Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction / Noir Fan Fiction ❯ There Can Be Only Two ❯ Ending III: Shades of Black ( Chapter 8 )

This time I have chosen. After long peril and indecision of how to communicate to you, that it is beyond my will and ability to claim this work of fan fiction as my own creation I have chosen:

 

Not mine!

 

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Ending III: Shades of Black

 

A slim smile on his face Crawford elegantly turned around to face the female figure who had entered the alleyway. She had been walking with an unconscious grace that even accomplished the impossible feature of moving noiselessly in high heels on concrete. But he had noticed her nevertheless.

 

“I hope you were not trying to sneak upon me, Mireille. You should now better, than that.”

 

She did not react as she stopped three meters away from him on the other side of the small island of light that was cast by the single neon light into the darkness. He took a moment to regard her, now garbed in a tight fitting leather jacket matching her skirt, holding only her purse. Her face was cold and unmoving, and her eyes were focused on him looking for a hostile movement.

 

“You know, it is really sad that you forgot the flowers. You should have at least taken them with you.“ was the only reaction she got.

 

“What does it matter, Brad?” she replied coldly. “Did you expect me to rejoice in them?“

 

“No, of course. You are right.” Crawford answered her, showing the faintest trace of disappointment: “Considering what I suppose your decision has been, tokens of courtesy are of no importance here, are they?.” With a sight he reached inside his suit.

 

“I suggest you leave that where it is.” she never gave him the chance to draw a weapon - the request, quick and cold like the questions before, was now backed up by a silenced gun that had appeared in the slender hand of the blond woman.

 

”What?” Crawford replied with played disbelieve as he slowly pulled his hand out of his suit, revealing a silver lighter and cigarette etui. “You remember these, do you not? I know you do not like me smoking, but I have to admit that you never expressed your dislike of this particular foible quite this forcefully.” React she did not to his playful joke.

 

“Just go ahead. It does not seem as if lung cancer will kill you after all now, does it?.” she simply stated with a mean glint in her narrowed eyes. Complying, Crawford carefully took out a white stick and lighted it, taking a drag.

 

“Want one, too?” he asked invitingly as he took a step towards her, holding out the etui in his hand.

 

“Don't! Just stay where you are!” she hissed loudly, before reverting to the icy cold and leveled voice from before: “Back than in Budapest it was impossible to get close to you in many ways. Why change that now?” Mireille replied bitter sweetly, never averting her aim off him.

 

Crawford again complied and instead took another long drag from his cigarette. Staring into nothingness, he slowly exhaled, almost sighing, before he once again spoke: “Yes. Budapest… seems like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?” The woman holding the weapon did not answer, but he continued anyway. “You know, you were, and are, really an astounding women, Mireille Bouquet.. Beautiful, elegant, and intelligent.”

 

“Well, thank you, I guess.” Her short comment was not at all thankful, but dripping with sarcasm. Crawford simply ignored it.

 

“But the most intriguing thing about you, was your unpredictability. A phenomena quite similar to your two little friends, but not nearly as strong as theirs. By the way, you would not happen to have any idea about what might be the cause for that phenomena, have you?”

 

Her answer lacked a second but her cold face never changed: “No. But please continue if you have more to say.” He did:

 

“Anyway. Unlike every other woman I have met, with you I could never tell for sure what would happen, never clearly predict what would be the right buttons to push, never see if I would end up in bed with you or not. You really were an enigma. But…” The white suited man fell silent for a moment: “But as much as it fascinated me, it also did scare me. It scared me more than you might have thought. Back than I could not bear it, I had to go. I am sorry Mireille.”

 

He had finished his cigarette and threw the stump away, looking at her waiting for a response. She slightly smiled, but not a warm smile:

 

“It is nice to hear that you cared. But that time does not matter anymore." The smile left her face as quickly at it had appeared: "My answer is still no. Famous last words Brad Crawford. Good bye.”

 

Two silenced shots rang through the night and for the first time the face of the women betrayed emotions. Surprise mixed with anger and fear.

 

“And who said, that exactly I was going to die tonight?” A now unpleasantly smiling Brad Crawford asked mockingly while carefully massaging his left hand which was holding the cigarette etui - now sporting two deep bullet dents. “Oh look what you have done Mireille. And I had hoped to keep it as a memento of you. On the other hand...now it got a personal touch. What do you think?”

 

He took another step towards her. She fired two more shots at him. Shots that should have hit heart and head by any means. Shots that were blocked and evaded like before.

 

“No! You will not kill me Crawford. You wont hurt me again.” She spat at him defying.

