went. One spot had been particularly worn through eons of environmental abuse, and as they crossed, whiskers twitching innocently, the fibers began to unwind. It was quickly coming apart.

"Locke, hurry!" she shouted in warning, but the wind had begun to howl, and he couldn’t hear. He turned back, however, glancing at her curiously. He shrugged as he didn’t understand what she was saying.

The support had frayed almost all the way through now, and she could think of nothing else to do but sprint across, the wood twisting and groaning crazily beneath her feet. With all her strength she slammed into him, sending him sprawling on the rock ledge. He spat dirt and rolled onto his back, sight clearing just as the rope snapped and the bridge sagged on its side.

"Rachael!" He scrambled back and found her clinging to the wooden steps. But the loss of one support was taking its toll on the others, and the entire structure was in danger of collapse. Trying to stay calm he reached out to her. "Rachael, take my hand. I’ll pull you over."

She turned her head, and her face was pale and frightened. Her nails dug fiercely into the plank. "Locke…" She started to let go, but as she began to slip she panicked and returned her grip. "I can’t," she whispered, trembling. "I’ll fall."

"No you won’t—I promise, okay?" He started to push himself out further, but caution told him otherwise. He stretched his arm out as far as it would reach. "Trust me, Rachael. Just take my hand. It’ll be okay."

She did trust him. Her hand reached for his, groping the space between them. It wasn’t enough. With the effort visible on her face she extended it out further, until their fingertips brushed the other’s. He would always remember the feel of her skin then.

The rest of the ropes began to snap. Her hand never reached his. As the final support broke the bridge fell and Rachael with it, tumbling down the rocky slopes of the gorge. For several long moments Locke remained motionless, shocked and horrified, only able to watch as her body continued to fall away from him. Finally he jarred to life. He managed to find a safe path down to the bottom of the canyon and struggled past bits of debris to where Rachael lay. Her perfect skin was bruised and severed, and blood stained her beautiful garments. But she was still breathing, which allowed him some—if not much—comfort. Though tremulous and weary he carried her back up the stone path, and from there back the way they’d come.

All he could think of from then on was getting her back to Gongaga—to her family and friends, and a doctor who could help. Their adventure had come to an abrupt end. But luck was on his side, and he met up with a truck driver who volunteered to take him the entire way, cutting the trip in half. Although the two men were able to clean and bandage all the woman’s injuries, she didn’t awaken. Not even in her own bed did her eyelids lift, and Locke was faced with the realization that he might have lost her for good. Her father’s wrath nearly killed him the night he brought her back—only her mother’s compassion stopped him, as she was grateful that he’d returned her at all. The next morning he awoke in the house of Zack’s parents only to be told that his father had passed away during his absence. And Rachael still had not regained consciousness. It took some time for them to make him understand all this, as his mind was still in shock and refused to comprehend the tidings. It wasn’t possible for things to end like this. He was in hell.

Several days passed and Locke refused to leave the house in fear of what might happen. At long last word reached him that Rachael had awakened, and hastily he set out to find her. He imagined all the things he would say, all the apologies he would offer, until they were set perfectly in his mind. But when he saw her in the market place with Fiona it all left him. There was only one thing he wanted to do.

Rachael gasped as a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind. She tried twisting to see who it was, but the man’s face was hidden in her thick hair, and she couldn’t tell. "Fiona," she asked quietly, silent laughter in her eyes, "can you tell me what man has fastened himself to me?"

Fiona caught her breath, but a moment later any guilt or discomfort had passed. "It’s just Cole," she replied easily. "Town drunk, remember? Don’t humor him or you’ll be stuck with him for life."

Locke stopped, bewildered as the two women began to laugh. Rachael took advantage of his confusion and slipped out of his embrace. She faced him. "Rachael," he whispered, reaching to touch her face. "You’re okay now, right?"

"I’m fine," she said, gentling pushing his hand aside. "Are you?"

"I…" He frowned through the tears that had leaked unwillingly from his eyes. "I’m all right. I was worried about you."

She cast him a strange look. "Yes, of course. Is there something you want?"

Locke felt his heart stiffening, and he choked on his own exasperated laughter. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Well, I’m fine," Rachael repeated, growing annoyed. "Your concern really is touching, but I cam here to shop. Are you finished?"

