Chapter 9: Clint
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Midnight was nearing when Meryl pushed open her front door, and although it felt like it had been a very long night, she was demonstrating a mellow joyful attitude. She was slightly taken aback to find Millie still awake at the kitchen table. After glancing at her, she realized it was time for Millie’s monthly letter- she would be up late again.
“You’re back Meryl,” she beamed, and let her pencil drop onto the table, “how was the date?”
The very second Millie’s words had reached Meryl’s ears she found it hard to believe she had been happy at all. It flooded back into her mind like raging waters freed by a broken dam.
Millie took no notice of Meryl’s expression that had just been wiped clean of cheerfulness.
“I went to visit Clint and Knives, but no one was there.” Millie said when Meryl didn’t answer.
Stiffly, Meryl seated herself at the table.
“Do you know where they were?” Millie asked, picking up her pencil again.
“They weren’t in the suite?” Meryl asked, pulling herself out of her reverie.
“Not a soul.”
“That’s odd… are you sure you had the right suite?”
“#12, right?”
“I think so…or…” Meryl hesitated.
“So then I went to the office, and they gave us paperwork.” Millie pointed to the counter where several towers of paper were stacked up dangerously.
“Do you think they’re okay?” Meryl asked.
“The chief said business had been very-“
“No, not the work, Clint… there was no answer?”
Millie shook her head.
“But he’s sick… and then left alone with Knives. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“Not if Vash was okay with it?”
“That name again,” Meryl sighed. “Well, he’s not my responsibility- neither of them are- thank goodness.”
“Huh?” Millie blinked.
“Nothing…it’s just…never mind. It’s late. I’m going to bed.”
She had been planning to go to bed when she left the kitchen, but after she had changed into her night gown, washed her face, and brushed her teeth, she encountered a possession that began to push the idea away. Sticking about an inch out of her dresser drawer was a small black book. It caught her eyes just as she was climbing into bed.
Her hands let go of the covers, and she wandered over to it. Hesitating, she pulled the drawer out to its full extent, and emptied it of the notebook.
She almost smiled at it, until another emotion leaked into her, and she found that she would quite like to throw it instead. Nevertheless, she let her hand open it to the front page.
Property of:
Meryl Stryfe
It contained nothing essential for work, but everything to do with it.
She flipped through the pages with caution, and then snapped it shut. She put it down, picked it up, put it down again, took a step away and turned her back on it. She took another step toward her bed, froze, whipped around and snatched it up again.
I know I’ve written this before, but I write it again. Vash isn’t who he seems. I still haven’t pin-pointed him- who he is. I no longer wonder what he is, but more of who he is.
It’s funny how your mind plays tricks, how it judges someone from a name. Vash is nothing of the sort my mind had assumed, and when I finally understood his idiotic personality, he contradicted it…like last night…he’s not just a broomhead, but even after last night, I know he’s not a killer, which does make me wonder if he really is a broomhead…am I making any sense?
You should have seen him tonight, Millie and I hadn’t meant to walk in on him, but we heard a crash, and he didn’t answer.
It was a little startling to see him with lounging pants on, and a towel in his hands, but almost laughable… and yet very…very sad. His body is weathered, he’s covered in scars. I never imagined someone could have so many…metal plates and dents in him…rusted like an old antique.
We sat down and talked with him. He explained he found his state rather embarrassing, something he didn’t want women to see. He was afraid they would “run away.”
I didn’t think of it at the moment, but it’s very ironic for his broomhead side; the side that strangles me as he chases other women- women who probably would run away. I guess this “womanizer” isn’t what he’s cracked up to be.
Meryl’s hand fell limp.
Vash had told her a while ago that he had thought she knew him better. Clint couldn’t possibly be his son… that is if his fear of rejection was so strong he never got over it. As he had said, four years wasn’t very long…
Meryl had known him better…but she had somehow forgotten him.
….
It was very late, and Clint had fallen asleep. Vash and Knives, on the other hand, were still wide awake. Knives had situated himself with a cup of icy water and a wall to lean against, and Vash had seated himself in an armchair across from him.
