On Your Mother's Name

Four:

The sharpness in his eyes, the way his arms were crossed and how he spoke quickly, words cleanly clipped now as he looked down at Yazoo made the long-haired teen think differently of this Kadaj. Although it was true that he had never known him, and it was foolish to have passed judgment on him so soon, to go so far as to think of him almost sweet and earnest, but he had seemed that way. At least in the forest…

"Brother, I feel your pain," he had said. Had it really been so foolish a thing to believe him? Even half-heartedly.

But as Yazoo stood, only helped mildly by Loz, he was staring at a different creature. Kadaj was looking at him through flinty eyes, chin raised in slight challenge.

"I felt something," Yazoo said, touching his temple lightly. There was still an echo of pain and an echo of pleasure that had died down in his body. He was somewhere between them.

Kadaj nodded curtly. "You shouldn't have such a severe reaction next time She talks to you. It's probably just because you haven't been around Her your whole life. I bet that's the first time you could hear it clearly, right?"

"She?"

"Mother."

Yazoo only looked quizzically at him and turned to Loz who nodded and said, "Our Mother. Jenova."

"The…" Yazoo looked up at the high ceiling, his silver bangs falling back from his forehead. "Palace of Jenova?" he asked.

"That's right. It seemed like it took forever but Mother told us that someday our brother would come here and we could be together as a family," Kadaj said, almost as if he were reciting it. He uncrossed his arms and eyed Yazoo once again, from head to toe, as if sizing him up. "Sixteen years," he said finally after a moment of silence, "couldn't you have made it here faster?"

"We were worried about you," Loz added.

Yazoo looked at the two of them, a growing feeling rising up in his stomach. Fear? Disbelief. He was quiet and watched the two of them for a moment, really looked at them, and yes they looked like him, the way only family members could, but he…

"I don't have brothers," Yazoo said weakly. It was his only defense against this madness. "And my mother is dead. She died at my birth."

Loz made a sound then, some whining sound, and lowered his head. Yazoo's eyes widened to find the man, almost twice Kadaj's size, standing beside the boy and sobbing quietly.

"Oh, Loz, grow up," Kadaj snapped. "Mother is not dead. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Don't tell me what I don't know," Yazoo responded, on edge. This was all a bit too much. Loz was continuing to cry though he did make a half-hearted attempt to wipe his face with his hands. And Kadaj's top lip was curled back from his teeth and his plump, childlike face that was once so brave-looking was now darkened. Yazoo was feeling more and more like this was a bad idea and through the windows he could see the nighttime sky and the stars. They had him out here alone. He had been the easiest idiot to lure, too, all because of some unfounded curiosity about this damned castle. This pile of cinderblock and dust.

Where was the beauty he had been promised from afar?

Why did he come here?

Each question was, maddeningly, unanswerable.

Loz finally sniffed up the last of his tears. He regarded Yazoo and Kadaj through a sad smile and said, "Don't argue, you guys. Yazoo's here now, isn't that all that matters?"

"… I guess," Kadaj said at length.

"I am not staying here," Yazoo said, incredulously. Both boys then looked at him as if they weren't understanding and that scared Yazoo all the more. He could feel his pocketknife in his back pocket and thought of that night with the cab driver, waiting for his hand to reach back for him. But could he really fend off two men? And Loz was so big… crying, yet still big…

"What are you saying?" Loz asked, taking a small step toward him. Yazoo stood firmly but his hands were trembling. "This is a brand new home for you. Here with us, where you belong."

"I live in Charm Ridge, in an actual house. This place is broken and is missing walls… how do you two survive the draft? Never mind… I'm leaving." Yazoo turned slightly towards the doors, not willing to use a hole in the wall for an exit. He watched them out of the corner of his eye and said, "Please don't come to my house again," but even as he said this, the words were halting in his throat. They were insane, sure, but did he really not want anymore visitors in the dreary of the day? Maybe if he saw Kadaj out of this old palace, he would be that kind, understanding boy from the woods again.

Maybe.

So Yazoo walked for the door. Glass slid around his sneakers and in retrospect he supposed turning his back on men who he had himself certified as not right in the head was not the smartest thing to do. He didn't even hear the footsteps and before he even knew what had happened, he had a hand around his wrist, was whirled around like a woman on the dance floor and was looking into Kadaj's face and the sharp ends of a double-bladed sword.

Yazoo's breathing was quick and shallow but Kadaj did not show any sign of exertion. He held onto Yazoo's wrist tightly and the ribbon that was tied to the sword's hilt blew in the soft breeze coming through the wall.

"You really think I brought you all this way just for you to go back again?" Kadaj asked plainly. He seemed oddly stoic, almost as if he really didn't care where Yazoo went. Yet still, he had to disapprove.

Yazoo swallowed panic down. He only raised an eyebrow smoothly and tilted his head to the left. "You don't want me here," he said.

"Sure we do," Kadaj responded, voice wet with malcontent. "Right, Loz?"

