Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 30 ( Chapter 30 )

30

there are flies on the windscreen…

The mental touch remained, telling me that my pursuer still had me in his sights. If this was one of a team, there were at least two other operatives in the area. I kept my shields as solid as possible and tried like hell not to think about Nagi. I hated leaving him like that, but it was the only chance we had. They hadn't seen him, they thought I was casing the area or looking for something. Barring further disaster, the kid should be home within an hour.

Stop that, I told myself. Think about anything else. If they get in, make sure they find nothing useful.

I ran between buildings and over fire escapes, trying to elude pursuit. Still, the mental touch remained, light but firm, showing me my fleeing back and bright, road-flare hair. Maybe I would cut it off and dye it black, I thought with a snarl. That would serve it right for being so noticeable.

Forcing my emotions to calm down and let me work, I looked for a place to hide. Draw them into a public place? Maybe, but I'd be cornered inside. Run? I was already winded. Damn. Okay, think, Schuldig, think.

I sprinted up a fire escape and vaulted the railing onto the roof. My pace increased as I flew across the distance to the far side and leaped across to the next building. As I landed, I dropped and rolled, hoping they had lost sight of me on the first rooftop. I didn't hold much hope for that, but it could happen. I pulled my shirt up, covering the back of my head, and crept to the edge of the roof. Cautiously, hiding my pale face and bright hair as best I could, I peered over the side. Below, I could sense a large crowd of people, drinking and dancing somewhere within the building.

I remembered a technique one of my instructors had shown me, a sort of passive awareness state that isn't easy for other telepaths to pick up on. Counting my breaths, I forced my body to slow down, to become still. Like sensing a predator beyond the door, I could feel two hunters even now reaching the rooftop of the building behind me.

In this state, I could still feel the revelers below, and when bright thoughts of imminent sex broke through the muddle, I knew what I had to do. I leaped up and over the side, dropping three stories and landing in a crouch. Just in front of me, a young man held a car door open for his date. The girl shrieked when she saw me, as if I'd appeared out of nowhere, which I basically had. I shoved the man out of the way, snatching the keys as I did so and diving into the car, locking myself in. I slithered into the driver's seat, shoved the ignition key home, and started the car as the two operatives reached street level.

I shifted gears like a race car driver, forcing the speed up faster than the car liked. It whined and howled, but it got me the hell out of there, which was all I asked at the moment. I felt the mental contact melt away with distance, leaving behind the impression of a mad scramble for transportation and a desperate phone call for backup.

Phone call. Fuck. There was a car phone right next to me, and I still couldn't get the number straight in my head. Maybe next time I'd write it on my hand in indelible ink. Well, no time to worry about that shit. Whether this car was reported stolen yet or not, the Esset operatives had seen it clearly enough, and knew which direction I had gone. I started looking around for other options, all the while keeping a portion of my mind quietly watching for pursuit.

Up ahead lay a parking garage. It used to be part of the Takatori complex, ironically enough. I swerved to the entrance and in, pausing only to take a ticket from the machine. Two turns, three, and I had the feeling I was out of time. I pulled into a spot and killed the engine, then exited the car as quietly as possible, slipping the keys into my pocket. Was that the gate arm? The ching of the ticket dispenser? Fuck!

I clung to the shadows, aiming for the stairwell. Then I realized, the stairwell was probably being watched. From below I could hear the soft roar of a well-tuned engine, moving upward.

Silently I prayed that the new owners of this property had not changed the landscaping. Moving quietly, I pulled myself up onto the open ledge overlooking the main building. Far below, I could just make out old hedges and trees in the gathering darkness. I took a deep breath and stood, reaching out toward my right.

My hand closed on a thick vine, almost wooden in texture and covered in tiny sharp points. I squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation. This was going to hurt.