“So, now what are you going to do, Mr. Outlaw?” Knives asked, sipping on some water and inspecting Vash curiously.
Vash was in deep thought. His palm was resting near his temple, and his fingers disappeared into his golden hair.
“It’s a hard concept to believe,” Knives commented, trying to provoke his brother’s feelings.
“I’ve come to realize some things are too hard to believe; I’ve also realized that many situations require a different point of view. Maybe it’s not impossible, it just need to be looked at in a different perspective.”
Knives smirked. “So what will you do?”
Vash was quiet before replying. “I’m not sure anymore. Nothing tonight. I still don’t know enough to come up with an idea.”
“What more do you need to know?” Knives gave a mischievous smile.
“What do you mean?” Vash asked slowly.
“I got it all the other night. It’s sometimes easier to talk all the way through something with someone you don’t like.” Knives shared, and then glanced at the middle of Vash’s suit, which was covered in silver. He gave a small laugh, a sound Vash hadn’t heard innocently from him in weeks. “That kid is almost as sentimental as you.”
“He told you the other night?” Vash asked.
“I made him, but I won’t tell you how now that you’re his father. Guess I have to be nice to him.” Knives decided, and took another sip from his water. “He has a lot of problems though… he doesn’t get sick from traveling, it’s from extreme emotion or energy use, and only at these times can we sense the plant in him.”
“Extreme emotion?” Vash asked.
“Being extremely afraid, sad, mad, confused, etc. You never noticed the first time- in those defense automobiles- because you were asleep, and all the other times I think your mind was too busy- we all woke up sensing the plants’ death in Delta. Being able to sense it in him is a slight after effect, unless it’s energy, then it’s current and after. That’s what his medication is for, to lower his sense and help his human illness.” Knives took another sip of water. “He gets sicker the more energy or emotion he uses or has. But his eyes…my guess is it has something to do with genetics…possibly how human and plant may results together, I’m not sure.”
Vash suddenly felt terrible. “Maybe it was wrong. Living like that isn’t really living.”
“And you’re one to decide what life is worth living and what isn’t?” Knives raised an eyebrow. “Then I should have killed you? Surely yours is the one least worth living.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Vash sighed.
“But perhaps that is why you and the insurance girl didn’t have anymore kids. He’s an only child.”
Meryl entered his mind again, and he felt worse. She was engaged, what in the world was he supposed to do?
“I don’t like to hear it,” he said. “And I don’t like thinking this way… Meryl loves Charles…”
“You better get used to it. Clint’s yours and Meryl’s son.”
“But we haven’t even been on a date.”
“Good, we’re ahead of it then!”
Vash went quiet.
Knives placed his index finger and thumb on the bottom of his chin. “Then again, maybe you weren’t dating at all…” He said thoughtfully.
“What!” Vash flushed red. “What are you saying?”
Knives pondered. “Maybe she was drunk…”
“I’ve never seen Meryl drink,” Vash went even redder.
“Hmm…”
“Kah! Knives! I would never- not to her! That would really be terrible.”
“Okay, let’s think of the consequences… Clint could die. He would have never been born, so he wouldn’t exist, or his family won’t remember him- in the least. But hey, he’s not my kid, he’s your trouble. You decide.”
Knives turned to leave.
“Knives.”
He stopped.
“I understand…but I’m pretty sure Clint’s dad didn’t stoop that low; he wouldn’t now… How would Clint feel? Meryl loves Charles…I couldn’t possibly do that to someone I love.”
“So you do love her?” Knives turned around. “I mean, really love her, Vash?”
“Yes…but she’s two-faced now…”
“Ha.”
“I have for a long time,” Vash admitted.
….
Meryl read on through the night. She had read this notebook various times, when she had missed the outlaw…but now as she read, she realized so much of him was missing in her memory.
It was well passed midnight, and she flipped on-ward; evaluating every sentence.
….
“So you’re a fool?” Knives smirked again.
“If that’s what you call a lover.”