Loz walked up to them attentively. "Yeah, we do. C'mon, Kadaj, don't hurt him. You can't."

"I most certainly could," he threatened, pulling Yazoo in closer to him. The blades were at Yazoo's cheek, caressing him like the finger's of a lover. But the real threat was over, he sensed, because Kadaj said 'could' and not 'can' and so he wouldn't. At least that was what Yazoo was hoping. He took a calculated risk by wrenching himself away from the younger boy's grasp and glared at him when he was out of the sword's reach.

"Mother wouldn't like it," Loz opined.

Kadaj glared fiercely at his brother then and Yazoo couldn't help but smirk. He said, "Goodbye, Loz. Kadaj." He walked cautiously around Kadaj, and saw that he had a sheath behind his back where he had pulled the sword. He reached the door and pushed his way through, waiting and counting his steps until he reached the edge of the trees, because he was sure they would come after him. He was surprised when they didn't.

-

The woods were different than he remembered.

In the daytime, they had been alive with wonder and spirit, pulling him closer to his goal. But, he supposed, everything had taken a turn for the worse. What he had thought to be some great castle was nothing more than a wrecked palace. The boy who he had followed so trustingly was an insane brat. The sun he had walked towards, that had shone so valiantly above the woods, had gone down.

In the dark he had to find his way home. This should have been thought of before he left the palace in such a hurry.

The thought, Maybe I should have stayed until morning… crossed his mind but he shook it away quickly. Just where would he have slept? On the cold ground amidst glass and dirt with Loz and Kadaj beside him?

Silly.

What Yazoo couldn't understand was why they weren't following him. And maybe that was a little of his vanity kicking in but why go through all that trouble just to let him stroll back home? It was a waste of time for everyone involved.

He kept looking back over his shoulder.

Not like he could see anything in the darkness anyway.

Things kept moving overhead, rustling in the trees. Though they were probably squirrels and owls and other fauna, Yazoo could shake the chill bumps on the back of his neck. He walked stiffly, too sore and tired to run, too out of adrenaline, and by the time he walked back to Nowlin Drive, it had to be around ten.

He was guided down the street not by streetlights but by the flashing of lights from the tops of police cars. There were two in front of the house and one that had driven up to park on the lawn. Yazoo frowned at all the commotion and at Carolina in her curlers and robe on the lawn, talking to an officer. It took her only a moment to notice Yazoo, wearied and worn, strolling up to her.

She broke off in mid sentence and waddled towards him, throwing her arms around his frail shoulders. Her embrace was crushing.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Where have you been?" she cried, pulling away slightly to shake him once, hard, and Yazoo was taken aback by the wild look in her eyes. "Where have you been?" she shouted and the men in uniform, traipsing about the porch and the driveway looked over.

"I was…" Was it better to lie? Or just not to say?

"We were so worried, God, thank you, thank you!"

Yazoo didn't know why she was thanking God when he had walked back on his own. He was crushed back to her bosom again and she smelled of sweat and sugar. Only when an officer dared to approach the two of them was Yazoo allowed any air.

In the whirling lights, the policeman's face was blue and red and blue again and he said, "We're really glad to see you've found your son, ma'am."

Son, Yazoo thought venomously. Is that what she told them?

"Hey," he said then, turning to look at Yazoo, "don't cut class like that, all right? Your mother was so worried about you."

"Mother," Yazoo shouted, taking a step back from the two of them. "What do you know about my mother?" He furrowed his fair brow and before Carolina could say anything to him, he stalked towards the porch and into the house. The lights in the living room were glaring after hours of darkness and all he really wanted to do was sleep. His blood was racing again and his heart was pounding, aching, and for what?

He slammed his bedroom door shut behind him. Why had he gotten so emotional? He was sure that he had woken up Stanley with that display, Stanley who had probably only been asleep through the barest of layers. Yet, for some reason…

"And my mother is dead. She died at my birth."

… for some reason, it struck a nerve. Those boys and their "Mother" and yet he knew, absolutely, that his mother was dead. His birth had ruptured something deep inside her and she had died of uncontrolled bleeding.

He was sure of it.

And for someone to tell him that his mother was alive, was either Jenova or Carolina was blaspheme. He was sorry. Yes, he was sorry about his mother's death, the quickest one his presence had ever brought about. He wasn't sorry for Gavin or Haven or Jade or Paris or any of his family members he could remember. He took their death in stride whether it was Gavin swinging from the ceiling by his belt or Paris with slit wrists in the bathwater.

But he could see it in the back of his mind: some woman laying on a doctor's table, the sheets and he hospital gown stained with blood. Her thin legs writhing in pain and finally, after long moments, they were still. She was still. And he, the newborn baby, was in a doctor's arms and crying.

Yes, for that…

"I'm so sorry," he muttered against the pillows, having fallen down to the mattress. He placed his head in his arms and soon fell asleep.

-

"Yazoo? We need to talk."

There was tentative knocking, so soft that if Yazoo was sleeping harder he would have never been able to hear it. His first conscious thought was wondering if he was becoming a little bit like Stanley.