Taking a deep breath, I swung myself out and onto the vines. Once my full weight hung from my hands, the thorns sank in with a vengeance. I kept my movements slow and measured, reaching for a toehold, then lowering myself bit by bit toward the ground. Time was not my friend right now, but silence was; I traded one for the other a little and quickened my pace, trusting the slight breeze to cover any sound.

Within the garage I could hear two vehicles spiraling up the ramp, one going much slower. Headlights swept across the darkness; I clung to the side of the building and waited, then moved with a cautious desperation. I had no weapon but my own resourcefulness. I would take that up with Crawford later, provided I made it back at all.

Glancing down, I could see a hedge within reach. Problem was, it would make a huge amount of noise if I dropped into it. I studied it for a moment, considering my options. I could creep to one side or the other, but that would put me in view of the wide ledges in the structure, and of anyone inside who happened to look. Right now I was sort of in a blind spot. Only someone outside the building would see me, and in the darkness, they'd have to be really lucky, even with my blazing mane. But hearing me would be a different matter.

The hedge looked to be about four feet deep. On the other side, thick grasses for about twenty feet, then trees. I took a deep breath, braced my feet against the vines, released my grasp and kicked off backward, turning to hit the ground on my shoulder.

Only it didn't work quite as planned. My foot snagged in the vine, throwing me off balance and dropping my shoe in the hedge. I landed hard, with more noise than I wanted, and it took me a moment to recover. I made a grab for my shoe and put it on, cursing silently. My shoulder hurt like a bitch, and my hands were bleeding. Again.

Flashlight beams cut the night.

I pulled my shirt up again to hide my hair and took off running, low to the ground and aiming for the trees. My speed was failing. I had to get away from here, and soon.

I took a moment once I'd reached the cover of the treeline and tried to catch my breath. Everything hurt, damn it. At least this time I had shoes, I told myself, fighting down hysterical laughter.

The flashlights searched near the building, under the hedge, but it was only a matter of time before they came to the treeline. Cautiously, tentatively, I reached out my thoughts to assess the enemy.

Two psi talents, and a dozen normals. My mood brightened. Only two? I had the impression one was at the entrance and the other on the roof, while their lackeys combed the grounds and searched the garage more thoroughly. Moving slowly, I paralleled the building, aiming for the street. If I could just get across that road without being seen, I knew several ways out from there.

Again I had to walk a fine line between speed and silence. The pace infuriated me. I wanted to run, damn it, not slink in slow motion. But training and experience forced me to move with the slow determination of a hunting cat. One bird, two bird, red bird, blue bird, I thought to myself, counting off four armed guards searching for me in vain.

As I reached the end of the treeline, I debated taking another mental look around. It might tell me where the fourteen hunters were in relation to me and each other, but it might also alert the telepath among them that I was slipping their net. I decided to forgo it and trust my reflexes to get me to safety. I flexed my knees, took a deep breath, and ran.

The ground blurred beneath me as I hurtled over the lush grass of the former Takatori Corporation. Ahead of me, a private road, then wilderness for several kilometers. I risked using a soft mental shield that whispered it's a fox, nothing more.

My feet skimmed over paved road, then up a slight embankment.

I was free.

But I had no way to get back to the team. And I hurt. Damn, I hurt! I hoped my shoulder wasn't dislocated. My hands throbbed. It felt like some of the thorns had stayed with me, broken off in my skin. Fuck.

A momentary wave of dizziness hit, and I clung to a tree, but that brought on a flash of pain from my abused hands. I slid to the ground, breathing hard, little lights dancing before my eyes. I refused to pass out. It just wasn't going to happen. I struggled back to my feet and stumbled into the woods.

Fortunately, even though my mind rejected numbers now, my sense of direction was not impaired. I made my way north and west, vaguely toward the apartment and safety. I wanted to reach out to them, make sure Nagi had gotten there okay, but I didn't dare. Those operatives were around here somewhere, hopefully still at the Takatori complex; any telepathic activity would draw them like flies to a corpse. All I could do was hope, and keep moving.