“You know what Vash? Believe what you wish, I don’t care much at this point. But I am also two faced.” Knives studied him, and finally let his conscious take in for a short moment that maybe he didn’t really want Vash to die anymore. “Goodnight…if that’s what you please.”
“How about ‘good morning’? I think I’ve already had a stressful night.”
“Get some sleep,” Knives advised, and departed for his own bed.
….
Vash tried to sort his circumstances out in his head as he lay awake. He wondered what it would be like if he was married to the woman he loved and had a son; he wondered if he had missed his opportunity when he had asked Meryl and Millie to leave him. But it was all he ever wanted….and to settle down; surely he had settled down, at least for a little while.
How long was he with them? He thought he remembered Clint saying his father had died not too long ago. What had killed him? He didn’t think he wanted to live forever, but he was sure he wouldn’t have wanted to die then…was it sudden? Long? Painful? Peaceful? Lonely?
He shivered.
It sounded like he had gotten everything he ever wanted, and left it all. If it was for their sake, their safety, he didn’t mind as much. It must be so nice to relax and be in love.
…
Clint’s mind weaved in and out of a restless sleep. Flashbacks tormented him in his dreams. He visited familiar places and times that now felt far away. He woke up on several occasions, and forced a number of white pills down his throat. But his dreams and ponderings battered in his mind until each pill lasted only halves of hours. The scenes were short at first- he was walking to school, sitting on his bed in boredom, and opening a closet that contained a large redcoat. Steadily they grew longer, and then he was helping with dinner, followed by a memory of him sitting on a bed, listening to his father coughing himself hoarse. His mother was talking to him, and he felt dreadful. He was dying…my dad is dying. That’s why he’s coughing, that’s why he seldom ran, and that’s why he was always bundled up in blanket. Mom, when is he going to die?
I had known my father was dying for nearly half my life. My mom and I didn’t know when, but days turned into months, months to years, and he slowly got sicker and sicker. Eventually we wondered how much worse it could get…knew it was coming soon. He had become so ill that he couldn’t even get out of bed without help.
I remember the day he died so well, but when I somehow relive it, it feels almost dream like from all the emotion.
I know I was lucky, but I couldn’t help the fact I hated school. It wasn’t so much the school, but the people that bother me. I blew up on them sometimes, but I tried to do what my parents taught me; it was really really hard sometimes.
Like so many days, I came home upset and bitter. I didn’t mean to lay it on my mom, but my parents always encouraged me to be myself and not to put on an act or some sort of mask. So, I complained to my mom about Richard, and everyone else that bothered me about my “individuality”.
It was that day I realized none of it mattered. When life is stripped raw, people realize most of what they do everyday doesn’t matter. My life was stripped raw that day.
“I’m sorry about your day,” My mother told me with sympathy.
“I try to ignore it, but it’s hard.” I whined.
“I understand,” she told me. “But don’t listen to them, it doesn’t matter what they say. They don’t understand.”
“How’s dad today?” I asked cautiously, half-looking for a new topic.
More happiness drained from my mom, so much that it looked like her hair was drooping.
“Not good?” I asked.
“No, Clint, not good at all.” She replied.
“That’s just because he hasn’t seen his son yet today.”
She smiled weakly.
I turned to leave.
“Clint.”
“Yeah mom?” I turned to face her again.
All the sparkle in her eyes had disappeared and had been replaced with gloss.
“He’s lived longer then expected…I think very soon now.” Her voice shook as she said it.
I frowned.
She wiped her eyes.
I looked away.
“Don’t make me cry before I say goodbye,” I told her, and left her in the kitchen, trying to keep my guts inside myself.
Apart from what I had said, I was already crying by the time I reached their room; leaving an ugly trail of silver behind me.
I pushed the door open.
Ever since I was young I never bothered trying to hide the fact I was crying. Not only did my eyes become red and puffy, but my tears were a mess, and it was impossible to wipe them away and leave no residue behind.
When I saw my father slightly propped up in bed, I found I couldn’t say anything. He looked deathly. Even though he ate often, he was skinny and gaunt. His cheek bones poked out, his eyes were bloodshot and beginning to sink into his skull, his skin was pasty, and his hair flopped over.