"What, is that all?" His mind reeled, scrambling for an explanation—what was going on? He looked to Fiona but her eyes were cold, as were all the eyes of the people in the market when they stared at him. He didn’t care about them, but when those same eyes reflected through Rachael’s the effect was devastating to his already battered stability. "What about what happened? Listen, I know it’s my fault, and you have to believe how sorry I am—"

He reached for her again and she slapped his hand so that the flesh stung. "Stop it," she hissed. "Just leave me alone. You’re the one my father told you about—I don’t want anything to do with you. Now please." She turned away and started to go. "Don’t touch me."

"Rachael…" His hands were shaking as they lifted again, but they no longer reached her. "Rachael, wait. Rachael!"

"You’re wasting your breath." Locke turned to see Franz there: one of the old members of his gang. "She’s not yours anymore."

"Franz…what the hell’s going on?" He grabbed the man’s coat, his eyes pleading. "What happened to her? Why…?"

"Amnesia," he grunted, and his expression showed no sympathy. "A really bad case, too. She didn’t even remember he own mother when she woke up. Heard her old man told her all kinds of bullshit stories." He shook his head. "Sorry pal, but to her you don’t exist."

Locke shook his head fiercely, refusing to believe. "I’ve known her all my life," he breathed. "Four years ago I kissed her for the first time… How could she…he…no. No, I don’t believe it." He turned around as if to go after her. "Rachael—"

"Locke, everyone hates you." Franz took his arm and held him still. "You run off for almost two weeks and bring her back like this? Everyone knows what happened. They know it was your fault."

Locke’s already pale visage grew worse. "My…fault…?"

"If I were you I’d just leave." But by now the words almost didn’t reach him. "You’re old man’s dead, you don’t have any money—let her be, Locke. She’s gotta start her entire life over again. You’ll just be in the way…"

***************

The room fell silent then, the listeners glancing at each other in the pause. "My god…" Lucca said at last, uncomfortable with the lack of conversation. "Locke, that’s…I had no idea."

He hummed thoughtfully to himself, seemingly the only one not emotionally affected by his tale. To their amazement he was still smiling with his eyes closed. "Some story, right?" He chuckled faintly, but Celes could hear memories in his voice, and it shook her heart. "Fate has a way of punishing those who defy it, I suppose. A guy in Cosmo Canyon told me that."

The general was at a loss for words. She raised her eyes to the others, and caught Glenn watching her, almost expectantly, like he wanted her to realize something. Taking a chance she said, "But that’s not it, is it Locke?" His face tightened, affirming her assumptions. "Rachael isn’t here anymore."

Locke released a low sigh. "No," he murmured. "She’s not here anymore." He didn’t notice as a hand slipped over his. "I left Gongaga and set out alone for a while, then came back three months later. I only saw Rachael from afar—she looked so happy and I didn’t want to spoil it. The next time I returned was three years ago—a year after she lost her memory.

"When the reactor self-destructed," Celes rejoined quietly.

He nodded. "Yes. When I finally reached here the explosions had just started. I didn’t know what was going on, but it felt like hell had broken out, if you’ll pardon the cliché.".

***************

The ground shook beneath his feet as he half ran, half tumbled into the village. Houses had been leveled and people were running panic-stricken through the streets as they searched for escape. Flaming debris rested in the walls of residences and embedded itself in the roadways. Still more of the metal wreckage fell like meteors, pelting the earth and its children in fiery rain. He watched the scene in horror, only after several moments able to collect himself and his scattered senses. Trying to remain calm he made his way through the groups of huddled victims.

Locke finally came across a familiar figure—Fiona, her slim body now devoid of breath. She was lying beside another woman who was face down on the rocky earth, and a third, older than both, sobbed uncontrollably nearby. She raised her head as he came near, showing to him her swollen eyes and pale countenance. "It…it’s you," she whispered, trembling so terribly that every word crumbled on her lips. "You…you came back."

He knelt down beside Rachael’s mother, not knowing what to say. When he saw the figure that lay beside Fiona, however, he discovered there was no need to say anything. The world was cold around him, and the only warmth provided him was the woman’s freed blood as he pulled her lifeless corpse into his arms. Even as the explosions began to abate he clasped the body to him, his cries filling the night.

***************

"I never got the chance to speak to her." Locke swallowed hard as his tale began to reach a close. "I never said ‘good-bye,’ or ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I love you.’ It just ended. I never expected it."

"How could you?" Lucca replied softly. "No one ever expects something like that." She felt her eyes dampening, and she took off her glasses so that she could rub them clear.

Nanaki scuffled his paws on the floor. "And is that why you protect women mostly?" he asked bluntly.