Time stumbled along behind me. Unlike Brad Crawford, I never felt the need to wear a watch, but tonight it would have come in handy. I had no idea how long I'd been staggering around out here, trying to sneak through the woods in the middle of the night. This wilderness area wasn't that big, was it? It occurred to me that my sense of direction could have misfired, that I could have been wandering around in circles.

I tried not to think about it.

Little specks of white light flashed across my view again, and I paused, leaning against a tree. Then I realized, the lights were real: that was a freeway bridge up there! I hadn't gotten lost; I knew exactly where I was, and which way I needed to go from here.

What I didn't know was how I was going to do this, or where the operatives were now. For all I knew, they could be waiting for me just beyond the woods. Or they could still be at that parking garage, searching through the parked cars one by one. I hoped that was the case, though I had no way of knowing. I stayed under cover of the trees and followed the freeway, searching for a ramp. I'd just have to do what I could and hope for the best.

My strength began failing in earnest. I was pretty sure my shoulder was in a bad way, and my hands felt swollen. But, there - a ramp descending from the freeway. I hurried over to it and hid beneath it like a troll under a bridge. Gathering my will, I searched for an easy mark, and found one: an older man, traveling alone. I grabbed his mind and directed him to the ramp, guiding him down from the freeway and into my domain.

Moments later, he walked away, aiming for some nearby street lights. In his thoughts was the image of his car with a flat tire, sitting at the bottom of this ramp. By the time he got back, I would be long gone, and with any luck, the car returned to him unharmed. I didn't want any loose ends with this. I couldn't afford any trails leading back to me, or to my destination.

As I aimed for the ramp back up to the freeway, I pulled the battered matchbook from my pocket, my hand throbbing with pain as I made it work. I read the address, ignoring the number but committing the street name to memory, then stuffed it back in my pocket and drove as fast as I could bear to. Pain kept threatening to drag me into unconsciousness, but I refused to give in. I promised my battered body that it could rest as soon as I was safe.

An eternity later, I was losing the fight. Darkness and light flashed at the edges of my vision. I read the street signs with growing desperation. If I got lost now, I would be lost in more than one sense of the word.

I turned right onto a narrow street, and ahead of me the sign matched the hasty writing on the matchbook. With a sigh of relief I pulled the car over. My eyes drifted closed.

I startled awake, not sure if I'd actually slept and if so, for how long. I looked around, panic rising in me. It was dark, after midnight. I had no idea where I was. Then memory came back as though it had merely stepped out for a moment. I tried to breathe normally. I might have dozed for a few moments, but I hadn't lost any significant amount of time.

Slowly, painfully, I got out of the car. I checked the address on the matchbook again, then started walking.

This wasn't a very safe neighborhood. Mentally I searched for trouble. Thankfully, I found some. I grinned to myself as I touched the minds of a group of young toughs on the prowl. I learned that they were looking for a fight, or a car to steal. Perfect. With a mental whisper I brought them my way.

Even as they approached, I changed my appearance in their minds to that of an older man, drunk and stumbling home. They surrounded me, as I knew they would. I begged them not to hurt me, to take my money and my car and let me go. I threw a handful of cash at them, and bumped into their leader. As he and his fellows laughed and scooped up the money, I gripped his mind and twisted. I put the car keys in his hand. His empty expression turned pleased, and he led his friends to their ride for the night.

One last thing: I touched each of their minds, changing the location of the event to the ramp from the highway. The motorist would no doubt report his car stolen, though he left it with a flat tire. These toughs would believe they had come upon him too drunk to drive, and taken it. A nice, tidy ending to a very messy night.

As they drove away, I resumed my walk, watching the building numbers, searching for one in particular. An unappealing apartment building loomed before me, the number looking right. I wandered in, stumbling up the stairs to the second floor.

I paused in front of the door to the corner apartment and checked the matchbook again. Yes, this was it. I took a deep breath and knocked.

Then I knocked again.

Then I reached out with my mind.

