First and foremost, I want to say hi to everyone who frequents these forums. I only recently found the Compendium while doing research for my fanfic, and wanted to offer my thanks for all the hard work put into this site. Most, if not all, of the articles here are informative, insightful, and mind-bogglingly thorough. They gave me a lot of ideas and started me on some creative tangents, and for that I am truly thankful.
The project I am undertaking is to set the story of Chrono Trigger on Earth in our universe, with the main characters existing in our present day. More specifically, A Roman Catholic priests gradually uncovers the story. As it is not set in the Chrono universe, I'm not sure how well it fits with the general theme of this site, especially since I take many many liberties in my story. But, I figured there would be no harm in posting it, and am interested in what people think of it. It's already up at ff.net, but I'll put Chapter 1 up here for you.
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Chapter 1: The Grave of Christopher O'Kelly
Funerals never got any easier. Ever. They used to tell me - that is, back at the seminary - by the time I reached the double digits, I'd be more steadfast than St. Agatha herself. But I still managed to choke up while delivering a eulogy or leading the loved ones in prayers. Seeing the sadness frozen on their faces, hearing the sobs and cries from those who would never experience the pleasant company or the warm smiles of the deceased again, at least in this lifetime, was all it took to send me over the edge. I usually tried my best to avoid them, most successfully through small calendar revisions or trips to visit the family. Yes, it's life's little "adjustments" that went a long way. Though when Regina O'Kelly requested that I lead Chris' funeral, I couldn't refuse. After having watched Gina, as she was more affectionately known, cry her eyes dry in my humble Staten Island office, I only wished I could do more. The plump, Irish red-head was a regular at my parish - a good, genuinely caring woman who slaved away at a hair salon to provide for her only son. And to have him taken away so young, just barely twenty-two, only a few months after his wedding, well, my heart just crumbled to bits. No mother should have to endure the loss of her child, and I would do everything in my power to ease her burdon, if only just a little.
The burial was unlike any other I'd lead, the hot and muggy summer day the perfect backdrop for the heated crowds that had congregated on the corner of Broadway and Wall Street. Chris' widow Nadia managed to purchase a plot at Trinity Churchyard. In a statement she released to the press, she claimed he deserved "a hero's burial". Don't ask me how she pulled that one off, there hadn't been any burials there since the 1800s, his grave only a short walk away from the likes of Robert Fulton and Alexander Hamilton. Of course, the press was all over the place, swarming like locusts around the gates and police barricades. The number of camera crews, news vans, and paparazzi bordered on ludicrous. This was certainly a story for the tabloids. The boy who kidnapped then fell in love with the heiress to the Guardia Co. fortune, gunned down by some Latin American country's political insurgents caught in a stalemate with police, and buried in New York's most famous cemetery. Definitely fit for the tabloids, not CNN.
Then there were the opinionated residents and public officials parading with signs like they had nothing else better to do, protesting the defiling of the historic grounds by a "common criminal". I personally didn't believe much of what I read in the papers, especially when it came to the little boy I watched grow up. Sure, he had his faults, but no worse than some of the teens I counseled in my Youth Ministry department. No matter what people said, I wouldn't believe that he brainwashed her into marriage to get at her family's wealth. The love that I felt between them at their wedding was pure and unadulterated. The small glances, the knowing that reflected in the young couple's eyes, it's these things that I was able to notice, almost like a gift. And even if that weren't the case, I still wouldn't believe the stories, at least for Gina's sake. She was stuck with a lot of the mess that went on, all out of the unconditional love for her child.
The crowd that gathered near the grave that afternoon was small, just a few family members and friends. Everyone was on edge, attempting to ignore the chaos from beyond the fences that seemed to echo off the scattered headstones and merely get louder. Gina stood in the front, along with Nadia and her parents. Behind them was the asian girl I met at the wedding, Lisa Chang, with her parents and an older fellow with a strange accent. I thought I remembered him from the wedding as well, though I didn't quite know the relation. I knew Lisa was one of Chris' high school friends, and her father was in R&D for Guardia Co. Some of Gina's and Chris' other friends attended, as did some Guardia officials, Trinity officials, official press. Okay, so there were more officials than family and friends. But the funeral still managed to feel like it should - a touching, poignant ceremony that left a lasting impression. As soon as I mounted the podium and welcomed everybody, the shouting from the streets, clicking of cameras, and general din from the city seemed to evaporate, as if the laws of the universe demanded a moment of silence for this boy's passing.
Gina was an emotional wreck. I gave her as many comforting looks as I could, trying to hold back my own tears while I delivered a solid Canticle of Luke. Fortunately, for most of the afternoon, my sentimental tendencies were distracted by the widow beside her. The angelic young blonde, dressed as darkly dismal as the rest, barely flinched the entire afternoon, her soft yet rigid features and icy eyes fixed upon the closed casket. She clutched at the cross she wore around her neck, rather tightly as the blood was all but drained around her white knuckles and fingers. For the life of me, I just couldn't read her emotions. She didn't appear grief-stricken, but was in no way happy either. A touch of sadness, yes, maybe some anxiety, and perhaps even a glimmer of hope. To what end, I wasn't sure. But her attitude held me transfixed nonetheless, to the point where I found myself staring, and despite being the center of attention, I hoped no one had noticed.
I ended with a final prayer as usual, the Latin rolling gracefully from my lips. "Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine. Et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace. Amen." Gina was the only one who performed the Sign of the Cross with me. I assumed as much, the Van Drake's and Trinity Church itself were Episcopalian.