He laughed with bittersweet humor. "I guess so. Sounds like something out of a play, right? One of those old tragedies. But some good came out of it: I met Glenn shortly afterward, and we started working together. Been together since. Right?"

Glenn nodded. "Of course." He paused, shifting his attention. "General Celes?"

"Excuse me." Celes climbed to her feet, not meeting any of their eyes as she quickly left the hut. The others exchanged curious glances. Locke sat up, obviously considering following her, but his shoulder was throbbing, and he stayed still.

Celes covered her mouth as she wandered out into the night air. Her eyes were watering and her hands shaking, but she didn’t know why. Her stomach burned. Something in the man’s tale had struck a devastating blow in her. She didn’t understand where it was all coming from.

"What’s going on?" the general whispered, setting her back against the sturdy bark of a nearby tree. "Why does it hurt so much? I don’t understand." Tears began to spill from her eyes, though by no will of hers. She wiped them away quickly, as they were not her own and they frightened her. "I feel bad for him, but why this? He’s my enemy…"

She sank to the ground, burying her face in her tucked knees. It felt as if her entire body was crying, and wrapping her arms about her was drowning herself in salty despair. She didn’t notice as Lucca came and sat beside her. All she could feel was the twisting agony in her gut and the fire that threatened to consume her in its wrath—the hand of a nameless master.

"Celes?" Lucca touched the woman’s shoulder, and she started. "What’s wrong? Why are you crying?"

The general lifted her head. She struggled to clear her face but the tears would not stop. "I didn’t want to stay in there," she whispered, pulling the words from some unidentifiable source within her emotions. "I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. There was too much pain."

"What do you mean?"

Celes concentrated hard, going through several mind relaxing techniques that she knew—but then she remembered the SOLDIER whom had taught her those exercises, and her mood darkened further. Still she struggled to make herself understand. She’d felt this way before. The feeling of sorrow that wasn’t hers—it was familiar somehow. At last she was able to place it into her memory. "Do you remember what I told you about Cecil and Cain?" she asked her friend. "And Rosa?"

Lucca frowned, confused by the sudden switching of subjects. "Yeah. They both loved her, didn’t they?"

"Yes; they both loved her deeply." She cleaned her face and tried to think straight. "But Rosa loved Cecil. They decided to get married. I was there when Cecil told everyone, and even though I was so happy for them—they treated me like their daughter sometimes—I remember crying hard. Cain was devastated but he only smiled and congratulated them. I wanted to, but all I could do was cry because it didn’t seem fair." She breathed in deeply, as the memories were hard to conjure up knowing that Cain was now gone. A brief thought entered her mind on whether or not Cecil was still alive, but she tried not to think about it too much. "I feel that way now—as if he’s crying through me because he can’t do it himself. I feel all his pain."

"That’s incredible," Lucca said. "Impossible, if I didn’t know better. It makes sense for Cain because you two were so close, but why Locke? Do you…"

"You can’t ask me that," Celes answered softly. "I don’t know. But it wasn’t just Cain; it was all the other SOLDIERs. I was close to all of them, and when they needed my help I was there. They’re my children. The only strange part is that it makes my stomach hurt."

"Your stomach?"

"Here." She indicated the lower part of her belly. "Whenever something like this happens it hurts. Professor Hojo said it was nothing, that physical pain is sometimes the result of emotional stress. But I don’t believe him, because it only happens when dealing with my children."

The young scientist was unsettled by the using of the word "children" but she didn’t say anything. "Will you be okay?"

"Yes, I’m fine." The general forced a smile for her sake, clearing away the last of her tears. "Just give me a while, and I’ll be fine." She exhaled deeply, as the pain was already starting to melt off her muscles. "Go get some rest. I’ll be all right soon enough."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Go and tell them that I’m all right." She paused. "And tell Locke that I’m sorry. He’s hurting a lot on the inside, but he won’t show it because he doesn’t want our pity. Take care of him for me."

Lucca nodded, and reluctantly started back to the hut. She stopped to ask one more thing. "Do you still think I’m wrong about the SOLDIERs?"

Celes stared at her for a moment then looked away. "You mean about telepathy? I don’t know."

"Well, think about it while you’re out here. It doesn’t sound so crazy anymore, does it? If you need me let me know."

"I will."

She nodded to her, and went back inside. Now alone Celes turned her face to the night sky. "I wonder where you are now, Cloud," she murmured. "Telepathy, huh? If I concentrated hard enough, could you hear me?" She sighed. "I hope wherever you are, you’re all right."

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