Kudou wasn't there.

I snarled out a curse. I didn't have anything to pick the lock with, either.

Wait a minute! I still had the keys for that first car. I pulled them out and looked at them closely, then examined the lock itself. One of the keys was probably to a mailbox or deposit box; it was small and slender. I worked it into the lock, feeling the tumblers move reluctantly as I wiggled the key back and forth. Frustration surged in me, and I hit the key with the heel of my hand, sending a fresh wave of agony up my arm, but at the same time popping the lock open.

I worked the key back out and let myself into the darkened room. The apartment smelled like smoke and cooked noodles, with an undercurrent that might have been incense or hashish. I let my eyes adjust to the dim light from the window, then searched for the bathroom. Hopefully he had something I could use on my hands, and maybe something for the pain, too.

When my groping fingers found a sink and a light switch, I shut the door and turned on the light. The bathroom was small but clean, smelling like soap and a musky cologne. I turned on the tap and started cleaning my damaged hands. Bits of thorn showed as black specks within the puffy flesh; I cringed at the prospect of digging them out. There were at least ten of the damn things. I started searching for some disinfectant.

The front door opened, then closed.

Oh, fuck. I turned off the water. It would be bad enough if it was Yohji, but if it wasn't… I hurt too much to scan his mind. Besides, if it was an operative, he'd be able to grab my mind through the link and I wasn't sure I could break away. I grabbed a can of spray deodorant, turned off the light and crouched just beyond the swing of the door. If it wasn't Yohji, I was prepared to fight my way out, though I was in piss poor shape to carry through.

Stealthy footsteps came to a stop outside the bathroom door.

Then I heard the snap of a lighter, followed by the moist hiss of a cigarette flaring to life. "Why are you bleeding all over my apartment?"

My breath rushed out of my lungs, leaving me once again dizzy. I fumbled the spray can to the floor, hauled myself up, and opened the door.

Yohji regarded me with calm curiosity, cigarette dangling from his lips. I could smell alcohol on him, and his eyes were foggy with it.

"I'll explain later," I murmured.

He stepped past me into the bathroom and rummaged in the cupboards, bringing out an array of disinfectants, swabs, and bandages. Setting these on the counter, he reached under the sink and pulled out a small bottle of solvent and some towels. "Be right back," he said, taking these toward the front door. I realized I must have left bloody prints all over the damn place. Good thing Yohji knew how to remove them properly.

I sighed wearily and turned the tap back on. He'd pulled down a bottle of soap like they use in hospitals. My eyebrow went up as I surveyed the other things he'd set out for me. This guy sure knew his first aid, I thought.

He returned to the bathroom and put away his cleaning supplies, then rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the soap. I stepped back from the sink, blotting gingerly at my hands with a soft towel. He regarded me in the mirror and scowled. "Hey, don't do that."

I blinked.

"That one will leave lint in the wounds. Here, rinse off again and let me have a look." He took the offending towel from me and dried his own hands, then tossed it into the bathtub.

Sure enough, little strands of fiber had stuck to my hands. Shit. I washed them yet again, the pain starting to be more than I could easily deal with.

Yohji took hold of my right hand and gently dried the palm with a wad of gauze. He frowned at me. "What did you do, get in a fight with a tree?"

"Something like that," I muttered, annoyed that my hands were now shaking.

"Wait here." He left the bathroom again.

I leaned against the wall, trying not to pass out. My shoulder was actively screaming at me now, on top of the throbbing agony of my hands.

Yohji returned and set some more items on the counter. He picked up a small bottle and shook some pills out, then asked, "Can you take codeine?"

"As far as I know," I told him.

"Here," he said, holding two tablets in front of my mouth. I took them in my teeth as his other hand raised a cup to my lips. He did this so smoothly I realized he must have had some practice at it. I let him feed me the pain pills and juice, sipping only enough to wash the pills down. I didn't trust my stomach anyway, and I knew codeine made some people queasy.