He opened his eyes and eyed the open window by his bed; the sun was just coming up over the trees.

"Yazoo?"

What time was it?

He growled tiredly and closed his eyes again. He said, "It's open," though his voice was muffled by the pillow. She heard and tried the door and was standing in the same pajamas from the night before and came in, padding on the plush carpet.

She eyed him, almost shyly and came step by step to him at the bed. Her mannerisms were that of a young girl, not an upset aunt, not an outraged mother, the person she had been last night. When Yazoo didn't move away from her or seem angry, she sat down at the foot of the bed and the mattress sagged with her weight.

"Listen," Carolina said and kept her eyes on the slim form laying down beside her. His body heaved slightly with his breathing. "I'm sorry about last night. About yelling. I was… so, so worried about you."

Silence.

"I didn't even ask what happened to you… but I'd like to know. I really would. Was it someone at the school who drove you away?"

Breathing.

"Yazoo? Please…" Her voice cracked. "I was so scared."

"So what if I had died? The money would belong to you anyway," he said coolly, face still lax on the pillow.

He heard something, like a soft squeak made down in Carolina's throat and when he opened his eyes, she was staring at him, hand poised in the air as if reaching out to him. Her brown eyes glistening. "Y-Yazoo, that's not…" she began but there was another squeak again, a tender sob.

Yazoo only narrowed his eyes. "Why do you pretend? We're nothing to each other, really; you are the roof over my head, I am the thousands in your bank account. If something should happen to either one of us, the other will live as if nothing ever happened. So why the charade? Why make-believe we are family?"

"That's not… it's not true at all," she pleaded, scooting closer and just before she laid her hands on him, he tensed and she halted.

"Don't do it. Not at the moment."

"Yazoo?"

"I'm not feeling so well. I met someone." He closed his eyes tightly. "Two people."

"W-Who? Were they the reason you left the school? Where-"

"No, now I have a question for you."

His voice was low, quiet and low, and Carolina could only choke back sobs and try to match him in calmness. "What is it?"

"What does… my mother look like?"

There was a long pause then and during it, Yazoo tried his absolute best to remember back when he was just born. He'd tried it thousands of times, though he knew it was hopeless and a little pathetic, but maybe he could remember some deep-seeded memory of being inside her womb. Feeling the vibrations of her laugh or voice. Going places with her for months and being on her mind and growing with her help. He shut his eyes tight to remember.

And those words rang in the back of his head.

Welcome home, baby.

If only, if only. He inhaled deeply, breathed in the scent of the pillows and the sheets and the room and nothing smelled familiar or of home. He had never smelled anything like home before, it was as if he had lived in hotels his entire life.

"I…" Carolina touched her temple softly. "For the life of me, I… can't remember… oh, I'm sure I have pictures…"

"Can't you remember? What were the color of her eyes?" Yazoo asked, eyelids flying open to see her. She stared off into space like her sister's face would be in the sky somewhere. Yazoo watched her with a falling grimace - why should he be surprised or mad? It was always this way, wasn't it? Everyone he asked in the entire family, they didn't know a damn thing about her… Not a damn word, not even her eyes!

"She was… was…"

"Was what? Why can't you remember her?" he asked, breathless. Kadaj's mouth was moving in his mind and he was saying that their mother wasn't really dead. Yazoo's eyes widened slightly. "What was her name?"

"Her… name," Carolina said softly, still staring at the wall. Her brown eyes were deep and blank and Yazoo felt something shake him in his stomach. That buzzing in the back of his head again, whirring like a lazy bee.

Yazoo scanned the room quickly, heavy breathing forcing his chest up and down. He got up from the bed, the sheets half-way wrapped around his legs and almost tripped but tore himself away, towards the door. Carolina seemed to break out of her trance and made to get up after him but the door was already shut in her face.

She has to be real.

There have to be pictures, videos, somewhere!

His mind was racing as he opened the other bedroom door and Stanley was laying in the bed, snoring lightly. He coughed and woke at Yazoo's entrance and found the teenager over by the record-player and old armchair, throwing the lids off of boxes.

"Y-Yazoo?"

"They have to be here. Pictures. My mother. What have you done with her?"

"What are you talking about?"

Carolina walked into the room on shaking legs. "He's gone mad," she whispered.

Finally, photo albums. He flipped through a few, all pictures grainy and dusted lightly with a strange film. Carolina, he could see, used to be a slightly thinner girl when she was younger and she was running into almost all of the shots and there was one with her and two boys beside her and a man and a woman. He yanked it out of the pocket and turned around to her, holding it like a weapon.

"Who are these people?" he demanded.

Carolina squinted though kept her distance. "My… my family. It was a family photo. My brothers, and our parents…"

"But my mother was your sister, right?"

"I…"

Yazoo lowered the photo, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"I don't have a sister," she said finally.

-

To be continued.

-

A/N: … It's all the coffee that did this to me. Thoughts are welcome!