 

The American only smiled: “Again I must ask, who said that it is exactly I, who is going to kill you?”

 

By a timing beyond chance another figure appeared at the entry to the alleyway at that moment, prompting the blonde women to instinctively turn around and face the frantic person.

 

“Hello? Foreign Lady? Are you here. You forgot your flowers.” and “See I told you. You should have taken them with you. Exquisite white Lilies, by the way. But now, good bye, my love.” were the last words Mireille Bouquet ever heard while soft hands closed around her neck from behind. Soft, yet in one moment powerful hands, that ended her life with a snap.

 

*

 

Everything had been said, the rules been laid out. The fight had begun and with it every need for inhibitions of any kind had ended.

And the beast rejoiced, as did it's master, for the beast was part of it's master the way the master was part of itself. Tightly guarded day and night, guarded by an intellect that in the least acknowledged self-preservation, yet maybe went far beyond that into another extreme of human consciousness.

But nevertheless the beast had hungered; for release, for freedom, for blood.

All to often the times when it had been free had ended all to soon, all to quickly. And always the wait for the next time had been all too long. But for now all that did not matter. There was only the fragile pray in front of it and warm blood inside that called out to be spilled.

But not too fast, for moments like these were much too scarce and needed to be savored and that the beast did. Like a cat did with an already captured mouse. The mouse, though, is only given the impression it could escape, his prey was given the impression it was able to win, the impression of being superior an thus the cuts and wounds had accumulated on his body, meaningless as they were. He had only smiled and enjoyed, and kept on smiling when finally he just walked into a swing of his prey and gripped her at the throat, he kept on smiling as her faces turned from surprise into fear, and he kept on smiling while she tried to hurt him, to cut herself free, until he finally whispered to her in his eerie raspy voice: "It is over!" just before releasing the last of his constrains.

 

It was a long time until the person Farfarello reappeared that night at the now empty hotel bar, composed, but with a lingering feeling of having missed something, some other way of action that night.

Slowly he said down at the bar an ordered a Scotch to ponder over this uneasiness, ignoring the scared barkeeper as he set down, while blood dripped from the innumerous cuts and drenched rags - most of it not his own.

 

*

 

“Seven, last magazine if I am not wrong, am I?” Schuldig counted the bullet that just had past his face by the mere fraction of a millimeter. He didn't even blink, confident in his skills to keep the shallow wound he had acquired before the only injury today, at least on his own body.

“Six” he called out when another lead pallet imbedded itself in the house wall behind him.

Their little `game' had taken them along countless front and backyards, always different and yet always the same, only to be distinguished by whatever little details it's inhabitants had chosen to decorate it with. Things like the pair of ugly, kitschy, and really big garden gnomes he found in his way. Schuldig had disliked them the moment he had lain his eyes on them, when another bullet impacted in the head of one.

“Five, great shot, really.” Schuldig commented mentally: "But can't you take the other one out of it's misery as well? Pretty please?"

He instantly got his answer.

"Thank you." He sent out grinning when the head of the second red-hatted abomination exploded as well. “Four, by the way.”

But the girl was already gone again, and again he set out to follow her over the wall she had disappeared behind. Yet instead of another yard he got a surprise.

 

The field in front of him was mostly empty, except for the two goal boxes marking this as sports field obviously belonging to a standard four storied Japanese elementary school building at it's far end. By the time he had crossed the perimeter the girl was already sprinting alongside the wall of the ugly concrete structure most likely to get the corner in between them.

"Too Late!" Schuldig took a quick aim and fired several rounds into her direction. They did not hit, but stopped her never the less. And again for the umpteenth time tonight he had to marvel at her recklessness. Fully aware of the futility of trying to make it to the corner under fire she had jumped, from full sprint directly sideward towards the building - through a window, a closed one.

As result now she probably sported some serious cuts - and now she held the advantage. Whilst he was standing in the open field in the twilight of a starless Tokyo night, she was inside a dark concrete building. An ideal cover and attacking point, if the window's shards had not taken her out. But he doubted that very much.

"Jeesh, how troublesome." he cursed slightly, steeled himself and then just walked towards the broken window right into her most probable line of fire. And fire she did, accurate and deadly as the dark silhouette of the red headed man slowly made his way towards her position.

“Three”

“Two”

“One, all is gone and here I come." he counted the shots - each a long pause apart.