"Okay, let me see your hands," he said, picking something else up from the counter. "I was thinking about you, Schuldig. Something you said gave me all sorts of ideas."

I looked at him, puzzled.

He held up a roll of duct tape and winked.

"Hentai!" I said with a weak laugh.

He tore off a strip, then lifted my right hand and squinted at it. "Okay, you're not going to like this, but trust me, it works." Carefully Yohji pressed the tape to my palm. I could feel him working it into the cuts, and I flinched. "Easy, I know it hurts, but we have to get that shit out of your hand," he said, voice calm and sober. He worked the tape in, pressing it down with his fingertips, then he looked into my eyes and asked, "Ready?"

I gritted my teeth and nodded, expecting him to rip the tape off quickly. But instead, he peeled it off with great care, going excruciatingly slowly. I could feel the edges of the cuts pulling open, and fresh pain seared through me. When the tape was finally off, Yohji guided me toward the toilet, putting the lid down and helping me to sit before my legs gave out. Clammy sweat coated my face and neck, and I really thought I was going to puke. He returned to the sink and ran some water, then brought me a wet cloth, lifting my hair and draping it on the back of my neck.

Then he tore off another strip of tape.

Tears streamed down my face as he worked on my left hand. I anticipated the pain when he pulled the tape free, and was not disappointed. Then he showed me what had come out of my skin: stuck to the tape were several thorns, some gravel, and road grime. "Nice trick," I croaked, trying to get my stomach back down where it usually lived.

"It's really good for glass," he told me, sticking the two spent pieces of tape together and tossing them in the tub with the towel. "But it's the best way I've found to get thorns and splinters out without them breaking. It's a florist trick. Can you stand yet?"

I nodded and lurched to my feet. The world spun; guess the codeine was working, I thought. It was harder than I'd expected to keep my balance without use of my hands. Yohji put a hand to the small of my back and guided me over to the sink again. I cringed a little, surveying the different bottles and ointments. This was going to hurt.

But Yohji selected a jar of salve and gently slathered it over first one palm, then the other. It stung only a moment before blessed numbness sank in. I felt myself sigh at the relief. Then he wrapped soft strips of gauze around my hands as neatly as any nurse. Once my hands were bandaged to his satisfaction, he eyed me critically and said, "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

I realized I had been holding my arm close to my side, not wanting to move it. Of course he'd notice.

"Come on, let's get that shirt off," he said, starting on the buttons.

I stood passively, letting him undo the shirt, then shrugged out of the left sleeve on my own. When he started working my right arm free, I hissed in protest. He moved a little more carefully and finally got the shirt all the way off, then tossed it in the tub. I wondered if he planned to give it back or burn it with the rest of the blood-stained items.

"Damn, Schuldig," he murmured, gently touching my shoulder.

I turned my head to look, but the angle was wrong. So I looked past him, at the mirror, and gasped. From collarbone to bicep, my shoulder was one massive dark bruise. He turned me a little to look at the back, and I could just see a wide patch of shredded skin where I had landed on it and slid. I knew that had been a bad landing, but damn!

"Okay, just try to relax," he told me, gripping my elbow and starting to flex my arm. The wrist hurt, but not brutally. The elbow worked fine, but when he raised my arm I jerked away reflexively, hugging my side.

Gentle fingers prodded the back of my shoulderblade, and he took hold of my bicep firmly. He forced my arm up only a little, not enough to make me pull away, but enough that he could tell it was not, in fact, dislocated. He cleaned up the scrapes and rubbed some salve into the skin, then tied my arm to my side with an elastic sports bandage. "That'll keep it from moving for a few hours, anyway. There's not much else I can do about the shoulder. It's sprained pretty bad, but at least it's in the socket. Anything else need doctoring?"

I looked down. My favorite leather pants looked as if they'd been dragged through barbed wire. I groaned. Now that my hands weren't distracting me, I could feel a myriad little scratches itching on my legs.