Concluding the ceremony, I thanked everyone for coming, and gave Gina a consoling embrace while the attendees dispersed. Nadia's father immediately left to confront the protesters and press outside, kindly sacrificing himself to the wolves so the others could make a hasty escape. Whispering in Gina's ear, I told her that I'd see to everything else and that she should head out with the others. She nodded and left willingly, though not without one last look at her son's final resting place. I also left soon after to clear up some closing details at the church office while the groundskeeper's workers filled in the grave. The process took only a little more than an hour, which included a friendly chat with a Trinity pastor and a dodge-the-question session with a television crew. Making my way back to the grave to give my own final prayer of salvation for Chris, I was surprised to find Nadia still there, sitting at the foot of the freshly filled grave and staring intently. I was close enough to touch her before she even noticed my arrival, suddenly jumping to her feet in alarm.
"Oh, I'm sorry Father. You startled me," she said, wiping the earth off her billowing black dress.
"I didn't mean to sneak up on you. It's been awhile since I've had a chance to speak with you. I.. err.. only wish it was under different circumstances." I took the liberty of moving to stand next to her. "May I join you?" She seemed not to hear, turning back towards the grave. We stood there together, the priest and the widow, for a fairly long amount of time. I had to admit, I was worried about how she was handling her husband's death. Either she was stronger willed than most people, or was not yet gripping the reality of the situation. Her hand remained wrapped around the cross on her neck.
"That's a lovely piece of jewelry you have there," I mentioned out loud, half to myself, though awkwardly breaking the silence. "I meant to say something at your wedding."
She looked at me then opened her hand, giving me a better view. It was exquisitely crafted of an iridescent material, resembling glass embossed with silver in several celtic designs, all suspended on a silver chain. "This? It's been in the family for generations." She closed her hand around it again. "I was wearing it when I met Chris." Her eyes fell to the grave again. "It reminds me of.... a lot of things."
More silence. I supposed I was a little over-zealous in thinking she would open up to me. I had only met her a few times, wasn't even part of her religious denomination, and only happened to be here because of Chris' mother. My eyes wandered back to the grave and the simple, bleach-white headstone that contrasted greatly with the faded, ancient grave markers around it. The inscription was in Gothic script.
Here we honor
Christopher O'Kelly
February 3, 1982 - July 17, 2004
May he remain a light for our future
Beneath the final inscription were a number of symbols, like nothing I'd seen before, their significance as enigmatic to me as when I first laid eyes on them.
Nadia spoke up, turning to look at me. Her eyes melted before mine and seemed more like dams, supporting a flood of pent-up memories and emotions just waiting to burst through. "Father, may I ask you a question?"
"Certainly."
"Well..." she responded quickly, "it's more of a philosophical question. Something that's been on my mind recently. You being a man of morals, I'm hoping you might be able to help me."
"Sure, go ahead. I'll try to answer to the best of my knowledge." I forced a reassuring smile, and she shuffled uneasily.
Pausing a moment, probably to gather her thoughts, she took a deep breath and continued. "Let's say, hypothetically, I find myself in a position where I can save a number of people's lives. Doing so would be the right thing to do. Correct?"
"Well, yes." I wasn't sure what she was getting at.
"But let's say saving them meant other people would die, or not exist at all, and I know this. Would it still be right?"
"Err.." I was taken aback, never confronted with this kind of question before. In and of itself, it seemed like theoretical musings, something to be debated by clergy while analyzing passages from the scriptures. Yet her soft cheeks and tender lips were constricted tightly to the point of pain, and the fist around her cross was shaking. Obviously, the strange question plagued her conscious, though what bothered me was the fact that this question was more of a worry for her than the loss of her husband.
"That's quite a, umm.. unique question, Nadia," I stuttered, tumbling over words that gave me time to think. "I'd say... that the Lord only holds you accountable for your own actions. And not just the actions, but the intentions behind them. If they were done for good, to save people, as you said, then that is all that matters." Feeling a sudden inspiration, I followed my train of thought. "For those who would die, it would be by the choice and free will of another, by either sin of commission or omission, but still by their own choice. Do you understand?"
"I think so," Nadia said. "But what about those who wouldn't exist, for instance, those who are never born because I intervened with the lives of one of the parents? Again, hypothetically."
I chuckled at the absurdity of the question, though when her face flushed with offense, I quickly cleared my throat and said, "It's impossible to know how your actions will impact somebody else's, though I believe that if someone were meant to exist, nothing you, me, or anyone else could do would be able to change that. God gives all his children a chance at life, it is only our actions as humans that can tend to cut it shor-" I abruptly stopped, remembering whose grave that we were standing beside. "I'm.. uhh.. sorry."
Nadia gave me gentle smile, letting me know that I had succeeded in helping her at least to some degree. "It's okay. I knew that what I shared with Chris wouldn't last forever. I know that Chris loves me, that he's smiling down on me now, happy to have been able to spend his time here with me. And I'm satisfied with that knowledge." She sighed, her face focused on some distant thought. "I've been... keeping the truth a secret for a while now. The truth about our relationship...." There was nobody around, but she had lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. "Father, I'm not sure how much time I have left either. Nor does Lisa. But I... have a heavy cross to bear." She twirled the cross of her necklace around her fingers. I merely listened as a deep unsettling feeling churned in my stomach.
"Are you busy tomorrow morning?" she asked.
"No."
"Then meet me at the coffee shop at 13th and Broadway tomorrow morning at nine, if you can." I simply nodded, and she smiled.
We spent the remainder of the time like that in front of the grave until the groundskeeper kicked us out. Her words circled dizzyingly through my head, conjuring up all possibilities of what she wanted from me. The unsteady wavering in her voice, the look in her eyes, all kept me feeling nervous. I didn't know what I would be getting myself into. My compassionate side only wanted to help the girl, while my boyish curiousity wanted to learn more about her and her secret dilemma under the pretense of priestly aid. It felt underneath all the more wrong, but I didn't care. I was going to see her again.