“Clint…”
His shaking arm and hand reached my cheek and rubbed away the tears. We both knew it was pointless because it only made silver smears on my face.
“Angel tears for me.” He said, and pulled his shaking arm down.
More tears came, and then all at once I exploded.
“I don’t want you to die!” I sobbed into my hand.
My father feebly moved my hands from my face.
“Don’t hide your face now.”
“But what will I do when you’re gone?” I asked, hot tears slipping out of my white eyes.
“You keep on living, do what you do everyday. Don’t let me stop you.”
“…that’s…hard…”
“And it will be…it will be difficult, but you know what? You won’t be given anything you can’t handle in life.”
“But you were.”
“No…” His deep-set aqua eyes looked away. “I think I can handle this… I got Meryl and you. I got to settle down, and of course if I had had it my way, I would stay- it’s not fair to leave you two alone.”
“Nothing it fair.”
“It’s not fair to your mom; it’s not fair to you. But I need you to keep on living, to continue my life.”
The fact he was talking about it made it so much worse, it made it so real to me. Every afternoon we avoided the subject, we would talk about anything but his future death…today was different.
“I would say I love you, but you already know that.”
“Vash?”
I turned around. I hadn’t even noticed my mother had come in. She looked exactly how I felt: awful.
I moved away from the bedside to the window. Children were playing across the street; children who didn’t have fathers dying.
I could hear them talking. My father was thanking her for everything. He was always so grateful to her when they weren’t bickering or teasing with each other. I could hear her crying; I could even see it out of my peripheral vision.
She kissed him.
Even as a preteen, it didn’t bother me- strange, I know, but they loved each other. Even when I didn’t understand, or care for girls, it comforted me in a way. At least their marriage was well, which was a blessing in itself in this world.
“I’m sorry to leave you.”
“Don’t be, I made my decision when I said I would marry you.”
“…There is still so much to do…”
“And you still put the weight of the world on your shoulders, Vash.”
My mom and I sat on his bed for along time, just talking as my father tried to bring back a cheerful tone for us. I pretended to feel a little better, although nothing could comfort me when he looked this way. All his strength was missing.
It was said he tried to ignore it, fight it, and find a cure for it. The disease was eating him alive. But I still had a sliver of hope that my uncle would burst through the door with the cure. He had been looking for it…but the moment didn’t come, and hope died completely when he let out his last breath.
I hugged my mom.
And that day my world lost someone who was a hero, a maryter, a gunman, a husband, and my father.
….
“I’m sorry about your father,” my uncle told me.
I was wallowing in my bed. It was obvious I hadn’t been to school. I didn’t care. I felt like I didn’t care about anything. It seemed all was dead to me, and that the world had stopped just for me to suffer sickness and depression. It felt literally like someone had stabbed me in my heart and removed a chunk of it.
I continued to lie on my stomach. I didn’t even bother to look at my uncle.
When I felt the end of my bed sink under his weight and heard the slight ruffle of him sitting there, I felt even more resentment towards him.
“This isn’t the karma I’ve been taught,” he said it to himself. “I’m the one who should have been infected with it.”
My uncle Knives was normally interesting to me, so different from my father…but I didn’t care now.
“I don’t think I believe in karma anymore.”
I wondered why he was talking about karma.
“You shouldn’t dwell, it’s not healthy for you.”
“My dad’s dead, and you’re telling me not to dwell?” I asked bitterly. “I thought you could relate, after all, he was your brother. I thought you missed his funeral because of bad luck, but I found out you were just in town. I went, and I’ve been throwing up.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Then you come here and tell about karma,” I said louder. “Don’t you understand your brother’s dead?”
I turned sharply to him. I wanted to see emotion in his face, but there was none.
“Say something!” I ordered.
“Vash has been dying for nearly 14 years. He was dying before he had you, before he was even married.” He answered calmly.
“So. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead.” I said bitterly. “I thought you were looking for a cure.”
“There is no cure, not for people like me and him. That’s why it was specifically made for me and him.”