Yohji followed my gaze and raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. Then he reached down and unfastened my pants, easing them down over my hips. I could feel my face grow hot: I never wear underwear with leather, and now Yohji knew it. Then the sharp sting of leather peeling off of cut skin brought me back to reality.

Soon I was standing naked in Yohji's bathroom, bruised and bandaged and quite at his mercy. He tended the little scratches on my legs. Those weren't particularly deep. The leather had spared me the worst of it, though the pants were officially ruined and now joined my other trashed clothing in his bathtub.

Yohji finished putting away his medical supplies and went to find me something to wear. I made use of the toilet with some difficulty, having only one useful arm and that hand wrapped in gauze, then regarded myself in the mirror. I looked like total hell.

He returned with a bathrobe, and a hairbrush. I smiled my thanks.

Feeling a little more human, I wandered into his living room, the bare wood floor cool under my tired feet. Yohji was just tossing a pillow onto the over-long sofa; he'd already thrown a sheet and a blanket over it. On the table stood a teapot and two steaming cups, and a half-empty box of orange cookies. I sat on the edge of the sofa and gingerly picked up a cup, not totally trusting my hand but desperately thirsty. The grassy smell of green tea wafted up, and I drank as fast as it cooled. I seemed to be tolerating the medicine well enough; I felt hungry, not queasy, and helped myself to the cookies.

Yohji picked up his cup and sipped, standing by the table and watching me. "You want to tell me what happened?" he asked.

I looked down at my bandaged hands. "He was right," I whispered. "Oh, shit!" Memory hit with the force of a gunshot. "Nagi! I have to go!" I tried to get up, but my legs didn't want to cooperate anymore.

Yohji took the teacup from my hand and firmly held me down on the sofa. "You are not going anywhere tonight," he said forcefully. He seated himself next to me, gripping my good wrist. "Tell me what happened, maybe I can help."

I swallowed and took a deep breath, then told him everything as fast as the words would come, trying to get through it all before the pain pills knocked me out. He listened intently. "I don't know if Nagi made it back," I whispered, looking up at him. "If the kid had to use that phone call, I don't know if they're even in Japan anymore."

Yohji pondered a moment, then asked, "Can't you do that mind thing, find out where he is?"

"No, not right now I can't," I said. "I'm too messed up. Besides, pain pills throw me off."

"Ah, hell," he grumbled, as though blaming himself for giving them to me.

"No, no, it's okay," I told him. "I'm exhausted and hurt anyway, I wouldn't be able to do anything without broadcasting. Besides, the good thing about painkillers, I can't use my gift, and no one else can either. I mean, it muffles my talent so I look like anyone else right now. If they're still looking for me, they can't find me."

"Does it turn the radio off?" he asked, curious again.

"No, actually, it doesn't," I said. "Some drugs make it worse, especially the stronger ones. This stuff doesn't seem that bad, though. But anything really strong throws it right out of control. I can't keep them out, and I start to lose me. That's fairly typical, really. You'll never find a telepath hooked on downers. Not a functional one, anyway." Then I gave him a cockeyed look and a smile. "Shit, I just gave you a weapon, didn't I."

"Will I ever have to use it?" he asked, totally straight-faced.

"Not with me, you won't," I murmured, fatigue rolling over me like a warm blanket. I yawned and sagged limply into the sofa. "But, I have to go," I grumbled at myself, "I have to get back to Brad, and Nagi." I couldn't move, my limbs felt like they were massively heavy and floating in cotton at the same time.

"Do you guys have any local contacts?" Yohji asked, rising from his seat and helping me lie down. "Someone who brings you news or anything?"

"Yakuza," I mumbled, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. All around, muffled nighttime thoughts fluttered against my mind like moths drawn to fire. It felt comforting, I was floating on the consciousness of the world, and nothing hurt anymore. With fading consciousness I felt Yohji pull the blanket up to my shoulders, then everything slipped away.