 

Fading away from a bullet's path for the mere fraction of a moment was no easy task and the move had it's limitations, but it was ideal in this situation, and had brought him almost up to the front of the window - and it was one hellish opportunity for showing off:

"Missed me! Missed me! Neat trick, huh? Some nice guys in Switzerland taught me and..."

He did not get the chance to finish the sentence as another gunshot rang through the night.

Another one that he evaded.

"Oh yes, zero. Thought I would forget the last one in the chamber? Too bad we seem to share the same hereditary habits."

With that he emptied his own magazine into the room, reloaded and followed the bullets inside.

 

The classroom was empty, of course, an open door hinting where the first intruder had gone before the counter attack. Taking a quick look around the destroyed room he saw her now useless Beretta lying on the ground. He also spotted the signs of someone franticly searching through the cupboards to the side of the room, probably for a usable weapon. And to his greatest delight he found a trace: the bloodied footprints leading away from the broken glass towards the door and outside.

"All to easy, just like bread crumbs. Die Hard - the Hansel and Gretel way." Schuldig thought and left through the door.

Only to jump right back when two scissors came flying shuriken-like from the far end of the corridor. One hit. And fell to the ground.

Schuldig blinked. Rubbed his arm, blinked again and looked at the children proof tool that was lying on the ground, looking not even remotely dangerous.

'Too bad for you that they don't trust children with anything anymore these days." he shouted with obvious mockery in his voice: "But no running in the halls with scissors! Didn't your big brother tell you that? I guess I have to punish you for that."

 

She had had no chance after that. Easily Schuldig could follow the prints of her cut feet, through the floors and up to the roof. And than she could not flee anymore. Her last attack he had deflected hand to hand when he had stepped through the roof access door where she had ambushed him. The sharpened pencil in his shoulder sure did hurt, but she had been too weak to overwhelm him. And now she was standing at the far side of the roof at his gunpoint, her back pressed against the wire net of the chest high roof perimeter fence.

 

He had not really pursued her after throwing her off with his free hand. Nonchalant the man in the white suit took out and lighted a cigarette with his injured arm and took a drag.

“You know, you are really not that bad. Actually pretty cool. I don't know, what do you think about sorting this out, and afterwards just hang around or so, I think it wouldn't be a problem. Would be a shame to shoot you. How about it?”

He got no answer.

“Ok, Hey it's really no problem, I mean I am used to the `I am the silent one' type of co-worker, so no prob there.”

Still no answer.

“Hey can I take that as a yes? Hey I mean it will be hard without your friend, but it was Brads decision. You will miss her and all, and…”

Finally he got a reaction. The slightest trace of emotion crossing her face. But what followed surely hadn't been what he had expected.

She jumped.

He shot.

The bullet hit the shadowy silhouette in midair, tearing through the petit body and leaving the a trace of dark liquid hanging in midair in front of the twilight horizon, followed by an almost infinite time of silence. Until the dull thud of a body hitting the ground for stories below broke it.

 

Schuldig doubted that she would have survived her jump over the fence anyway, but a nagging feeling of uneasiness accompanied him as he made his way to the rim. An unusual feeling.

He watched the gruesome sight down below for a long time, igniting a few more cigarettes whilst he took in every detail he could make out from the distance, thinking.

Until finally he turned around: “Oh well. Show must go on. Kind of sad it is. But that's the way it goes. Our way.”

Whistling he made his way from the roof and away from the scene and away.

 

The only trace the police found the next day next to never-to-be-identified victim was a graffiti on the school wall in really ugly Kanji reading: "Bad little schoolgirl!” giving birth to a legend among Tokyo's pupils(1). A legend Schuldig would find delight in it for years to come.

 

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(1) Urban Legends from there on tell about a really strict truancy Officer, and that particular school had virtually no absent pupils in class for the years to come.

 

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Well I guess that is the way Schwarz is. But they are Killers and no plush toys.

 

Originally Only the first three endings till this point were planned and I like the dark, touch in all of them (at least I hope it's a good dark touch) that's one of the reasons why I decided to write them. But even though I like that melodramatic stuff I cannot stay all the time on the dark side and the last ending…well is called Soap bubbles. Guess what that is supposed to mean.

Actually I dropped a few hints in the first three endings about what will or might be happening there. Some more obvious than others.

I would like to know what you think - having read the story to this point - will happen there (even though the last Ending might already be out when you read this) as well as I would like to know what you liked about this one or did not.

 

The SilentHypoCrit

 

Coming up next. Final Ending: IV Soap Bubbles

 

(1) Urban Legends from there on tell about a really strict truancy Officer, and that particular school had virtually no absent pupils in class for the years to come.