I hated the answer; I thought about how much I hated if all during the gap of speech.
After along time, Knives said “It’s unlike me, but if no one is going to tell you…” he paused for a breath. “He’s not completely gone. You’re his son, a part of him floods through your veins.”
I was very disappointed in his words, words that I had heard in many stories…books…overrated words; words I already knew. It was more obvious to me than anyone. It’s obvious I have his blood.
Knives stood up.
I heard the sound of pills falling onto my desk from his hand, but didn’t bother to look.
“I though you were running out, so I came to bring you more.”
It was the first time I didn’t thank him. He put a lot of work and time into making those pills for me, but I let him leave without receiving anything in return.
I stared at the pile of white pills on the desk. I felt so awful, it was amazing how those pills could make me feel so much better.
‘Why didn’t he find a cure!’ I though angrily. ‘How could he not even care?’ I rolled over on my bed. ‘He’s his brother! What kind of man raves about karma and proves emotionless about dad’s death?’
I vegetated for days, wallowing in my own emotions. Visitors came and left, but I seldom spoke. I hadn’t been to school for nearly a month, and no one missed me.
….
“I never thought I would see my brother’s son be so selfish.”
I wanted to tell Uncle Knives to go away. He only spoke in fragments that I didn’t understand.
“Still pitying yourself?” He asked.
“Go away!”
He shrugged casually. “As you wish, but maybe you should remember you’re not the only person to care for Vash. Even his enemies loved him.”
He was leaving when I bellowed. “If that was true, he wouldn’t be dead.”
Knives stopped. “If it wasn’t, he would have died long ago. He wouldn’t have had you.”
“Maybe that would have been better,” I answered coldly.
He whirled around with some unspoken power, and I felt immediately inferior.
“Don’t say that!”
“Maybe it’s true,” I raised my voice in bravery. “Then I wouldn’t ever have to experience this!”
He shot me a cold glare. “Don’t ever say,” he ordered in a tense, but hushed voice. “You have not experienced enough to know what is hard and what is too hard.”
“Please leave.”
“Stop being selfish.”
“Go away!” I yelled.
Finally he obeyed.
Who was he to know what selfishness was when he didn’t even go to the funeral?
Within moments I wished I hadn’t told him to leave, because I was left so alone again.
Then as if someone had heard my thought, my mother came in.
“Clint? How are you doing?”
I sneezed in reply.
“Do you still have a sore throat?” She asked.
I nodded.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t yell so much…” She gave me a smile that melted most all my anger.
“Mom, why doesn’t Uncle Knives care dad is gone?” I asked.
“Doesn’t care?” She repeated, sitting down next to me. “Clint, he cares very much… maybe even more than you or I.”
“Then why wasn’t he at his funeral?” I asked. “If he really cared he would have been there, and he would talk about him instead of useless garbage.”
“He has a different way of showing he cares.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Maybe he doesn’t do some things, because he does care, and it hurts too much.”
It still didn’t have much sense.
“I need you to be very kind to him; he’ll be staying here for while.”
“He’s going to stay here?” I repeated with disappointment.
“He hates hotel and motels, and can’t stand them any longer; he’ll be a big help for us.”
“Why did dad leave us here?” I asked. “How could he just leave us like this?”
“He didn’t just leave us. We knew about it, and planned for it for a long time. He lives in you nonetheless.”
Those stupid words again.
“Don’t be so angry. You’ve got to go back to school,” she told me, “you’re already so behind.”
School. I didn’t ever want to go back.
“You look so much like him.” She beamed until she couldn’t take the thought any longer. Her husband was dead.
I felt so many emotions. I couldn’t distinguish whether I was collecting more of them, or if I was combining them into one big mess.
“Mom? How are you?” I asked. “And don’t lie.”
“I’ll be okay,” she looked at me. “Because he gave me you.”
…
Clint woke up coughing. His head felt like it had been split in two and was burning at the stake. He couldn’t remember feeling this disastrous for a long time. And then all at once he suddenly remembered why.
What in the world was Vash going to do?